Sylvia Day - [Georgian 01] by Ask For It Read Free Book Online

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 damned 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 assigned to protect her was the very one who’d proven he was not to be trusted.

Chapter 4
    U nlike 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 space 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 prickled 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