Page 77 of The Marquess Wins a Wife
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“He’s not going to go away,” Jo said, twitching the curtain away from the windowpane, her nose wrinkling as she peered down into the mews below. “Do you suppose Mrs. Knight willmakehim go away?”
Lizzie flinched against the renewed burst of sound from below; a fierce banging that seemed to shake the very foundation of Ambrosia. “I don’t see how she could,” she muttered. Though perhaps her husband might—he was a large enough fellow, probably a match for Luke physically.
The racket that Luke was makinghadto be disturbing Mrs. Knight’s sleep. She lived in the home just across the mews along with her husband and daughter, and Lizzie was well aware that the poor woman slept through the day. And Luke had been pounding upon the door of the servants’ entrance ever since he’d arrived.
For well over an hour. It had started meek and well-mannered, but as the minutes had dragged on, it had grown intothis.
“Lizzie!”
Oh, dear Lord. Now he wasshouting.
“I’m going to go down,” Jo said, releasing the corner of curtain she’d seized in her fingers and letting it drop once more into place.
“No!” Lizzie gasped. “Jo, no. Let him shout all he pleases.” From a distance. With several thick doors between them. He could sling whatever hateful words he pleased, provided she did not have tolookat him while he did so. She would not subject Jo to his physical presence.
“Well, he’s never going to stop untilsomeonespeaks to him,” Jo said, sticking her small nose in the air. “Besides,” she added. “I forgot my Latin primer. I’ve got the Greek, but Imusthave the Latin, too.” She smoothed her skirts as she hopped off the bed, pacing toward the door.
“Jo—”
Jo paused, one hand wrapped around the door handle. “You said he didn’t want us,” she said, and Lizzie winced to hear the words so plainly spoken.
“I said he toldmeto go,” Lizzie corrected in a whisper, her heart breaking for the child who had been abandoned too often already. She had phrased it more delicately than that to begin with, to be sure, but it was clear enough what meaning Jo had taken despite her efforts. “Me, Jo. Not you. I promise you, it has nothing at all to do with you. Please, I—”
“Why is he here, then?” Jo inquired, canting her head to the side. “Why?”
And Lizzie had no ready answer to that. Not when she could not guess herself.
“Ifyou’renot going to go down,” Jo said, and she thrust out her chin in that manner of stalwart determination, “thenIam. And Iam going to ask himwhy.”
“Jo,no—” But it was too late. Jo had already nipped through the door, and there was the distinct patter of small feet proceeding down the hall toward the stairs. Lizzie had forgotten just how quickly a small child could move, especially one intent upon some devious action. And Jo was so much smaller and lighter on her feet—she dodged what few staff lingered in the halls with ease, none of whom seemed to be much bothered either by Jo’s presenceorthe commotion originating from downstairs, whereas Lizzie was forced to squeeze by, sacrificing precious time.
“Jo!” Lizzie hissed as she made the ground floor, darting for the servants’ entrance on legs that trembled. There was a queer buzzing in her ears, an odd sensation that prickled the hair along her arms, as if it were a warning.
She rounded the last corner, coming to a halt at last, only to realize that the buzzing in her ears had been just theabsenceof the sound. The furious pounding on the door had ceased.
He was already inside.
Her feet stuck to the floor as if they had been glued, panic clawing at her chest.
“Lizzie.” Her name was little more than a guttural rumble deep in his chest, and he gave the top of Jo’s head an absent stroke of his fingers, ruffling the fringe of her bangs. Utterly oblivious to the annoyed wrinkle of Jo’s nose, he nearly sprinted down the hallway, clearing the distance between them in just a few long strides. “Thank God, Lizzie.”
Hard hands grasped her arms, squeezing a bit too tightly for comfort, and she flinched from him, pressing her back against the wall behind her. Immediately the pressure of his hands eased. “Sorry,” he rasped. “I didn’t mean—it’s just that—good God, please tell me you’re all right.”
She would never know from whence she had managed to dredge up the polite, reserved tone. “I am quite well. My lord, you need to leave.” Her hands fisted in her skirts to disguise the dampness of her palms and the trembling of her fingers.
“Yes,” he said, and the word seemed to shudder from his lips. “I do—but I had toseeyou. I had to know you were safe. I had toknow.” A fierce, low breath, rife with relief. “I’ve been searching for you all night.”
“What?” She could feel the confusion distorting her expression, settling into the space between her brows, tightening her lips. “Why?” Why would he bother?
Luke went very still, silence hanging thick in the air between them. A distance of only inches that seemed suddenly like miles and miles. There were dark smudges beneath his eyes, the vibrant blue of his irises made more so by the bloodshot streaks through the whites of his eyes. His jaw was shadowed in a new growth of beard, and his hair was wind-tossed and disheveled. He wore no cravat, no coat—only the wrinkled remnants of last night’s evening wear, which would no doubt give his valet fits when it was returned in its present condition.
“You’re my wife,” he said, so softly that the words nearly faded into the depths of the silence he’d risked breaching. “Lizzie, we need to talk. I must apologize—”
Her spine stiffened. “That is not necessary, my lord. We—we understand each other.” He had made himself excruciatingly clear. There was no need for him to elaborate any further.
“No, we bloody welldon’t.” The caustic tone he employed scored her. “But we aregoingto.” His hand dragged through his hair, and he winced at the pull of tangles. A small leaf, dead and brown, emerged along with his fingers, and he cast it aside with a snarl. “We are going to talk,” he said at last.
