“Lord Markham,” he snapped then turned his attention back to his stepbrother. “I paid a call to Lord Fallston today. He was not at home, but his wife insisted I give the ring to her.”
An odd gleam flickered in Lord Alcott’s eyes. He glanced over at her and then back at Markham. “Did you?”
Markham cleared his throat while a vein pulsed on his temple. “No. And I do not intend to, though she clearly insisted she would accept nothing else.”
“What is this ring?” Lizzie asked, not expecting either of them to include her in the conversation. Yet, her curiosity could not be curbed.
“Show it to her,” Lord Alcott said.
Markham grunted his displeasure, but retrieved an object from his waistcoat and held his hand out to her.
She took the ring in her eager fingers, the weight of the gold astonishing. Two carved hawks, intricate in their detail, surrounded the dazzling center ruby. It must be a century old. Awed at its beauty, Lizzie impulsively slid it on her finger.
Markham gasped and Lord Alcott chuckled. She looked up at them, surprised. “What is it?”
Markham’s face paled and he shot his brother a sharp glare. “Just an old tale. It is nothing.”
“Nothing? I don’t believe that.” Lizzie held her hand up to the lamp, watching the light flicker in the gem. “Since when have you been afraid to speak the truth?”
Markham growled and snatched the ring from her finger. “How little you know about me.” Without another word he stormed from the room, slamming the door behind him.
The rain swelled into a downpour as she heard him stomp down the hallway. Watching the rivulets criss-crossing on the windowpane, Lizzie stared out into the approaching darkness.
Questions of the mysterious ring spun in her brain. Why did Lady Fallston want the ring? Why wouldn’t Markham give it to her? Why did he care when she slid it on her finger?
She turned back to Lord Alcott, whose lips were still rounded in a grin. “Well, go on. What is the old tale?”
He shrugged. “The tale says that the first woman to try on the Earl of Markham’s ring is his ideal match. His true love.”
“But what of his wife? Would she not have tried it on her finger?”
Lord Alcott shrugged. “Your father had the ring in his keeping, I believe, until recently.”
“My father?” What did Papa have to do with the Lord Markham? And if he’d only held it for some safe keeping, why return it now?
“I know not why, Miss Parker, but I will tell you…” he winked at her, “I would guess that you are indeed the first to try it on.”
Chapter Ten
A low rumble of laughter distracted Lizzie from the unusual building before her. She turned to Lord Alcott, whose ever-present grin widened.
A gleam flashed in his intense eyes. “Are you impressed?”
Lizzie held her breath, trying to quell her excitement. She hadn’t even seen the inside of the theater yet. It must be as grand. She still yearned for a trip to the Crystal Palace, but the doors had still not opened to admission.
“There are no buildings such as this in Abingdon,” Lord Alcott commented, leading her toward the front doors.
“No,” she answered, her mood deflating. Abingdon. She would never experience something such as this in the countryside.
Lizzie glanced down at her jade-colored gown, fancied with a single strip of lace at the neckline. Stunning, extravagant, more than she’d dreamed she would ever wear.
The lobby of the theater was so crowded with attendees, she barely noticed the décor. It was so difficult not to stop and admire the gold figurines on the walls or intricate carvings on the ceiling as she followed Lord Alcott up a small flight of steps.
“This way.” He pushed a red curtain aside and stepped into a small room. The room contained three rows of chairs, each row a step lower than the one behind. “Our box.”
Lizzie noted the empty seats and tried to suppress her disappointment. She never asked Markham if he were attending this evening, nor did she mention her coming with his stepbrother. As far as she was concerned, she was not accountable to him nor he to her.
“Occasionally this whole box is full. But tonight it should just be you, me and my mother.”
Somehow the dowager disappeared after their arrival. She had been with them outside but they lost her as they made their way upstairs.
“Come.” He waved from the lowest tier. “See the full view of the theater.”
She went down the few steps and gasped. Straight across from them were six rows of balconies. The top row touched the exquisite domed ceiling. An enormous chandelier suspended from the center. Amazing that the weight of it did not pull the whole theater asunder.
Her gaze meandered to the front, where a heavy red curtain hung below more carvings. Two pillar-like facades shouldered each end of the stage.
Between the high walls of balconies were several levels of seats on the main floor. These rows lifted gradually to the fourth side, where another set of balconies climbed to the top.
“You like it then?”
Lizzie turned to those mischievous blue eyes. “It is breathtaking.”
He looked pleased. “So then your view on the world is widening?”
She nodded. Indeed it was.
Lord Alcott held out a pair of opera glasses. “Here. Take a look.”
Lizzie lifted them to her eyes. She looked down at the people seated on the main level and could see them just fine. But when she lifted it to the balconies across from them, the view was blurry.
She held them away. “I cannot see across to the other side.”
Alcott moved closer to her and Lizzie could feel his breath on her hair. “Let me show you.” He took them from her hands and pointed to a piece on the center that resembled a small wheel. “You move this and it focuses the lenses. You’ll have to keep trying it until the view becomes clear.”
She took the black opera glasses from his hand and looked through them again. This time, she adjusted them as instructed and casually surveyed the rows of balconies across the theater.
Beautiful women. Handsome men. Young women, old women, thin women, heavy women. Dresses of yellow, blue, purple, ivory, pink. Men in black.
Lizzie sighed with contentment, as she moved the glasses nearer to the stage. Another balcony. Man in black. Young woman in deep blue. Slightly older woman in silver. Older man in black.
She was ready to move forward when something caught her eye. The first man turned from the young woman and reached straight ahead of him for a pair of opera glasses. Lizzie’s breath caught in her throat.
Markham.
Her pulse pounded in her ears, drowning out the hum of voices around her. She studied his face, noting the familiar scowl. The woman in silver leaned across and said something to him. This woman’s face commanded a presence, striking but not necessarily pretty. Her blonde hair and high, strong cheekbones seemed familiar but Lizzie had seen so many people these last several weeks.
Markham’s lips, pressed as they were in a grim line, did not move. The woman slid back into her seat and began a conversation with the girl seated next to her. This girl had raven hair, like Markham’s, and a smooth beautiful face.
The bitter taste of jealousy burned Lizzie’s tongue. Yes, she’d rather be here with Markham, but who was she fooling? Those kisses meant nothing to him. Perhaps he made a wager with someone, some type of a dare. Which would be the first to capture her heart then break it? She looked up at Lord Alcott, who watched her now from a few seats away. Was he in on some sort of a plot to trample her heart?
“Did you recognize someone?” he asked.
She debated telling him the truth, but her curiosity got the better of her. “The earl. I did not expect he would be here this evening.”
Alcott rose to his feet. “Nor did I. Who is he with?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. Those women look slightly familiar but I’m not certain.”
He took the
opera glasses from her and scanned the balconies until she saw him shake his head. “Well, well, isn’t that interesting.”
“Who are they?”
“The woman immediately next to him is Lady Harriet, the daughter of the Marquess of Collington.”
“Who is the other woman?” The one whose sharp eyes pierced Markham like a tiger’s claws.
“That is Lady Fallston. And her husband, the Marquess, sits on the other side of her.”
“Lady Fallston.” Lizzie remembered her now. The dance with Lord Helmsley. This woman stood next to Markham, leaning into him with an intimate confidence. And this must be the woman Markham had seen the other night, the one who wanted the ring. His rage had been very real and yet there he was in the same box with her.
“Yes, she’s the one,” Lord Alcott said as if reading her mind. He lowered the opera glasses and set them on the box’s ledge.
“Tell me, why does Lady Fallston want Markham’s ring?”
Lord Alcott sighed and dropped into one of the red cushioned chairs. He glanced behind him and seeing that only Lizzie was in earshot, he patted the seat beside him. His face transformed from the usual roguish countenance to humiliation. “She knows of it because I used it for a bet with her husband and I lost.”
Lizzie gasped. “You bet the ring? It isn’t even yours.” She eased herself into chair next to him.
“I know, I know. I felt so certain that colt would win the race. I just never contemplated what would happen if it lost.”
“Why did you even offer it?”
“I didn’t.” He thrust a hand through his hair. “Lord Fallston mentioned it as soon as he realized who I was. I don’t know how he knew about it but he refused to accept any other wager.”
“And now Markham won’t hand it over?”
“As far as I know he hasn’t had much of chance to speak with the Marquess. He wants to offer something else in its place.”
Lizzie couldn’t comprehend the situation. What could Lady Fallston want so much from the ring? “But Markham said that Lady Fallston would accept nothing else. What does she know of the ring? Why is she involved in this transaction?”
Lord Alcott shrugged but she noticed his eyes slide away from her. He was hiding something. “What is it? Come, you know something.”
He clamped his jaw and refused to answer.
Lizzie picked up the opera glasses and once more sought out the far box. Markham sat on the end, his hands fiddling with something in his lap. He seemed somehow apart from the rest of the group. Lizzie shifted over to Lady Fallston, whose narrowed gaze darted between Lady Harriet and Markham. A distinct possessiveness glinted within her eyes.
“They were lovers,” she realized aloud and knew why Lady Fallston wanted the ring. But it was too late. Lizzie had already slipped it on her finger.
Markham’s fingertip glided across the smooth mother-of-pearl casing of the opera glasses. He fidgeted with them, desperate to distract himself from the present situation.
Devil take it, but he did not want to take Lady Harriet to the opera. It wasn’t that she wasn’t fetching. In fact, she had all the necessary attributes important in a wife. He cursed his wretched circumstances even more so every time he saw her.
No. He’d planned to bring Miss Parker to the opera. She was the one he needed to court. She held his future—the future of all Markhams—in those tiny hands of hers. But Markham also knew the firestorm Lucinda could create if she did not get her way. Their meeting recently only confirmed his fears.
But how could he pacify that vixen and still maintain dignity, integrity, and his secret?
Markham edged himself away from Lady Harriet. He couldn’t bear to hear her conversation with Lucinda. It seemed to him that they were already planning his wedding to Lord Collington’s daughter.
Sighing, he lifted the opera glasses to his eyes and scanned the theater. Habit, more than curiosity, led him to the family balcony. He expected it to be empty, but as he focused the lenses two figures came into view.
Vibrant red hair caught his attention. He choked. The devil, could that be Miss Parker? Wearing a fashionable, if not alluring gown, she looked dazzling, pretty and yet somehow not right. That girl wasn’t the Miss Parker he knew. She wasn’t the independent, stubborn, unpolished daughter of a country rector. Instead she had transformed into a stunning debutante.
He scanned her slim white throat, her bare shoulders, her gleaming hair twisted to the top of her head. His groin throbbed and he shifted in his seat.
And what was she doing here? If she were in that balcony than she must be with…
Markham moved the binoculars to the right slightly and saw his stepbrother. A knot of jealousy coiled in his gut. Ah, yes, of course. That must have been what they were discussing when he came upon them the other night.
Now he must add the worry of Alcott stealing Miss Parker’s attention to his long list of concerns. He groaned, fought off the urge to rush over there, and sank back against his seat.
“Lord Markham, is everything all right?” Lady Harriet asked.
He nodded, not trusting his voice at the moment.
Lucinda reached across for the opera glasses. “He must have seen someone interesting.”
Markham stood quickly, moving them out of her reach. He could not tolerate her snide comments or her overt threats. Not when Miss Parker and Alcott sat next to one another without a chaperone watching over them. Damn his useless stepmother.
He must separate those two. He couldn’t allow for gossip. It had nothing to do with Miss Parker’s exposed throat or shadowed breasts. Or the fact that his stepbrother held her attention for the entire night.
His stomach clenched. “I must attend to something at once.” Markham turned for the steps.
“Will you return?” Lady Harriet called. “The opera will start before long.”
“Leave him.” His jaw tightened at the venom in Lucinda’s voice. “Lord Markham would never exhibit such rude behavior as leaving his escort for the evening. He’ll return.”
Composure. Control.
But Markham couldn’t find them as frustration and indignation exploded in his gut. He knocked a chair over on his way out of the box and stormed through the few remaining stragglers still chatting outside their balconies. He had to get away from Lucinda. He ought to separate Alcott and Miss Parker.
Stopping outside the family balcony, Markham sucked in a deep breath, struggled to rein in his anger. And the overpowering urge to drag his stepbrother from this building and render him unconscious. Miss Parker was his. Her heart, her attentions, her glistening fair skin—they all belonged to him.
The balcony’s occupants did not notice his entrance until he stood over them. Both looked up in surprise.
“Markham.” Miss Parker rose from her seat. The jade green dress emphasized the vibrancy in her eyes. Several red curls kissed her bare shoulders and his fingers yearned to caress them.
Alcott remained seated with a typical arrogant grin.
Markham’s gaze skimmed over the fashionable exposure of her neck and shoulders. Her freckles were harder to see in the dim light, but he knew they were there. He remembered how they sprinkled across her skin like breadcrumbs, enticing him to follow their path.
“Where the devil is the dowager?” he snapped at his brother and forced his eyes from her allure. He tried to control his lust, his temper, to keep his emotions at bay. But it was useless. Whenever Miss Parker was near, control slipped further and further from his grasp.
His stepbrother shrugged. “Somewhere.”
The lack of concern enraged Markham further. He turned again to Miss Parker, fought the impulse to pull her from the balcony. Fought the impulse to yank her body hard against him. “You need to leave. This is improper and I will not let the two of you shame my family’s reputation.”
Her gaze narrowed at him, lips pursed. “I will not. This is my first time to this beautiful place and I will not leave it now.”
M
arkham took a step closer to her as scorching heat blazed in his cells. Was it ire? Or the temptation of her silky skin, the mysterious shadows between her breasts? She enraged him—hell, aroused him—in both mind and body. “You are coming with me now.”
The corners of her kissable lips rounded. “Markham, if you wanted me to attend with you, you only needed to ask.”
But he was a fool who’d waited too long.
“He couldn’t have asked you, Miss Parker,” Alcott said from his seat. “Not when another woman had caught his fancy.”
They must have seen him with Lady Harriet across the theater.
Her face paled. “I see. Well, no need to worry yourself about us. The dowager will return momentarily.”
The air hissed out of Markham’s lungs. Relief surged through him that no scandal would befall them. But now he had no reason to snatch her from the theater and have her alone again. No reason to take her from another man’s attention, to avoid returning to the other side of balconies.
“Will you be staying with us then?”
He started to answer but the orchestra commenced, drowning his words.
Miss Parker smiled, but it did not reach her eyes, where shadows suddenly darkened them like the lights that dimmed around them. Markham had the sudden urge to kiss those eyelids, to dispel whatever worry ailed her. Then he would taste those freckles leading from her delicate nose, down her throat, to the swell of her breasts. What would the rest of her look like? The still-smooth stomach, the gentle curve of her hips?
Hell, he was now fully erect.
Damn it. How did she manage to do this to him? To always transform his anger into lust?
She caused him to lose himself, who he must be. He lost the ability to maintain the utmost control whenever she was near.
And he must have his control. He would not fail Lucas the way he failed his father.
Markham sighed and trudged up the steps, brushing past the dowager rushing to take her seat. He’d give anything to sit beside Miss Parker and observe her excitement, breathe in her glorious scent, stare at her shining curls.
A Tarnished Heart Page 10
