"No," he replied with his habitual arrogance. "Satisfaction will come when you burn for me, when I invade your every thought and every dream. One day your infatuation will be so consuming that every breath you take apart from me will sear your lungs. You will give me whatever I desire, whenever and however I desire it."

"I will give you nothing!"

"You will give me everything." He closed the small gap between them. "You will yield all to me."

"Have you no shame?" Tears welled and clung to her lashes. He was implacable and the direness of her situation struck home with cruel effect. "After what you did to me, must you seduce me as well? Is my utter destruction the only thing that will appease you?"

"d.a.m.n you." His head dropped down to hers, his mouth brushing across her lips in a feather-light kiss. "I never thought to have you," he breathed. "I never expected that you would ever be free of your marriage, but you are. And I will have what was promised to me long ago."

Releasing the bal.u.s.ter, Elizabeth placed her hands against his waist to ward him off. The firm ridges of his stomach beneath her palms brought a raw, sweet ache to her body. "I will fight you with everything I have. I urge you to desist."

"Not until I have what I want."

"Leave her alone, Westfield."

Sagging with relief at the sound of the familiar voice, Elizabeth glanced up and saw William descending the staircase.

Marcus backed away with a vicious curse. Straightening, he shot his old friend a fulminating glare. Elizabeth exploited his distraction, taking the opportunity to slip past him. Running into the garden, she disappeared around a corner of yew hedges. He stepped forward, determined to go after her.

"I wouldn't," William said with soft menace, "I f I were you."

"Your timing is unfortunate, Barclay." Marcus swallowed a growl of frustration, knowing his old friend would relish any opportunity to fight with him. The situation worsened as spectators, alerted by the carrying tone of angry voices and the rigid set of William's body, lined the edge of the balcony antic.i.p.ating noteworthy gossip.

"When you desire Lady Hawthorne's company in the future, Westfield, be aware that she is indisposed to you indefinitely."

A statuesque redhead pushed her way through the throng of curious onlookers and ran down the steps toward them.

"Lord Westfield. Barclay. Please!" She clutched William's arm. "This is not the venue for such private discourse."

William broke off eye contact with Marcus and glanced at his lovely wife with a grim smile. "No need to fret. All is well." Lifting his gaze, he gestured to George Stanton who left the balcony and moved quickly to join them. "Please find Lady Hawthorne and escort her home."

"I would be honored." Stanton inched his way carefully between the two angry men before picking up speed and melding into the garden shadows.

Marcus sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "You intercede based on a false a.s.sumption, Barclay."

"I will not debate the matter with you," William countered, all trace of civility gone. "Elizabeth has refused to see you and you will respect her wishes." He gently removed Margaret's hand from his sleeve and stepped closer, his shoulders taut with repressed anger. "This will be your only warning. Keep your distance from my sister or I will call you out." The crowd above erupted in a series of muted gasps.

Marcus steadied his breathing with effort. Level-headedness had seen him through many volatile situations, but this time he made no effort to defuse the tension. He had a mission, as well as his own agenda. Both would require a great deal of time spent in Elizabeth's company. Nothing could be allowed to stand in his way.

Meeting William's challenge head-on, he stepped the last few paces until they were only inches apart. His voice softened ominously.

"Interfering in my a.s.sociation with Elizabeth would not be wise. There is much left to be resolved between us and I will not have you intruding. I would never deliberately harm her. I f you doubt my word, name your second now. My position is firm and worth whatever risk you present to me."

"You would risk your life to proceed?"

"Without question."

A weighted pause fell between them as they each measured the other carefully. Marcus made his resolve clear. He would not be deterred, threats of death or otherwise.

In return, William's gaze penetrated with its intensity. Over the years they had managed an icy public a.s.sociation. With William's marriage astark contrast to his own bachelor's life, they'd rarely had the occasion to exchange words. Marcus lamented that lack. He often missed the companionship of his friend, who was a good man. But William had pa.s.sed judgment too easily and Marcus would not bruise his pride by pleading a case to deaf ears.

"Shall we return to the festivities, Lady Barclay?" William said finally, the set of his shoulders relaxing a tiny fraction.

"I believe the night has grown chilly," Marcus murmured.

"Yes, my lord," Lady Barclay agreed. "I was about to say the same."

Hiding his regret, Marcus nodded, and then turned on his heel and left.

Elizabeth crossed into the foyer of Chesterfield Hall with a silent sigh. Her lips still throbbed and tasted of Marcus, a heady flavor that was dangerous to a woman's sanity. Although her heart rate had slowed, she was left feeling as though she'd just run a great race. She was grateful when her butler removed her heavy cloak and, tugging off her gloves, she headed directly toward the stairs. There was so much to consider, too much. She hadn't expected Marcus to be so d.a.m.ned determined to have his way. How she would handle a man such as he would take careful planning.

"My lady?"

"Yes?" She paused and turned to face the servant.

In his hand he held a silver salver which supported a cream-colored missive. Innocuous though it appeared, Elizabeth shivered at the sight of it. The handwriting and parchment were the same as the letter demanding Hawthorne's journal.

She shook her head and released a deep breath. Marcus would call on her tomorrow, of that she was certain. Whatever demand the note contained could wait until then. Reading it alone held no appeal. She knew how dangerous the agency's missions were and she didn't take her new involvement lightly. Therefore, if Marcus was so determined to plague her, she would at least make use of him in some small way.

Dismissing the servant with a wave, Elizabeth lifted her skirts and ascended the stairs.

What a sad twist of fate it was that the man a.s.signed to protect her was the very one who'd proven he was not to be trusted.

Chapter 4

Unlike Marcus's own townhouse in Grosvenor Square, Chesterfield Hall was a sprawling estate located a good distance from the nearest house.

Standing in the visitor's foyer, Marcus handed over his hat and gloves to the waiting liveried footman, then followed the butler down the hall to the formal parlor.

The location of his reception was a slight not lost on him. At one time he would have been shown upstairs and received as a near family member. Now he was not considered worthy of such a privilege.

"The Earl of Westfield," the servant announced.

Entering, Marcus paused on the threshold and glanced around the room, noting with interest the portrait that graced the s.p.a.ce above the fireplace. The late Countess of Langston stared back at him with a winsome smile and violet eyes like her daughter's. Unlike Elizabeth's, however, Lady Langston's eyes held no wariness, only the soft glow of a woman content with her lot. Elizabeth had witnessed only briefly the kind of happiness his own parents had fostered over a lifetime. For a moment, regret rose like bile in his throat.

Once he'd sworn to dedicate his life to making Elizabeth look that happy. Now he wanted only to be done with his craving and free of her curse.

Clenching his jaw, he looked away from the painful reminder and found the curvaceous form that afflicted his waking and sleeping thoughts.

As the butler shut the door with a soft click behind him, Marcus reached around his back and turned the lock.

Elizabeth stood by the arched window that overlooked the side garden. Dressed in a simple muslin day gown and bathed in indirect sunlight, she looked as young as when they'd first met. As always, every nerve ending in his body p.r.i.c.kled with the sharp current of awareness that arced between them. In all of his many encounters, he'd yet to meet a woman who appealed to him as deeply or as hotly as Elizabeth did.

"Good afternoon, Lord Westfield," she said in the low throaty voice which brought to mind tumbled silk sheets. She shot a pointed glance at his hand, which remained curved around the k.n.o.b. "My brother is at home."

"Good for him." He crossed the broad expanse of Aubusson rug in a few strides and lifted her bare fingertips to his lips. Her skin felt exquisite, the scent of her arousing. His tongue darted out to lick between her fingers and he watched as her pupils widened and the irises darkened. Marcus brought her hand to his heart and held it there. "Now that your mourning is over, do you intend to return to your own residence?"

Her gaze narrowed. "That would ease matters for you, wouldn't it?"

"Certainly breakfast in bed and afternoon trysts would be facilitated by a more private arrangement," he replied easily.

Yanking her hand from his grip, Elizabeth turned her back to him. Marcus bit back his smile.

"Considering your obvious distaste for me," she muttered, "I cannot understand why you desire to become intimate."

"Physical proximity does not necessitate intimacy."

Her shoulders stiffened beneath the fall of her dark hair. "Ah yes," she sneered. "You have proven that fact again and again, have you not?"

Flicking an imaginary piece of lint from his ruffled cuffs, Marcus walked to the settee and adjusted his coat before sitting. He refused to show his irritation at the censure he heard in her tone. Guilt was something he didn't require, he felt it often enough on his own. "I became what you once accused me of being. What would you have had me do, love? Go mad thinking of you? Longing for you?"

He sighed dramatically, hoping to goad her into facing him. I t was a simple pleasure, gazing upon her features, but after four years it was a delight he needed as much as air. "I am truly not surprised to learn that, given the choice, you would have denied me what little solace I could find, cruel-hearted creature that you are."

Elizabeth spun about, revealing cheeks stained bright with color. "You blame me?"

"Who else is there to blame?" He opened his snuff box and took a small pinch. "I t should have been you in my arms all these years. Instead, every time I bedded another woman I hoped she would be the one to make me forget you. But they never did. Not one." He snapped the lid shut.

Her nostrils flared on a swiftly indrawn breath.

"Often I would turn down the lamps and close my eyes. I would pretend it was you beneath me, you with whom I shared s.e.xual congress.""d.a.m.n you." Her hands clenched into tiny fists. "Why did you have to become just like my father?"

"You would have me be a monk?"

"Better that than a libertine!"

"While you sated another man's needs and suffered not at all?" He strove to appear calm and unaffected while every fiber of his being stood tense and expectant. "Did you think of me, Elizabeth, in your marriage bed? Were you ever haunted by dreams of me? Did you ever wish it were my body covering yours, filling yours? My sweat coating your skin?"

She stood frozen in place for a long moment, and then suddenly her lush mouth curved in a come-hither smile that made his gut clench. He'd known when the butler allowed him entry that Elizabeth was no longer willing to hide or run. He'd girded himself inwardly for a fight. A s.e.xual a.s.sault, however, had never crossed his mind. Would he never understand her?

"Would you like me to tell you about my marriage bed, Marcus?" she purred. "Would you like to hear the many ways Hawthorne took me?

What he liked best, what he craved? Hmmm? Or would you prefer to hear how I like it? How I prefer to be taken?"

Elizabeth strolled toward him with a deliberate sway to her hips that made his mouth dry. In all of his dealings with her she'd never been the s.e.xual aggressor. He was profoundly disturbed at how it aroused him, especially considering the last four years had been spent indulging in liaisons instigated by his lovers and not the reverse.

I t didn't help that his reluctant pa.s.sion was engaged by her words and the images they evoked. He pictured her face down on the bed, spread and willing as another man thrust into her from behind. His jaw ached from the force with which he clenched it, primitive feelings of claiming and possessing nearly undoing him. Pulling open the flaps of his coat, Marcus revealed the straining length of his c.o.c.k within his breeches. Her steps faltered and then, with a lift of her chin, she continued toward him.

"I am not an innocent to run screaming at the sight of a man's desire." Elizabeth stopped before him and set her hands on either side of his knees. Before him hung the voluptuous swell of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, nearly spilling from the rounded cut of her satin-edged bodice. In evening attire, her bosom was pressed flat by her corset. In day wear, the restriction was far less severe and his gaze was riveted by the bounty displayed for his benefit alone.

Never one to miss an opportunity, Marcus reached up and cupped the upper swell with his hands, gratified to hear the sharp hiss of her breath through her teeth. Her body had changed from the virginal ripeness of a girl to the fully curved figure of a woman. Squeezing and kneading, he stared at the valley between her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and imagined thrusting his c.o.c.k through it. He growled at the thought and looked up at her mouth, watching in an agony of l.u.s.t as she licked her lower lip.

Then suddenly she straightened, turned her back to him, and reached down to the small table. Before he could order her return, she'd tossed a sealed missive at his chest and walked away. He knew already what he would find inside. Still, he waited for his breathing to slow and his blood to cool before turning his attention to it. He noted the paper, a popular weight and tint he'd seen before.

Breaking open the unmarked seal with care, he scanned the contents. "How long have you had this?" he asked gruffly.

"A few hours."

Marcus turned the paper over and then lifted his gaze to hers. Elizabeth's skin was flushed and her eyes glazed, yet her chin was lifted at a determined angle. He frowned and stood. "You weren't curious enough to open it?"

"I 'm aware of what it must say. He is prepared to meet with me and retrieve the book. How he worded the demand doesn't much matter, does it? Have you perused Hawthorne's journal since I gave it to you?"

He nodded. "The maps were easy enough. Hawthorne had some detailed drawings of the English and Scottish coasts, as well as some colonial waterways I 'm familiar with. But Hawthorne's code is nigh indecipherable. I was hoping to have more time to study it."

Refolding the missive, Marcus put it in his pocket. Cryptography was a hobby he'd acquired after Elizabeth's marriage. The task required intense concentration, which allowed him a brief respite from thoughts of her, a rare gift. "I know this spot he refers to. Avery and I will be close by to protect you."

Shrugging, she said, "As you wish."

He stood and stalked over to her. Grabbing her shoulders, he shook her. Hard. "How the h.e.l.l can you be so b.l.o.o.d.y calm? Have you any notion of the danger? Or have you no sense at all?"

"What would you have me do?" she snapped. "Fall apart? Cry all over you?"

"A little emotion would be welcome. Something, anything to tell me you have a care for your own safety." His hands left her shoulders and plunged into her hair, tilting her head to the angle he desired. Then he kissed her as hard as he'd shaken her. He backed her up roughly, forcing her to stumble until he'd pinned her to the wall.

Elizabeth's nails dug deeply into the skin of his stomach as she clutched at his shirt. Her mouth was open, accepting the thrusts of his tongue. Despite the lack of finesse, she trembled against him, whimpered her distress, and then melted into his embrace. She kissed him back with a frenzy that nearly undid him.Suddenly unable to breathe, Marcus broke away. His forehead pressed to hers, he groaned his frustration. "Why do you only come alive when I touch you? Don't you ever tire of the facade you hide behind?"

Her eyes squeezed shut and she turned her face away. "And what of your facade?"

"Jesus, you are stubborn." Nuzzling against her without gentleness, he rubbed the scent of her onto his damp skin while leaving his own sweat upon her cheek. With a rough and urgent voice he whispered, "I need you to follow my instructions when I give them to you. You must not allow your feelings to interfere."

"I trust your judgment," she said.

He stilled, his fists clenching in her hair until she winced. "Do you?"

The air thickened around them.

"Do you?" he asked again.

"What happened..." She swallowed hard and her nails dug deeper into his skin. "What happened that night?"

He let out his breath in an audible rush. His entire frame relaxed, the tension of their past releasing its merciless grip. Suddenly exhausted, Marcus realized the cold fury he still carried over the demise of their betrothal was all that had fueled him these many years.

"Sit down." He pulled away and waited until she crossed over to the settee. Studying her for long moments, he relished the sight of her mussed hair and swollen lips. From the beginning, he'd pursued her with singular attention, stealing her away to quiet corners where he would take her mouth with rushed, desperate kisses, risking scandal for glimpses of the fire Elizabeth hid so well.

Her beauty was simply the wrapping on a complex and fascinating treasure. Her eyes gave her away. In them one could find no trace of a lady's expected docility or meekness. Instead there were challenges, adventures. Things to be explored and discovered.

He wondered again if Hawthorne had been fortunate enough to see all her facets. Had she melted for him, opened to him, become soft and sated by his lovemaking?