A Tarnished Heart

by Leslie Dicken

  “Lizzie. My name is Lizzie. Would it pain you to refer to me by my given name?”

  He winced. He did wish for her bitter tongue, didn’t he? “There are rules to be followed. We address one another by our proper titles. Just as I am to call you Miss Parker, you are to call me Lord Markham or my lord.”

  A red eyebrow arched and her soft lips twitched. And so her mood could improve easily. A rather fine trait in a wife. He could not stand those women who sulked for hours—or even days. There had been times when Emily would not allow him near her room for a week for some transgression he had supposedly done.

  Her chin lifted a notch. “If you cannot refer to me as I prefer, then I see no reason I should do the same for you.”

  “It does not work that way.”

  “Oh? If you cannot call me Lizzie, then I cannot call you Lord Markham. Perhaps your given name? Evan, I believe?”

  He crossed his arms and scowled. “I will not discuss that with you.”

  She giggled, the sound reminding him of quiet waters splashing over seashells. Her grin enhanced the mischievous glint in her eyes. “And with good reason. Very well then, henceforth, you are just Markham.”

  That is what his friends called him, not a young girl, his soon-to-be bride. He leaned forward on to his elbows, staring her down with as much ferocity as he could manage. “Lord Markham is appropriate.”

  Her gaze lowered to her hands that smoothed out the wrinkles in her dress. “Your control may extend to keeping me in this dreadful city, but you cannot control what I say.”

  The carriage bumped and knocked her off balance. She fell forward, then caught herself on his lap. She lifted her head and attempted to fight a blush, but did not succeed.

  He hid a grin. “Miss Parker?”

  His stepmother grumbled but then nodded off again.

  She scooted back to her proper seat, her nose lifted as if nothing happened. Sharp need spiked in his veins, hot blood crashed against his veins. So unlike any woman he’d had previously, Miss Parker intrigued him like no other.

  She still looked shaken after her mishap. Her rounded eyes quickly glanced away, her teeth dug into that succulent lower lip. But it was not fear upsetting her now. No, not like he had witnessed on the train. Something else disturbed her and it was imperative that he determine its cause.

  There was much to learn about his future bride. He must uncover her secrets if he wished to win her heart. He could not allow for scandal. He would not lose the earldom. He would not shame his son.

  And so there was no time like the present to assess the current state of affairs. Markham cleared his throat. “So, Miss Parker, tell me of your relationship with your father’s curate.”

  Chapter Three

  The carriage swayed and bounced, innocent to the upheaval it just caused to Lizzie’s nerves. She swallowed.

  Her blasted body still quivered from her fall onto Markham’s lap. A strange ache tickled within her breasts and deep between her legs.

  And then his penetrating eyes looked at her with such intensity, how could she ever gather her wits about her? If she reacted to him this way each time he touched her, she’d never live up to her determination to hate him. She must make it home. The village needed her. Her father needed her.

  “Miss Parker? Did you hear me?”

  Why was he asking her about Edmund? He must have overheard her discussion with her father. Regardless, there was no way she was going to admit to anything. Let him think what he wanted.

  Pretend innocence. Yes, she could do that.

  “My father’s curate?” She blinked at him.

  “Yes. Tell me about him.”

  “He came to the village last year, straight from Oxford. Of course, he helps my father with the sermons, teaches Bible Study, gathers the—”

  “Miss Parker.”

  Lizzie cocked her head, pressing her lips together to withhold her grin. “Yes, Markham?”

  His nostrils flared. “Lord Markham.”

  Oh, would this be amusing. He was so prim, so anxious and cross. Had he any emotions other than the occasional annoyance and extremely rare sympathy? It would not hurt him to show some sentiment, have a little joy. It would be an interesting challenge to see what could break him.

  He cleared his throat, straightening out his vest. “I wanted to know if you had any affection for this boy.”

  “And how is that your responsibility?”

  “I am your benefactor.”

  “And thus?”

  A vein throbbed on Markham’s forehead and his jaw clenched. “My family is responsible for you, Miss Parker. It is important that I am aware of…of how you hold your cards, if you will.”

  Lizzie threw back her shoulders and crossed her arms. “You are well aware that I had no desire to leave home and come to London. Do the reasons matter?”

  “They do.”

  She glanced out the window. The crowded buildings of the city gave way to trees and stretches of grass. They must be nearing a park.

  “If you ever think I shall find a man here to my liking, one that should make my hands tremble, my heart fill with yearning, you are mistaken.” Lizzie shrugged a shoulder. “Whether another man from home has captured my attention matters not. There is no gentleman in this entire city who could convince me to remain here.”

  A warm hand settled on her knee. Fire spread up her leg and leapt into her heart.

  Lizzie glanced at the dowager next to her, but the woman slept soundly on. She tried not to turn her attention to Markham, but a force pulled her gaze. She licked her lips, unable to see beyond his slightly upturned mouth.

  “Are you so convinced?”

  Surely he was jesting with her. He didn’t…he didn’t mean himself. No, it wasn’t possible. Not after dismissing her so easily that horrible afternoon.

  Somehow he must know of her attraction to him those years ago. And he thought he would indulge himself at her expense.

  Not if she could stop it.

  Lizzie pushed his hand from her leg. “Your touch is uncalled for, sir.”

  “My lord,” he corrected, a trace of heat in his words. But was it heat from anger or from something else entirely?

  She ignored his remark and turned back to the window. The carriage rounded a corner and her gasp gave Markham a start.

  “What is it?” He leaned forward and joined her at the window. His scent swirled and enveloped her in hot, male awareness.

  Lizzie swallowed, but could not soothe the ache in her throat. She must force herself not to react to him.

  “That structure. It’s magnificent.” The three-tiered building was twice as long, if not more, than Miller’s Pond near home. Its numerous metal-encased glass windows reflected the puffy clouds and blue sky. Hundreds of fluttering flags adorned the roof. She had never seen something so enormous, so wondrous, so grand.

  Markham sat back against his seat. “The Crystal Palace. Surely you heard of the Exhibition this year.”

  Of course she’d heard that Prince Albert had gathered modern and foreign items from around the world, she even saw pictures in the paper. Exotic art, jewels, and even a locomotive was to be housed within the building. She just never imagined it so massive.

  “You should get used to seeing it. We aren’t too far from Hyde Park.”

  Lizzie snorted. As if anyone could get used to seeing such a thing. Even with his grandiose house, one would think he would be impressed by the sheer magnitude of this palace.

  The carriage turned again and Lizzie scooted to the other side, craning her neck to watch the structure fade from her view. Then she could only see the flags above the treetops and houses. A street later, it disappeared entirely.

  She settled back against the cushion, but her stomach quivered. Each street they passed seemed more extravagant than the last. What if she had to marry into this world, into a realm filled with riches and fancy objects, instead of simplicity and humbleness? She would forget the beauty surrounding her cottage.
She’d forget the stirring sermons from her father, the timeless echoes of her mother, the painful memories of her innocent sister.

  Panic clawed at her throat.

  “Miss Parker.”

  She jumped, her eyes instantly filling. Blast it. That awful fear was overtaking her again. Just like this morning on the train. Now being here, the homes of brick, stucco and iron were like prison walls.

  “You are frightened again.” His voice was soft, almost kind. Did he actually have a heart?

  But she couldn’t let him see her weakness. If she were to go through with her plans to return home, she must be fearless. Despite the dread that cramped her stomach and stung her eyes, she must never admit it. Vulnerability would ruin her. Especially where this man was concerned.

  Lizzie sniffled and straightened her spine. “I’m perfectly fine. Thank you. Just a little homesick is all.”

  “Of course.”

  The carriage finally rolled to a complete stop. The dowager startled awake.

  “Oh, my eyes were shut just for a moment.” The woman straightened her hat. “There now. It was such a lovely ride, wasn’t it?”

  The footman opened the door and helped Markham’s stepmother from the carriage. Then, Lizzie was next to descend to the street. Despite herself, she couldn’t help but gaze up in awe at the grandeur of 19 Grosvenor Square. Five windows across and four stories high, the house was more square than rectangular. Six fluted columns alternated the many windows, adding to the splendor of the house.

  And yet, it was also obscene. The part of her that was so impressed by the Crystal Palace, stood before this house in admiration. But the other part of her, the part that loved her simple thatched roof home in Abingdon, detested this obscene display of wealth.

  Markham’s hand brushed her shoulder. “You like it then?”

  The sense of his strong body nearby tormented her. How easy it would be to lean back against him, to bury herself in his powerful embrace. How easy it would be to forget his painful words and fall for him again.

  Lizzie couldn’t take it another minute. The terrible rise and fall of emotions had weakened and tired her. She just wanted to disappear into a room of her own and sleep until morning.

  When Markham hadn’t moved, she realized he expected an answer. She started away from him toward the dark double doors. “It will do.” She grinned. If nothing else, she’d learned that teasing his self-importance made her feel better. “Yes, it will have it to do.”

  Lizzie could have sworn she heard him growl behind her.

  Markham watched her disappear inside the front door. It will do, she said. What did she want? Something more? This was one of the largest houses on the square.

  And yet he saw that gleam of awe in her eyes, the look of wonder upon her face. Her marvel at the Crystal Palace had been like a child wakening upon Christmas morning. Oh no, Miss Parker could not hide her fascination. She may try to convince him that she held nothing but disdain for London, but he knew better. He saw the light in her eyes.

  Markham entered the vestibule, heard his stepmother down the hall speaking with the staff, and found Lizzie up on the stair landing. She stared straight up past the chandelier. He jaunted up the steps to join her.

  “Is there another level up there?”

  The chandelier hung from an oval opening, where curtained windows could be seen just behind the low railing. “No. ’Tis only a small dome. You could not see it from your close angle on the street.”

  Miss Parker pressed her hand to her mouth and gave a slight shake of her head. “What, then, is the purpose?”

  How to explain it to her? Could she have any concept of the statues wedged in alcoves, the gold gilding inscribed on the ceilings, the half-pillars in the dining room? Her whole small house could fit within his largest room.

  “Perhaps you would care to see your room?”

  Her gaze slid away and she nodded. Again, gloom draped over her features. Homesick. No doubt the enormity of this house would only make her long for home more. But somehow he must convince her that her appreciation for the brilliance here was not an insult to her house. She could love one and respect the other.

  Miss Parker started up the steps. And yet, Markham thought of a better idea. He touched her shoulder. She halted and he heard her breath catch.

  The devil with these gloves. He wanted to feel her freckled bare skin. It must be as soft as the smoothest satin. Would it taste as creamy as the cinnamon-dotted buttermilk it mimicked? Or would its flavor be of flowers and the sweet nectar of honey?

  “The patio and gardens,” he said, his voice low. Sounds and voices above told of servants preparing the house for the season. “Would you care to see those first?”

  Miss Parker turned to face him, her eyes once again alive. She stood two steps up from him, at his equal height. She was so close he could smell the roses from her bonnet-covered hair. So close, he could easily brush his fingers across her cheek and down the curves of her bodice.

  Markham’s eyes lowered to the pink lip she chewed, then to that slightly quivering chin. His gaze perused those enticing breasts with pert nipples and then down to her flat stomach and narrow waist. Heat filled him, sparked a rise in his trousers. Damn, he’d love to caress with more than just his eyes.

  Miss Parker cleared her throat.

  His slow gaze returned to her irritated glare.

  “Are we venturing out back? Or have you not finished in your assessment of me?”

  Markham raised an eyebrow. He would much prefer to assess her without the dress. Yes, he still had that chore ahead of him. The perhaps not so dreadful chore to determine if Miss Parker was not a virgin as she claimed or if she carried the curate’s bastard in her belly.

  She crossed her arms. “Mayhap you are a rake, sir. Though I am under your roof, I am not available for your lustful thoughts.”

  “My lord,” he corrected. “I am no rake. And how are you to control what thoughts may pass through my brain?”

  “It does not matter anyway. You only seek to mock me.” The faint suggestion of tears lurked behind her declaration.

  “Why would I mock you, Miss Parker?”

  “I know of your true thoughts on me. And they do not include the lusty gaze you just held.”

  Markham narrowed his eyes. “You know my thoughts again. And what would they be?”

  But her lips flattened, eyes shifted toward the oak railing. “I’ll not be the object of your amusement.”

  Now she spoke in circles. She accused him of wanting her. She claimed he mocked her. Now she was the object of his amusement. Surely, a reason existed to explain her madness.

  He cleared his throat. “Would Edmund Greene stare at you with lustful thoughts?”

  Red circles blossomed on her cheeks. “I’ll not defend the fact that there is someone who holds me in high esteem. And I’ll not fool myself into believing that someone is you.”

  She started down the steps, but he snatched her elbow as she passed and crushed her against him. As she attempted to twist away, his breaths quickened. His erection pulsed, despite-or perhaps because of-their illicit contact.

  Her resistance stopped and she slackened. Her small, feminine body pressed upon him from chest to groin.

  “We have several months to spend together, Miss Parker.” The words tumbled from his mouth in a low huskiness. “And it would not do well for you to allow secrets to stand between us.”

  Wasn’t he the pot calling the kettle black? And yet, his secret could cause far more damage than hers.

  “What secrets are you referring to, sir?”

  Markham growled, drew in a deep breath but only managed to torment himself with the heady aroma of her hair. Already, she weakened him, but he must show her who was in control. She had no power here in London. And she must realize that now.

  “I’ll learn your secrets one way or another.” He fought the compulsion to brush his lips across her ear.

  She struggled and her hips rubbed the
length of his erection, but he held firm.

  “You can make this easy by telling me now or I will use other ways to discover them.”

  Miss Parker angled her head to glare at him. Shadows lurked in the depths of her green eyes. Shadows that spoke of veiled mysteries. “I’ll tell you nothing. Now release me or I shall scream.”

  Her temper ignited a surge of passion and merged his fury along with desire into an agonizing hunger. He yearned to both kiss her and fling her away. Only a day with Miss Parker and already she undermined his self-control.

  But propriety overtook his impulses and he released her.

  “Ask a servant to show you the garden,” he said. He could not trust himself with her anymore. At least not today. Another minute with Miss Parker and he could very well ruin all chance of having her fall in love with him.

  “I’ve lost my wish to see it.” Indignation swept across her features. “Point the way to my room and I shall be gone from your sight until the morning.”

  “No supper? You’ve had naught to eat the whole day.”

  “Your concern impresses me, but I’ve no will but to see the underside of my eyelids.”

  And so the bite of her tongue continued. He could have never imagined such a slight girl to have such fortitude.

  “But you have yet to have your dress made for your presentation to the Queen.”

  “I brought fine dresses from home.”

  Markham sighed. “There is a certain style, a specific color. You cannot wear just anything.”

  “Why not?”

  “Miss Parker…”

  She frowned and crossed her arms again. “Lizzie.”

  “There is much you need to learn and not much time to learn it. You can’t allow the evening to be wasted on an early slumber.”

  At once, Markham knew he had said the wrong thing. Her green eyes hardened and her mouth tightened. She yanked the bonnet from her head once more.

  “Watch me, Markham.”

  Miss Parker turned and raced up the steps. He listened to her go from room to room, before heading up to the next level of stairs. Then again, she opened door after door.

  Her frustrated scream echoed through the house, which sent servants running to investigate. One of them must have helped her to her room, for only a few moments later a door slammed.