A Tarnished Heart

by Leslie Dicken

  Markham leaned forward slightly, his eyes mischievous. “Would you like another, Miss Parker?”

  Her throat tightened. No. That wasn’t why she came in here. Yet, despite herself, she very much wanted another one. She wanted his tongue to taste her again, his strong arms to pull her against him.

  Markham’s fingers brushed her skin, causing her blood to surge. She lowered her eyes until she could only see him through the tips of her eyelashes.

  His warm breath caressed her face as his mouth moved closer. Those soft lips didn’t command her the same way they did in the carriage, but instead held her captive with the lightest touch.

  Lizzie trembled, her blood burning for something she did not understand. She felt bewitched by his presence, disconcerted by his kiss. Yet, her tongue drew him in deeper, her hands reached for his jaw.

  But he moved away, his lips hovering just above her mouth. “This is the precise reason we should not be in here with the door closed.” His husky voice belied his control.

  Damn him and his unrelenting adherence to society’s rules. “Why, Markham, why in the carriage and why now?”

  His black gaze held her while an easy grin spread across that beautiful face. He gave a light shrug, as if the past few seconds never occurred. “Are you going explain why you allowed it to happen?”

  “Well, I couldn’t very well fight you off, could I?”

  She didn’t expect his chuckle. “Ah, I see, you accepted my kiss because you had no choice, is that it?”

  “Precisely.”

  “I can think of many alternatives you could have chosen.”

  That blasted man. He amused himself at her expense. There wasn’t any way she’d let him get the better of her. She slid him an icy glare. “I did try to open the door and leap out, remember?”

  Markham raised an eyebrow. “That was before the kiss. You could have screamed—”

  “Who would hear?”

  “You could have fought. You could have told me no—”

  “I did tell you no. And, yet, you continued.”

  His black eyes twinkled. He knew her resistance had been a weak effort. Once his mouth touched hers, she had no willpower against him.

  “Or, Miss Parker, you could have kept your soft lips pressed tightly closed and not returned my kiss with such eagerness.”

  A full burn rushed up her neck and engulfed her cheeks. His taunting of her must stop. That damned display of control. Yes, she had been with Edmund on the road. And, yes, she had allowed Markham to kiss her.

  And, yes, her blasted willpower dissolved whenever he was near.

  “Miss Parker?”

  “Lizzie.” Indignation steamed in her breast. Her eyes narrowed. “And you’ve yet to answer me, Markham. If you are like the strutting rooster of my father’s garden, am I to you a wolf or a hen from your clutch?”

  He raised a black eyebrow. “Hen?”

  “Answer me. Do you dislike me or have an interest in me?”

  The gleam in his eye vanished under a sudden coldness. He shoved his hands in his pockets and clenched his jaw. “You both intrigue me and aggravate me,” he admitted. “And that is all I will say on the matter.”

  So this excursion had gained her nothing in explaining his actions in the carriage. She felt better, at least, about her letter to Edmund. She still, indeed, wanted to go home.

  “Good day, then. I’ll not disturb you further.”

  She brushed by him but his arm snaked about her waist, yanking her hard against his solid stomach. Instantly, a quiver ricocheted to her nipples, then weakened her knees in a dizzying swell.

  “Don’t be angry with me.” His chest rumbled against her back, his breath warmed her hair.

  “Someday I’ll understand why you treat me in this manner?” Lizzie made a half-hearted attempt to break free but his strong arm held her back.

  “Come now, Miss Parker, you must not question so much. Can you not just follow what is in your heart?” Markham lowered his lips down to her ear. A heady scent engulfed her senses.

  Heat mushroomed in her veins. Suddenly, her corset pressed too tightly against her ribs, her petticoats burned on her skin. On impulse, Lizzie turned to face him, desperate to be in his arms, to have his lips once again touch hers.

  A satisfied glimmer flickered in Markham’s eyes as if he had won some wager, but Lizzie didn’t care. She only knew her heart could fly free from her chest at any moment and her skin ached for his caress.

  Markham captured her face in his fingers. His mouth covered hers, intense and scorching. No tenderness in this kiss, but a ravaging passion. He moaned, drew her tightly against him. She felt the insistent pressure of his arousal, the blazing heat of his hands.

  Lizzie rose up on her toes, reaching further, pressing herself into the hardness of his body. His breathing hitched then sighed. An unexpected thrill of power surged alongside her desire.

  She slipped her hand up his arm and across his shoulder. She wanted to touch him, to feel that breath-taking might of masculinity.

  But when her fingernail traced his ear, his body tensed and he pushed away.

  A hot glaze dampened his eyes. “There now…” he was breathless. “You could have easily left the room.”

  Lizzie caught her breath, tried to slow her heart. “I-I suppose so.”

  “You could have screamed and someone would have heard.”

  “True, true.”

  His lips twitched. “You could have said no.”

  She could have done all of those, but then she wouldn’t feel the way she did now. She wouldn’t feel her heart rattling in her ribs like a cage of restless butterflies or her veins scorching with the sweetest burn. The low pulse vibrating in her belly begged for more than just a kiss.

  “So, then, Miss Parker, why did you kiss me?”

  Lizzie blinked, gathered her wits. She grinned then licked the delectable taste of him from her lips. “Perhaps to see if I could intrigue you again.”

  Markham clutched the ring in his hand and pressed it tightly into his palm. His teeth clenched at the pain but he did not release the grip. He glared at the grand four-story house in Piccadilly praying Lord Fallston would receive him rather than his wife.

  The house stood five bays across and the front double doors sported an enormous stained glass window arc above them. By far one of the largest houses on this side of London, the Marquess’s wealth and prestige was evident. The man had no need of this signet ring, nor of any money offered in its place. However, Markham would never let a debt go unpaid.

  The servant brought him to the vast drawing room where a tiered chandelier hung from an elaborately carved plaster ceiling. An ornate Persian carpet spread across the floor under the rose and cream colored chairs and settees. A mirror twice the size of the fireplace hung above its mantel and several small alcoves contained artifacts and collectibles from the Marquess’s travels.

  Markham waited near the one of the alcoves, studying an unusual stuffed bird in a brass cage when someone entered the room behind him.

  “Look what Lady Fortune has brought me today.”

  Markham’s throat closed in. His stomach pitched. Lady Fortune obviously cared little for his needs and desires. He turned to face his adversary. “Good day, Lady Fallston.”

  She took a step closer to him, her vibrant eyes glinting.

  Markham held his ground, the ring now tucked safely in his waistcoat. “I’ve come to see your husband. The servant informed me he was available.”

  She glanced behind her and then took another step toward him, her striped silver dress rustling in the quiet room. “I told Fallston to continue his tasks, that I would see to you,” she whispered. “Do call me Lucinda again.”

  “I think not, Lady Fallston.” He cleared his throat and moved to go by her. “I will return another time.”

  She clutched his arm like the talon of a hawk. Markham’s chest tightened in maddening ripples. Lucinda equaled danger and he must get as far away from her as p
ossible.

  “Did you come to see Fallston for a reason?”

  He wasn’t fooled by the innocent tone of her question.

  “I have something for him,” Markham attempted to keep his voice even. How easily he tired of her games. Not only did she know why he came today, but she manipulated two men to get the ring. He wasn’t about to be the third.

  “What is it?” She came up next to him, her lips close to his ear. He could smell her jasmine perfume. Long ago, its smell would make him crazy with passion, now it turned his stomach. His tastes had shifted to roses.

  Markham broke free of her hold. “It is for your husband and I will give it to him only.” He started for the door.

  But Lucinda, quick on her feet, blocked his departure. Her ice blue eyes narrowed at him. “He asked for that ring because I told him to. He will give it to me anyway.” She held out her hand. “Give me the ring, Evan. Lord Alcott lost it fairly.”

  Rage blazed quick and fierce in Markham’s gut. An unfamiliar temper sprang into his throat. Fury equaled emotion, emotion equaled carelessness. He turned to face the back wall, gulping in a mouthful of calming air.

  When she came around to confront him, he doused the fire on his tongue. “This ring is mine. My stepbrother made an error in betting it, as he does not possess it. I will speak to Lord Fallston about paying the debt in another manner.”

  Lucinda raised her blonde eyebrows. A twisted smirk aged her face. “My husband does as I ask him. He will accept nothing but this ring. You are wasting your time and his.” She approached him again, running her tongue along the edges of her teeth. “Let’s not waste time.”

  His nostrils flared. He had no desire for her, nor would he allow her to dominate him. No one but the Reverend Parker would ever see him yield his control and the man Markham hired should be back with information on that claim soon. He owed Lucinda nothing.

  “This ring belongs in the Markham family line. I will not give it up.”

  Her long fingers traced circles under his topcoat. “I’ll let you keep it for your precious son,” she purred. “And I’ll only ask two favors of you in return.”

  Lucinda looked up at him, her lips so very close to his own. Full, sensuous lips that knew how to thrill a man in many ways. He tried to forget their usefulness.

  But he could not disregard the lips he kissed only this morning. Soft, pink lips that learned how to please him with scarcely any practice. Questioning, brave lips that bewitched him, distracted him. His blood warmed at the memory of Miss Parker reaching for him, of her small fingers gliding over his ear. A shudder surprised him and he pushed Lucinda off. “I don’t want to play your games.”

  She ignored him. “Court Lady Harriet.”

  A vice tightened in his chest. “Pardon?”

  Lucinda smiled. “Then, at the end of the Season, you are to seek her hand in marriage.”

  “You cannot tell me whom I will marry.” Someone else has done it already. Markham turned to leave, fury pounding in his temples again, and knocked into a table. A vase crashed to the floor.

  The noise brought a servant running in, but Lucinda waved her away.

  “Oh, dear,” she said with that light innocent voice once they were alone again. “That was Fallston’s favorite piece. What a shame. Now you’ll have to replace that, as well.”

  Markham struggled to contain his ire. Rage equaled loss of control. He swallowed a sharp, bitter mass of building fury. Stepping over the shards, he headed for the door.

  Once again, Lucinda caught up with him and this time yanked him into one of the alcoves. He clenched his jaw, waiting. Only another few minute and he would be gone from here.

  “I wasn’t finished yet,” she said, licking her lips. “Until your engagement to Lady Harriet is announced I want you for myself.”

  He tensed as her palms slid over his buttocks.

  “What we had is over,” he replied, his voice low. “You ended it and I’ve no wish to begin it again.”

  “I ended it because you would not marry me.”

  “And why do you complain? You’ve found a much wealthier and more powerful man than me.”

  She squeezed the flesh beneath her claws. He jumped. Her throaty laugh taunted him. “You are better than him in many ways. I miss you, Lord Markham. I need you.”

  He gently pushed her arms, but she refused to budge. Finally, he resorted to strength and forced her away from him. “I’ll not renew an affair with you. How many times must I tell you?”

  “Oh, you will. I’ll see to it that you will.”

  Markham growled, his heart slamming a furious beat against his ribcage. “Because of the ring?”

  “The ring is only a small part I can assure you.” Lucinda licked her lips again, grinning like a cat that had just swallowed the prized canary. “Do take care not to cross me.”

  Lizzie gasped as she glanced up the long column of shelves. This library held more books than she’d ever seen in her life. There must be something here that could offer assistance.

  “I believe we have what you are looking for over here, near the chess table.”

  She swung around at the voice, poking her head around the marble pillar that separated the small library from the rose drawing room. She did not recognize the tall man standing near the chess table. His tailored black clothing marked him as a gentleman. His intense blue eyes and lopsided grin marked him as a mischievous flirt. Her instinct told her he was harmless.

  “Miss Parker.” He folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the pillar. “I am Lord Alcott. The earl’s stepbrother.”

  She glanced behind him, expecting to see a chaperone of some sort standing nearby. And yet, since it was this man’s mother who should be watching over her, she didn’t suppose the woman would show up now. In fact, with the dowager’s and Lady Harkmoor’s notable absences, Lizzie began to wonder if they hoped her reputation would be ruined somehow.

  She collected her thoughts. “Good afternoon, Lord Alcott.”

  He tapped the shelf next to him. “I do believe all our books on religion are over here.”

  Lizzie smiled. “Thank you, but that wasn’t what I had in mind.” She had been scouring this library to find books to teach Sarah, Robert and Albert. Who knew when she could return home? Something in here could possibly serve her purpose temporarily. If only she could find it.

  “Oh?” His eyebrow shot up again and he moved nearer to her. “What are you looking for? Perhaps I can help you.”

  His gaze swept the pale green dress she wore. A blush crept up her neck and she turned to feign a search on another bookcase. The mantel clock’s ticking seemed unnaturally loud and her heart matched its rhythm. A spring rain tapped against the small window at the end of the room. Frustrated and unnerved, she gave up on her quest for teaching items.

  The heat of his gaze scorched her back. She must distract him. As handsome and charming as Lord Alcott appeared to be, he was no Markham. Blast it. She meant Edmund. What had those thrilling kisses done to her?

  “Oh, look.” she cried, hoping to divert him. “I’ve wanted to read this since it was published a few years ago.” She slid the volume out and held it aloft. “Have you read it?”

  He didn’t move. “Tell me about it.”

  She quickly scanned the first few pages. “It is a history of the English countryside.”

  Lord Alcott stood beside her and absently spun the large globe standing on the floor between them. “Is that where you’d rather be right now? Back in Abingdon?”

  A lump of turmoil stuck in Lizzie’s throat. She dropped her eyes to the floor, watching as the world swooshed around and around. She heard the raindrops on the glass and waited for them to calm her.

  “That’s where I need to be,” she whispered, mostly to convince herself. Lately, she wasn’t quite sure of anything. Papa needed her. What if something happened while she was gone? And yet, each day she found a secret thrill or a new fascination with London. In fact, it was the first t
ime all day she’d even thought of her father.

  Lord Alcott took a step closer to her, his lips curled at the corners. “A trip to the opera could help you to see more of what London has to offer. Would you care to attend with my mother and me? I believe Don Giovanni is playing at the Royal Opera House.”

  Lizzie returned the book to its shelf. A trip to the opera. Oh, how she would love it. Yet, there was no denying that she’d rather go with Markham. But he only tantalized her with his kisses in secluded privacy. They were naught but a game to him. One that she played along with too easily.

  So she must choose. Opera with a handsome flirt who did not weaken her knees. Or not go at all.

  Lizzie turned to face him, inhaling a deep breath filled with the scent of aged leather and Lord Alcott’s sandalwood cologne. “I would be delighted.”

  His devilish grin widened.

  But the sound of heavy footsteps arrived at the side door, distracting them. The library door swung open and Markham’s large body filled the entrance, his topcoat sparkling with water droplets.

  Even from across the room Lizzie could see the storminess of his black eyes. His full lips were set in a grim line and his whole stance screamed of fury.

  “Upset, Evan?” Lord Alcott didn’t budge.

  Markham thundered over to them, placing himself between her and Lord Alcott. “I am,” he answered, “and I have you to blame.”

  He turned to her and his dangerous eyes accused her. Of what, she didn’t know. She stared back at him, determined not to crumble under that cold glare.

  “Have I interrupted a tryst between the two of you?”

  Lord Alcott laughed with a smooth ease. “We were having an interesting conversation.”

  “Just a conversation? Where is that mother of yours? Does she ever do as she is required?”

  Had Markham forgotten their kiss the other day in his study? She certainly hadn’t as her lips ached with longing, but if the dowager were to supervise her at all times, they would have not been alone together.

  Lizzie lifted her chin. “What has caused your anger, Markham?”