He gripped the loosened back flaps, and rent the gown open. She stepped out of the remnants, then with corset and chemise and a pile of underskirts, his wife tugged him to the floor, pressed him down, and tossed her leg over his hips. Marcus laughed, adoring her in her concentration and near brutal need of him. Then he gasped, and arched upward as she took him in hand, and then took him inside her, clasping his c.o.c.k in slick, silky tissues.

"Christ," he groaned, wondering, as he did every time he f.u.c.ked her, if the pleasure would ever subside to where it was at least bearable. I f this was all there was, if his seed never took root, he could live with that. He knew it in his soul.

Elizabeth stilled, panting, her waist and b.r.e.a.s.t.s squeezed tight by her undergarments. She gazed down at her husband, sprawled beneath her, so gorgeous in his disarray. Marcus Ashford, known for his unshakable implacability, was flushed, his eyes bright, his sensual mouth parted.

Unable to resist, she cupped his nape in her hand and lowered her lips to his. The taste of him, dark and dangerous, and the feeling of his tongue, silken and hot, made her shiver and clench tight around the shaft that throbbed within her.

He moaned into her mouth, and wrapped gentle arms around her. He thrust his hips upward in deep lunges, stroking her depths with the broad head of his c.o.c.k.

"Marcus..." Filled with heated, voluptuous yearning, she rose and swiveled her hips, then bore down as he pumped upward, taking him so deeply she writhed with the pleasure of it. Every touch, every growl from his throat told her how much he loved her and accepted her, how much he needed her. Despite all her faults.

The intensity of his gaze was a tactile caress. He loved to watch her, she knew. Loved to hear her cries, and feel her need. Her body undulated over his, a thing separate from her mind, lost to her desire. The unyielding grip of her corset altered the experience, made her both achingly aware and dreamily dizzy.

"Yes," he urged hoa.r.s.ely. "Take what you need. Let me give it to you."

Her fingertips rested on his abdomen and beneath his linen shirt she felt the tight, hard lacing of muscles flex with his exertions. Her eyes locked with his. "Hold me."

He pulled her down, pressed his lips to hers, his tongue driving into her mouth in rhythm with the long, deep plunges of his c.o.c.k. She was so wet, so aroused, every upward thrust sounded wetly through the room.

I w ould die for this, he'd said, and she knew it was true, because there in his arms, she did.

And was reborn.

Elizabeth woke late in the morning, and found herself alone. She bathed and dressed, eager to find Marcus before she spent the rest of the day with Margaret and the baby.

As she descended the main stairs, she spied Lord Eldridge and Avery standing with her husband in the visitors' foyer. She paused a moment, composing herself for whatever was ahead, and then proceeded.

Seeing her approach, Marcus met her at the bottom of the staircase. "Good morning, my love." His gaze, both warm and appreciative, spoke volumes.

"Has something transpired?" she asked.

"I must leave with Eldridge. St. John has been seen in London, and there are other things that need to be attended to."

She smiled briefly at Lord Eldridge and Avery. "Good morning, my lord. Mr. James," she called out.

Both gentlemen bowed in greeting.

Turning her attention back to Marcus, she searched his face, and noted the taut lines that etched his lips. "Is there something else?

Something you are withholding from me?"

He shook his head. "I simply worry about leaving you. Avery will remain, but I would much prefer to guard you myself. Whenever I turn my back, something untoward happens and-"

Setting her fingers to his lips, Elizabeth silenced him. "Hush, I will be fine with Mr. James. And William is here."

"Even the King's guards could not ease my mind."

"So stay," she said simply. "Send Mr. James with Eldridge."

"I cannot. I have resigned my commission, and there are things I must resolve before I can be free."Elizabeth covered her mouth with her hand, tears filling her eyes and threatening to fall from her lashes. He'd kept his promise.

"Tell me those are happy tears."

"I love you," she breathed.

His mouth curved in an intimate smile. "I shall return at my soonest. Stay out of trouble in the meantime. Please."

Making their egress from Chesterfield Hall, Marcus and Eldridge retrieved the reins from the waiting groomsmen and mounted their horses.

"Did you say anything to Lady Westfield?" Eldridge asked once they'd reached the road.

"No. I t would only serve to unduly worry her."

"You don't believe a threat against your life is worth the worry?"

Marcus snorted. "St. John would have killed me before, if that was his true intent," he said dismissively. "He is aware that threats to Lady Westfield carry the greater weight. Still, the possibility exists that I would lower my guard of her to raise my own. A foolish attempt, but it costs him nothing more than the missive he sent you to try."

Marcus was so confident in his a.s.sessment that when the shot rang out and burning pain tore through his shoulder, he was caught completely unaware.

The horses reared, Eldridge yelled, and Marcus was thrown with stunning force to the ground. Dazed, he could not defend himself against the half dozen men who swarmed toward him in ambush. He could only realize, with horrified clarity, how far he had erred when Talbot loomed over him with small sword in hand. He w orks w ell w ith Avery James, Eldridge had said. Blind to the perfidy, he'd left Elizabeth in the care of the very man who wished her harm.

Now he lay on his back and noted that the trees, which shielded the lane, were a verdant backdrop to the steel of the blade swooping toward him with deadly precision.

But in the end, his greatest fear came not from his approaching death, but for his beloved wife, who needed him. And he would not be there.

Chapter 23

"You look beautiful."

Margaret blushed. "Good heavens, Elizabeth. How can you say such a thing? I must look a fright. I 've not had a full night of rest since the birth, my hair is ever in disarray, I am-"

"Glowing," Elizabeth interjected.

Gazing with adoration at her infant son, Margaret smiled, "I did not believe it was possible to love someone as much as I do this child." She glanced at Elizabeth who stood by the door. "You shall see when you and Westfield have children of your own."

Elizabeth nodded sadly, and reached for the doork.n.o.b. "I will leave you to feed my nephew."

"I t's not necessary for you to go," Margaret protested.

"We arrived so late yesterday, I find myself still weary. A small nap, and then I 'll return."

"Where is Lord Westfield?"

"Attending to some matters. I expect he'll return shortly."

"Very well, then." Margaret nodded. "Come back to me refreshed. I miss female companionship."

Yawning, Elizabeth retreated to her room, her heart heavy with worry. Marcus was disturbed. Despite his denials to the contrary, she couldn't shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong.

She paused in the gallery outside her chamber, frowning when she noted the door was ajar. Entering cautiously, she saw the familiar figure digging in her escritoire drawers. He turned to face her.

I t was then she saw the knife in his hand.

She froze, and swallowed hard. "What are you about, Mr. James?"

Inwardly steeled for the pain of being run through, Marcus jolted in surprise at the sound of gunfire. Talbot jerked, his eyes widening in horror.

Deep crimson soaked through his waistcoat, spreading from the hole that bored through his chest. The downward swing of his sword arm faltered and he stumbled, forcing Marcus to roll away as he fell to the ground. Dead.

Surrounded by a grisly melee, Marcus leapt to his feet, staring at the battle that raged around him. A dozen men, none of whom he recognized, fought with deadly intent. Dust rose from the dry lane, choking his throat and gritting his eyes. Steel clashed in a macabre cacophony, and while his left arm was nigh useless, his right was serviceable. He withdrew his sword with lightning speed, prepared to defend himself.

"Stand down."

Spinning about with blade raised, he faced St. John.

"You are in no condition to fight," the pirate said dryly, tossing aside a now useless smoking pistol.

"How long have James and Talbot been in your employ?"

St. John continued to approach him. "They haven't been. That's not to say I lack eyes and ears within the agency. However, the men you mention are not a.s.sociates of mine."

Marcus stilled, his thoughts quickly catching up to the reality he faced. He turned, searching for Eldridge, and found him nowhere. He did, however, note Talbot again, and came to the only conceivable conclusion. Nothing was as it seemed.

Snorting, St. John said, "So now you see the truth. I would have told you. However, you would not have believed me."

A man fell at their feet, and they both leapt quickly out of the way.

"Allow my men to handle this, Westfield. We must bind your wound, ere you bleed to death, and find Lady Westfield."I t was galling, the thought of working with St. John, and Marcus spit out the bile that coated his tongue. All this time, all these years...

Gradually the lane grew quiet, but Marcus's blood raged, drowning his hearing in roaring sound. He shrugged out of his coat, discarding the ruined garment in the blood-spattered dirt. St. John worked quickly and efficiently at binding his damaged shoulder while Marcus watched the pirate's lackeys drag the proliferation of bodies away with frightening nonchalance.

"How long have you been aware of this?" he asked gruffly.

"Years."

"And the journal?"

Tightening the binding until Marcus winced, St. John nodded at his handiwork and stepped back. "Can you seat a horse?"

"I have been shot, I 'm not an invalid."

"Right. Let's go. I can explain on the way."

"Where is the journal, my lady?" Avery asked.

Elizabeth kept her gaze trained on the knife. "Safe."

"None of us are safe."

"What are you talking about?"

He came toward her quickly, and she recoiled. "Now is not the time to be skittish. I need you to think quickly and trust me implicitly, or you will not survive."

"I don't understand."

"I don't know that I do either. I watched several men approach from the rear garden and fan around the manse."

"A siege?" she cried in horror. "There are servants here, Lord and Lady Barclay...Oh G.o.d. The baby."

Avery gripped her elbow and led her toward the door. "Lord Langston is gone, as is Westfield and Eldridge. I f there are enough of the brigands, they could take you with little effort. They've ransacked your room before, they know the way in."

"Who would be so daring?"

A trusted bewigged figure filled the doorway, blocking their egress.

Avery paused, his jaw tightening grimly. He jerked his chin toward door. "He would."

Marcus peered through the cover of bushes, and cursed under his breath. His heart raced in a panicked rhythm as he thought of his wife. In all of his near death encounters, had he ever been so afraid?

He counted four men at the front and three at the rear. I f he were well, it would be a simple matter, but he had only one arm. Weakened by both blood loss and near crippling fear for Elizabeth, he knew he would be unable to fight them all. So he watched in frustrated helplessness as St.

John's men tended to the distasteful matter, creeping stealthily along the perimeter, waiting for an opening to strike.

"Eldridge knew almost from the first moment," St. John said quietly, drawing Marcus's attention. "He noted the resemblance between Hawthorne and me immediately. He confirmed his suspicions and confronted Hawthorne, threatening to reveal his treasonous intent for joining the agency."

"Unless...?"

"Unless we worked with him. He would provide the information, we would make use of it, and he would collect half the proceeds."