“Lizzie? What’s wrong?”
She couldn’t bear to look at him. Guilt and confusion tore at her soul. She must get back home. “I need to go.” Lizzie turned and headed back down the row.
Edmund caught up with her at the corner, grasping her elbow. “Won’t you at least talk to me? Perhaps walk with me?”
She stopped but wouldn’t look at him. Couldn’t. “I…I don’t know. I think I want be alone.”
“But only a few weeks ago you wanted to marry me. What’s got into you?”
If guilt was a parasite, then it ate away every bone, every vein, every cell within her. She could not explain the awful feelings spiraling inside her.
“Right,” he said, gently tugging on her arm. “Let’s go before it rains.”
Lizzie trailed behind him across the stone bridge. He started up the hill along the path but she hesitated. Something that seemed so natural, even daring, a few weeks back suddenly felt amiss. She shouldn’t be alone with him in the woods. It wasn’t proper, it could give him the wrong idea, it could put her in a disadvantageous position.
Edmund swung around to face her, his arms crossed. “Aren’t you coming?”
She glanced down the carriageway. “I’d prefer to walk along the road.”
“Oh?”
Lizzie sighed and started down the road without him. What a mess this day had turned into. She had been so excited when Markham told her yesterday she had a chance to go home.
Instead daylight slipped away, guilt and confusion over Edmund tore at her soul, and her father told her that the villagers no longer had a need for her.
“Wait!”
Lizzie bit her lip and straightened her spine. If Edmund was going to walk alongside her, she wasn’t about to let him see her weaken. No, she didn’t need to let him question her tears.
He fell into step beside her. “You are acting curious.”
A breeze pushed at her chest, blowing strands of her hair. Rain would follow soon.
“I don’t want to discuss it.”
He coughed. “Um, right then. Well, I expected a letter from you by now.”
The letter she never posted. Somehow she couldn’t bring herself to tell him about it. It still lay in her reticule at the cottage. Did it even matter anymore?
“Has anyone taken an interest in you?” he asked when she didn’t respond.
“An interest?”
“A suitor. That is why your father sent you to London, is it not?”
A sighing chuckle of relief escaped from her lips. “As far as I know, no one has found me the slightest bit interesting.” Except for the cad, Lord Helmsley.
Edmund grabbed her arm and pulled her from the road. He leaned them against an enormous chestnut tree and cupped his fingers under her chin. “I find you interesting, Lizzie. I still want you.”
Before she could reply, Edmund brought his lips on to hers. How she wanted to feel something at his caress, she wanted quivers to race along her skin, her heart to pound in anticipation. Instead her body rebelled at the intrusion.
She didn’t want Edmund to kiss her. She wanted to be in the arms of another man. A man whose lips promised an expert touch, whose arms guaranteed her safety. She wanted to be swept away by the man she swore she hated.
Who was she anymore? What had her few weeks in London done to her?
“No, Edmund.” Lizzie withdrew from his touch. “I can’t do this. It isn’t right.”
“It was right a few weeks ago.”
“But my father isn’t changing his mind.”
“I thought you would come back to me.”
She thought so too. It was that blasted Markham. He’d whittled his way under her skin and now she couldn’t put him out of her mind. But if she couldn’t focus on her feelings for Edmund, then what of her goals to carry on her life just as her mother had? Marrying Edmund was part of that plan. Being near Papa was part of that plan.
“I need to get back.” The sound of a carriage approaching reminded her that they still had a long walk yet. And who knew when Markham would decide to come back for her.
As the carriage neared behind them, Edmund slid his hand down her arm then pressed it along her back. She bit back the impulse to ask him to remove his touch. The plan. She must remember the plan. Return home. Live in the village.
Behind them came the sound of clopping horses and rattling wheels. But instead of passing, this carriage rolled to a stop.
“Lost, you think?” Edmund asked.
Lizzie’s gaze fell upon the emblem on the door, a single hawk clutching pearls in one talon and rubies in the other. Lord Markham’s carriage.
An anxious prickle raced along her skin. Already? She wasn’t ready to leave, nor did she expect to be caught with Edmund’s hand against her back. Lizzie started again toward home, but then the door swung open behind her. “Don’t trouble yourself.”
Her mouth parched at Markham’s deep voice. But she continued walking. Damn him and his overbearing use of power. She’d not just stop and meekly step up at his command.
“Miss Parker, it is time to return to London.”
“You can’t take her yet,” Edmund said. “She’s not had time to visit her father.”
“Or you?” An unmistakable edge sliced through the words.
“Lizzie has a right to visit whomever she pleases.”
Markham cleared his throat. “Miss Parker is my responsibility. Her father entrusted her care to me. I most certainly may dictate whom she sees and whom she doesn’t.”
Lizzie turned to defend herself but Edmund was quicker. “Elizabeth loves me and you can’t stop that.”
“No, I can’t stop how she feels but I can prevent her from marrying you.” Markham’s voice lowered with a possessive threat. “I suggest you don’t touch her again.”
She could hear no more. Too much had gone wrong. Her emotions had betrayed her one too many times. If she spoke up now, interfered in their sparring, which man would she choose?
Lizzie picked up her pace, biting back hot tears.
“Miss Parker! Come back here.”
Instead she lifted her chin and continued.
Markham’s now familiar growl echoed behind her.
“Lizzie! Wait for me,” Edmund called.
But she wasn’t going to slow down for him, either. Home. It was all she ever wanted. What a fool she’d been to venture into the village when she could be spending every moment with her father.
Clopping horses approached, then the animals reared to a noisy stop and the door swung open beside her. Before she could react, Markham climbed down the steps and lifted her like a sack of feathers.
“Put me down, you boar.”
Edmund yelled for her, but it mattered little against a man the size of Markham.
Her captor dropped her onto the seat cushion, yanked the door closed, and rapped on the wall. Within seconds, the vehicle sprang forward. The dowager wasn’t there.
“How dare you? You think because there is no chaperone you can carry me off like a barbarian?” Her pulse leaped at her throat, an anxious pacing tiger trapped within a cage.
Markham settled into the seat opposite her, his black hair in disarray like a horse’s mane. “It is time to return to London.” The blasted man was not even out of breath.
“But I’ve not spent enough time with my father.”
His dark stare glinted with restrained emotions. “It is not my fault you chose to squander your time, Miss Parker.”
“Squander my time.” The nerve of him. “And that gives you the right to lift me off the ground and kidnap me?”
“You were being stubborn, as usual.”
Oh, that man and his bloody self-importance. “I’ll show you stubborn.”
She reached for the door handle but Markham’s powerful fingers clamped down on her wrist. Without letting go, he moved onto her side, pushing her away from the door.
“I won’t have you leaping out.” The words tickled down her spine, spiked
awareness deep in her core. Her breasts ached, nipples tightened.
His spicy, foreign scent washed over her in a conquering wave of dizziness.
“Let me go.”
Markham leaned closer, his penetrating eyes halting her resistance. Her breath stilled as those perfectly formed lips hovered just inches from her face. She could see every nuance of his skin, every fine line around his eyes. “Apparently, you don’t know with whom you are dealing.”
Her eyes narrowed, a flush racing up her neck. “But I do know…a rude, boorish, self-absorbed peer who thinks he can manipulate people however he pleases.”
He showed no reaction, damn him. “And you are a foolish country girl who has no gratitude for the opportunities she’s been given.”
“Opportunities. What do you know of my dreams?”
“Oh, I know of your dreams but I can’t tolerate thinking of you with him.”
Markham’s jaw snapped shut. His gaze shuttered from surprise to detached to unreadable so quickly Lizzie barely had time to recognize their meanings. Had he not meant to say that out loud? Could it be possible that Markham harbored some feeling for her?
She squeezed her eyes closed but the last sight of his kissable lips lingered in her vision. If only he would move off her. How could she think of Edmund, remain true to him, if this man drove her to such stretches of distraction—or such ranges of passion?
The weight on the cushion shifted, causing the seat to squeak. A terrible sense of emptiness filled her as she expected him to move away. But his scent drew nearer to saturate her senses, his one hand held firm to her arm. Despite the loud rumbling wheels, his breathing echoed in her ears.
Then his warm fingers brushed her cheek and no sound could penetrate the thundering of her heart.
Markham swallowed, certain she could hear his pulse hammering.
Passion flared in his veins. Jealousy, anger, desire careened and shattered within his blood, like a small boat upon a raging river. His flesh throbbed for her, his heart drummed.
If seeing her in the arms of Edmund Greene wasn’t enough to begin his quest for her heart, having her slender body beneath him was. And, yet, if his damn stepmother hadn’t insisted on calling upon friends this morning, she’d be here. Her presence would keep his wayward urges in check.
But she wasn’t here. Not yet. And Markham couldn’t help but sweep his gaze down the length of her. The rapid rise and fall of her breasts brought his erection to full attention.
A faint scent of roses hovered, intoxicating him, pulling him under a spell of hazy lust.
Markham lifted one of her vibrant curls and wrapped it around a finger. He envisioned the strand wet, drops of water slipping down his skin. He licked his lips, but then dropped the curl as if it would burn him.
He’d make this girl fall in love with him. He wouldn’t fail his father. He’d not allow his heritage to vanish or for Lucas to live in shame. She aroused him in ways he’d never imagined, piqued his curiosities, enlightened his mind and enraged his passions.
Markham released the grip on her wrist and cupped her face with both hands. Before they even reached Oxford, Miss Parker would be under his spell.
Her vivid green eyes burst open. “No.”
Markham searched for shadows in her gaze, those secrets that kept him at bay. But anticipation and yearning overpowered her resolution. She revealed herself too easily. Despite any resistance, this fairy craved his touch.
“No, what, Miss Parker?”
Her pink tongue ran along the inside of her lips, moistening them, tempting him. “Whatever it is you’re about to do. Don’t.”
He lifted her chin. “Are you so sure about that?”
“No…yes.”
“It seems you are uncertain.”
“You can’t…you can’t do this to me.”
“Do what? Kiss you? Do you really wish me to stop?” Markham brushed his thumb across her lips. Her protests silenced as her eyes drifted closed again as if commanded by his touch.
Her lips parted. “Please…”
Her warm breath invited him to lower his mouth to hers. He kissed her lips delicately, tasted her sweetness, swallowed her sighs.
A surrendering whimper escaped from her throat.
Intensity exploded. Swells of need crashed against his skin, into his scorching arousal, even within his very bones. He slid his way inside her mouth, searching for the velvety smoothness of her tongue. She tasted like honey and hyacinth and all that reminded him of the countryside.
Her fingertips brushed his shoulders. The devil. He wanted her to touch him. Touch him everywhere with those tiny hands, graceful as a butterfly’s wings.
He ravaged her mouth, drank in her spirit, indulged his desires. She responded with an equal hunger, her tongue stroking his, her back arching. Shudders wracked through him, his nipples puckered.
Markham trailed his lips down her neck, where her heartbeat leaped against his tongue. His hands itched to capture her breasts, knead them with his fingers.
His erection throbbed, desperate for the heat of her body, or even the touch of her tiny hands.
His craving for this tempting pixie bewildered him, and yet he could think of nothing he wanted more. If only he could push her down onto this cushion and remove every piece of clothing, every barrier between his skin and hers. He could thrust himself deep inside and find heaven.
But heaven must wait. He could not take her body, discover her secrets, until he’d secured her heart.
Markham wrenched himself from the nectar in his grasp. He let her go so suddenly that she slumped against the seat, eyes opening in surprise. Stark vulnerability contrasted against the bright flush of her cheeks. Devil, she may have let him continue. And then he would be the very rake he so despised.
Without a word, he slid across to the other side. He waited for her sharp tongue, for the assault. But she only said, “Have-have you retrieved my items from my father?” The words trembled.
He nodded, unable to trust his own voice.
She stared at him. “Why, Markham? Why did you kiss me when you despise me so?”
He said nothing. He could not tell her that he feared her heart would remain locked away for the curate, when the stinging ache to have her dulled his reason. Nor could he say that to protect his son’s future, she must fall in love with him. He could not give her the answers she sought.
Right now, he could give her nothing.
They stared at one another until rain beat a steady rhythm on the roof. Soon, Markham could see the familiar shadows darkening her eyes. Then, she bit her lower lip and finally turned away.
When the dowager joined them only a short time later, Miss Parker’s silence turned into the light, even breaths of sleep.
Chapter Nine
Lizzie bit her lip and stared at the growing pile of papers before her. Nothing sounded genuine. Every letter she tried to write to Edmund felt false, contrived.
She wanted to tell Edmund that she was sorry for leaving so suddenly. And yet not only was it not her fault, she’d enjoyed the moments that followed. When the man she assumed detested her pressed his lips against her own. When his hands captured her face and her heart stopped beating.
Lizzie looked down at her most recent attempt. It was true. Partly. She did still want to go home. Markham would not let her leave. And yet, her blood burned when Markham walked into a room. Her legs ached to twirl in her glittering gowns.
She squeezed her eyes closed and inhaled a deep breath. Flowers from a vase on her dresser filled her lungs with a refreshing peace. She would send Edmund this letter. It was the best she could do at the moment.
Perhaps if she could determine why Markham kissed her, her soul would feel lighter. If it were an aberration, as she suspected, perhaps she could refocus her thoughts on Edmund again.
Lizzie straightened her skirts and hair, and then descended the staircase to Markham’s study. She took a deep breath and knocked on the door.
“Who i
s it?” His familiar deep voice quickened her pulse.
“Lizzie.”
“Come in, Miss Parker.”
She swallowed her nervousness and entered the study, her gaze drawn to the brick color of the walls. Several deep-buttoned armchairs flanked the carved marble fireplace. Foxhunting pictures adorned the room and a life-sized stuffed fox crouched on the mantel.
Lizzie didn’t look at him, until he tapped a thick finger on his impeccable, walnut desk. “Well, is there something I can do for you?”
She chanced a glance at him as her cheeks burned with the memories of his touch. She saw no embarrassment on his face. His dark eyes were wide, almost amused, and his full lips tilted in a grin.
Her throat ran dry. “Perhaps I should shut the door.”
Markham raised an eyebrow. “That wouldn’t be wise. You and I shouldn’t be alone together in this room, much less with the door closed.”
“You didn’t seem to mind…” she started to say ‘in the carriage’, but caught herself. She ran her finger along a carved mahogany side table and shrugged a shoulder.
Markham nodded his approval and straightened himself in his seat, eager to listen. He pointed to a red leather chair nearest to him but she remained standing. She couldn’t bear a long, protracted discussion. Not about this topic, not about anything. His rejection of her still festered in her heart, no matter how giddy his kiss made her. She still couldn’t find a way to trust this man. Not with her emotions or with her life.
She cleared her throat and found her courage. “I want to discuss your behavior when we first left Abingdon.”
He coughed. “Pardon me?”
Seeing him fluster made her braver. “Your kiss. I need to know why it happened.”
“Ahem.” He scratched the dent in his chin. “Perhaps you should shut the door.”
Lizzie didn’t hide her grin as she shut the study door with a soft click. So, he wasn’t so self-assured after all. When she turned back he was half-leaning half-sitting on his desk with his fingers drumming on the surface.
She came forward and inhaled a deep breath, then instantly regretted it. His spicy scent pervaded every inch of her, burrowed into her very cells. Heat gathered between legs, her pulse skittered.
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