Ask for It (Georgian 1)

“No one knows what the future will bring,” she argued. “But Westfield and I are of like station and pedigree. He is wealthy and solicitous of my needs. When this affinity fades, we will still have that foundation. It is no less than any other marriage.”

William’s gaze narrowed. “You are set in this course.”

“Yes.” She was glad he’d come after her now. Secure in the knowledge that she was benefiting someone other than herself gave her a peace of mind she’d lacked upon waking. Whether William would admit it or not, this would be good for him, too.

“No elopement,” he warned, his frown unabated but unable to diminish the beauty of his features.

“No elopement,” she agreed.

“Am I allowed no say in the matter?” Marcus asked, coming up behind them.

“I think you’ve said quite enough,” William retorted. “And I’m famished. I spoke to His Grace when I arrived and he said to drag you both up to the manse. He hasn’t seen enough of you since you arrived.”

“That was by design,” Marcus said dryly. He held out his hand to her, an affectionate gesture they’d never shared in front of others. Sans gloves it was undeniably intimate. The look in his eyes dared her to refuse.

He was always daring her to refuse.

And just as she’d always done, she met the dare and placed her hand in his.

Chapter 14

By any estimation, their betrothal ball was a smashing success. The ballroom of Chesterfield Hall was filled to overflowing, as were the card and billiards rooms. Overwhelmed and overheated, Elizabeth was grateful when Marcus led her out to the garden to enjoy the cool night air.

Realizing the importance of the occasion, she had chosen a burgundy shot silk taffeta gown. Panniers widened the skirt, which was split in the front revealing an underskirt of white lace. Matching lace frothed from the elbows and surrounded the low square neckline. The gown had given her a surface shell of composure, but inside, her stomach was knotted.

She was an expert at the common social pleasantries, but tonight had been so different from the interactions she was accustomed to. The men had been dealt with easily. It was the women and their often catty, spiteful natures that caught her by surprise. After an hour, she’d resorted to smiling while relying on Marcus to carry them through the prying questions and snide comments disguised as congratulations. His skilful handling of women set her on edge, making her jaw ache from the unnaturalness of her outward mien. Not for the first time, she lamented the loss of the quiet she’d enjoyed on the coast.

After William departed Essex for London, Marcus had insisted they remain another three days in the guesthouse. They had lived those days in a state of deep intimacy. He had assisted her with her bath, and demanded she do the same for him. He had helped her to dress, and showed her how to undress him, patiently showing her where every button was and how best to free it until she was as skilled as any valet. He had reinforced those skills at every opportunity—on the beach, in the garden, in almost every room of the guesthouse. With every touch, every glance, every moment, Marcus had weakened her resolve until she had accepted without reservation that she no longer wanted to be free of him.

Resigned to their joined future, she made the effort to learn more about the issues that were important to him. She asked questions about his views of the Townsend Act repeal, and was secretly relieved when he showed no hesitation in sharing them with her. Discussing weighty topics with women was heavily discouraged, but then Marcus was not a man to follow convention.

Pleased with her interest, he debated a variety of topics with her, challenging and pushing her to explore all sides of a subject, then smiling with pride when she reached her own conclusions, even if they were in opposition to his own.

Elizabeth sighed. The simple fact was, she enjoyed his company and the times when business or Parliament kept him away, she found she missed him.

“That was a melancholy sigh if I ever heard one,” he murmured.

Lifting her chin, she met his gaze, made more brilliant in contrast to the pure white of his wig. In a pale gold ensemble, Marcus outshone every other gentleman present.

“You look beautiful,” she said.

His mouth tilted upward on one side. “I believe I am supposed to say that to you.” The heat in his eyes left her no doubt as to what he was thinking.

William had forbade any further meetings in the guesthouse. She suspected Marcus had so readily agreed to that demand to ensure her continued cooperation. Achey and restless, her body craved his and the constant reminder of her need negated changing her mind about their approaching nuptials.

“You’re flushed,” he said. “And not for the reason I’d prefer.”

“I’m thirsty,” she admitted.

“We must find a drink for you then.” With his hand over hers where it rested on his sleeve, he turned her back toward the manse.

She resisted. “I would rather await you out here.” The thought of returning to the crush after so recently escaping was vastly unappealing.

Marcus began to protest. Then he spotted William and Margaret descending the stairs and led her to them. “I shall leave you in capable hands,” he said with a kiss to the back of her hand. Moving away, he ascended the steps to the house with a grace she found hard to look away from.

Margaret linked arms with her and said, “The ball is an unequivocal triumph, as we all expected. Much more entertaining to gossip about you than any other topic.”

William looked over their heads. “Where is Westfield going?”

Elizabeth hid a smile at his curt tone. “To the drink tables.”

He frowned. “Wish he would have said something before he went in. I could use some libation myself. If you will excuse me, ladies, I believe I’ll join him.”

As William moved away, Margaret gestured toward the garden and they set off at a sedate stroll.

“You look well,” Elizabeth said.

“Regardless, a clever modiste cannot hide this belly any longer, so this ball will be my last social event of the Season.” Margaret smiled. “Lord Westfield seems quite taken with you. With luck, you will be having children of your own soon.” Leaning closer, she asked, “Is he as skilled a lover as they say?”

Elizabeth blushed.

“Good for you.” Margaret laughed, and then winced. “My back aches.”

“You have been on your feet all day,” Elizabeth scolded.

“A respite in the retiring room is long overdue,” Margaret agreed.

“Then we must hasten to get you there.”

Turning around, they headed away from the garden.

As they neared the house, they saw more guests filtering out into the cool night air. Elizabeth took a deep breath, and prayed for the patience she’d require to endure ’til morning.

“Yours will not be an easy pairing, you are aware of that?”

Marcus glanced at William as they descended the garden steps, drinks in hand. “Truly?” he drawled. “And here I’d been led to believe marriage was a tranquil institution.”

William snorted. “Elizabeth is by nature quite feisty and downright argumentative, but around you, she is not herself. She’s almost withdrawn. Lord only knows how you convinced her to accept your addresses, but I’ve taken note of her marked reticence around you.”

“How obliging of you.” Marcus clenched his jaw. He was a proud man. It did not sit well with him that Elizabeth appeared less than enthusiastic to wed him.

Margaret approached, her arched brows drawn tight with discomfort.

William rushed to her. “What pains you?” he asked gruffly.

She waved his concern away with a lift of her hand. “My back and feet ache is all. Nothing to worry yourself over.”

“Where is Lady Hawthorne?” Marcus asked, searching the winding path behind her.

“Lady Grayton had an unfortunate mishap with an unruly climbing rose and needed more assistance than I.” She wrinkled her nose. “Frankly, I th

ink Elizabeth simply didn’t want to return to the house yet.”

Marcus opened his mouth to reply, but was silenced by a distant female scream.

William frowned. Marcus, however, was almost crippled with fear, his entire body tensing to the point of pain.

“Elizabeth,” he whispered starkly, his well-trained senses telling him the danger that stalked her was right there in the garden. He dropped the glasses he held in his hands, paying no mind to the delicate flutes shattering on the stone pathway. With William fast on his heels, Marcus ran in the direction of the disturbing sound, his stomach clenched and frozen with dread.

He’d left her with family when he should never have left her at all. He knew his job, knew the rules, knew she was not safe anywhere after the ransacking of her room and he’d ignored all of it simply because she asked him to. He’d been a fool and now he could only hope fright from an overactive imagination would be the extent of his punishment.

Perhaps it was not Elizabeth. Perhaps it was a minor incident of a stolen kiss and a woman with a flair for dramatic outcries . . .

Just as panic began to overwhelm him, he saw her up ahead, sprawled on the pathway next to a rose-covered arbor in a flood of displaced panniers and endless skirts.