He scratched at the stump of his arm and recognized the stark reminder that life would never be the way it was, no matter how hard he might wish for it. God couldn’t give back an arm, and he sure as hell couldn’t make life from the ashes of Lee’s soul.
The door to the house opened and he turned, expecting Genevieve to wave him inside for the tub. His melancholy meanderings must’ve made him slower than molasses because he had to blink twice before he realized that she was only wearing a towel.
Holy shit.
His arousal, partially sated by his own hand, roared to life like a locomotive. He stood frozen in place, unsure of exactly what he should do. She saved him the trouble of deciding when she turned to look at him.
The first thing he noticed was she was flushed, and he wasn’t sure if it was entirely from the hot water. The second thing was, her mouth was slightly open as if she was breathing hard. His heart slammed against his rib cage and he swallowed hard.
“Miz Blanchard?” he managed to croak.
“Genny please, call me Genny.” She fiddled with the towel under her arm, but she kept her focus on him. “Do you want to come inside now?”
Jesus, please us, that was a question with a hundred meanings. Lee’s body, however, knew what meaning he wanted it to be.
Genny.
Yes, that fit her better than Genevieve, a mouthful of French name he had trouble wrapping his tongue around. No doubt he’d have no trouble with her breasts though. They strained against the towel, the nipples obviously hard beneath the material.
“Mr. Blackwood?” She cleared her throat. “Lee?”
Without a sound, he strode toward her and she backed into the house. By the time she was through the doorway, he was right in front of her, his body more than ready. After he closed the door behind him, he wasn’t sure what to do next, until she dropped the towel and he dropped to his knees.
She can save him—or bring him to ultimate ruin.
A Tarnished Heart
© 2010 Leslie Dicken
The Earl of Markham’s life is unraveling before his eyes. The harder he tries to pick up the frayed ends, the quicker his carefully guarded control slips from his iron grasp. Five years after the death of his wife, the threat of blackmail hangs over his son’s inheritance.
His only hope to quell the gossip before it begins lies in a headstrong young commoner as wild and free as the English countryside she loves. She is wrong for him in every way. Yet she brings life to his colorless world—and warms his heart with a fire that threatens to shatter the wall around his heart.
Lizzie Parker is content with her garden, her village and caring for her aging father. She wants no part of the glittering London Season, but her father will not be denied his wish to see to her future. Still, she plans to do everything in her power to vex the man charged with taking her away from her beloved home. The man who once broke her heart. Markham.
She never expected his kisses to tame her resistance. With each touch he rouses her senses, until suddenly she’s not at all sure where she belongs…
Warning: Blackmail! (oh my) Secrets! (oh my) Love Scenes! (oh oh my) and even a trip to the magnificent Crystal Palace in London. You won’t be able to put this one down.
Enjoy the following excerpt for A Tarnished Heart:
Lizzie picked up her pace, biting back hot tears.
“Miss Parker! Come back here.”
Instead she lifted her chin and continued.
Markham’s now familiar growl echoed behind her.
“Lizzie! Wait for me,” Edmund called.
But she wasn’t going to slow down for him, either. Home. It was all she ever wanted. What a fool she’d been to venture into the village when she could be spending every moment with her father.
Clopping horses approached, then the animals reared to a noisy stop and the door swung open beside her. Before she could react, Markham climbed down the steps and lifted her like a sack of feathers.
“Put me down, you boar.”
Edmund yelled for her, but it mattered little against a man the size of Markham.
Her captor dropped her onto the seat cushion, yanked the door closed, and rapped on the wall. Within seconds, the vehicle sprang forward. The dowager wasn’t there.
“How dare you? You think because there is no chaperone you can carry me off like a barbarian?” Her pulse leaped at her throat, an anxious pacing tiger trapped within a cage.
Markham settled into the seat opposite her, his black hair in disarray like a horse’s mane. “It is time to return to London.” The blasted man was not even out of breath.
“But I’ve not spent enough time with my father.”
His dark stare glinted with restrained emotions. “It is not my fault you chose to squander your time, Miss Parker.”
“Squander my time.” The nerve of him. “And that gives you the right to lift me off the ground and kidnap me?”
“You were being stubborn, as usual.”
Oh, that man and his bloody self-importance. “I’ll show you stubborn.”
She reached for the door handle but Markham’s powerful fingers clamped down on her wrist. Without letting go, he moved onto her side, pushing her away from the door.
“I won’t have you leaping out.” The words tickled down her spine, spiked awareness deep in her core. Her breasts ached, nipples tightened.
His spicy, foreign scent washed over her in a conquering wave of dizziness.
“Let me go.”
Markham leaned closer, his penetrating eyes halting her resistance. Her breath stilled as those perfectly formed lips hovered just inches from her face. She could see every nuance of his skin, every fine line around his eyes. “Apparently, you don’t know with whom you are dealing.”
Her eyes narrowed, a flush racing up her neck. “But I do know…a rude, boorish, self-absorbed peer who thinks he can manipulate people however he pleases.”
He showed no reaction, damn him. “And you are a foolish country girl who has no gratitude for the opportunities she’s been given.”
“Opportunities. What do you know of my dreams?”
“Oh, I know of your dreams but I can’t tolerate thinking of you with him.”
Markham’s jaw snapped shut. His gaze shuttered from surprise to detached to unreadable so quickly Lizzie barely had time to recognize their meanings. Had he not meant to say that out loud? Could it be possible that Markham harbored some feeling for her?
She squeezed her eyes closed but the last sight of his kissable lips lingered in her vision. If only he would move off her. How could she think of Edmund, remain true to him, if this man drove her to such stretches of distraction—or such ranges of passion?
The weight on the cushion shifted, causing the seat to squeak. A terrible sense of emptiness filled her as she expected him to move away. But his scent drew nearer to saturate her senses, his one hand held firm to her arm. Despite the loud rumbling wheels, his breathing echoed in her ears.
Then his warm fingers brushed her cheek and no sound could penetrate the thundering of her heart.
Markham swallowed, certain she could hear his pulse hammering.
Passion flared in his veins. Jealousy, anger, desire careened and shattered within his blood, like a small boat upon a raging river. His flesh throbbed for her, his heart drummed.
If seeing her in the arms of Edmund Greene wasn’t enough to begin his quest for her heart, having her slender body beneath him was. And, yet, if his damn stepmother hadn’t insisted on calling upon friends this morning, she’d be here. Her presence would keep his wayward urges in check.
But she wasn’t here. Not yet. And Markham couldn’t help but sweep his gaze down the length of her. The rapid rise and fall of her breasts brought his erection to full attention.
A faint scent of roses hovered, intoxicating him, pulling him under a spell of hazy lust.
Markham lifted one of her vibrant curls and wrapped it around a finger. He envisioned the strand wet, drops of water
slipping down his skin. He licked his lips, but then dropped the curl as if it would burn him.
He’d make this girl fall in love with him. He wouldn’t fail his father. He’d not allow his heritage to vanish or for Lucas to live in shame. She aroused him in ways he’d never imagined, piqued his curiosities, enlightened his mind and enraged his passions.
Markham released the grip on her wrist and cupped her face with both hands. Before they even reached Oxford, Miss Parker would be under his spell.
Her vivid green eyes burst open. “No.”
Markham searched for shadows in her gaze, those secrets that kept him at bay. But anticipation and yearning overpowered her resolution. She revealed herself too easily. Despite any resistance, this fairy craved his touch.
“No, what, Miss Parker?”
Her pink tongue ran along the inside of her lips, moistening them, tempting him. “Whatever it is you’re about to do. Don’t.”
He lifted her chin. “Are you so sure about that?”
“No…yes.”
“It seems you are uncertain.”
“You can’t…you can’t do this to me.”
“Do what? Kiss you? Do you really wish me to stop?” Markham brushed his thumb across her lips. Her protests silenced as her eyes drifted closed again as if commanded by his touch.
Her lips parted. “Please…”
Her warm breath invited him to lower his mouth to hers. He kissed her lips delicately, tasted her sweetness, swallowed her sighs.
A surrendering whimper escaped from her throat.
Intensity exploded. Swells of need crashed against his skin, into his scorching arousal, even within his very bones. He slid his way inside her mouth, searching for the velvety smoothness of her tongue. She tasted like honey and hyacinth and all that reminded him of the countryside.
Her fingertips brushed his shoulders. The devil. He wanted her to touch him. Touch him everywhere with those tiny hands, graceful as a butterfly’s wings.
He ravaged her mouth, drank in her spirit, indulged his desires. She responded with an equal hunger, her tongue stroking his, her back arching. Shudders wracked through him, his nipples puckered.
Markham trailed his lips down her neck, where her heartbeat leaped against his tongue. His hands itched to capture her breasts, knead them with his fingers.
His erection throbbed, desperate for the heat of her body, or even the touch of her tiny hands.
His craving for this tempting pixie bewildered him, and yet he could think of nothing he wanted more. If only he could push her down onto this cushion and remove every piece of clothing, every barrier between his skin and hers. He could thrust himself deep inside and find heaven.
But heaven must wait. He could not take her body, discover her secrets, until he’d secured her heart.
Markham wrenched himself from the nectar in his grasp. He let her go so suddenly that she slumped against the seat, eyes opening in surprise. Stark vulnerability contrasted against the bright flush of her cheeks. Devil, she may have let him continue. And then he would be the very rake he so despised.
Without a word, he slid across to the other side. He waited for her sharp tongue, for the assault. But she only said, “Have-have you retrieved my items from my father?” The words trembled.
He nodded, unable to trust his own voice.
She stared at him. “Why, Markham? Why did you kiss me when you despise me so?”
He said nothing. He could not tell her that he feared her heart would remain locked away for the curate, when the stinging ache to have her dulled his reason. Nor could he say that to protect his son’s future, she must fall in love with him. He could not give her the answers she sought.
Right now, he could give her nothing.
They stared at one another until rain beat a steady rhythm on the roof. Soon, Markham could see the familiar shadows darkening her eyes. Then, she bit her lower lip and finally turned away.
When the dowager joined them only a short time later, Miss Parker’s silence turned into the light, even breaths of sleep.
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Hareton Hall: Richard and Rose, Book 6 Page 28