A Tarnished Heart

by Leslie Dicken

  She leaned forward, placed her hands atop his arms. Through the fabric, his black hair tickled her palms. “I need a kiss,” she answered, now only inches from his face. His foreign scent whistled through her veins in lightheaded rush.

  “A kiss?” his voice dropped to a mesmerizing hum. “I believe I can oblige that request.”

  Lizzie slanted her lips over his, tasting tea, scones and ardent longing. He opened his mouth and she pursued his tongue with her own. A jolt ricocheted from her nipples to her groin, deepening that ache in her center. She nibbled at his lips, wanting to devour him yet needing to regain control.

  A low sound echoed from his throat. She pulled away and grinned at the helpless whimper.

  Markham watched her from hooded eyes, color like red wine spreading across the hard angles of his cheeks. “Will there be anything else?”

  Lizzie raised an eyebrow. She trailed a finger up his arm, sighing as the corded muscles tensed at her touch. Markham’s eyes drifted closed, his luscious mouth parted as she circled his nipple. She traced the buttons down his shirt, sliding past the waistband, to the front buttoned trousers where a hard shape tented the fabric.

  His eyes burst open.

  “Miss Parker…you must stop…”

  No, not this time. He would prove his love to her either by giving up his unyielding restraint or by telling her the words.

  “I’ll not.” A slow sweet burn coiled deliciously in her stomach. Shivers sped to her toes. Lizzie pressed her thighs together, but the heat flared and burned.

  Sinking to her knees between Markham’s thighs, Lizzie traced the outline of his erection through his trousers. He gripped the armrests, his eyes hot. Dangerous.

  But he had yet to turn her away.

  She unhooked a button, her breathing shallow.

  “Not,” he rasped, “not in here.”

  He would not stop her. He would not manage the situation, allowing propriety and secrecy to dispel this moment. Lizzie continued with the remainder of the buttons. “Yes, here and now.”

  His large hands dug into her hair. “You are torturing me.”

  Ah, yes. In many ways she tortured him. But that was her purpose. To test his resolve, his command, his love.

  Lizzie lowered his underdrawers and his hard flesh sprang free. She marveled at the silken skin. Like glorious rose petals, the velvety softness necessitated more than a single stroke.

  Markham tensed beneath her movements, his fingers now gripping her shoulders. “How can I…won’t you…?”

  She glanced up at his face, dazzling and radiant from the rays of the sun. He was beautiful. Like a dark-haired Greek god.

  She lowered her lips to him, tasting the musky skin as he had tasted her in the gardener’s cottage. Both firm and soft, his erection leaped at her mouth’s caress.

  “Oh—” He shifted in the seat, but did not push her away. “Not here…not now.”

  Each cell throbbed, pulsed inside her, swelling with her own need for release. A shiver of power crept over her. Just as she hoped, she could weaken him with her touch, just as the sun weakens the iced pond. Markham had no will or strength against her command.

  She kissed the long length, flicking her tongue at the stiff flesh, while he twisted and groaned. Her nipples grew taut. Longing flourished deep in her belly. Blood pumped hot in her veins.

  Markham trembled then thrust her away. His wild, steamy eyes locked onto her. “I must stop you,” he said, breathless. “We will save that for another day.”

  “But—” He would not send her away. Not now.

  “I want to be inside you. Deep inside.”

  Lizzie allowed him to pull her up to her feet so that she stood before him again. He drew her face down, capturing her mouth. He suckled her tongue, scattering her senses. A dizzying pulse thundered in her ears. His kisses undid her. Always overpowering all reason or thought. She was his. He was hers.

  Markham lifted the back of her dress, bunching the fabric. Lowering her petticoats to the floor, he held her lips as long as possible. When only her thin drawers remained beneath the skirt fabric, Markham scooted forward to the edge of the chair then lifted her to his lap.

  “Straddle me,” he insisted in a raw whisper.

  Lizzie no longer cared who demanded what. He’d remained passive, compliant. Despite his protests, he permitted their union in his unlocked study.

  She did as he asked, lifting the skirt to drape around their legs.

  Markham reached underneath, his fingers tickling her damp curls. Lizzie rocked against their pressure, craving them. Oh God, she’d burst into a million pieces. She must have something inside her.

  Markham’s lips rounded into a wicked grin. “You’re ready for me.”

  “Blast it, yes.” She pressed herself against him.

  His tongue traced the ticklish spot on her neck, teasing her. Then his strong hands latched onto her waist and guided her onto his throbbing flesh. Lizzie whimpered, her breath catching, as he filled her, her body sinking deep into his lap.

  Markham closed his eyes, sliding her up and down his shaft. That heavenly longing swelled with each of his strokes.

  She could do this. She could incapacitate him, every shard of his power. Lizzie pushed his arms aside. His eyes opened, burning bright for a moment in surprise, but then closed again, surrendering.

  She took lovely, intimate control. Rising up on her knees, she held herself still. He frowned, anguish written in every strained muscle. Lizzie bit her lip, but exhilarating dominance reverberated in her thundering pulse and she sank herself fully again.

  Quivers of longing sizzled in her veins, urging her onward, pushing her toward that divine release. Markham’s breathing matched the rapid jerk of her hips. Desperation and lust flashed across his flushed features. His black hair clung to his forehead, his long lashes fluttered against glistening cheeks.

  Lizzie kissed those slack lips, awakening his passionate madness. His mouth ravaged hers, but she took him in completely. He filled her. All of her.

  Markham drew back, his lips swollen. “Not much longer.”

  Once again, he clamped on to her waist, driving her against him harder, faster, deeper. The pulsation inside her blossomed wider, rippling outward until her nipples tightened with a pleasurable twinge. That glorious pressure peaked. Their moans mingled as one.

  Markham cried out and yanked her down on him with a final shuddering thrust. And Lizzie fell from that cliff, gasping, whimpering, eyes wet with delicious contentment.

  His ragged breathing echoed in her ears. “That was quite-quite a morning treat.”

  Lizzie beamed. She had done it. She had broken down that wall of defense, found a way to make him human. Markham surrendered to her power, permitted their lovemaking with the possibility of discovery.

  She kissed his nose, the light taste of salt tickling her tongue and reluctantly lifted herself off him.

  Only when her petticoats were back in place did he raise a dark eyebrow. “Do you have to go?”

  His stare, not nearly so rampant as earlier, still suggested lurking desire. His erection, still fairly rigid, shone with her slick wetness. Oh, but he was tempting.

  Lizzie batted her eyelashes. “We do have a party to discuss, don’t we?”

  He chuckled. “Ah, was that the real reason you came in here this morning?”

  That and a few doubts she’d needed to banish. “It will wait until we are both properly bathed and dressed.”

  “Then you’d better hurry,” he said, rising from the chair. “Or I will take you onto my lap again.”

  She giggled and scurried from his reach, lightheaded from their lovemaking and giddy from their happiness.

  Who would have ever thought she once reviled this man? She was almost his wife. Obvious proof that instincts aren’t always correct. After all, Markham clearly loved her.

  Hours later, Lizzie entered the parlor room, her heart in her throat. Edmund here to see her?

  He stood at the
far end of the room, his blond head bowed as he stared at bronze sculpture atop a rosewood table. At one time she would have felt a pang at the sight of him. Even a small surge of warmth. She had thought him the answer to what she sought. But now she knew better.

  She gently cleared her throat. “Edmund? Is something wrong?”

  He turned to face her and her stomach clenched. Was he the same man she once desired? His face still held unlined skin, his hair still curled about his ears. But his eyes glittered like hard glass.

  He smiled, but it did not soften his eyes. “Lizzie.”

  Edmund came forward and took her hands, but instinctively she shrank back. “Why are you in London?”

  His smile faded. “I have some news. But, first, I have heard that you are engaged to Lord Markham, is this true?”

  What news would he possess to come all the way to London to bring it? Lizzie swallowed, her throat tight. “It is true,” she said just above a whisper. “I have agreed to marry Lord Markham.”

  His gaze traveled the length of her, but she felt not heat as she would with Markham but revulsion. Something sinister lurked in this man now, something she would have never dreamed possible.

  “So there is no longer hope for us?”

  She straightened her spine and stepped back from him, pulling her hand from his grasp. “No, I have found the man I want to be with.”

  “And one your father would approve of, yes?”

  Lizzie nodded. “Yes, so it would seem.”

  That cold gleam flashed in his eyes again then disappeared when he frowned. “Well, that is a shame then. As your father can no longer dictate whom you must marry.”

  Her chest tightened. A fearful buzz raced through her blood. “What’s happened?”

  His gaze bore into hers, never wavering. “Your father has had an apoplexy, Lizzie. He cannot speak, scarcely move.”

  Apoplexy. Cannot speak. Scarcely move. Oh, God, Papa.

  Lizzie choked, struggling for air. Heat engulfed her cheeks. Her eyes burned with surging tears. She left him all alone and now he was ill. She was here, enjoying herself at fancy parties while her father suffered.

  It wouldn’t have happened had she been there. He would be fine. Just like Rachel would have been fine if she’d stayed. She shouldn’t have gone, she should have worked harder to return home.

  She must go to him. Now. Oh, God. Never, never again would she leave his side.

  Markham would understand. They could put off the announcement or marry at Blackhawk Manor. Lizzie dabbed at her eyes, finding her breath. “I-I must find Markham and tell him.”

  “You think he will return with you?”

  She sniffled, moving back from his hard stare. “Of course. There is no reason to stay in London.”

  “He might change his mind now that this revelation has come to him.”

  Lizzie halted in mid-step. That doubt that had lingered for most of the Season slowly rose like bile from her gut. A queasy prickle stirred in her belly but she held her voice even. “Revelation? You are speaking in riddles.”

  Edmund laughed. “Riddles indeed. There is much you don’t know about that man you intend to marry.” Before she could dismiss him, he came over and pulled her down onto a settee. “I will tell you why he will not return with you.”

  Lizzie’s heart skittered with a sense of foreboding. Suddenly, she did not want to hear. “Pray, do not tell me, for I shall not believe you.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Oh, but you must. You see, Lord Markham has learned that your father is incapable of speaking.”

  “Yes, and…?”

  “And thus cannot keep up his end of the blackmail.”

  Blackmail? Her stomach twisted with nausea. “What-what are you talking about?”

  “Ah, now you are listening. Here are the facts. The earl was born a bastard. Your father married his parents, but too late. And so your father blackmailed Lord Markham.”

  “No!” Alarm clambered up her throat. She must stop Edmund. Before he said something she’d regret hearing. Papa? Markham? Blackmail?

  “You must know the truth, Lizzie. You cannot marry the man without knowing the full truth.”

  “No.” She gripped the fabric of her dress. “It’s a lie. You are only jealous and angry because I am not marrying you.”

  His gray eyes narrowed as his lips pursed. “This is not a lie.”

  “Leave!” Hysteria pounded at her temples. How had everything gone so right this morning, now turned so horribly wrong?

  Edmund stood, towering above her. “Not until you know it all.”

  Lizzie bit her lip and turned away, closing her lids against his persistent face.

  “Your father blackmailed Lord Markham. He had to marry you or the vicar would reveal the truth. The earl is only using you to keep his secret.”

  She bent forward against the assault of cramps in her gut. Oh God, this couldn’t be true. How could her father have done something so vile? He loved her, wanted the best for her. He could not have sold her heart that way.

  And Markham? How could his touch be so false? The beauty of the gardens, the exploration of their bodies, those couldn’t be acts he did just to manipulate her heart. He-he loved her.

  Lizzie inhaled a deep, shaky breath and forced a glare on Edmund. “And how is it that you know such a…such a thing?”

  His lips twisted in a grin. “I have found a letter that Lord Markham’s father wrote about the circumstance and then your own father confirmed it.”

  “No, this is a lie. A lie from your perverse mind.”

  Edmund turned his back and wandered to the fireplace. “It’s no lie, Lizzie. But I thought you should know. You can even ask your father once you return.”

  But her father couldn’t speak.

  Lizzie sprang to her feet and crossed her arms. “I don’t believe you.”

  Edmund put down the clock he’d been inspecting and glanced over his shoulder at her. “Why would you still want to marry a man who only used you to keep his secret?”

  He came over to her, his gaze a fierce burn of conviction. “How has he proved he loves you?”

  There were ways. Paying the Long’s rent, for one. And he took her to the Botanical Gardens. He’d finally brought Lucas to London to meet her. That had to say something, didn’t it?

  But Markham had never said he loved her. Blast it, he’d never even said her name.

  Edmund’s lips quirked. “I’m not mistaken, Lizzie. You’ve only been a pawn in someone else’s game.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Lizzie stood on the far side of the parlor, her fingers tracing blue flowers on the wallpaper. The ticking of the clock and incessant chirping of a bird outside prickled at her strained nerves.

  Surely, Edmund must be lying. There was no way her father could have conceived such a thing. How could a man of the cloth resort to blackmail? He could not possibly manipulate her future, her own heart, in such a devious way.

  Her throat closed in once again. And what of Markham? His kisses numbed her resistance, his touch softened her bitterness. She swore a few weeks ago that his attentions for her were only a game, but he insisted they were not. His request for her hand meant he loved her. Oh God, didn’t it?

  Footsteps sounded out in the hallway and Lizzie turned from the wall. She held her breath as Markham, handsome and regal as ever, strode into the room. His glare sliced through Edmund.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Edmund did not cower, but held his incessant smirk. “Why don’t you ask your fiancée?”

  A vein throbbed on Markham’s forehead. He clearly did not trust Edmund. Should she? Should she believe him over her own heart?

  “I have asked you a question. You are in my home. Tell me or leave it.”

  Edmund shrugged. “The Reverend Parker is ill. He’s had an apoplexy. I’ve come to tell Lizzie.”

  A flurry of emotion skittered across Markham’s face so quickly Lizzie could not settle on how he truly felt
. He blinked several times then turned to her. “I’m sorry, Miss Parker. We shall leave at once to return to the village.”

  Hope bloomed. Perhaps Edmund had been lying. Markham really did love her. He cared about her, cared about her father.

  “You’ll find that he cannot speak, Lord Markham,” Edmund said with a raised brow. “Tell him what I told you, Lizzie. Discover the truth for yourself.”

  Underneath the frozen mask, Markham’s skin paled. The dread returned to her in earnest.

  “It isn’t valid, Markham, is it?”

  “What-what did he tell you?” His tightly controlled voice frayed at the edges.

  Lizzie crossed her arms, but goose bumps sprouted. “Edmund said he found a letter from your father. You were born a bastard.” She sniffled then continued with words that soured in her mouth like turned milk. “My father has blackmailed you to marry me or he will reveal the truth of your birth.”

  As much as he struggled, Markham could not prevent the red stains on his cheeks nor the whitening pressure of his lips. Her pulse thundered as a growl tore from his lips.

  He turned to Edmund. “Get out of my house!”

  Edmund bowed. “As you wish, my lord. Lizzie, here is where you may reach me.” He set a card down on the walnut table then disappeared into the hallway.

  Markham shoved a hand through his hair. “Miss Parker, I must explain.”

  Her vision blurred. This couldn’t be true. Oh, God, how could this be true? “Explain?” Her voice trembled. “I have been manipulated by the two men who mean the most to me. How can anything you say make that acceptable?”

  “The intentions were noble.”

  Noble? Betrayal slashed through her, pain hollowed out her insides. A sob rose again, choking. How could she have believed them? Not only had Markham and her father deceived her, but what of her mother?

  Lizzie pressed her hand to her stomach, but nausea burned like the illness of a few weeks ago. Her mother. Those years ago, she swore on her deathbed that Lizzie would one day marry Markham. It wasn’t a dream or some fantasy. Her mother knew. She knew the devious hand her father played.