17

Elizabeth woke to a bright ray of sunshine that snuck between the tiny gap in the curtains and slanted across her face. Stretching, she became aware of the soreness between her legs, a pressing reminder of her husband’s rough lovemaking and even rougher departure.

She slid out of bed slowly and stood for a moment contemplating what she now knew to be true. Marcus had married her for his vengeance and he’d gotten it from her tenfold, because some time between the horrendous evening in the Chesterfield garden and yesterday, she’d grown to care for him. A foolish, painful error.

Resigned to the fate she’d walked into with eyes wide open, she called for Meg and the footmen to bring up hot water for her bath, determined to scrub her husband’s scent from her skin.

She’d cried the first and last time over Marcus Ashford. Why she’d thought their marriage would be a deeper union was something she couldn’t recollect in the bright light of day. She imagined it was the sex. Too many orgasms had rattled her brain. In all fairness, his boredom had been obvious for weeks. Marcus had made no effort to hide it. Still, he’d been solicitous and courteous up until the night previous, and she had no expectation that he would change now that he’d exacted his revenge. She would afford him the same courtesy in return. So her second marriage would be much like her first, distant personages sharing a name and roof. It was not unusual.

Despite these mental reassurances, she felt ill and weepy, and her chest ached badly. The thought of facing Marcus nauseated her. When she finished with her toilette, she looked in the mirror, further distraught to see the faint shadows under her eyes that betrayed her lack of sleep and hours spent crying. It was best she leave the house for a while. This was not home yet, it was very much Marcus’s bastion, and the memories she’d made in her history with the house were not pleasant. She took a deep breath and headed down to the foyer.

Passing through the hall, she looked at the clock and saw it was still early morning. Because of the hour, she was surprised to find Marcus’s family at breakfast. She felt dwarfed as her tall brothers-in-law rose at her entry. They were a pleasant lot, the Ashfords, but at the moment she wished only to be alone to lick her wounds.

“Good morning, Elizabeth,” greeted the lovely Dowager Countess of Westfield.

“Good morning,” she returned with the best smile she could manage.

Elaine Ashford was a beautiful and gracious woman with golden hair the color of fresh butter and eyes of emerald green that became translucent when she smiled. “You are up early this morning.”

Paul grinned. “Is Marcus still abed?” When Elizabeth nodded, he tossed his head back and laughed aloud. “He’s upstairs sleeping off his wedding night, and you are down here dressed flawlessly and ready to go out, unless I miss my guess.”

Elizabeth blushed and smoothed her skirts.

Smiling affectionately, Paul said, “Now we see how our beautiful new sister has led our bachelor brother to the altar. Twice.”

Robert choked on his eggs.

“Paul,” Elaine admonished, her eyes lit with reluctant amusement. “You are embarrassing Elizabeth.”

Shaking her head, Elizabeth was unable to hide her smile. Due to her injury, and the need to hide the knowledge of it, she’d had precious little time to become reacquainted with Marcus’s family. But she knew from her earlier association that they were a light-hearted, mirthful group with a wicked sense of humor, due considerably to Paul’s penchant for good-natured teasing. That he chose to tease her so informally made her feel accepted into their tight circle, and relieved some of the tension that made her shoulders ache.

Although physically of the same height and breadth of shoulder as Marcus, Paul had black hair and warm, chocolate brown eyes. Three years younger than Marcus and equally handsome, Paul could take Society, and its eager debutantes, by storm if he wished, which he didn’t. Instead, he preferred to remain in Westfield. Elizabeth had yet to discern why he chose to isolate himself in the country, but it was a mystery she intended to unravel at some point.

Robert, the youngest, was nearly the spitting image of Marcus with the same rich sable hair and emerald green eyes, which were charmingly enhanced by spectacles. He was an extremely quiet and studious fellow, physically just as tall as his brothers, but much leaner and less muscular due to his bookish nature. Robert was interested in all things scientific and mechanical. He could wax poetic about any number of dull and boring topics, but all of the Ashfords indulged him when he took his nose out of his books and deigned to speak with them. At the present moment, that nose was buried in the newspaper.

Paul stood. “If you will excuse me, ladies. I have an appointment with the tailor this morn. Since I rarely come to Town, I must exploit the opportunity to keep abreast of the latest fashions.” He glanced at Robert, still engrossed in the paper. “Robert. Come along. You require new clothes more than I.”

Robert glanced up, eyes blinking. “For what purpose would I dress in the latest fashions?”

Shaking his head, Paul muttered, “Never met a more handsome chap who could care less about his appearance.” He walked over to Robert’s chair and slid it back easily. “You are coming with me, brother, whether you like it or not.”

With a long suffering sigh and a covetous glance at the newspaper, Robert followed Paul out of the house.

Elizabeth watched the exchange with affectionate amusement, liking both of her new brothers immensely.

Elaine arched her brows as she lifted her teacup. “Don’t let his surliness disturb you overmuch.”

“Paul’s?”

“No, Marcus’s. Marriage is an adjustment, that’s all. I still wish you would consider going away. Allow yourselves to settle in without the pressures you’ll find here in Town.”

“We intend to, once the Parliamentary session is over.” It was the excuse Marcus had suggested they supply. With the journal a hanging weight over her head, they couldn’t afford to leave London. Waiting until the end of the Season seemed the reply least likely to raise suspicion.

“But you are unhappy with this decision, are you not?”

“Why would you say that?”

Offering a sad smile, Elaine said, “You’ve been crying.”

Aghast to have her torment known, Elizabeth took a step back. “A bit tired, but I’m certain a drive in the crisp morning air will cure that.”

“A lovely idea. I’ll join you.” Elaine pushed back from the table.

Stuck in a position where refusal would be rude, Elizabeth released a deep breath and nodded. With a strict warning to the staff to leave the lord of the house undisturbed, Elizabeth and Elaine departed.

As the town coach lurched into motion, Elaine noted, “You have a fair number of outriders to accompany you. I believe you are more heavily guarded than the king.”

“Westfield is a bit overprotective.”

“How like him to be so concerned.”

Elizabeth seized the opportunity to learn more about her husband. “I’ve wondered, is Marcus much like his father?”

“No. Paul is most like the late earl, in appearance and disposition. Robert is a bit of an anomaly, God love him. And Marcus is by far the most charming, but the more reserved of the lot. Always has been difficult to collect his aim until after he’s achieved it. He hides his thoughts well behind that polished façade. I’ve yet to witness him losing his temper, but he has one I’m certain. He is, after all, his father’s son and Westfield was a man of high passion.”

Sighing inwardly, Elizabeth acknowledged the truth in the words spoken to her. Despite hours of physical intimacy, she knew little about the man she’d wed, an exquisite creature who drawled when he spoke and shared few of his thoughts. Only when they were alone did she see the passion in him, both his fury and desire. In her own way, she felt blessed to know those sides of him, when his beloved family did not.

Elaine leaned across the carriage and captured one of Elizabeth’s hands with her own. “I knew the moment I saw you together how perfect you would be for him. Marcus has never appeared so engaged.”

Elizabeth flushed. “I would not have thought you would endorse me after what transpired four years ago.”

“I subscribe to the ‘reason for everything’ school of thought, my dear. Life has always come too easily for Marcus. I’d prefer to think your … delay contributed to his grounding these last few years.”

“You are too kind.”

“You wouldn’t think so if you knew the things I said about you four years ago. When Marcus left the country I was devastated.”

Riddled with guilt, Elizabeth squeezed Elaine’s hand and was touched when her hand was squeezed in return.

“Yet you married him anyway and he has grown much from the man who first offered for you. I hold no ill will toward you, Elizabeth, none at all.”

I wish Marcus felt the same, Elizabeth thought silently, and not a little sadly.

The coach slowed to a halt. Before they had the opportunity to alight from the carriage, the employees of the shops lined the curb to greet them. Having spied the crest emblazoned on the door, they were anxious to assist the new Countess of Westfield and reap the rewards of her husband’s largesse.

The morning passed swiftly, and Elizabeth found a respite from her melancholy with Elaine, appreciating the older woman’s suggestions and advice while relishing the maternal companionship she’d lacked all her life.

Elaine paused in front of a milliner’s window and sighed at a lovely creation displayed in the window.

“You should try it on,” Elizabeth urged.

Elaine blushed and confessed, “I have a fondness for millinery.”

Waving her mother-in-law inside, Elizabeth strolled to the neighboring perfumery, leaving the two outriders who followed her at the door.

Once inside, she stopped before a display of bath oils and removed the stopper from a bottle to sample the fragrance. Disliking the scent, she put it down and picked up another.

“I hear congratulations are in order, Lady Westfield,” rasped a masculine voice behind her.

Startled, she almost dropped the fragile bottle, her stomach tightening in recognition of the unique voice. She spun to face Christopher St. John, her heart racing and eyes wide.

In the light of day, without a mask or wig to hide his features, he was a splendid looking specimen, angelic in appearance with his dark blond hair and vivid blue eyes.

Arrested at first by his exceptional handsomeness, she quickly came to her senses and changed her mind. Fallen angel was a more apt description. The signs of hard living were etched on his countenance. Shadows marred the skin beneath those amazing eyes, betraying a life that had no place for restful slumber.

His lips curved derisively. “Has no one told you it’s not polite to stare?”

“Do you intend to stab me again?” she asked curtly, taking a step back and bumping against the display. “If so, get on with it.”

St. John threw his head back and laughed, drawing the attention of the clerk behind the counter who gazed at him with blatant admiration. “Feisty, aren’t you? I can see why Nigel liked you so well.”

Her eyes widened as the familiar address. “And how would you know how my husband felt?”

“I know a great many things,” he replied arrogantly.

“Ah yes, I forgot.” She was frustrated by his confidence in the face of her fear. “You somehow learned of Hawthorne’s journal and have been threatening me for it ever since.” Elizabeth gripped the bottle of bath oil so tightly her hands ached.

St. John glanced down. “Put the bottle aside before you hurt yourself.”

“Don’t worry about me. It’s you who most stands to be hurt by it.” She hefted the bottle in warning before dropping it carelessly onto the shelf, ignoring the roiling in her stomach. “What do you want?”

St. John stared at her, his face reflecting an odd mixture of emotions. “It took me all morning to lose those lackeys Westfield has hounding me.”

Through the glass front of the store she saw the backs of the two outriders who stood guard. “How did you get in here?”

“Through the rear entrance. It has been extremely difficult to approach you with those damned outriders and Westfield guarding you at all times.”

“That is the point.”

He scowled. “The first time we met, I had only a few moments to speak with you. I couldn’t explain.”

“Explain now.”

“First, you must know I would never hurt you.” His jaw tightened. “I’m attempting to assist you.”

“Why would you wish to do that?” she scoffed. “I am married to a man who would see you hanged if he could.”

“You are my brother’s widow,” he said quietly. “That is all that matters to me.”

“What?” Physically thrown off balance by his statement, Elizabeth reached behind her in an effort to steady herself and instead knocked over several bottles, which crashed to the floor and shattered, filling the room with the cloying scent of flowers and musk.

“You lie!” But the moment she denied it, she knew it was true.

Upon closer examination, the similarities were obvious. Nigel’s hair had been the same dark wheat color and his eyes had been blue although not as brilliant as St. John’s. The nose was the same, the shape of the jaw and chin, the placement of the ears.

“Why would I?” he asked simply.

She examined the pirate in greater detail. His mouth was not the same. Nigel’s had been less wide, the lips thinner, and his skin had been softer, more pampered. Nigel had sported a mustache and Van Dyke. Christopher’s face was clean-shaven. But the differences were minor. Had she known to look, she would have caught the resemblance earlier.

Brothers.

The color drained from her face.

Her lungs sought air, but the restriction of her corset made it difficult to breathe. She felt dizzy and her legs gave way, but St. John caught her to him before she fell. He dipped her over a steely arm, his hand tilting her head back to better open her airway. “Easy,” he soothed in his raspy voice. “Take a breath. Now another.”

“Damn you,” she gasped. “Have you no tact? No sense to know better than to spring such news on me with no warning?”

“Ah, your charm is once again in evidence.” He smiled and looked for a moment very much like Nigel. “Keep breathing as deeply as you can. I have no notion of how you women suffer your corsets.”

The bells above the door chimed merrily.

“The dowager has arrived,” he murmured in warning.

“Elizabeth!” Elaine cried, her voice growing louder as she rushed closer. “Unhand her immediately, sir!”

“I apologize, my lady,” St. John replied with a smile that was charming even from Elizabeth’s underside view. “But I am unable to oblige you. If I release Lady Westfield she will certainly collapse to the floor.”

“Oh,” said the shop girl as she joined the muddle. “Christopher St. John.”

“St. John?” murmured Elaine, trying to place the name.

“’E’s famous,” supplied the girl.

“You mean infamous,” grumbled Elizabeth as she struggled to right herself.

Christopher laughed.

Elaine frowned. Uncertain of how to handle the situation she fell back on her manners. “Thank you, Mr. St. John, for your assistance. I’m certain The Earl will be most appreciative.”

The full lips curved with wry amusement. “I sincerely doubt that, my lady.”

Elizabeth struggled against his thickly muscled chest. “Release me,” she hissed.

He chuckled as he straightened her, making certain she was steady on her feet before dropping his arms away. Then he turned and paid the besotted shop girl for the broken items.

“Elizabeth, are you unwell?” Elaine asked with obvious concern. “Perhaps it is too soon after your illness for you to be out.”

“I should have eaten this morning. I felt faint for a moment, but it’s passed now.”

St. John returned to their sides, gave a courtly bow, and made his excuses.

“Wait!” Elizabeth hurried after him. “You cannot simply walk away after telling me something like that.”

Christopher lowered his voice, glancing over her head at the dowager countess. “Does your mother-in-law know of this affair?”

“Of course not.”

“Then it’s not wise to discuss this now.” He collected his hat from atop the bin near the rear hallway where he’d left it. “I will find you again soon. In the meantime, please be careful and trust no one. I would never forgive myself if something untoward happened to you.”

It was shortly before luncheon when Elizabeth and Elaine returned home. They parted on the second floor landing, both retreating to their rooms to change their gowns. Elizabeth was exhausted, hungry, and totally confused by St. John’s revelations, a combination that gave her a splitting headache.

What was she to do now?

She couldn’t share St. John’s claims of kinship until she knew them to be true. And if they were, her marriage would be a disaster. Marcus truly hated St. John and had wed her for reasons best left unconsidered. What would he do if he knew? Despite how she wished it, she couldn’t see him considering it of no consequence. Certainly it would mean something to him, and Eldridge as well, that the man they pursued with a vengeance was connected to her in so personal a way. And William. All these years it was St. John who bore the blame for nearly killing him. But was that true? Was the pirate so cold and calloused as she’d been led to believe? And Nigel … Dear God, Nigel. Working for Eldridge to hunt his own brother. Or perhaps he’d assisted St. John in his activities, which made him a traitor.

She needed time to think and contemplate the ramifications of what she’d learned today. As it was, she was barely able to walk, her steps dragging and her stomach growling. Later, once she was of firmer mind, she would reason out how to share the news with her husband.

Entering her room, she closed the door. She moved to collapse in the large wingback chair by the fireplace and started in surprise to find Marcus sitting there.

“Good heavens, Marcus! You gave me a fright.”

He rose from the chair and Elizabeth wondered if it was her lack of sleep that made him appear taller and more menacing. “Surely not so much of a fright as I received when I discovered you had left the house,” he drawled.

Her chin lifted in response to the sudden leap of her heart. Dressed for riding, he was impossibly handsome and she hated to discover that she still wanted him, even after crying over him all night. “Such care for my well-being. Unfortunate that you had none for me last night.”

When she attempted to pass him, his hand whipped out and caught her upper arm, dragging her to him. “I heard no complaints,” he growled.

“Perhaps if you’d stayed longer you would have.”

“If I’d stayed longer, there would be no complaints at all.”

She yanked free of his grip, her chin quivering at his words, which betrayed his understanding of the pain he inflicted. “Leave me and take your arrogance with you. I must change for luncheon.”

“Despite being de trop, I believe I’ll stay,” he said softly, though the challenge in his eyes was hard.

“I don’t want you here.” His presence renewed the unhappiness she’d spent all morning trying to forget.

“And I did not want you venturing out without me. Sometimes we don’t attain the things we desire.”

“How well I know it,” she muttered, ringing for her abigail.

He released a breath that could only be described as frustrated. “Why must you deliberately ignore the danger?”

“I took the outriders with me and as you can see, I am home and all in one piece. You didn’t mind when I went out before. Am I to be a prisoner now that we’re wed?”

“You have not been out since the stabbing. The danger is greater now, and well you know it.”

Elizabeth dropped into her gilt vanity chair and gazed at his angry reflection in the mirror.

Marcus eyed her closely before resting his large hands on her shoulders and squeezing so tightly she flinched. He opened his mouth as if to speak and then a soft rap came at the door.

For the next half hour he watched as her abigail helped her to dress. He said nothing, but his stifling presence made both her and the servant uncomfortable. By the time she finished changing she was certain she was about to expire from hunger and the thick tension radiating from her husband. She was greatly relieved when they reached the main floor and joined his family for the meal. She settled into her seat and ate with as much decorum as she could manage considering how long she’d gone without food.

“I am relieved to see you feeling better, Elizabeth,” Elaine said. “I thank the Lord you were caught by that St. John fellow before you fell to injury, although he did seem—”

“Could you repeat that, Mother?” Marcus said with dangerous softness.

Elizabeth winced and ate with greater haste.

“Surely your wife mentioned her near faint this morn?” Elaine shot a questioning glance down the table.

“As a matter of fact, she did not.” Setting his knife and fork down with unnatural care, he offered a grim smile and asked, “Did you say St. John?”

Elaine blinked in obvious confusion.

Elizabeth’s stomach clenched in apprehension. She should say something, she knew, but her throat was so tight she couldn’t manage even one word.

The sudden pounding of Marcus’s fist on the table startled everyone. Only the plates rattling sharply together broke the ensuing stunned silence. He slid his chair back and stood, placing his palms flat on the table. His glowering face had Elizabeth quaking in her chair. She held her breath.

“At what point did you intend to share this with me?” he roared.

The Ashfords sat with mouths agape, utensils paused in mid-air.

Galvanized by their horror, Elizabeth pushed back from the table and stood. Paul and Robert leapt to their feet.

“My lord,” she began. “If you would prefer to—”

“Do not try to sway me with sudden docility, Lady Westfield.” He walked around the table. “What did he want? By God, I’ll kill him!”

She tried again. “Might I suggest the study?”

Paul sidestepped neatly into his path. Marcus glared, then moved to the sideboard and poured a hefty ration of brandy.

“I didn’t mention it directly, because I knew it would upset you.”

Marcus stared at her as if she’d grown two heads, then he downed his drink in one gulp and left the room, his handsome face set in harsh, unyielding lines. She heard the front door slam behind him.

Paul whistled softly.

“Good heavens,” gasped Elaine, collapsing backwards in her chair. “He was angry.”

Robert shook his head. “I would not believe it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes. Can hardly believe it now.”

All eyes turned, awestruck, to look at Elizabeth who stood trembling. She inhaled a shaky breath. “I apologize. I realize you are unaccustomed to seeing him in such a state. I regret you had to witness it today.”

Robert frowned. “St. John. The name sounds familiar.”

“I should explain.” She sighed. “Marcus suspects St. John is responsible for the attacks on vessels belonging to Ashford Shipping, but there is no evidence to support that.”

“Was it simply unfortunate that he happened to be in such close proximity to you?” asked Elaine. “I thought it odd for him to be perusing soaps and bath oils.”

Elizabeth searched for an explanation. “He was a close friend of Hawthorne’s. When our paths cross, he pays his respects.”

Robert removed his spectacles and began to polish the lenses. “Is St. John aware of Marcus’s suspicions about him?”

“Yes.”

“Then he should bloody well stay away from you and keep his respects to himself,” Paul growled.

Elaine tapped her fingers against her water glass. “You did not appear to care much for him yourself, Elizabeth.”

“He is a stranger to me.”

“And for Marcus to be goaded into such a temper over the whole affair,” Elaine continued, “well, I’ve never seen the like.”

“He was very angry,” Elizabeth agreed, crestfallen. She’d never seen him so furious. That his fury had driven him to leave the house made her sick to her stomach. Certainly she was angry at him as well, but this gulf between them seemed as wide as when she’d been married to Hawthorne. She stepped away from the table. “I pray you will excuse me.”

Climbing the stairs, Elizabeth considered the events of the day with a heavy heart. Marcus was important to her. She’d known that when she chose to marry him, and though she’d tried to discount it when he’d treated her so coldly, it remained immutable. Now that their bond, as tentative as it was, was threatened, she understood the depth of her attachment.

This morning the distance between them had been entirely her husband’s doing. Now she too contributed to their estrangement. Perhaps if he cared for her they could meet in the middle, but she’d destroyed whatever tenderness he’d felt for her four years ago.

And she finally understood just how much she had lost.