And would the fragile trust he’d worked so hard to build be shattered by his broken promise to protect her from harm?
His head fell back, and his eyes closed on a bitter moan.
He’d never allowed himself to consider losing her again and now, confronted with it like this, he realized what he hadn’t before.
She’d become necessary to him. Far too necessary.
Chapter 15
Elizabeth jolted awake with a breathless gasp. Her heart racing, it took a moment to register the familiar canopy above her bed, and then a moment more before a heady floral scent teased her senses. She turned her head, her bleary gaze wandering and finding every flat surface in her room covered in a riotous display of hothouse roses. Amidst the flowery profusion, Marcus slumbered with careless grace in a chair beside her bed. He was dressed in a linen shirt open at the neck and soft tan breeches, his rich sable hair tied back at the nape. With his bare feet propped on a footstool, he looked very much at home.
Studying him in repose, Elizabeth felt a possessive pride that both alarmed and pleased her. A feeling so strong she was instantly comforted, the panic she’d felt upon waking dissipating with his proximity.
She raised her hands to rub gritty eyes, then attempted a seated position. She cried out at the pain that burned through her hip, and Marcus was instantly at her side.
“Wait.” He pulled her up gently, propping pillows behind her. When she was comfortable, he sat next to her on the bed and poured her a glass of water from the nearby pitcher. With a grateful smile, she took a sip to clear her parched throat.
“How do you feel?” he asked.
She wrinkled her nose. “My hip throbs dreadfully.”
“I expect it would.” Marcus looked away.
Curious about his somber mood, she reached out to touch his hand. “Thank you for the flowers.”
The curve of his mouth was intimately tender, though his thoughts were shuttered in a way she’d not seen in weeks. He looked very much like he had at the Moreland ball so many nights ago, remote and guarded.
“I’m sorry to have disturbed you,” she said softly. “You looked very comfortable.”
“With you, always.” But the tone of his voice was practiced, far too smooth to be genuine, and he gently removed his hand from under hers.
She shifted nervously and pain lanced through her side.
“Stop that,” he ordered with a chastising squeeze to her shin.
She shot him a narrowed glance, dismayed by the newly erected barrier between them.
The slight rap on the door broke the moment. Marcus bade the person to enter and Margaret walked in with William directly behind her.
“You’re awake!” She greeted Elizabeth with a relieved smile. “How are you feeling?”
“Awful,” Elizabeth admitted ruefully.
“Do you recall anything about what happened the other night?”
Everyone looked at her expectantly.
“The other night?” Her eyes widened. “How long have I been asleep?”
“Two days, and you needed every minute of that rest.”
“Good heavens.” Elizabeth shook her head. “I don’t remember much. It all happened so quickly. Lady Grayton stalked off in a bit of a temper, blaming our slovenly gardeners for allowing the climbing rose to grow. Then I was accosted from behind and pulled away.”
“How dreadful!” Margaret covered her mouth in horror.
“It was. Still, it could have been much worse.”
“You were stabbed,” William growled. “It does not get any worse.”
She lifted her gaze to meet his. “I believe the assault was not meant to go that far. But the other man—”
Marcus stiffened at Elizabeth’s words. More than one. He would expect as much from an organized effort, but the knowledge still struck a sharp blow. “What other man?”
Elizabeth sank back into the pillows, frowning at his harsh tone. “I could be mistaken, but I think the man who attacked me was frightened away by someone else.”
“Most likely by Westfield and Barclay,” Margaret suggested.
“No, someone else. There was a shout, a masculine voice, and then the . . . rest.”
Margaret rounded the bed, and sat on the other side. William, however, strode purposefully toward the open door to the sitting room. “Westfield, a word, if you would.”
Wanting to hear more of Elizabeth’s recollection, Marcus shook his head. “I would rather—”
“If you please,” William insisted.
With a curt nod, he rose and followed William, who shut the door behind them.
When William gestured to the nearest chair, Marcus realized this would not be a short conversation. “Barclay, I really must—”
“Elizabeth’s stabbing is my fault.”
Marcus stilled. “What are you talking about?”
William again gestured for him to sit as he moved to a nearby chair to do the same. “Hawthorne’s death was not the result of highway robbery, as everyone has been led to believe.”
Feigning surprise, Marcus sank onto the settee, and waited for more.
William hesitated a moment, studying him with disquieting intensity. “I cannot say much, I’m sorry. But since Elizabeth will soon be residing with you, I feel you should know something of what you will face as her husband.” He paused for a deep breath, and then said, “Hawthorne was privy to sensitive information that led to his murder. It was not an accident.”
Marcus kept his face impassive. “What information?”
“I cannot tell you that. I can only tell you that my own safety and the safety of my wife has been a point of tortuous care for the last four years, and with your marriage it will become likewise for you with Elizabeth. She and I are the only ones who knew Hawthorne well enough to be a danger to those who killed him.”
“I can see that. However, I fail to see how her stabbing would be your fault.”
“I knew of the danger and should have been more cautious.”
Marcus sighed, knowing full well how the other man felt. William, however, had no knowledge of the journal or the attack in the park. Barclay’s failure to foresee the events in the garden was excusable. Marcus’s was not. “You have been dogged in your protection of her. You could not have done any more than you have.”
“I don’t believe the disarray we saw in her room was her doing,” William continued. “Although she claims it was.”
This time Marcus’s shock was genuine. “You don’t?” “No. I think her room was ransacked. That is why I tracked her to Essex. I was terrified for her.” William leaned his head back, and closed his eyes. Against the burgundy leather of the wingback chair the exhausted strain of his features was even more striking. “Those ten days were the worst of my life. When I found the two of you together, I wanted to thrash you both for allowing me to worry myself into an early graying.”
“Barclay . . .” Marcus sighed, his guilt weighing heavily. “I am sorry.”
William opened his eyes and scowled. “I have no notion how you found her before I did. I have connections—”
“A fortunate guess,” Marcus said quickly.
“Yes, well, what she has in her possession that is so important I haven’t a clue, though obviously Elizabeth does. I don’t know if they’ve threatened her in some manner or if she simply wants to protect me. She’s been skittish since Hawthorne passed on.”
“It would be difficult to lose a spouse, I’m sure.”
“Of course. I don’t discount that.” His voice lowered.
“Although Hawthorne was an odd fellow, he was a good man.”
Marcus leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “Odd?”
“Hawthorne was an excitable sort. One moment he’d be as calm as you and I at this moment, then the next he’d be pacing and muttering. The damnedest thing, I tell you. Annoying at times.”
“I know a few gentlemen such as you describe,” Marcus said dryly. “The king, for one.
”