VOLUME 1, CHAPTER XI.SOWING THE WIND
Edris Temperley stood in the center of a sun-drenched sitting room in Hove, watching the winter light trail across a faded red carpet. The room was pure Marcus: a mix of high-end antiques and lived-in comfort. There were pink tulips in an apricot glass bowl, a wall of travel books that looked like they'd actually been read, and a crackling fire that made the damp sea air feel a world away.
On the marble mantel, Edris spotted a silver frame. It was a snapshot of her from the previous winter—bundled in ski gear at Wengen, laughing into the lens.
Marcus's housekeeper, Kate, showed Edris to her room. When the girl emerged a few minutes later, having ditched her coat and hat, she felt a sudden prickle of nerves. Standing here in a man's private apartment, alone, felt like a deliberate middle finger to the "proper" way things were done. She sat in the oversized cretonne chair by the fire, feeling small and suddenly shy.
Marcus watched her. She was wearing a vibrant, "jazz-colored" knit jumper, and pinned to it was the small golden ski brooch he'd bought her in the Alps. He wondered if it was a signal—a reminder of the days he'd tried so hard to bury.
"It's good to see you, Edris," Marcus said, breaking the silence with a slightly awkward smile.
"I'm just glad I didn't have to go home without a sighting," she teased, kicking her heels up onto the fender. "You're a hard man to find, Marcus. You never come to the estate, even though Dad asks for you constantly."
"I'm always abroad," he offered. It was his standard shield.
"That's a weak excuse," she laughed. "Novelists don't need to move as fast as you do. You're like a frantic travel agent."
"I'm a stickler for local color," he lied smoothly. "I never write about a place I haven't bled in."
Edris watched him through her lashes, sensing the wall he always kept between himself and the world. Marcus was a man of shadows. To his readers, he was a romantic; to his social circle, he was "a dear" and a "good sport." But inside, he was a cynical engine of state secrets.
At forty-something, Marcus felt the weight of his years only when he looked in the mirror at the "crow's feet" near his eyes. Physically, he was made of iron; he could outwork, out-travel, and out-last men half his age. But his heart was a different story.
For years, his only real connection had been a high-stakes, secret friendship with Elaine, the Countess of Lyddington. They'd been close since her school days—a deep, platonic bond that had flirted with danger once she married one of the wealthiest peers in England. They'd met in Soho basements and quiet country lanes to avoid the paparazzi, but Marcus had eventually realized the risk to her reputation was too high. He'd ended it months ago in the back of a car on the road to Hatfield. It was a clean break, born of his own brand of cold honor.
But Edris... Edris had stayed in his head. Since he'd bolted from Wengen the previous February, her gray eyes had haunted him. He'd tried to replace her memory with work and other women, but she was the "grit in the cogs."
As they ate a light lunch served by Kate, Marcus felt the old fascination bubbling up. The way she tilted her shingled head, the gold bangle on her arm, the effortless grace of her—it was intoxicating. But he reminded himself of the two barriers: the age gap, and the fact that she was spoken for.
After lunch, Edris leaned back with a cigarette, letting Marcus's black Pomeranian, Bundle, sniff her shoes.
"You know why I'm really here, don't you?" she asked, the smoke curling around her face.
"To grace me with your presence?"
"No. To get you to Switzerland. Wengen won't be the same without you, Marcus. Please."
He shook his head, looking away. "I have too much on my plate, Edris. The travel... it's constant."
"Why do you travel so much?" she pressed.
He gave another evasive answer, but she wasn't having it. She leaned forward, her expression turning dead serious.
"I want a straight answer to a plain question, Marcus. No novelist fluff."
"That sounds dangerous," he joked.
"Why did you really leave Wengen so suddenly last year? Were you mad at me?"
Marcus stirred his coffee, his face hardening into a mask. "I wasn't mad, Edris. I was pained."
"Pained? At what?"
"That's my secret," he said, his voice dropping to a low, rough tone.
Edris went quiet, her mind racing back to that final night in the Alps. "I remember... you left right after I told you about Lionel. About how much I loved him. Did that have something to do with it?"
Marcus took a long, slow breath. He looked at her, really looked at her, and slowly nodded.
Edris's mouth dropped open. The realization hit her like a physical blow. "Oh, Marcus... I—I'm so sorry. I had no idea."
"You were going to tell me something about Lionel," Marcus said, rising and taking her hand in his. His grip was steady, but his eyes were searching. "What is it, Edris?"
She looked down at the fire, her voice trembling so much it was barely a whisper. "Only... only that the engagement is off. Again. It's over, Marcus. For good this time."