“What did you say?” Katherine glanced between them.
“She has decided marriage and London are not for her. Correction. Marriage and Britain are not for her.” Philippa faced Clarissa and put her palms together. “Please tell me you’ve reconsidered. I hate to think of one of my soirees as the impetus for your flight.”
“I don’t blame you, Pippa,” Clarissa said. “You aren’t the one who refused to smile for Moultonbury. I knew his character. I expected a response. I just didn’t expect to end up betrothed.”
“Not betrothed,” Katherine replied. “Merely…courted.”
Courted…by a green-eyed man with protective instincts who Farring had sworn was a kindred spirit and whose touch made her insides turn to heated honey.
Which was dangerous in an entirely different way.
“Why did you refuse to smile?” Katherine asked.
“Because I didn’t want to smile,” she replied. “And censure matters only if you wish to belong.” She parted her fingers and squinted through the tiny space. “The world is wide, and I’ve been striving to fit in a tiny little sliver.” She threw up her hands and shrugged. “Why should I fight to exist where I do not belong?”
“I understand,” Katherine replied. “Believe me, I understand. But trust me when I tell you this—while you can save by minding your expenses, increasing your income is a better way.”
“Spoken,” Philippa said, “like a woman who has pored over one too many estate books.”
“Which I have.” Katherine stretched out her hands. “Even so, I’ve tried the path of restriction. While restriction seems like the only option—especially for us women—it is not.”
Clarissa took Katherine’s hands. Her palms were solid and warm, and for some reason, Clarissa wanted to cry all over again.
Katherine shook her head. “Have you truly exhausted all the possibilities, or have you exhausted only the ones easily seen?”
“What more do I need before I’m designated a spinster? This will be my fifth Season, Katherine.”
“Has it been that many?”
“I had to make a curtsy to the Queen, even though Rayne and I expected Bromton to offer.” The lump in Clarissa’s throat grew larger. “Every year since has been worse. I probably would have broken long before but for the two of you and Katerina.”
Katherine enfolded Clarissa in her arms. She smelled comfortingly of fresh linen and flowers. There had been too few women in Clarissa’s youth.
And, if she left England with Rayne—there would be few women once again.
But how could she stay?
“You and Philippa are married. You belong now. I do not.” She sniffed. “I need to find another way.”
Katherine rubbed Clarissa’s back like the big sister she was. “I am a selfish being.”
“Selfish?” Clarissa asked.
Katherine pulled away and placed a hand over her stomach. “I just want you here.”
Clarissa pressed her lips together.
“Well,” Philippa interjected. “Clarissa cannot possibly leave before Rayne returns, can she?”
No, I cannot.
Correction.
She could leave, but she had, for all intents and purposes, been caring for Rayne’s estates.
Leaving before Rayne returned would mean turning her back on everything her father had gained after he’d exchanged her future for a Bromton investment in the now-profitable Rayne mines.
She’d sacrificed so much.
Leaving now would negate it all.
“No,” she agreed, “I cannot leave before Rayne returns.”
She refused to leave before her brother returned and placed adequate staff in place.
“Why not pass the time with Markham, then?” Philippa suggested. “You could ‘Percy’ him all you like. Drive him absolutely mad.”
Katherine chuckled. “I confess, Julia had much the same idea.”
Clarissa imagined his blush and then smiled. “I have to admit, that does sound tempting.”
Katherine flashed a look. “I warn you—Julia’s plans almost always misfire.”
Sometimes Katherine and Markham really did look alike.
Why had she an instant affinity for one sibling—Katherine—while the other—Markham—always irritated her skin like an itch she could not reach?
Was she simply afraid?
Could Markham be a kindred spirit, as Farring suggested?
Whether he was or not, he’d transgressed. And, despite Katherine’s warning, she intended to make him face the consequence.
“Call the gentlemen in.” Clarissa made up her mind. “I’ll agree to a false courtship.”
Clarissa went back to the window. Outside, the coming fall was just starting to thin the garden. Her gaze fixed on a single rose, still blooming, although its outer petals had paled and begun to shrivel.
Voices filled the background as the men returned, shifting like surface water on the turbulent Thames.
Clarissa did not need to listen.
She already knew how this would end—she and Markham in the room.
Alone.
Ton legend had it no woman could resist Hearts. What if the legend proved true?
The rain resumed, coating the already blurry glass with an additional sheen. The voices ceased. The door clicked closed.
She turned.
Markham’s heightened color accentuated his best features—prominent cheekbones and contrasting hair and eyes. His lips seemed thinner than usual, set in an expression of grim determination without any sign of those annoying dimples.
She decided she rather liked stern Markham.
Already?
She sucked in. “Thoughtful of them to give us another moment.”
“Because the last one”—he smirked briefly—“went so terribly well.”
If his cheeks had dented with dimples, she’d missed the opportunity for irritation. Markham’s lips were far too distracting by half. And if she kept staring at them, she’d never hear a word he said.
Of all the men who could have come to her rescue, why did it have to be this one?
She forced her gaze up, meeting his. “You should know I do not intend to marry.”
“You’ve made your feelings about me clear.”
“My intentions are not specific to you.” Heat filled her cheeks. “I do not intend to marry at all.”
She watched as he slowly realized he’d fallen on his sword—risked ridicule and his own future marital prospects—to rescue a maiden who intended to remain a maiden.
His gaze met hers. Wry. Embarrassed. Utterly captivating. “I must beg your pardon, then.”
“You’ve already apologized.”
“Not quite… I apologized for the unknown offense that caused your ire, not for rescuing you when you needed no rescue.”
“Katherine explained that you wished to prevent me from experiencing her fate.” She paused. “I’m not sure if I should be touched or exasperated.”
He clasped his hands behind his back and joined her at the window, looking out. “I hadn’t yet reached my majority when the title became mine. There were debts—responsibilities—well… I—I made mistakes. Perhaps, I thought—well, it does not matter.”
This was the man she’d caught a glimpse of last summer—a glimpse that had hinted at the complexity beneath his flippant surface.
Could it be he was also afraid?
His gaze moved back to hers, eyes so full of unmet yearning she forgot to take a breath. Could it be that, if he touched her, he feared he’d be lost?
Inwardly she shook off the thought.
Foolish girl.
“I will endeavor,” Markham said with great solemnity, “to intrude upon you as little as possible. And I give my word I will treat you with the utmost respect.”
“I regret—” She started. What did she regret? So much. “I regret that you have sacrificed where no sacrifice was needed.”
Another wry smile. “Time with you is
no sacrifice.”
Tiny butterflies fluttered at the base of her throat.
“As for any embarrassment…I brought that on myself. It will pass. I hadn’t intended to marry this Season.”
“But you had considered…?”
“I have a duty.” He grimaced. “When I marry, my choice will not be based on sentiment…or impulse.”
“Why?”
“Do I have to tell you I’m prone to excess?”
She thought through his rumored lovers—all uninterested in being wed. “Is that why you avoid the unmarried maidens?”
He nodded. “Now you know my secret.”
They already shared a predicament. Sharing a secret seemed far more risky.
“Prone to excess,” she repeated thoughtfully.
He sighed. “I come from a long line of men desperate to fall in love. It’s written into the very architecture of Southford. Secret spaces for assignations. A folly. Gardens sheltered from view. Even a man-made lake.” He ahemmed. “I wish to avoid such complications if I can.”
An inner warning rang out—caution against knowing more.
She’d seen an artist’s rendering of Katherine’s favorite view—a gesture Bromton had made to make his new bride feel at home. She’d rather assumed the view had been idealized—no place could have that much charm.
And, if there was more to Markham than she’d allowed, she did not have to probe his depths.
“You are in no danger from me,” she said. “We will proceed with this sham courtship, and I will”—despite herself, she smiled—“endeavor to preserve your virtue, Lord Markham.”
“My virtue.” He focused on her mouth with unsettling interest. Then he shook his head and blinked. “Shall we establish a plan, then?”
“A plan?” she asked.
“For our courtship.”
“Coordinate our lies, you mean?”
“I don’t intend to lie—not again. Lies are so much trouble to keep straight. I will tell anyone who asks, I wish to know you better.” A small smile. “Which happens to be true.”
Her insides slicked like rain. “Very well.” She endeavored to hide her response. “I will say the same.”
His smile widened, pleased.
She practically liquefied.
“I’ve told Julia and Katherine our courtship is a farce. Farring and Lady Darlington are, of course, already aware. Is there anyone else you wish to include?”
“Katerina Van Heldt,” she replied. “I trust her.”
“Then I will as well.” He paced to the fireplace and back. “I suggest we attend a few of the London sites—perfectly proper, so long as I’m escorting Julia as well.”
“Public enough to cause comment, but also beyond reproach.”
“Exactly,” he replied.
“I have already agreed to several invitations in the coming weeks.”
“Will you send me a list? Or, rather, have Lady Darlington send her brother the list?”
“Yes, of course.” Suddenly, she remembered Mrs. Sartin. “I hope this will not be a burden. I mean, I do not wish to come between you and your…”
Markham lifted his brows. “At present, you are my only concern.”
Oh, heavens. Why did being his only concern seem like all she could ever want?
She flashed him a quelling look. “You must stop that.”
“Stop what?” He asked, frowning.
“Stop using that voice.”
“You mean my voice?”
“You sound as if you are sincere.”
“I have given you my word. I am sincere.”
She went hot. Then cold. Then hot again—a fluctuation that matched her conflicting desires. “Forgive me. I—I have never been in quite this position before.”
“You must believe,” he looked deep into her eyes. “I am not out to harm you in any way. And I will always respect your wishes.”
Always.
She rather liked that word.
She nodded slowly. “I wish—” What did she wish?
I wish…I wish…I wish…
Her unfinished wishes wafted between them like seeds flying on little feathered umbrellas.
I wish…I wish…I wish…
But would her wishes land on fertile ground, or would they be crushed beneath a boot?
“I wish us luck,” she finished.
He smiled warmly. And suddenly she was thinking of trees in unlikely places—hanging off cliffs, pushing up between flagstones.
“Would you permit me to hold your hand?” he asked.
Hearts—rake of the seasoned ton—asked to hold her hand.
And, his voice had shaken.
“Now?” Silly question. When else would he mean?
The color in his cheeks deepened. He nodded.
She held out her hand. “Since we’ve made an agreement, I suppose we should shake hands.”
At first, he did not move. She began to wonder if time itself had frozen—caught inelegantly between desire and impossibility. Then, his warm, gloveless fingers closed over hers and the sensation was divine.
“Clarissa…”
Pillowed by the rich tones of her voice her name was not so much a name as a blessing.
He threaded his thumb under hers and stroked between her thumb and forefinger. She closed her eyes, leaving their hands entwined. Behind her lids the world turned gray as he traced indecipherable lines into her hand.
Only they weren’t lines, were they?
He was tracing a heart.
Her eyes flew open.
Markham was looking down at their joined hands with a raw, bewildered expression.
“I just remembered something my mother used to say.”
“What was that?” she asked.
“Come here and give me a kiss for courage.”
“Are you asking me for a kiss?”
He lifted his brows. “I don’t suppose we can approximate a proper courtship without a kiss.”
“Well,” she replied, “I had a life-long betrothal without a kiss.”
He blinked. “Really?”
She could not decide if he looked hopeful or concerned. She, on the other hand, felt awkward and uneasy. The gap in their experience yawned wide, yet, with her hand in his, she wanted nothing more than to discover the secrets he knew.
“How does one go about kissing?” She unconsciously wet her lips. “I’ve never actually seen a kiss. Not a proper kiss, anyway.”
His throat moved. “That, I can help you with, if you wish.”
“I wish,” she repeated, realizing what she’d been hoping for all along.
“Just to be clear, you wish to be kissed.”
She lifted a brow. “Yes.”
He cocked his head. “…Though not specifically by me.”
Of course specifically by him. “A general knowledge would be helpful, don’t you think? No one would believe you courted me and hadn’t stolen a kiss.”
“I don’t steal.”
“What do you do?”
Sensual knowing entered his eyes. “I offer.”
She was beginning to understand his reputation. A kiss suddenly seemed like a terrible mistake.
“Kiss me chastely, Lord Markham, and let us be done.”
“Chastely.” He exhaled. “I’m not experienced in chaste…but I can try.”
He placed his fingers against the back of her neck, heating four individual points that spanned from her shoulder into her hair. His thumb rested beneath her chin. With a gossamer-light touch, he moved her face until she formed a mirror of his. As he drew closer, his features blurred. Her senses filled to overflowing.
She closed her eyes. And then, his lips brushed hers.
Sparks ignited in every nerve, tingling as if she’d smoothed her skin with a potent, warming salve. Deep inside, those sparks lit hope, a promise of warmth and tenderness, and burgeoning passion.
Then, the hot points of his touch disappeared, and she was left bereft.
She open
ed her eyes to a completely different world.
A world in which she’d become, apparently, mute.
“Right, then,” he bowed. “I’ll await the list of events you’ll be attending.”
Before she found her voice, he was gone.
She’d been wrong.
A kiss could change everything.
A kiss just had.
…
Markham pretended he did not hear Katherine’s call. Instead, he marched straight across Lady Darlington’s hall and out her front door, not even bothering to retrieve his coat and hat.
He left before they discussed the most important part of their plan.
Rules.
Lord knew, he would need them.
Stupid to have left. A folly of the highest order. But he had to get out.
Immediately.
He hadn’t meant to ask for a kiss. He’d simply recited words from a memory. But then she’d turned her fathomless eyes to his and said, Are you asking me for a kiss?
And his whole body had responded, yes.
So, they’d kissed.
Her first kiss, and definitely not his…though something alarming had happened.
Something that had made his heart swell and his breath grow short. Something that had cracked his world open as if he were a chestnut with a nascent tree balled up inside.
What in hell’s name had happened?
They’d barely kissed.
Their mouths had been closed, for goodness’ sake. He’d kept the brush of skin against skin properly brief. She’d demanded a chaste kiss, and he’d complied.
But that kiss…that kiss…
He groaned.
That kiss had been anything but chaste.
It wasn’t that he’d gone rutting hard—he hadn’t. Something worse had happened.
Before now, he would have sworn nothing more painful could be the result of a fully clothed parlor kiss than the tight pressure-ache of a cockstand denied.
He’d been wrong.
He stopped, allowing the rain to spatter his raised face.
His senses had come alive as his lips had touched hers—all his senses. Alive and alert as if newly awakened. He’d attuned to her—like a panting pointer, waiting his master’s—or mistress’s—call.
People rushing to get out of the rain jostled Markham this way and that, but he did not move. It was as if he’d been transported back to the warmth of the Darlington parlor, straight into the moment he’d pulled back from their kiss.
Heart's Desire (Lords of Chance) Page 6