“No.” Avery shot him a sidelong glance. “Are you certain your involvement is wise?”
“No,” he admitted, relieved his ploy had worked and grateful that, despite the years, he still knew her so well. “But I’m certain I have no other choice.”
“Eldridge is determined to catch Hawthorne’s murderer. In the course of our mission we may be forced to deliberately put Lady Hawthorne in danger to achieve our aims.”
“No. Hawthorne is dead. Risking Elizabeth’s life will not bring him back. We will find other ways to carry out our mission.”
Avery shook his head in silent bemusement. “I trust you know what you are about, even if I do not. Now if you will excuse me, my lord, I shall make my egress through the garden, before anything else untoward occurs.”
“I believe I’ll accompany you.” Falling into step beside his partner, Marcus laughed at Avery’s raised brow. “When engaged in prolonged battle, a man must be prepared to retreat on occasion so that he may return refreshed to seize the day.”
“Good God. Battles and brothers and broken engagements. Your personal history with Lady Hawthorne will only lead to trouble.”
Marcus rubbed his hands together. “I look forward to it.”
Chapter 3
“I am under siege!” Elizabeth complained as another obnoxiously large display of flowers was carried into the sitting room.
“There are worse fates for a woman than being courted by a devilishly handsome peer of the realm,” Margaret said dryly, as she smoothed her skirts and sat upon the settee.
“You are a hopeless romantic, you know.” Rising to her feet, Elizabeth collected a tiny brocade pillow and tucked it behind her sister-in-law’s back. She deliberately kept her gaze diverted from the gorgeous and obviously costly flower arrangement. Marcus had implied that his interest was both professional and carnal, and she’d been as prepared as possible for such engagement. This soft assault on her feminine sensibilities was a surprise attack.
“I’m enceinte,” Margaret protested as she was arranged more comfortably. “Not an invalid.”
“Allow me to fuss a little. It brings me such pleasure.”
“I’m certain I will appreciate it later, but for the moment, I am quite capable of seeing to myself.”
Despite her grumbling, Margaret settled into the pillow with a sigh of pleasure, the soft glow of her skin displayed to perfection by the dark red of her curls.
“I beg to differ. You look more slender at five months pregnancy than you did before.”
“Nearly five months,” Margaret corrected. “And it is difficult to eat when you feel wretched most of the time.”
Pursing her lips, Elizabeth reached for a scone, set it on a plate, and offered it to Margaret. “Take it,” she ordered.
Margaret accepted with a mock glare, then said, “William says the betting books are filled with wagers on whether Lord Westfield still has matrimony in mind or not.”
In the process of making tea, Elizabeth gaped. “Good God.”
“You are a legend for jilting him—an earl so handsome and desired that every woman wants him. Except for you. It is simply too juicy to ignore. A tale of a rake’s love thwarted.”
Elizabeth snorted derisively.
“You’ve never told me what Lord Westfield did that caused you to break off your engagement.”
Her hands shook as she spooned the tea leaves into the steaming pot. “It was long ago, Margaret, and as I’ve said many times before, I see no reason to discuss it.”
“Yes, yes, I know. However, he clearly is desirous of your company, as witnessed by his repeated attempts to call on you. I admire Westfield’s aplomb. He does not even blink when he is turned away. He simply smiles, says something charming, and takes his leave.”
“The man has charm in bushels, I agree. Women flock to his side and make fools of themselves.”
“You sound jealous.”
“I am not,” she argued. “One lump or two today?” Never-mind. You need two.”
“Don’t change the subject. Tell me about your jealousy. Women found Hawthorne attractive as well, but it never appeared to bother you.”