Page 35 of Tempting the Marquess

“I’m sure Westleigh would step in to oversee your holdings. Or Southby, considering the incident occurred fetching home his brother.”

William hesitated. Playing David Underwood was one thing. But the story of William Hastings being shot would be incredibly difficult for his foster family and friends. Especially after the past traumas they had been through themselves. “I don’t know...the communications would need to be so clear. No one could think for a moment that it was anything other than a minor wound. The reasons for delay would have to be unseasonable weather. Or transportation.”

“Of course. I would personally oversee the messages. But Standish, Claremont and his cohorts are responsible for countless deaths. To help end such a reign of treason and terror, you would have done the greatest service possible for king and country. And earned a glorious retirement.”

“Christ. How many times did you practice that in the mirror?”

“No idea what you are talking about,” White sniffed disdainfully. “But for once, adequate mission funds have been allocated. You would travel in relative comfort and be afforded every assistance in France and when you return.”

“Now you’re frighteningme.”

“We do try. However, I must know your decision right away, so I can finalize plans and write letters before the ship departs.”

“Which iswhen?”

“Dawn tomorrow,” White replied, with a small smile.

William exhaled slowly. Aggravating didn’t begin to describe this man. “Verywell.”

“Excellent. You won’t regret this, Standish. Godspeed.”

* * *

As decadent as Cleopatra,Samantha lay sprawled on several oversized and plump cushions on the window seat in her bedchamber. This was her special refuge, and on an afternoon like this, where the last remnants of the sun sent golden beams straight through the glass and bathed her skin in warmth, it was easy to set aside troubles for a while.

Well, troubles that weren’t in the glorious form of William Hastings at least.

The man was so hot and cold. Sometimes it seemed like they were so in tune they were almost the same person. When they shared a joke. When they bantered. When they kissed. But other times…it felt like there was a high stone wall complete with moat and barbed wire between them. Unlike so many lords who only cared about themselves, he actually asked about her. Yet he rarely spoke of himself, even when there were questions in need of answering.

Like today. It had been a huge relief to know Mr. Ashcroft was wrong, but that didn’t explain the flare up between Stephen and William at Forsyth House. How could both of them have lied so blatantly and called it a mere difference of opinion? They’d both looked so angry. Hopefully it wasn’t about the Hartley musicale. If Stephen was defending her honor, he was rather too late. Yorkshire had stolen that already.

A sharp knock sounded, and Trudy poked her head around the door. “Lady Samantha?”

“I’m here, comein.”

“Quickly, quickly, ma’am, you have a caller!”

Samantha frowned. “Really? I wasn’t expecting anyone. And we didn’t organize an at-home for today.”

Her maid hopped from one foot to the other. “It’s Lord Standish. He’s in the parlor.”

What? Scrambling off the cushions, Samantha hurried over to her dressing table. “Can you do something with my hair? I know that is a tall order. But anything, really. Just so it looks passably human rather than bramblebush.”

“I shall do my best,” said Trudy, grabbing a brush with a steely look of determination.

Ten minutes of eye-watering pain later, Samantha shook out her skirts and made her way downstairs to where the marquess stood waiting.

“Hello,” she said cautiously. “I thought you had a meeting.”

William gazed at her for the longest moment, so long her cheeks began to heat. “I did. It’s because of that meeting that I’mhere.”

Oh no. That cool tone. “Is…is something wrong?”

“Not as such. I don’t have a lot of time, but I just…wanted to tell you personally that I have to go away for a while. And I won’t be contactable.”

Samantha stilled. “Not contactable? How can that be? Are you traveling to Siberia?”

He didn’t smile, and her heart plummeted further. “I’ve been asked to join a diplomatic mission to France. Our ship sails tomorrow morning at first light.”