A Tarnished Heart

by Leslie Dicken

But hell awaited his return.

  Chapter Eleven

  Lucinda gripped the back of a Chippendale chair and caught a glimpse of the gilt-bronze clock on the mantel. The Marquess had just brought it back from France as a gift to her, but she wasn’t fond of the rural theme with an intricately carved country girl standing next to the white faceplate. It reminded her of the troublesome Miss Parker. The vicar’s daughter who should arrive any moment with the Dowager Countess of Markham. In fact, they were late and nothing infuriated her more.

  Other than Evan’s mysterious behavior.

  How dare he leave her and Harriet that night at the opera? The snub did not go unnoticed. Harriet was losing patience with him and Lucinda promised the girl that Lord Markham would make the perfect match. She all but guaranteed her parents an impending wedding.

  Lucinda paced the length of the drawing room, her charcoal skirts swaying in the frantic movement.

  What was it that held Evan back? It was obvious he was not like other men. He was too reserved, too stoic, too emotionless. His tastes and standards were usually impeccable. Even that Emily he married exhibited the proper characteristics for an earl’s wife. Miss Parker didn’t fit in his world. Why did he insist on spending so much of his energy on the girl?

  Today she would find out.

  Voices downstairs signaled the arrival of her guests. She took a deep breath and waited, ready to pounce on that slight country girl like a wolf on a lamb.

  The two women entered the room, led by the servant. The dowager was stuffed in a chocolate colored dress accented with white lace trim. Miss Parker appeared a red-haired fairy next to the plump older woman.

  Lucinda stifled a laugh. Certainly, Evan showed no attraction to this tiny, freckled waif. Lucinda remembered how he indulged in her own curves, how his hands lingered around her full breasts and rounded hips. No. He would harbor no desire for such an awkward girl, dressed in an ill-fitting blue and cream striped dress.

  “Lady Markham,” she said to the dowager.

  “Good morning, Lady Fallston.”

  “And Miss Parker. How nice of you to pay a call.”

  The girl’s eyes met hers and she noticed no hesitation, no fear. In fact, Miss Parker looked nothing more than curious. Had she no thought to proper etiquette of the Ton?

  “So glad both of you could come. Please, do come into the room. Fallston has brought back many interesting treasures from his travels. Do have a look around.”

  Lucinda watched as Miss Parker briefly stopped at the items scattered about the room. She studied the bronze clock on the mantel and asked, “Where is this from?”

  “France. Do you like it?”

  “It is quaint, but I would not want it.”

  The dowager gasped on the other side of the room, but Miss Parker had turned to something else already, oblivious to her insult.

  Lucinda stiffened, unsure whether to feel relieved at this country girl’s ignorance or angrier at Evan’s interest in her despite the obvious faults. What did he see in her?

  “This is fascinating,” Miss Parker said.

  Lucinda moved closer. The girl inspected the stuffed bird in the cage with the same curiosity that Evan did the day he had come and refused to hand over the ring. Refused her. If he didn’t bend to her will soon, she would make him pay.

  “Would you like to see it?” Lucinda asked. Miss Parker nodded. “Here, let me put down your reticule so it is out of the way.”

  The girl handed the bag to her and lifted the bird from its brass cage. “This is a macaw. I’ve seen them in books. Beautiful. So vibrant.”

  Lucinda pressed her lips together, hiding her grin, and brought the blue pouch to the small chair behind a writing desk. Once safely tucked out of sight, she clapped her hands together.

  The women looked up at her.

  “Miss Parker, I hear you are fond of gardens and flowers.”

  Miss Parker nodded, her green eyes hesitant and wary.

  “I have a lovely garden in the rear of the house. We have the largest lot in Piccadilly. You simply must take a look.”

  The girl replaced the stuffed bird in its cage and smiled politely, though her eyes remained cautious. “I would very much like to see your garden, Lady Fallston.”

  “Fabulous. Follow me.” She led them down the stairs and through the ballroom to a rear door. The brilliant sun bathed the garden in light and the sweet fragrance of so many blossoms drifted up to where they stood. She pointed to the garden. “Please explore as long as you would like. I can have a servant take some cuttings for you.”

  The unsuspecting girl nodded.

  “In fact, I will fetch one for just that purpose.” Lucinda turned back toward the house.

  She found a servant and instructed him to help Miss Parker and then quickly re-entered the drawing room. Peeking out the rear window to check on her visitors, Lucinda saw Miss Parker carefully caressing a yellow bud. The dowager had lowered her plump frame to the iron bench.

  Lucinda pulled the forgotten reticule from behind the desk and quickly rummaged inside. There must be something in there to give an indication of whom this girl really was. Why did her father insist on her coming here and why did Lord Markham feel responsible for her?

  A long thin sheet of paper slipped into Lucinda’s fingers. She slid it out and studied the address. Edmund Greene, Curate.

  She took another glance to check on her guests and then turned the envelope over. Sealed. She could not think of a way to open without tearing the paper. Lucinda took a deep breath and reached for her letter opener. Miss Parker would just have to assume she lost the correspondence.

  Lucinda squinted to read the scribbling.

  Dear Edmund, I am terribly sorry for what happened on my surprise return home. I fear my absence is creating a chasm between us. You must understand that I am so lonely here without you. If only sharing our love could have swayed Papa’s purpose. Why can’t he believe in us?

  The squeak of the door brought Lucinda’s startled gaze up. Her heart drummed as a servant came in.

  “Will there be anything else, milady?”

  Lucinda released a sigh. “No, nothing else.” She waved the servant away and returned to the note.

  It is dreadful here in London. All of these horrible balls with even more horrible people. I’m doing whatever possible to return home but Lord Markham refuses to let me leave. He means to keep me here, just as Papa requested—

  Chattering voices in the hallway warned Lucinda of her guests’ approach. She shoved the letter into a drawer and picked up Miss Parker’s reticule.

  “Ah, there you are.” she said brightly as they came into the drawing room. “Did you find yourself some flowers to take, Miss Parker?”

  The girl nodded, her eyes downcast and lips pursed.

  Lucinda pushed herself to care for the girl. “Something wrong, my dear?”

  Miss Parker lifted her chin. “I miss my father. Flowers in bloom always remind me of home.”

  “Ah, yes, well. Perhaps you’ll see him again soon.” Very soon, if Lucinda could manage it. She gave an icy smile. “I apologize for my delay. I remembered Miss Parker’s bag and wanted to bring it out to her.” She walked to the wary girl. “Here, my dear, you don’t want to forget it, do you?”

  Miss Parker came forward to collect her reticule. Despite the hint of girlish ramblings in the letter, Lucinda saw a determined, headstrong woman before her. This Miss Parker may have claimed she loved Edmund Greene back in Abingdon, but something else sparkled in her eyes.

  Something akin to the odd gleam in Evan’s black stare. Tense fury knotted in Lucinda’s stomach. She didn’t like the similarity. Not at all.

  Lucinda would not fail at her job of matching Harriet with the most enticing bachelor in town. Nor would she fail at her own personal agenda. Evan, and only Evan, would give her what she needed.

  Lizzie gripped the flowers tightly, a perfumed scent wafting up from the blooms. Her breath rushed from her lungs in short sp
urts. Luckily the dowager had little to say.

  What a dreadful way to spend a perfectly good morning. Paying calls to one another for the mere sake of showing your face was a bad enough custom, but to have to endure an hour with Lady Fallston was ungodly torture.

  The house was indeed grand. In fact, Lizzie was almost speechless by the size and grandeur of it. Yet, even for all its treasures, she wasted her time. Lizzie knew from the moment she walked in that Lady Fallston sought to destroy her. Those piercing blue eyes and false politeness suggested only ridicule and scorn, not friendliness.

  No matter. Lizzie wanted nothing to do with Lady Fallston either. If it weren’t for that signet ring, she wouldn’t think of the woman again.

  Markham had rarely spoken to her since the night of the opera. Lizzie tried to suppress her confusion and anguish at his presence there with Lady Fallston, whom he clearly held in contempt, and Lady Harriet, whose beauty far outshone everyone else. But each time she saw him at dinner or in his study, her lips tingled as if they carried their own memories.

  Lizzie entered the house in Grosvenor Square, shoved the bouquet in a vase filled with other flowers and headed straight for the library. She had not found much in the way of teaching materials for the Long children. In the few times she’d seen them recently, she had only the Bible to read. Soon she’d need to request a trip home to retrieve her supplies.

  Upon opening the door, her eyes fell upon the wide shoulders and tapered back of Markham. He yanked out and slid back book after book.

  She might as well speak to him rather than slip in quietly and pretend he wasn’t there. “Are you searching for something specific?”

  He swung around and his black stare penetrated her heart, igniting a fire deep within its chambers. “Yes and no.”

  He looked like a Greek statue come to life. No coat encased his shoulders. His top few buttons were loose on his shirt. Even his hair appeared disheveled, the curl trailing down his forehead, begging to be swept aside. She licked her lips, as if she could taste him there again.

  “Oh?” She raised her eyebrows. “Is there more? Or perhaps you cannot explain it to me?”

  He said nothing. Just blinked. His jaw ticked. Well, she was in no humor to withstand his masked mood.

  Lizzie proceeded on her path. She sat on a tiny, ivory-colored stool and studied the titles on the bottom row. The sound of footsteps came nearer and a shadow fell across the light streaming in from the window. She saw Markham’s shoes in front of her, but dared not look up.

  “How was your visit to Lady Fallston?”

  How could she answer him? Dull? Unnecessary? A waste of time that could have been spent helping Elizabeth and her children? “I’ve brought back flowers from her garden. They are in the vase in the front hall.”

  “She has quite a collection. I’d nearly forgotten you cared for them so much.”

  Lizzie glanced up at his statue-like form, awareness reeling in her every pore. From her low stance, she could see straight up lean, yet powerful legs. The cut of the dark trouser cloth was not overly tight, yet the strength in his legs was evident. The bump at his pelvis gave her heart a flutter. Her nipples tingled, breath stilled.

  Quickly, she shifted her stare up his wide chest to the curious curve of his tender lips.

  She cleared her throat, willing herself to focus on the conversation. “If…if she shares that same passion with me, then I shall find another.”

  “You don’t care for Lady Fallston?”

  She frowned. “I want to share nothing in common with that woman.” Lady Fallston was his lover. How could Lizzie ever measure up to someone so wealthy and striking?

  Markham reached down, his warm hands pulling her up to her feet. His face lowered to hers, igniting sensual awareness. His foreign scent whistled through her senses.

  “You are nothing like her.”

  Despite an ache for his lips on hers, she couldn’t let his words slip past. “Does that mean I’m not titled enough?”

  “No—”

  “Perhaps I’ve not enough money, or education or dancing skills.”

  “I didn’t imply that either.”

  “Is it then that I’m not tall enough, shapely enough, or beautiful enough?”

  He licked his lips as his hot gaze devoured her form. “Those were not my thoughts.”

  Lizzie crossed her arms, her throat closing. He had already told her once, long ago, that she did not fit in with his world. Now he was so heartless he’d say it right to her face? “Well, then, what is it? Why is it that you find her worthy of being your lover, but find me…?”

  Lizzie turned, desperate to run from a repeat of his scornful declaration. Your mother must have filled your head with fancy dreams. Each word had driven a sword through her heart. She couldn’t bear to hear them again.

  Markham grabbed her elbow before she got a few steps away. He crushed her against him. With a fiery glare, he lowered his lips to hers and captured her mouth with a scorching kiss.

  Her heart throbbed relentlessly against her with a longing she’d never experienced with Edmund. A longing that far surpassed any of her fantasies.

  But why did he kiss her? He ridiculed everything about her and yet still wanted to hold her. Was she merely a conquest?

  Lizzie wrenched herself free. “You did not answer me.”

  His steamy eyes blinked but he did not release his hold on her arms. “I meant what I said. You are nothing like Lady Fallston. But it was praise.”

  Her pulse skittered from his kiss, her blood burned from his touch. But it was the warming of her heart which surprised Lizzie most. Markham was flattering her? “Praise?”

  Markham nodded. “That woman is devious, selfish and heartless. You, Miss Parker, are none of those.”

  Lizzie stared at him. Could it be true or was it all part of his plan? The plan that kept her in London…and silenced her with kisses.

  And yet, how little he knew about her. She was devious and selfish too, else she would be following her father’s wishes. But no one seemed to understand her need to take over her mother’s role. Or how distressed she felt to be away from her father. He could become lost without her. He could die if she weren’t there to watch over him. Just as Rachel had.

  Heartless she was not. In fact, it was her heart that led her into trouble.

  She cleared her throat and glanced at the shelves behind him. She would rather change the subject than admit she’d been wrong about her assumptions. “What are you searching for?”

  “Ah, the books.” He released his hold and straightened those powerful shoulders. “I am looking for an expensive, obscure or unique volume. Lord Fallston is intrigued by books. He collects them. Did you see the library at their house?”

  “No.”

  “Pity. It is impressive to behold.” His black eyes glanced quickly about the room. “I hoped to win him over with a lost treasure from within this room, but unless I can forge one, there seems to be nothing here to suit him.”

  Forge one. Of course. Certainly it could work. She gasped with excitement.

  Markham stared at her strangely. “Well, come on with it.”

  “Forge.” She pointed to his empty hand. As important as he claimed the heirloom was to him, he rarely wore it. He claimed his fingers were too big. “You can forge a new ring.”

  His face remained blank.

  “Have a jeweler create a new ring for Lord and Lady Fallston, identical to your father’s. If done well, they won’t ever notice the difference and you will not have given up the one you hold so dear.”

  Markham’s eyes widened and then his smile broadened to match them. “By the devil, I think it just might work.” He came over to her suddenly and lifted her into the air.

  She giggled until he lowered her down, sliding her against the full length of his hard body. Lizzie gasped as her breasts pressed to his firm chest, her stomach pushed upon that bump in his trousers. Except it no longer seemed round and soft, but felt rigid and long
.

  Scorching blood rushed through her system. A sudden wetness dampened the spot between her legs.

  Markham held her tight against him so her face was level with his. Her feet dangled, still a foot in the air. His lips curled. “I have not heard you laugh in a long time.”

  “Oh?” Her mouth watered at his distinct spicy aroma. Her heart pulsed in a frantic rhythm. At this closeness, he must feel its vibration.

  “Yes.” His liquid eyes stole away her reason. “It was a very lovely sound and I would like to hear it again.”

  Then, still squeezing her against him, still holding her suspended inches off the ground, he once again kissed her.

  Lizzie closed her eyes, hearing nothing but her pulse thundering in her ears, feeling every inch of her body pressed tight and delicious against his. She ran her fingers through his dark, thick hair, grabbing at it when he ran his silky tongue across her lips.

  Oh Lord, she could forget his baffling actions, his blasted game that toyed with her heart.

  No one else mattered now—not Edmund, not Lady Fallston, not Lady Harriet. No one mattered but Markham and the magnificent quivers swirling under her skin, threatening to shatter her self-restraint and dissuade her from her purpose. Her purpose to return home to Abingdon.

  “And the truth be known.”

  The voice startled them and Markham released his hold on her. She dropped to her feet with a thud. Lizzie turned to see Lord Alcott standing in the door, that careless, lopsided grin in his face.

  “Alcott.” Markham hissed the word, darkening the air around them.

  “Ah, I see.” His brother raised a brow. “You are all for propriety and duty in public. But with no chaperone, you become a rake with your ward.”

  Lizzie held her breath, tears forming in the back of her throat. She waited for Markham’s retort, anything to prove that she was not merely some amusement when the mood struck him.

  His jaw tensed, eyes hardened. “I am not a rake.” But he said nothing else to refute Lord Alcott’s accusation.

  Then, it was if the walls closed in around her. Lizzie felt trapped, unable to breathe. At every turn, Markham found a way to carve out a portion of her soul by resurrecting her dreams and then smashing them around her.