Markham sighed and turned to make his retreat down the stairs. He could handle the spirited Miss Parker just as he’d handled the rest of his family. Monitoring her outbursts, her razor tongue, her lack of social graces should not be too difficult. Nor should it take him long to break down her weak defenses. With only a few well thought-out maneuvers and kisses, the girl would be clay in his hands. Pending the truth of her father’s claims, all would turn out just the way he planned.
As long as nothing else got in his way.
Chapter Four
Lizzie forced a smile on her face, though inside her gut writhed. She clenched her teeth as her dance partner whirled her around. The dizzying spin left her breathless and surly.
She didn’t belong here. Not in this fancy ballroom with its yellow velvet walls and exquisitely plastered ceilings. She didn’t belong in London. Her dreams of being a part of this world had been just as ridiculous as her dreams of one day marrying Lord Markham. Who was she but a silly daughter of a country vicar, son of an earl or not?
The music died away, but the chatter of voices soon consumed the void of silence. Her dance partner, an extremely tall and thin man, gave her a bow and promptly deserted her. What she wouldn’t give to be away from here.
The aching need of liquid refreshment sent Lizzie to the long oak table, where fruit, treats and drinks were on display. The lemonade tasted sour and yet cool. If little else, these gatherings offered her sweet delicacies she rarely saw at home.
“Must you gulp that?”
Lizzie paused, waiting for Markham’s presence to both comfort and disturb her. Besides the dowager, who’d been involved in a deep conversation for most of the night, he was the only person here familiar. She so very much wanted to be in his arms. And so very much wanted to hate him.
She drained the glass and set it upon the table. “Have you come to give me etiquette lessons again?”
His black eyes stared at her as fury lurked behind his impassive mask. “Your father insisted you had a governess. Was he insincere?”
A governess. Ha. If that’s what one would call a sniveling, wretched woman who was frightened of squirrels, rain and her. But, yes, she’d learned all that she was supposed to. After Mama died, she did whatever she could to please her father. It was only after that day they’d lost Rachel that Lizzie lost all desire for—
“Miss Parker.”
Her gaze snapped back to his face, where that one wayward curl flipped forward across his forehead. “Can’t you see that I am busy with the refreshments?”
“I asked you a question.”
His litany on her lack of social graces bored her. “I would like to leave now.” Lizzie folded her arms under her bosom, her wrists snagging the tiny roses on her emerald green bodice.
The oppressive air weighed on her as she waited for his answer. She could see her shoulders glisten under the flickering candlelight. A shame she’d lost that blasted fan earlier in the evening, because she could feel a rivulet of sweat slip between her breasts.
Markham’s black gaze suddenly locked onto that spot. Then it thirsted upon the shine of her skin, where it blazed a fire up to her shoulders. Her knees weakened. A keening ache spread from her nipples down to the dampness between her legs. Her throat constricted at the obvious hunger flashing in his eyes.
Her lips parted and a gasp escaped in a breathless whisper.
He took a step backward, his Adam’s apple bobbing, his jaw tightening.
But it wasn’t possible that she would appeal to him. Not after the way he dismissed her.
Her fantasy had flourished like weeds after a rainstorm. That long-ago afternoon, she saw his carriage rumble down the road. Once the vehicle stopped at her waving, she mentioned her mother’s vision of wedding him one day. Markham brushed her off with an annoyed glare and devastating words: “I am already betrothed, young girl, your mother must have filled your heads with fancy dreams.”
Six years later, she was wiser. Markham might think her a sport this summer or a distraction, but he harbored no desire for her. Thinking otherwise would prove ruinous. Markham straightened his shoulders, lustful gaze vanishing as if it had never been there. The emotionless disguise was restored. “It is far too early to leave. We stay until after supper.”
The orchestra began, the notes calling forth dance partners to the polished floor. How many men would she have to endure before she could escape this night?
As if on cue, the next gentleman on her card came to call. Attractive, with sleek gold hair and appreciative blue eyes, this man might be enough to dissuade her thoughts from Markham.
“Lord Helmsley.” Markham uttered the words with a veneer of distaste.
“Ah, Lord Markham,” her partner returned. “So this is the memorable ward the dowager has taken on this summer.”
Memorable? Nothing could be further from the truth. Lizzie tilted her head. “Are we to dance?”
“She is.” Markham’s voice now courted danger. “Thus she is also my responsibility. I suggest you keep that in mind.”
Lord Helmsley only answered with a sly grin and led her to the dance floor. Lizzie glanced over her shoulder to Markham, whose scowl held a deadly glare.
“Ah, the waltz,” Lord Helmsley murmured, setting his warm hand firmly on her waist. He took her other hand in his fingers and began the steps. “You do know how to waltz, don’t you, Miss Parker?”
She did. But he did not need to know that. “Perhaps.”
They twirled into the crowd and Markham was lost from her sight. Perhaps it was just as well. She needed a diversion from him.
Lord Helmsley’s scent overwhelmed her as if he’d bathed in it. Nothing like the exotic scent of Markham, this tasted deeper, more alluring. Something like the scent an animal might use to attract a mate.
She didn’t like it.
“Lord Helmsley, what caused you to say I was memorable?”
He raised an eyebrow. “You are quite well known in these circles now.”
“But why?”
“Although we see vicar’s daughters in our midst, you tend to stand out among them all.”
A vicar’s daughter. Could he make it any more plain? She had as little desire to be here as they wanted her. But still, why would that make her legendary? “Clergymen’s daughters are presented to the Queen.”
Her partner chuckled, his white teeth gleaming under the elaborate chandelier. “But none of the others tripped and fell during their presentation.”
Heat infused her cheeks. She hadn’t meant to fall, but it was near impossible in that long white gown. Then she had to bend over and bow, walking backwards. It was an absurd tradition, even if she were fascinated by actually seeing Queen Victoria so close.
“Still,” she replied, as they spun, his hand on her waist pulling her yet closer to him. “That is no reason to be considered in any way remarkable.”
His blue gaze traveled a leisurely path down her throat to her bare shoulders, then lower to her bosom. But his assessment of her did not leave a heated trail, only the sensation of crawling skin. At last, his hooded stare rose to meet her glower.
“Ah, Miss Parker, you are a rare treat for this bland crop of debutantes. Why, every man is anxious to be on your dance card.”
At that, she laughed out loud. His flattering charm could not convince her that her beauty outshone any other girl here. No, she’d lost her gullibility long ago.
“Pray tell, am I on their marriage list?”
Lord Helmsley produced a muffled snort. “Do you believe Lord Markham has you marked for marriage?”
Lizzie’s heart pattered a brisk rhythm against her ribs. Despite the absurdity of the question, her mouth ran dry. Just the notion that it was possible, that Markham would even consider her, triggered a rush in her veins. She’d spent too many nights yearning for him, her dreams saturated with his presence.
But now she knew better. “Lord Markham is my benefactor.”
“Ah yes.” Her partner leaned
toward her ear, his overpowering perfume swirling in her nostrils. “And no doubt he eyes you like the rest of us do.”
She pulled back but his hand on her waist tightened.
“You, my dear, are not meant to be a countess and most certainly not a duchess. But you do have a most delicious purpose.”
Once again hot color spread up her neck like the spill of red wine on white linens. She narrowed her eyes, slowed her breath. “What purpose do I serve, my lord?” Let him say it aloud.
“Don’t be offended, Miss Parker.” He moved back to a suitable distance and turned them away from the center of the crowd.
Now, close to the edge of the dance floor, Lizzie’s gaze found Markham. He’d remained in the same spot she left him, his mouth set in grim line, his strong arms crossed. But next to him, leaning close with an intimate gaze, stood a tall woman dressed in an exquisite silver gown. With white-blonde hair and skin as fair and unblemished as fresh milk, the woman could easily be a countess or duchess.
Oh, when would this dance end?
Lord Helmsley squeezed her fingers in his. “Many men love their mistresses far more than their wives.”
Lizzie returned to his amused, confident stare. “That is a man whom I would not want to love.”
“Then enjoy what you can from this season, Miss Parker, you’ll not find a husband out of it.”
How dare he? Rage thundered in her breast, intensifying the warmth on her face. “I’ll have you know that I do not intend to find a husband here. All of you selfish, arrogant aristocrats can be damned for all I care!”
“See, my dear?” The infuriating man laughed. “Memorable, just as I said.”
She didn’t give a damn what he’d said. Right now she was so furious—at him, at her father, at the whole bloody situation—that she could scream loud enough to bring the chandelier down upon their heads. If Lord Helmsley knew what was good for him, he’d not utter another word.
The cad winked and yanked her close. “I can imagine you’re a real hellcat behind closed doors.”
Lucinda, Marchioness of Fallston, pressed herself ever so slightly against Evan’s arm. Just touching him, the scent of him, made her pulse gallop. How she missed having him in her bed.
“You can’t take your eyes off her,” she accused near his ear. That silly country girl the dowager was to sponsor seemed to require too much of Evan’s attention.
“Her father asked me specifically to look out for her, Lady Fallston. I honor my promises.”
She traced a line up the back of his arm. “Really, Evan, she is the dowager’s responsibility. Leave her to the wolves.”
Within weeks, that ridiculous child should be scurrying back to whatever cottage she came from. There was no place for her here.
Evan sighed but still refused to look at her. His focus was on the dancers. On that girl. “Isn’t the Marquess looking for you?”
Lucinda snorted. As if her husband cared what she did. He couldn’t stay awake long enough to make it through these dances. If Evan had married her, they’d have made the perfect match. But the fear of becoming an old maid while her lover mourned his dead wife prompted her to snag the wealthy codger instead. “That man is too old for these sorts of things. Besides, I have a protégé of my own this year.”
The dowager’s red-haired charge spun away from their sight and into the crowd.
Her jaw clenched. “Evan, you really need to pay attention to me.”
He cleared his throat and crossed his arms. “Lady Fallston, our affair ended last year. You married the Marquess. I’ll not become your lover. Why must I repeat it again?”
Oh, he would grace her bed again. She would see to it.
Lucinda pushed her breasts against his elbow. “I will have you again, Evan, I promise you that. You won’t want to cross me.”
He tried to step aside, but she halted his escape. How dare he try to walk away from her? “Oh no. You’ll not leave me yet. I’ve someone for you to meet.”
Lucinda scanned the ballroom until she saw her protégé. Now this girl was perfect for him. A wealthy family, a high title, beautiful, perfectly trained. He would have no reason to refuse her. He’d have himself the perfect bride and have her as the perfect mistress. All would be well.
She politely excused the girl from several gentlemen admirers and led her back to Evan, a slow smile spreading across her lips. Lucinda knew how to manipulate him. She had only just begun to open her bag of tricks.
She pushed the statuesque girl of raven hair and hazel eyes before him. “Lord Markham, allow me to introduce you to Lady Harriet, daughter of the Marquess of Collington.” The young beauty curtseyed as appropriate and Lucinda noticed Evan’s glance at her décolletage. She hoped it pleased him.
“Lady Harriet, may I introduce the Earl of Markham.”
A vein throbbed on his forehead, but he bowed in return. “How do you do?”
“Very well. Lady Fallston has spoken of you. She tells me your home is in Abingdon.” The simple beauty performed exactly as she’d been taught. The girl was perfect for Lucinda’s plans. Lovely and well-heeled to become a countess and naïve enough not to care about her husband’s outside interests.
“Yes. Blackhawk Manor is my ancestral home. And yours?”
“Near Dover.”
“She loves to sail,” Lucinda chirped from his other side, but then her jaw clenched when she saw the direction of his gaze. “You are still worried about the clergyman’s daughter?”
“Is that the girl who tripped during her presentation to the Queen?” Lady Harriet’s face paled, eyes widened.
“Yes,” she answered, still seething that Evan’s attentions were focused on such a trivial character. “The girl epitomizes the results of low breeding and poor training.”
Lucinda saw him clench his fists, heard his breathing grow more rapid. But she could read little emotion upon his features. Even when pushed, he would not reveal his stake in these matters. She would find them out soon or later.
Lady Harriet fanned herself. “I would think a girl like that would die for a chance like this. How fortuitous it is for her to be here.”
“And to be presented by the Earl of Markham’s family,” Lucinda added, her fingers now circling his elbow. Evan jerked his arm, but she refused to be shooed off like an insect.
“Oh?” A hint of disappointment echoed in Lady Harriet’s voice. “Is that so? Is she staying with you then, Lord Markham?”
“Yes. My family owns her father’s living. It is a personal favor.”
“If you ask me,” Lady Harriet said, jabbing at the air with her fan, “one would think the girl would have some dignity here in London, or she’ll be the basis for a Punch cartoon.”
Lucinda’s lips curled. Perhaps one snide cartoon would be enough reason for the mite to go running home to papa. There was no good reason for the girl to be here and certainly not in Lord Markham’s household. And yet, it seemed that Miss Parker might be the one thing standing in her way of getting Evan back. Lady Harriet, empty-headed and frivolous, would make him a perfect wife but never really grasp his attention. No, it was that red-haired country mouse who would have to go.
Lucinda raised an eyebrow as Lord Helmsley pulled the girl too close. “It is lucky you have such a fine reputation, Lord Markham. Else this rector’s daughter could cause you much embarrassment.”
Markham crossed his arms and swallowed the rage tickling in his throat. Despite the volume of the music, he did not miss hearing the threat laced within Lucinda’s words. Although he wasn’t quite sure how the girl could produce more embarrassment than she’d caused already. In only two weeks, she’d managed to spill food on a duchess’s gown, trip while dancing and excuse herself too early in the evening. And she asked why he gave her etiquette lessons. It was as if the girl knew nothing of London society.
Certainly more people than Lucinda and Lady Harriet knew Miss Parker was here because of him. They knew that his family represented her, brought her to London.
If he didn’t take care of this problem soon, Lord Markham would be the laughing-stock of his peers.
And once he became the topic of their morning rides and dinner parties, it wouldn’t be long before someone discovered his past. Or exposed his secret. It wouldn’t be long before he failed his duty and ruined his son’s future.
His only hope lay in the servant he sent to investigate some of the vicar’s claims.
Markham caught a glimpse of Miss Parker again, her eyes bright but her mouth drooped in a frown. She looked none too pleased at Lord Helmsley’s charm. The possessive knot in his gut slowly unwound. At least this girl had sense enough to—
A slap echoed in the room.
Lord Helmsley’s face jerked sideways with the force of Miss Parker’s hand. But then he sprang back like a viper and reached for her arm.
Markham launched from his spot. Rage leapt into his throat. No one would lay a hand on her. Reckless or not, Miss Parker was under his protection.
The music faltered, then died.
“Don’t touch her, Helmsley.” The words were low, meant for the man’s ears only, but silence descended around them. The other dancers stopped and moved away, leaving the three of them alone on the floor. Markham clenched his jaw and moved Miss Parker behind him. She resisted at first, that damned pride, but then obeyed.
Helmsley blinked, his features slackened. He shrugged a shoulder as if the whole incident meant nothing. “Perhaps she holds herself out for you, Markham,” he said with a wave of his hand. “Do us all a favor and send her home.”
Markham didn’t move. Pulse slammed. Temper waited. But honor and control were all he had left. He’d lose neither.
“Good evening, Lord Helmsley.”
Markham took Miss Parker’s elbow and led her from the dance floor. The brief silence ended with quiet whispers. Then the noise swept through the crowd, gathering speed, like a wild fire out of control.
Markham chose time over propriety and quickly led Miss Parker to his carriage, not bothering to search for his useless stepmother. He settled into the velvet seat and pressed his fingers between his eyes. “What were you thinking?”
A Tarnished Heart Page 4
