"Three months ago? But that was before we wed."
"Listen," Justin cut in, "there's a very interesting stipulation in her father's will. If Elise dies, a body must be presented as evidence, or five years must pass before Ardsley can take possession of her stock."
"How does that prove she's alive?"
"Ardsley claims to have her in a convalescent home."
Shock ricocheted through Marcus. "An insane asylum?"
"Yes."
His mind reeled. Elise, alive? And in an asylum. "'Tis not possible," he said in a hoarse voice.
"No?" Justin held his gaze. "For the past six months, Ardsley has been attempting to get Landen Shipping's board of directors to agree to a large loan he wants in order to expand the shipping company to include west coast trade. Many of the board members plan on retiring in the next few years and don't relish the idea of putting their life savings at risk. They have a date set three weeks from tomorrow to settle the matter."
"Ardsley needs Elise's twenty-five percent interest to control the vote," Marcus said in a near whisper.
"Fifty-one percent," Justin rejoined.
"What?"
"A year after Elise married, Steven Landen signed his interest in the company over to her."
"My God."
Justin's brows lifted. "It's rather late in the game for Ardsley to present Elise's body, don't you think?"
"An insane asylum," Marcus murmured. "If it is true…"
"No Campbells, or anyone else, can harm you," he had told her. "I can protect you." Wed only two days and he had utterly failed her.
"Marcus." Justin's sharp voice cut into the picture of Elise huddled in a tiny filthy cell, hands clamped over her ears to drown out the screams of the other inmates.
"I saw her body," Marcus said. "If that wasn't Elise, then who—"
Justin's mouth thinned. "That is a mystery to be solved—but not one we cannot solve from here. Agreed?"
Marcus stared. "Aye."
"What have you learned of Steven?" Justin asked.
Marcus's mind registered the letter lying on the table. He picked it up and handed it toward Justin.
The earl unfolded the paper and began reading. A moment later, he murmured, "Shay. Wait. Shay. This cannot be the fellow whose son you saved while on campaign in America?"
Marcus nodded.
Justin frowned. "What prompted you to contact him?"
"Landen Shipping informed me Steven Landen was serving in the Army."
Justin laughed. "Good of them to be so obliging."
"Colonel Shay located the boy."
"Boy?"
"He is twenty-five."
"I expected someone older than Elise."
"I thought the same," Marcus said.
"Something more you need to know," Justin said. "If Elise doesn't return from the dead, her shares go to the next living blood relative."
"Steven Landen would control Landen Shipping," Marcus said.
"Steven Landen does control Landen Shipping. Elise's stock isn't his—not until the allotted five years passes—but he controls her vote until then."
Marcus frowned. "Then why hasn't Ardsley simply killed him?"
"Because Steven's will bequeaths his shares and controlling interest to a distant cousin who lives in New York."
"My God," Marcus murmured. "Steven Landen is of no consequence—"
"If Price Ardsley has Elise," Justin finished for him.
"Why the bloody hell is her brother not here?" Marcus burst out. "Where did you get this information?"
Justin grinned. "There is always a disgruntled employee to be found." The earl returned his attention to the letter. A moment later, he looked up, shock written on his face. "My God, she shot her husband? Surely, it can't be true?"
"I believe every word," Marcus said.
Justin glanced at the letter. "You knew nothing of this? Of course not," he added.
Marcus gave a hollow laugh. "I knew I wanted her. Nothing else mattered."
The earl nodded. "Love blinds a man."
As does passion, Marcus added silently, then said, "I meant to leave immediately to find Steven, but if it is possible Elise is here—" he broke off, still unable to grasp the possibility.
"You must find the boy. He's the key to getting to Ardsley. I never met his sister. If our story is to hold any weight, it must come from you."
"But Elise…"
A glint appeared in Justin's eye. "I will find her."
Marcus grasped his cousin's shoulder and squeezed, then released him. "I'll depart tomorrow. We—"
The door opened and the waiter appeared, a plate of food in each hand. He approached the table and began to set Marcus's plate before him but halted, his gaze falling on the wine-stained tablecloth.
He straightened. "I shall replace the linen." He turned to leave, plates still in hand.
"Nay," Marcus said. "Leave the plates. We will live with the spilt wine."
The waiter looked as if he'd been asked to strip naked and run through the streets of Boston.
Marcus rested his gaze on him. "Leave the plates, lad."
The man did as instructed. "If you need anything—"
"We will call for you," Marcus cut in. "Until then, see that we aren't disturbed."
The waiter blinked, but gave a stiff bow and left.