cleaning to me." She turned and began to stride off—to the center of the mess, he noticed, not away from it.
"I believe I shall remain a while longer," he said easily. "You need all the hands you can get at the moment, I should think."
She halted and turned to him in surprise. She would have denied his assessment, he could tell, but there was no denying the sheer magnitude of the damage.
She nodded sharply. "If that is your wish, then I would appreciate the assistance."
She glanced at Elliot, who sighed deeply. "I shall remain as well."
Her lips twitched and she glanced back to Marcus—as if to share a private joke? He gazed at her impassively instead of answering her amused glance, for he still fought the wave of lust heating his belly. Her expression fell slightly, then she turned away and busily marched to where the servants were hauling buckets of water to wash down the nearest buildings.
Elliot came abreast of Marcus and watched her walk away. "She rolled her eyes at you," he said smugly.
Marcus shot him a dark glance. "She did not."
Elliot chuckled. "Yes, she did, as she turned away. She thinks you're an idiot." He turned to grin at Marcus. "I do like that about her."
"Well, she thinks you're a useless dandy."
Elliot nodded amiably. "Oh, yes. That's what she likes about me."
Elliot ambled away, rather off course if he truly intended to help. Marcus gazed after Lady Barrowby, eyes narrowed. She'd chosen Elliot of her own free will. Could it be that she
wanted
a feckless, light-minded husband?
The respect for her that had been reluctantly growing took a bit of a slide down the muck-covered hillside.
There was nothing here!
While the household ran about trying to clean up the filth he'd showered them with—most deservedly, indeed—he'd ransacked the study and the library.
To hell with precision and secrecy—he wanted her to know she'd been searched, after all—he tossed books from the shelves and took a knife to the upholstery, a fast and dirty search for something, anything that would tell him what she was about.
He found nothing. In the morning room off the music room he found her desk and all the accounts for the estate—everything that one would expect from an intelligent lady who knew how to run her household, but nothing at all to indicate why those particular lords had visited her, nor any proof that she was who she could not be, but most obviously was…
Then again, he'd seen the locket for himself. It was the only proof he needed.
And the lack of information relating to those visitors—well, that was all to the good. If she was merely the widow of a peer, then it could be expected that lot might pay their respects. They'd not stayed overlong, after all, and had immediately made their way on to London.
He had his doubts, but as far as he could tell by what he'd not found, she was nothing more than what she appeared—the lovely, capable widow of the late Lord Barrowby.
She'd done quite well for herself, he had to admit, though it chafed him. Then again, all the more reason to think she could be made to see the advantages of his plans for her.
He shattered a vase against the wall in an uncharacteristic burst of temper. He closed his eyes and took a breath. She was a tool, nothing more. He would use her and discard her afterward.
Of course, there was no law against enjoying the destruction he would cause in the course of it.
By evening, the mess was somewhat under control. One of the tumbling footmen was sluicing buckets of lake water over the cobbles, while another one swept the grime away from the house. The yard reeked, and likely would until the next good rain, but the Barrowby staff had the worst of the filth scraped away.
One thing still bothered Marcus. "How well do you really know Elliot?"
Lady Barrowby started as Marcus came up behind her. She raised a brow at his impertinence, then turned away. "Better than I know you." She lifted a hand to direct several of her
"I believe I shall remain a while longer," he said easily. "You need all the hands you can get at the moment, I should think."
She halted and turned to him in surprise. She would have denied his assessment, he could tell, but there was no denying the sheer magnitude of the damage.
She nodded sharply. "If that is your wish, then I would appreciate the assistance."
She glanced at Elliot, who sighed deeply. "I shall remain as well."
Her lips twitched and she glanced back to Marcus—as if to share a private joke? He gazed at her impassively instead of answering her amused glance, for he still fought the wave of lust heating his belly. Her expression fell slightly, then she turned away and busily marched to where the servants were hauling buckets of water to wash down the nearest buildings.
Elliot came abreast of Marcus and watched her walk away. "She rolled her eyes at you," he said smugly.
Marcus shot him a dark glance. "She did not."
Elliot chuckled. "Yes, she did, as she turned away. She thinks you're an idiot." He turned to grin at Marcus. "I do like that about her."
"Well, she thinks you're a useless dandy."
Elliot nodded amiably. "Oh, yes. That's what she likes about me."
Elliot ambled away, rather off course if he truly intended to help. Marcus gazed after Lady Barrowby, eyes narrowed. She'd chosen Elliot of her own free will. Could it be that she
wanted
a feckless, light-minded husband?
The respect for her that had been reluctantly growing took a bit of a slide down the muck-covered hillside.
There was nothing here!
While the household ran about trying to clean up the filth he'd showered them with—most deservedly, indeed—he'd ransacked the study and the library.
To hell with precision and secrecy—he wanted her to know she'd been searched, after all—he tossed books from the shelves and took a knife to the upholstery, a fast and dirty search for something, anything that would tell him what she was about.
He found nothing. In the morning room off the music room he found her desk and all the accounts for the estate—everything that one would expect from an intelligent lady who knew how to run her household, but nothing at all to indicate why those particular lords had visited her, nor any proof that she was who she could not be, but most obviously was…
Then again, he'd seen the locket for himself. It was the only proof he needed.
And the lack of information relating to those visitors—well, that was all to the good. If she was merely the widow of a peer, then it could be expected that lot might pay their respects. They'd not stayed overlong, after all, and had immediately made their way on to London.
He had his doubts, but as far as he could tell by what he'd not found, she was nothing more than what she appeared—the lovely, capable widow of the late Lord Barrowby.
She'd done quite well for herself, he had to admit, though it chafed him. Then again, all the more reason to think she could be made to see the advantages of his plans for her.
He shattered a vase against the wall in an uncharacteristic burst of temper. He closed his eyes and took a breath. She was a tool, nothing more. He would use her and discard her afterward.
Of course, there was no law against enjoying the destruction he would cause in the course of it.
By evening, the mess was somewhat under control. One of the tumbling footmen was sluicing buckets of lake water over the cobbles, while another one swept the grime away from the house. The yard reeked, and likely would until the next good rain, but the Barrowby staff had the worst of the filth scraped away.
One thing still bothered Marcus. "How well do you really know Elliot?"
Lady Barrowby started as Marcus came up behind her. She raised a brow at his impertinence, then turned away. "Better than I know you." She lifted a hand to direct several of her
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