Ask for It (Georgian 1)

“Has it truly been that long?” she asked, frowning. “Time is running away from me.”

“I wish I could say the same . . .” a familiar voice interjected from behind her. “Unfortunately, the last four years have seemed an eternity to me.”

Elizabeth tensed, her heart stopping before quickening its pace.

Avery turned them both to face their visitor. “Ah, here is my partner now. I understand you and Lord Westfield are old acquaintances. Hopefully such a fortuitous arrangement will expedite matters.”

“Marcus,” she whispered, her eyes widening as the import of his presence struck her like a physical blow.

He bowed. “I am in your service, madam.”

Elizabeth swayed on her feet, and Avery tightened his grip to steady her. “Lady Hawthorne?”

Marcus reached her in two strides. “Don’t faint, love. Take a deep breath.”

It seemed an impossible task as she gasped like a fish out of water, her corset suddenly unbearably constricting. She waved him off, his proximity and the scent of his skin making it even more difficult to expand her lungs.

She watched as Marcus shot a telling glance to Avery, who then turned and walked away, suddenly finding interest in the fronds of a distant fern.

Lightheaded but recovering, Elizabeth shook her head rapidly. “Marcus, you have truly lost your mind.”

“Ah, feeling better, I see,” he drawled with a sardonic tilt to his lips.

“Find your amusement in some other venture. Resign your commission. Leave the agency.”

“Your concern is touching albeit confusing, after your own callous disregard for my well-being in the past.”

“Save your sarcasm for another day,” she snapped. “Have you no notion of what you’ve involved yourself in? It’s dangerous to work for Lord Eldridge. You could be hurt. Or killed.”

Marcus released a deep breath. “Elizabeth, you are overwrought.”

She glared at him and glanced quickly at Avery, who maintained his discretionary study of the fern. She lowered her voice. “How long have you been an agent?”

His jaw tightened. “Four years.”

“Four years?” She stumbled backward. “Were you an agent when you paid your addresses to me?”

“Yes.”

“Damn you.” Her voice was a pained whisper. “When were you planning on disclosing this to me? Or was I never to know until you came home in a coffin?”

He scowled and crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t see that it much matters now.”

She stiffened at his icy tone. “All these years I feared reading the banns announcing your marriage. Instead I should have been perusing the obituaries.” Turning away, Elizabeth sheltered her racing heart with her hand. “How I wish you had stayed far, far away from me.” She gathered her skirts and hurried away. “I wish to God I’d never met you.”

The sharp tapping of his heels on marble was the only warning she had before her elbow was caught and she was spun about.

“The feeling is bloody damn mutual,” he growled.

He towered over her, his sensual mouth drawn taut with anger, his emerald gaze sparkling with something that made her shiver.

“How could Lord Eldridge assign you to me?” she cried. “And why did you accept?”

“I insisted on taking this mission.”

At her astonished gasp, his lips thinned further. “Make no mistake. You fled from me once. I will not allow it to happen again.” He tugged her closer and the air sweltered between them. His voice turned rough. “I don’t care if you marry the King himself this time. I will have you.”

She struggled to escape, but his grip was firm. “Good heavens, Marcus. Haven’t we inflicted enough damage on one another?”

“Not nearly.” He thrust her away as if the feel of her against him was distasteful. “Now let us dispatch this matter regarding your late husband so Avery can retire.”

Shaking, Elizabeth moved swiftly toward Avery. Marcus followed behind her with the predatory gracefulness of a jungle cat.

There was no doubt she was the one being hunted.

She stopped beside Avery and took a shuddering breath before turning.

Marcus watched her with an unreadable expression. “I understand you received a book written by your late husband.” He waited for her answering nod. “Is the sender familiar to you?”

“The handwriting on the parcel was Hawthorne’s. It was obviously addressed some time ago, the wrapping was yellowed and the ink faded.” She had puzzled over the package for days, unable to determine its origin or its purpose.

“Your husband addressed a package to himself and it arrives three years after his murder.” Marcus narrowed his gaze. “Did he leave any grilles1, any cards with odd holes in them, anything written that struck you as unusual?”

“No, nothing.” She reached into her reticule, withdrawing the slim journal and the letter she’d received just a few days ago. She handed both to Marcus.

After a cursory perusal he tucked the book into his coat and then glanced through the letter, a frown gathering between his brows as he read. “In the history of the agency only Lord Hawthorne’s murder remains unsolved. I had hoped to keep your involvement to a minimum.”

“I will do whatever is necessary,” she offered quickly. “Hawthorne deserves justice and if my involvement is required, so be it.” Anything to finish this.

Marcus folded the missive carefully. “I d

islike exposing you to danger.”

Her emotions on edge, Elizabeth bristled. “So you seek to withhold me from harm while risking your own neck? I am more heavily invested in the outcome of this than you or your precious agency.”

Marcus growled her name in warning.

Avery cleared his throat loudly. “It appears you two will not work well together. I would suggest bringing this difficulty to Lord Eldridge’s attention. I’m certain there are other agents who—”

“No!” Marcus’s voice cracked like a whip.

“Yes!” Elizabeth nearly collapsed in relief. “An excellent suggestion.” Her smile was heartfelt. “Surely Lord Eldridge will see the sense in the request.”

“Running again?” Marcus taunted.

She glared. “I am being practical. You and I quite obviously cannot associate with one another.”

“Practical.” He gave a derisive snort. “The word you seek is craven.”

“Lord Westfield!” Avery frowned.

Elizabeth waved him off. “Leave us for a moment, Mr. James. If you would, please.” Her gaze remained locked on Marcus as Avery hesitated.

“Do as she says,” Marcus murmured, glaring back at her. Avery grunted, then spun on his heel and moved away with angry strides.

Elizabeth cut straight to it. “If I’m forced to work with you, Westfield, I will simply refuse to share any further information with the agency. I will handle the situation alone.”

“Like hell you will!” The muscle in Marcus’s jaw began to tick. “I will not allow you to place yourself in jeopardy. Attempt something foolish and see what happens. You won’t like the outcome, I assure you.”

“Truly?” she goaded, refusing to cower in the face of a temper that frightened most men. “And how do you propose to stop me?”

Marcus approached her menacingly. “I am an agent of the Crown—”

“We’ve established that.”

“—on an assigned mission. Should you think to hinder my investigation I will view your actions as treasonous and treat you accordingly.”

“You wouldn’t dare! Lord Eldridge would not allow it.”

“Oh but I would, and he wouldn’t stop me.” He came to a halt before her. “This volume looks suspiciously like a journal of Hawthorne’s assignments and it could be related to his death. If so, you are in danger. Eldridge will not tolerate that any more than I.”