Sweating under the covers, but too cold without them, Elizabeth gave up trying to sleep a few hours before dawn. She pulled her cloak around her and returned to the parlor.
Marcus had banked the fire in the hearth, but the room was still warm. Tucking the chaise blanket around her feet, she picked up the journal, hoping it would bore her to sleep.
The sun was just beginning to light the sky when Marcus discovered Elizabeth fast asleep with Hawthorne’s journal open on her lap. He shook his head and grimaced.
One sleepless night passed, thirteen left to survive.
Confused by his soul-deep disquiet, he tugged on his boots and left the small residence. He crossed the circular cobblestone drive that swung by both the main manse and the house he shared with Elizabeth, and headed toward the stables beyond. Below the cliff face he heard the rhythmic roaring of the waves upon the shore and felt the misty breeze as it swelled over the ledge and permeated his sweater. Once inside the warmth of the stables he sucked in the scent of sweet hay and horseflesh, such a stark contrast to the salty bite of the air outdoors.
He bridled one of his carriage bays and led the gelding out of the stall. With a singular determination to work himself to exhaustion so he could sleep at night, Marcus set to the task of grooming his horses. As the heat of his exertions made him sweat, he discarded his sweater in favor of comfort. Lost in thoughts of the night before and the remembrance of Elizabeth displayed erotically in the candlelight, he was startled by a gasp behind him.
Turning about swiftly, he faced the winsome lass who delivered their meals. “Milord,” she said, dipping a quick curtsy.
Eyeing the groomsmen’s quarters behind her, he quickly deduced her worry. “Don’t fret,” he assured her. “I’ve been known to be dumb and blind on occasion.”
The servant studied him with obvious curiosity, her appreciative gaze taking in his bare chest. Surprised to find himself a bit flustered by a woman’s sensual perusal, Marcus turned to retrieve his sweater. As his hand closed around the garment, which was slung over the nearest stall, the temperamental beast inside had the temerity to bite him.
Cursing, Marcus snatched back the injured appendage and glared at the duke’s stallion.
“’e’s a bit testy that one,” the girl said with sympathy. She reached his side and held out a rag, which Marcus accepted quickly and wrapped around his hand to staunch the trickle of blood.
The girl was a pretty thing with soft brown curls and passion-flushed cheeks. Her dress was disheveled, betraying her recent activities, but her smile was genuine and filled with good humor. Marcus was about to return that smile when the stable door slammed open, startling his horse who then sidestepped anxiously, knocking Marcus into the servant and tumbling them both to the floor.
“You rutting beast!”
Marcus lifted his head from the girl’s shoulder and met a violet gaze of such fury he couldn’t breathe for a moment. Elizabeth stood with her hands on her hips in the stable doorway.
“I wouldn’t wed you for any reason!” she shouted, before spinning in a swirl of skirts and running away.
“Christ.” Marcus leapt to his feet and then yanked the servant girl to hers. Without another word, he was in pursuit, rushing past the gaping, sleep-mussed groomsman and out to the rapidly lightening dawn.
Elizabeth, a woman well accustomed to physical exertion, was several feet ahead of him and he lengthened his stride.
“Elizabeth!”
“To hell with you,” she yelled back.
Her pace was frantic and her path too close to the cliff’s edge for Marcus’s comfort. His heart racing madly in his chest, he leapt, tackling her and twisting to land on his bare back. Small rocks and the coarse wild grass cut at his back as he slid some distance in the morning dew, Elizabeth’s squirming body clutched tightly to his.
“Stop it,” he growled, rolling to pin her beneath him and deflecting her flailing fists.
“Constancy is beyond you, you horrid man.” Her face, so heartrendingly perfect, was flushed and tearstained.
“It’s not what you think!”
“You were half dressed atop a woman!”
“A mishap, nothing more.” He pinned her arms above her head to prevent sustaining any further injury. Despite the chill of the morning, the pain of his back and hand, and the consternation that drew his brows together, he was still intensely aware of the woman who thrashed beneath him.
“A mishap you were caught.” Elizabeth turned her head and bit his bicep. Marcus roared and shoved his knee between her legs, sinking betwixt them intimately.
“Bite me again and I will turn you over my knee.”
“Spank me again and I’ll shoot you,” she retorted.
Having no other notion of what to do, he lowered his head and captured her lips, his tongue slipping briefly inside before he yanked his head back from her snapping teeth.
He snarled. “If you worry so much about my fidelity you should ensure it.”
Her mouth fell open. “Of all the arrogant utterances.”
“Selfish wench. You don’t want me, but God forbid if any other woman does.”
“Another woman can have you, with my pity!”
He pressed his forehead to hers and muttered, “That chit is dallying with one of the groomsmen. You spooked my horse and caused a tumble.”
“I don’t believe you. Why was she standing so close to you?”
“I was injured.” Marcus held her wri
sts with one hand and displayed his makeshift bandage. “She was attempting to assist me.”
Frowning, but softening, Elizabeth asked, “Why are you bare-chested?”
“It was hot, love.” Marcus shook his head at her disbelieving snort. “I’ll present the libidinous parties to you for a confession.”
A tear slid down her temple. “I will never trust you,” she breathed.
He brushed his lips across hers. “More the reason to wed me. I vow marriage to you would exhaust any man into finding the female gender unappealing.”
“That was cruel.” She sniffled.
“I’m frustrated, Elizabeth,” he admitted gruffly, the soft pressure of her curves under his only exacerbating his discomfort. “What more must I do to win you? Could you give me some clue? Some inkling of the length of the road left to travel?”
Her reddened eyes met his. “Why won’t you cease? Lose interest? Seek the attentions of someone else?”
Marcus sighed, resigned to the miserable truth. “I cannot.”
The fight left her tense body with a silent sob.
He hugged her tighter. She looked as he did—tired, unhappy. Neither one of them was getting any sleep, tossing and turning, craving each other. Physically they were so close, shut off from the world and alone together, and yet the distance between them seemed unending.
For the first time since he’d met her, Marcus conceded that perhaps they weren’t meant for each other.
“Do you . . . Do you have a mistress?” she asked suddenly.
Stunned by the quick change of topic, he blurted, “Yes.”
Her mouth quivered against his cheek. “I won’t share you.”
“I wouldn’t make that request of you,” he promised.
“You must rid yourself of her.”
He pulled back. “I intend to make her my wife.”
Elizabeth lifted her eyes to his.