“Your concern is touching albeit confusing, after your own callous disregard for my well-being in the past.”
“Save your sarcasm for another day,” she snapped. “Have you no notion of what you’ve involved yourself in? It’s dangerous to work for Lord Eldridge. You could be hurt. Or killed.”
Marcus released a deep breath. “Elizabeth, you are overwrought.”
She glared at him and glanced quickly at Avery, who maintained his discretionary study of the fern. She lowered her voice. “How long have you been an agent?”
His jaw tightened. “Four years.”
“Four years?” She stumbled backward. “Were you an agent when you paid your addresses to me?”
“Yes.”
“Damn you.” Her voice was a pained whisper. “When were you planning on disclosing this to me? Or was I never to know until you came home in a coffin?”
He scowled and crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t see that it much matters now.”
She stiffened at his icy tone. “All these years I feared reading the banns announcing your marriage. Instead I should have been perusing the obituaries.” Turning away, Elizabeth sheltered her racing heart with her hand. “How I wish you had stayed far, far away from me.” She gathered her skirts and hurried away. “I wish to God I’d never met you.”
The sharp tapping of his heels on marble was the only warning she had before her elbow was caught and she was spun about.
“The feeling is bloody damn mutual,” he growled.
He towered over her, his sensual mouth drawn taut with anger, his emerald gaze sparkling with something that made her shiver.
“How could Lord Eldridge assign you to me?” she cried. “And why did you accept?”
“I insisted on taking this mission.”
At her astonished gasp, his lips thinned further. “Make no mistake. You fled from me once. I will not allow it to happen again.” He tugged her closer and the air sweltered between them. His voice turned rough. “I don’t care if you marry the King himself this time. I will have you.”
She struggled to escape, but his grip was firm. “Good heavens, Marcus. Haven’t we inflicted enough damage on one another?”
“Not nearly.” He thrust her away as if the feel of her against him was distasteful. “Now let us dispatch this matter regarding your late husband so Avery can retire.”
Shaking, Elizabeth moved swiftly toward Avery. Marcus followed behind her with the predatory gracefulness of a jungle cat.
There was no doubt she was the one being hunted.
She stopped beside Avery and took a shuddering breath before turning.
Marcus watched her with an unreadable expression. “I understand you received a book written by your late husband.” He waited for her answering nod. “Is the sender familiar to you?”
“The handwriting on the parcel was Hawthorne’s. It was obviously addressed some time ago, the wrapping was yellowed and the ink faded.” She had puzzled over the package for days, unable to determine its origin or its purpose.
“Your husband addressed a package to himself and it arrives three years after his murder.” Marcus narrowed his gaze. “Did he leave any grilles1, any cards with odd holes in them, anything written that struck you as unusual?”
“No, nothing.” She reached into her reticule, withdrawing the slim journal and the letter she’d received just a few days ago. She handed both to Marcus.
After a cursory perusal he tucked the book into his coat and then glanced through the letter, a frown gathering between his brows as he read. “In the history of the agency only Lord Hawthorne’s murder remains unsolved. I had hoped to keep your involvement to a minimum.”
“I will do whatever is necessary,” she offered quickly. “Hawthorne deserves justice and if my involvement is required, so be it.” Anything to finish this.
Marcus folded the missive carefully. “I dislike exposing you to danger.”
Her emotions on edge, Elizabeth bristled. “So you seek to withhold me from harm while risking your own neck? I am more heavily invested in the outcome of this than you or your precious agency.”
Marcus growled her name in warning.