Sylvia Day - [Georgian 01]

by Ask For It

  “My personal affairs are my own business.”

  “And this agency is mine. I’m replacing you.”

  Marcus stopped and turned so swiftly the tails of his coat whipped about his thighs. “My services are required. Or have you forgotten? You have very few agents in the peerage.”

  Eldridge stood with both hands clasped behind his back. The somber tones of his garments and wig were matched by his grim features. “I admit, when you walked into my office that first time and knew what it is I do here, I was impressed. Brash, headstrong, certain your father would live forever and you could do as you pleased, you were perfect to send after St. John. The youthful delusion of immortality has never left you, Westfield. You still take risks others refuse. But never doubt there are more like you.”

  “Be assured, it has never once left my mind how expendable I am.”

  “Lord Talbot will take over.”

  Marcus shook his head and gave a wry, humorless laugh. “Talbot takes orders well enough, but he lacks initiative.”

  “He does not need initiative. He simply has to walk in your footsteps. He works well with Avery James, I’ve paired them often.”

  Cursing, Marcus spun on his heel and moved toward the door. “Replace me if you like. I won’t leave her to the care of another.”

  “I am not giving you a choice, Westfield,” Eldridge called after him.

  Marcus slammed the door behind him. “I’m not giving you a choice either.”

  Marcus mounted his horse and headed straight to Chesterfield Hall. He’d planned to go there regardless, but now his need was more urgent. Elizabeth was certainly in the spirit of having nothing to do with him. He had to convince her otherwise and quickly. The affair was over, and good riddance. Now it was time to manage the rest of it.

  He was immediately shown into the study where he forced himself to sit rather than pace in agitation. When the door opened behind him, he stood and turned with a charming smile for Elizabeth, only to scowl when he faced William.

  “Westfield,” came the terse greeting.

  “Barclay.”

  “What do you want?”

  Marcus blinked and then released a frustrated breath. Two steps forward and one back. “The same thing I want every time I call here. I wish to speak with Elizabeth.”

  “She does not wish to speak with you. In fact, she left specific instructions that you were no longer welcome.”

  “A moment of her time and all will be well, I assure you.”

  William snorted. “Elizabeth is gone.”

  “I will await her return, if you don’t mind.” He’d wait out by the street if he must. He had to talk with her before Eldridge did.

  “No, you misunderstand. She has left Town.”

  “Beg your pardon?”

  “She’s gone. Packed up. Left. She came to her senses and realized what a cretin you are.”

  “She said that?”

  “Well,” William hedged. “I didn’t actually speak with her, but Elizabeth mentioned her desire to leave London to her abigail this morning, although she left without the girl. Which is a good thing considering the mess she left behind.”

  Warning bells went off in Marcus’s head. One of the many things he’d learned about Elizabeth in their short time together was that she was fastidiously tidy. Marcus strode toward the door. “Did she state her destination?”

  “She mentioned only that she needed distance from you. Once she’s calmed and sent word, I will go after her if she does not return on her own. This isn’t the first time something you’ve done has goaded her into acting rashly.”

  “Show me to her rooms.”

  “Now see here, Westfield,” William began, “I’m not lying to you. She’s gone. I will see to her, as I always have.”

  “I will locate her boudoir myself, if I must,” Marcus warned.

  With a great deal of grumbling, cursing, and complaining, William led him upstairs to Elizabeth’s suite of rooms. Marcus’s gaze lifted from the rugs which were wildly askew and strewn with crushed flowers, to the armoire doors which were flung open and the contents scattered. Drawers were pulled out and the bed linens tossed about in a scene that came straight out of a nightmare.

  “Seems she was in high temper,” William said sheepishly.

  “So it appears.” Marcus kept his face impassive, but inside his gut was clenched tight. He turned to the abigail. “How many of her garments did she take with her?”

  The girl dipped a quick curtsy and replied, “None that I can tell, milord. But I’ve not finished yet.”

  Marcus wouldn’t wait to find out. “Did she say anything of import to you?”

  “No need to bark at the poor chit,” William snapped.

  Marcus raised a hand for silence and pinned the servant with his stare.

  “Only that she was restless, milord, and eager to travel. She sent me into town on an errand and left whilst I was gone.”

  “Has she traveled without you often?”

  The girl gave a jerky shake of her head. “It’s the first time, milord.”

  “See how eager she was to flee you?” William asked grimly.

  But Marcus paid him no mind. This was not the scene of a flared temper. Elizabeth’s room had been ransacked.

  And she was missing.

  Chapter 11

  “Sit down, Westfield,” Eldridge ordered curtly. “Your frenzied pacing is driving me mad.”

  Marcus glared as he took a seat. “I am going mad. I need to know where Elizabeth is. God only knows the ordeal . . .” He choked, his throat too tight to speak.

  Eldridge’s normally stern features softened with sympathy. “You mentioned the outriders you assigned to her are gone as well. It’s a good sign. Perhaps they were able to follow and will report her whereabouts when the opportunity presents itself.”

  “Or else they are dead,” Marcus retorted. He stood and began pacing again.

  Eldridge leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers together. “I have agents checking all possible roads leading from Chesterfield Hall and questioning everyone who lives near enough to have seen or heard anything. Information is bound to surface.”

  “Time is a luxury we don’t have,” Marcus growled.

  “Go home. Wait for word.”

  “I’ll wait here.”

  “Your outriders may attempt to contact you. Perhaps they’ve already tried. You should return to your home. Keep yourself occupied. Pack and make preparations to leave.”

  The thought of a message waiting for him gave Marcus a sense of purpose. “Very well, but if you hear anything—”

  “Anything at all, yes, I will send for you posthaste.”

  For the all too brief ride back to his home Marcus felt productive, but the moment he arrived and discovered nothing new had been reported his near ferocious agitation returned in full measure. With his family in residence, he could not give vent to his feelings, and was forced instead to retreat from their curious eyes.

  He prowled the lengths of his galleries in his shirtsleeves, his skin damp with sweat, his heart racing as if he were running. Constant rubbing at the back of his neck left the skin raw, but he couldn’t stop. The pictures in his mind . . . torturous thoughts of Elizabeth needing him . . . hurting . . . afraid . . .

  His head fell back on a groan of pure anguish. He couldn’t bear it. He wanted to yell, to snarl, to tear something apart.

  An hour passed. And then another. Finally he could take the waiting no more. Marcus returned to his room, shrugged into his coats, and moved to the staircase, his intent to hunt St. John down. The pressure of his knife sheathed in his boot fueled his bloodlust. If Elizabeth were harmed in any way there would be no mercy.

  Halfway down the stairs, he spotted his butler at the door and a moment later it opened, revealing one of the outriders. Covered in dust from his rapid return, the man waited in the foyer and bowed as Marcus’s boot hit the marble floor.

  “Where is she?”

 
; “On the way to Essex, my lord.”

  Marcus froze. Ravensend. Seat of her late godfather, the Duke of Ravensend.

  Elizabeth was running. Damn her.

  He grabbed his packed valise, and turned to Paul who stood in the doorway of the study. “I will be in Essex.”

  “Is everything all right?” Paul asked.

  “It will be shortly.”

  Within moments, Marcus was on the road.

  The wheels of the Westfield travel coach crunched through the gravel on the final approach to Ravensend Manor before reaching the cobblestones that lined the circular driveway. The moon was high, its soft glow lighting the large manse and the small cottage beyond.

  Marcus stepped down wearily and ordered his men to the livery. Turning away from the main house, he took rapid strides toward the cliff edge where the guesthouse and Elizabeth waited. He’d make his presence known to the duke in the morning.

  The small residence was dark when he entered through the kitchen. He closed the door quietly, shutting out the rhythmic roar of the waves that battered the coast just a few yards away. Making his way through the house in darkness, Marcus checked every bedroom until he found Elizabeth.

  Leaving his valise on the floor by the door, Marcus undressed silently and crawled into the bed next to her. She stirred at the feel of his cold skin beside hers.

  “Marcus,” she murmured, still fast asleep. She spooned into his chest, unconsciously sharing her warmth.

  Despite his anger and frustration, he snuggled against her. Her trust while sleeping was telling. She had become accustomed to spending the nights next to him during the short duration of their affair.

  He was still furious with her for running away, but his relief in finding her well and out of danger was foremost on his mind. Never again would he go through this torment. There could be no doubt that she was his. Not in Eldridge’s mind, or hers.

  Exhausted by worry, he buried his face in the sweetly scented curve of her shoulder and fell asleep.

  Elizabeth woke and burrowed deeper into the warmth of the bed. Slowly rising to consciousness, she stretched out fully, her legs brushing along Marcus’s hair-dusted calf.

  With a sudden flare of awareness, she sat upright and shot a startled glance at the pillow beside her. Marcus slept peacefully on his stomach, the sheet and counterpane straddling his hips, leaving his muscular back exposed.

  She jumped out of the bed as if it were on fire.

  His eyes opened sleepily, his lips curving in a languid smile, and then he fell back asleep, obviously finding her angered surprise to be of no danger.

  Grabbing her clothes, Elizabeth retreated to the next room to dress, wondering how he’d found her so quickly. She’d deliberately avoided any of her own family holdings so that it would be difficult, if not impossible to locate her. But Marcus had found her before even a day had passed.

  Furious and flustered at finding him in her bed, Elizabeth left the house and made her way to the roped path on the cliffs that led to the beach below.

  She picked her way carefully down the somewhat steep and rocky decline. The cliff rose some distance above the shore and Elizabeth ignored the stunning view in favor of studying the ground at her feet. She didn’t mind the concentration it took. Instead she relished the temporary distraction from her confusion.

  Finally reaching the beach, she dropped onto the damp sand and hugged her knees to her chest. She prayed for the sound of the waves lapping on the beach to soothe her.

  She vividly recalled the first moment she’d laid eyes on Marcus Ashford, then the Viscount Sefton. She remembered how her breath had caught in her throat and how hot her skin had suddenly become, how her breathing and heart rate had quickened until she thought she might swoon. Those had not been singular reactions. She had felt them many times since then and even just that morning when he had smiled at her, all sleep-tousled masculine beauty.

  She couldn’t live like that, couldn’t see how anyone could live consumed by a lust that seemed insatiable. Unschooled as she was, she hadn’t known a body could crave the touch of another the way it did food or air. Now, finally, she understood an inkling of the hunger her father must feel every day. Without her mother he would always be ravenous, always searching for something that could appease the emptiness left by her loss.

  Tilting her head, Elizabeth closed her eyes and rested her cheek against her knees.

  Why couldn’t Marcus simply stay away?

  Marcus paused on the small porch and took in his surroundings. The bite of the salty morning air was sharp. He wondered if Elizabeth had collected a wrap before venturing out. To say she’d looked horrified to discover him in her bed would be an understatement. Knowing her as he did, he suspected she’d run out without forethought.

  Where the devil had she gone?

  “She’s gone down to the beach, Westfield,” came a dry tone to his left. Marcus turned his head to greet the Duke of Ravensend.

  “Your Grace.” He dipped his head in a bow. “It was my intent to present myself this morn and explain my presence. I trust you don’t find my stay an imposition.”

  The duke led a black stallion by the reins and came to a halt directly before him. They were of an age, His Grace being the youngest after four older sisters, but Marcus was nearly a head taller. “Of course not. It’s been too long since we last exchanged words. Walk with me.”

  Unable to refuse, Marcus reluctantly left the shadow of the guesthouse.

  “Watch the horse,” the duke cautioned. “He’s a biter.”

  Heeding the warning, Marcus took the opposite side. “How fares Lady Ravensend?” he asked as they fell into step. He cast a longing glace over his shoulder at the roped path that led to the beach.

  “Better than you. I thought you wiser than to chase more abuse. But I concede the appeal. Lady Hawthorne remains one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever had the fortune to cross paths with. I fancied her myself. As did most peers.”

  Nodding grimly, Marcus kicked a pebble out of his path.

  “I wonder who she’ll take up with once she’s finished with you? Hodgeham, perhaps? Or Stanton again? A young one, I’m certain. She’s as wild as this brute.” The duke gestured to his horse.

  Marcus grit his teeth. “Stanton is a friend in the chastest sense of the word and Hodgeham . . .” He snorted in disgust. “Hodgeham couldn’t manage her.”

  “And you can?”

  “Better than any other man.”

  “You should marry her then. Or perhaps that’s your intent. Either you or some other poor chap. You leapt into that cage once before.”

  “She has no wish to marry again.”

  “She will,” Ravensend said with a confident nod. “She has no children. When she’s of the mind, she’ll pick someone.”

  Marcus came to an abrupt stop. Eldridge, William, and now Ravensend. He’d be damned if another individual meddled in his affairs. “Pardon me, Your Grace.”

  He spun on the heel of his boot and made rapid strides toward the roped walk. He would put a stop to all their intrusions once and for all.

  Elizabeth prowled the coastline restlessly, picking up small pebbles and stones along the way. She tossed them over the water, trying to skip them and failing miserably. William had once spent an entire afternoon attempting to teach her how to skip rocks. Although she’d never acquired the skill, the repetitive swing of her arm was calming. The music of the English coastline—the lapping waves and the cries of seagulls—brought her a measure of peace from her fevered thoughts.

  “A calm surface is required, love,” came the deeply luxurious voice behind her.

  With shoulders squared, she turned to face her tormenter.

  Dressed casually in a worn sweater and wool breeches, Marcus had never looked more virile, the roughness of his edges unblunted by any social veneer. His hair was tied back at his nape, but the salty breeze tugged the silken strands free and blew them softly across his handsome face.

  Just
looking at him made her feel like crying.

  “You shouldn’t have come,” she told him.

  “I had no choice.”

  “Yes, you did. If you had any sense you would allow this . . .” She gestured wildly. “. . . thing between us to die out gracefully, instead of dragging it out to its inevitable bad end.”

  “Damn you.” A muscle in his jaw ticked as he took a step toward her. “Damn you to hell for throwing away what exists between us as if it does not signify. Risking your life—”

  Her hands clenched into fists at his wounded tone. “I took the outriders with me.”

  “The only bit of sense you’ve shown since I met you.”

  “You are a bully! You have been from the first. Seducing, scheming, and manipulating me however you wish. Go back to London, Lord Westfield, and find another woman’s life to ruin.”

  Turning from him, Elizabeth stalked toward the cliffs. Marcus caught her arm as she attempted to pass, pulling her to a stop. She struggled with a frightened cry, alarmed by the possessiveness of his gaze.

  “I was content before you came along. My life was simple and orderly. I want that back. I don’t want you.”

  He thrust her away with such force she stumbled. “Regardless, you have me.”

  She hurried toward the rope-lined path. “As you wish. I shall leave.”

  “Craven,” he drawled after her.

  Eyes wide, Elizabeth turned to face him again. Like the time he’d asked her to dance at the Morelands’, his emerald eyes sparkled with challenge. This time though, she would not be goaded into acting foolishly.

  “Perhaps,” she admitted, lifting her chin. “You frighten me. Your determination, your recklessness, your passion. Everything about you scares the wits from me. It’s not how I wish to live my life.”

  His chest expanded on a deep breath. Behind him the waves continued to beat upon the shore, the relentless driving rhythm no longer soothing. It urged her to flee. Run. Run far away. She took a backward step.

  “Give me a fortnight,” he said quickly. “You and I alone, here in the guesthouse. Live with me, as my partner.”