Ask for It (Georgian 1)

As she drew closer, she noted he appeared leaner, the ever-present shadows under his eyes were darker, and while his bearing was as proud as ever, she could sense the weariness beneath the façade.

“Rather daring of you to come calling here.”

He shrugged. “I half expected to see Westfield charging through that door. I’m relieved it’s you instead. I’m not worthy of a fight right now.” He glanced over her head. “Where is his lordship?”

“Near enough.”

His blond brows lifted, and his lips curved. “As long as he gives me a wide berth, I’ll manage.”

“Eldridge is searching for you.”

Immediately the smile left Christopher’s face. “I know.”

“You say you want to help me, but you place my life in jeopardy by maintaining your silence.”

He spun away, moving toward the window to brush aside the curtain and stare at the front circular drive. “I never wanted to involve you. I knew the man was vile, but to use you, to threaten you . . .” He growled. “I wish to God that bloody journal had remained hidden.”

“I cannot say I feel the same. Perhaps if it had not arrived, Marcus and I would not have found each other again.”

Facing her, he offered a sad smile. He looked around, taking note of the liveried guards who stood conspicuously by the doorway. “I see Westfield has you well-guarded. That eases my mind somewhat.”

“I see you look worn,” she retorted bluntly.

“Thank you for noticing,” he grumbled, “after I took such pains to make myself presentable. I must remember to discharge my valet.”

“The best valet in the world cannot hide the signs of hard-living,” she retorted. “Have you ever considered a change of occupation? The way you live is sapping the life from you.”

His full mouth thinned with displeasure. “I am not here to discuss my way of life.”

Taking a seat, she waited for him to do the same. “Very well then. I no longer have the journal.”

St. John cursed so foully Elizabeth blushed. “Is it in Eldridge’s possession?”

She hesitated a moment, wondering how wise it would be to tell him anything further. “No,” she said finally, the restlessness of her fingers was the only betraying sign of her unease.

“Thank God. Keep it from him.”

“He has been content to allow Westfield to work on it. At the moment, he seems most interested in finding you.”

“Yes, he would be. I’m surprised he waited this long, truth be told. I would venture to say he wanted all of his agents in a lather before he released them on me. He’s nothing if not meticulous.”

Elizabeth studied St. John carefully. “Why did you come?”

“Once I learned Eldridge was looking for me I understood how delicate this situation has become. I don’t know what to do. In the end there is only one solution and yet it’s nearly impossible to implement.”

She opened her mouth to speak when a sudden disturbance outside drew their attention. Leaping to her feet, she ran with St. John to the window. Out front, a village cart tottered precariously on three wheels. “Stay here,” she ordered, knowing Marcus would wish to speak with the pirate, perhaps even detain him.

Elizabeth took only a moment to ensure assistance was being offered and then turned back to the room. It was empty. She stood blinking.

“Where did he go?” she asked the two guards.

They rushed in and quickly searched the space.

St. John was gone.

Marcus leaned his shoulders against the headboard and adjusted the weight of his wife’s sated body, which draped over his own. Even her grumbled protest failed to make him smile. He stroked his hand down the length of her spine, soothing her back to sleep, while finding his own elusive.

Why had St. John come? If his aim had been the journal, he would want more than just Elizabeth’s verbal confirmation that it was no longer with her. And yet he’d learned no more than that before dropping out the window and fleeing. To have arranged the distraction of the broken cart in advance was typical. To have known the house was emptied of Ashford men meant he’d been watching them.

His arms tightened around Elizabeth and her face nuzzled his chest in response. The pirate’s warning was clear, You are not safe. Even in your own domain.

Even as he thought it, Marcus stilled. He cocked his head, his ears straining to hear over the soft crackling coming from the grate. He was greeted by silence, but he couldn’t relax. The hairs on his nape stood on end.

He’d long ago learned to trust his instincts, so he slid down to his back and rolled, settling Elizabeth into the pillows. Her arms surrounded him, accustomed to his habit of waking her for sex. Pressing a quick kiss to her mouth, Marcus disentangled himself and withdrew from the warmth of the bed.

“What are you doing?” she complained, blinking.

Her pout was flattering and he took a moment to relish it. There had been a time when he could only dream of having her in his bed, eager for him. His ring on her finger caught what remained of the firelight and his jaw tightened. He’d be damned if anyone or anything jeopardized her now.

Tugging on his discarded breeches, he whispered, “Hold that thought for a moment, love.” He grabbed his small sword, which rested conveniently against a nearby chair, and withdrew the blade from its scabbard. Elizabeth’s head came up from the pillow. With a finger to his lips, he warned her to silence, and then padded across the room on bare feet. Marcus took a deep breath before cracking open the door that led to the sitting room.

Through the tiny space between the door jamb he could see across to Elizabeth’s chamber. From the gap beneath her door, candlelight was clearly visible. Once again, his instincts had stood him in good stead. Someone was in there. Marcus rolled his shoulders and slipped out of his bedroom. St. John hadn’t given up. He’d come back, as Marcus had suspected he would.

He’d wanted to position a guard in the sitting room, but Elizabeth had been horrified that someone would be so close while they made love. She’d been adamant and, doubting his restraint, he’d acceded. Now he could only shake his head at his fascination for his wife, which overruled every other consideration. Moving rapidly, he reached the door and tested the knob. It was locked. Cursing himself, he returned to his room for the key.

Elizabeth was slipping on her dressing gown.

Marcus shook head and scowled. Stay here, he mouthed.

What is it? she replied.

For his answer he held up the key, and then he returned to the sitting room. Immediately he noted the light under her door was gone. Hindered by darkness, it took him a moment to reach it. The chill breeze that flowed from the gap over his bare feet betrayed the open window on the other side. He was not fool enough to enter an unlighted room. Step

ping out to the dimly lit hallway, Marcus grabbed the taper from the alcove and lit the candelabra on the console.

When he turned about, he saw the hallway door to Elizabeth’s room was ajar. He kicked it open with his foot, candelabra in one hand, small sword in the other. The drapes were spread wide, allowing the pale light of the moon to cast shadows. The sheers fluttered in the soft evening breeze, a ghostly presence that made his fists clench tight. High as they were on the second floor, he doubted anyone would make the effort to enter or exit from that venue. Which meant they were either still in the room, or had slipped down the hallway while he’d gone for the key.

Elizabeth.

All was quiet, but still his nerves sizzled with awareness.

“My lord?” murmured a deep voice behind him. “What is amiss?”

Marcus turned, and faced one of the guards. Behind him stood Elizabeth, who worried her bottom lip with her teeth. For a moment, his throat clenched tight at the thought of her traversing the unsafe galleries. But there was naught else she could have done and once again his heart swelled with admiration. She was a practical woman, and a brave one. He took a moment to collect himself and then answered, “Someone was trespassing in her ladyship’s room. Wait with her until I can be certain the intruder is gone.”

The guard gave a quick nod, and Marcus made a thorough sweep. The room was empty, but the sense of unease remained with him. “Wake the other guards,” he ordered as he returned to the hall. “Search the vacant rooms and exits. Discover how he gained entry. And from this night on, I want one of you to stay in my sitting room.”

Passing the candelabra to the grim-faced guard, Marcus caught Elizabeth’s elbow and led her back to the bedroom.

“It’s time to come out of hiding, Marcus.”

“No.”

“You know I must.” She stopped abruptly to face him.

His jaw tightened, and he shook his head. “It’s too dangerous.”

“What else can we do? Look at the risk to your family, to your home.”

Marcus took her face in his hands. “You are my family, my home.”