Love Me, Marietta [antikvár]

One As I stepped outside I saw him standing there at the end of the street again, his stance dehberately casual, his hands thrust into the pockets of his heavy navy blue coat. I paused on the steps, staring at him. He turned his back to me and sauntered around the corner. I feU a tremor ofaiarm. Who was he? Why was he watching the apartment? I had observed him at least halfa dozen times during the past two weeks, a tall, heavyset man with coarse features and shaggy black hair, always wearing dark breeches and that heavy coat even though the weather was unseasonably warm. Derek scoffed at my apprehension. When I had described the man to him and mentioned my alarm, he had curled his lips in that deprecatory smile 1 knew so well. 'My dear Marietta,' he had replied, 'it's perfectly natural for strange men to stare at you on the street. You're an unusually beautiful woman, and, I might add, your mode of dress invites such inspection.' That last remark had infuriated me. Derek loved me, I had no doubt about that, but ever since we had left Natchez and taken the apartment in New Orleans I had sensed a touch of disapproval in his manner toward me. He loved me and was going to marry me as soon as we returned to England, but I had the feeling he had never completely forgiven me for my past, for Jeff and Helmut and those tumultuous years of our separation. Derek knew all that had happened to me during that period, yet after he had won his court case in England and claimed the Hawke estates usurped by his uncle and cousins, he had come back to America to find me. Surely that was proof of his love. The niggling doubts I had had of late were clearly absurd. Lifting my skirts to avoid a puddle, I moved down the street. It had rained quite furiously this morning, but now it was decidedly sultry, despite a heavy, overcast sky. The air