A Tarnished Heart

by Leslie Dicken

  Lizzie fled the room, her heart in her throat.

  But she could no longer deny the truth.

  She was falling in love with him. Again.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Damn it to hell!”

  Markham pounded his fist on the study’s mantel, rattling the stuffed fox.

  He was supposed to be writing a letter to Lucas. But he could not concentrate enough to pen a few sentences.

  Frustration scoured through him. How could he have been such a fool? Why did that pixie, who represented all that was wrong in his life, cause his mind to weaken and his body to burn?

  He had no concerns in kissing her, the more he did so, the closer he got to winning her heart. The problem rested in that he lost all sense of control, all perception of time, all of commonsense. Miss Parker bewitched him in ways he could not comprehend. All from a girl to whom he would not ordinarily give a second glance.

  How is it that someone he had barely noticed before now scorched his blood with desire? He craved to caress those breasts he felt when he pulled her against him. She mesmerized him with the slim sculpting of her throat and that laughter—melodious, yet not shy.

  He should have no problem swaying an innocent girl’s heart, especially one that had harbored an attraction for him years ago. Yet, other than those few moments his lips touched hers, she resisted him, still pushed him away. Was Miss Parker still seeking a way to return to her beloved curate? Yet he dared not think that she may have lain with the boy, got herself with child…

  “Hell!”

  The next thump of his fist sent a small bronze timepiece crashing to the hearth. Markham ignored it and paced the red room, its color fueling his anger and his desire.

  He should have shut the door before he seized the opportunity to woo Miss Parker. She was making him careless. And he was never careless.

  But he wanted her. Whenever she was near him, a forgotten stirring awoke within him. And yet she risked everything by drawing stares from polite society. Her behavior jeopardized the very thing he sought to protect by having her with him. His reputation. The line of earls centuries old. The future of his son.

  Markham sucked in a deep breath of air to rein in his rage. Seeking to distract himself, he went to the desk and removed the ring from a secret drawer.

  The gem flashed brilliantly, reflecting the blazing sun from the window. A soul-stirring beauty stemmed from its vitality, ruby-red color and uniqueness. Not unlike Miss Parker herself. Markham buttoned his shirt then tucked it safely in his waistcoat. He would take it to the jeweler today. The sooner he pacified Lucinda, the sooner he could resume full concentration on making Miss Parker his bride.

  Markham scribbled a quick note to Lucas and promised him a visit soon. The shuffling of something heavy being dragged along the floor echoed above him. Miss Parker’s voice rang out above the noise.

  “No. No. Leave it there. You can come back for it.”

  Markham came upon the landing and saw his servant heading out to the carriage with an armful of books. The heavy floor globe stood by the open door.

  “What’s going on here?” He turned to peer down at her.

  “I’m taking teaching supplies to Elizabeth and her family,” she replied, not glancing up at him. Her focus remained on the waiting vehicle. His carriage. His transportation into town.

  “These are my possessions. You cannot just cart them off on a fancy.”

  “A fancy.” She glared up at him, shadows haunting her eyes. The earlier giddy exuberance and dusky passion had vanished as quickly as a fox under brush. “And where else do you suppose I could find books and other items to educate these children?”

  Markham suppressed the grin dancing on his lips. He had no qualms about her taking these items to the needy family. But something about the way she fought for her beliefs pushed him to antagonize her. Her passions, regardless of what they were, intrigued him. She was like no one else he knew.

  “They could learn it at school perhaps,” he said, knowing it would provoke her further.

  Those pouty lips flattened into a line. “School indeed. You know very well those children cannot afford to go to school anymore.”

  The servant came back and lifted the globe, struggling under its weight.

  Markham threw his hands in the air. “You can’t take that away from here. There are maps you can use instead.”

  “I promise to be careful with it. Maps just don’t work the same.” She followed the servant. “Markham, why don’t you help him? It’s obvious he cannot manage alone.”

  Because an earl doesn’t help with manual labor. That was what servants were for. But something about her insistence had him turning to aid the man. However, it was already placed inside the carriage.

  “Do you know,” she said, her eyes staring off into the distance, “that the children had never heard of Abingdon? Not that they had never been there or didn’t know where it was, but they never heard of it.”

  The raw pain in her voice proved her conviction. Could any other London woman claim such principles? He suddenly understood her yearning for home. She didn’t belong here; she wasn’t part of the Ton. She wasn’t anything like Lucinda. Or even the beguiling Lady Harriet. Hell, she wasn’t even anything like Emily. Could he make her a mother to Lucas?

  Markham’s gaze drifted to her change of clothing—unfashionable and ill-fitting dress, un-gloved hands, braided hair. She was not a titled young woman with aristocratic blood, a woman impressed by jewels or fine horseflesh. What the devil would impress her?

  He was at a loss, feeling as if he suddenly wasn’t good enough for her. Absurdity.

  Miss Parker started for the carriage and Markham sprang forward to catch up with her. “I need the carriage, Miss Parker.”

  She shrugged. “The driver will return shortly.”

  He gave her a cold stare, trying to intimidate her, wanting to spar with her. “I am the earl and this is my coach. You will use it only if I give permission. Besides, you’ll need my footman to wait with you again.”

  “And?” She returned his glare in kind. “Will His Greatness allow me permission?”

  Markham hid his grin. “Only if I may ride with you. I can let you off then make my errand to the jeweler.”

  One corner of her mouth curled. “But we have no chaperone. You must hurry and find one.”

  He knew she would send the driver on his way in his absence. Somehow, this girl had all the servants under her spell. They would listen to her without any hesitation. Markham clenched his teeth, realizing the futility of hunting down his stepmother. And where the hell was Lady Harkmoor? He’d never seen two women shirk their chaperoning duties so frequently.

  Damn, was it a mistake to join her in that carriage alone. But, no one in Wapping should recognize who he was.

  Markham helped her inside then climbed in after her, the small space made smaller by the presence of the globe. They sat opposite one another, but his knees brushed hers. She tried to move them away but was unable. He shouldn’t be so close to her. So close to her tempting lips. Being close to Miss Parker made him lose his common sense.

  She made him careless. He could not afford to be careless.

  What was he doing riding out into London with her? She expected him to go inside and search for a chaperone so she could slip away. Now she was trapped with him. Again. Confined, with their knees touching and his lips only a short distance away.

  Lizzie clenched her jaw and picked at the reticule in her lap. They passed Hyde Park and the glittering façade of The Crystal Palace out the window made her gasp. Each time they came close, its beauty and enormity engulfed her. She simply must go through sometime, but who could go with her? Lizzie craned her head until her view of the Crystal Palace yielded to the busy streets.

  She sighed, tired of Markham’s games. If only she could resist his kisses, if only she had never longed for him at one point, then she would not be at his mercy. But each time he held her in his arms, each time h
is lips demanded a reply and his tongue tasted hers, she lost sight of her goals.

  The carriage lurched and swayed on the cobblestone streets and Markham’s knees rubbed hers with more vigor. Did he do it on purpose? She glared at him.

  He smiled and patted the globe. “’Twas your decision to bring this monstrous thing.”

  “If you recall, it was already in here when you decided to come along.”

  “It isn’t troubling me.”

  Lizzie’s cheeks burned. She twisted the bag in her grasp until it would bend no further. Then, she gasped. Ignoring Markham’s concern, she plunged her hand inside the reticule. But her fingertips did not touch paper. She peered inside it, as if that would make the letter appear. However, it was gone. Her letter to Edmund had vanished.

  “Something amiss?”

  “I…I-I’m missing something. I had it in here and now it is gone.”

  “What was it?”

  She sighed. “If you must know, it was a letter.”

  “Perhaps you left it in your room.”

  “No, it was in here.”

  “Could be you posted it and have forgotten.”

  “No, it was in here.”

  “Maybe it fell out.”

  Lizzie narrowed her eyes. “I tell you it was in here. Now it is missing. Perhaps you took it.”

  “Now, why would I have a need for your letter?”

  “Perhaps to find reasons why I long to return home. To find the secrets in my heart.” The words slipped out before she could catch them.

  “Ahhhh.” His midnight eyes twinkled. “I wish it were that easy to learn the secrets in your heart. However, I do know why it is your wish to return home.”

  He finally understood her need to watch over Papa, her desire to carry on her mother’s work. “You do?”

  Markham leaned forward on his knees, his face a scarce handful of inches from her own. His scent trickled through her veins like a doctor’s mysterious drug. Despite her strong will, her breathing grew deeper, her pulse danced.

  “You wish to return home to marry that curate.”

  That was all he remembered of her desires. Edmund. Perhaps jealousy did inhabit a corner of his heart. Yet Lizzie could not believe Markham’s kisses were the result of true feelings for her. More likely they were some cruel method of entertainment. Take what he could from his ward, offer nothing in return.

  Lizzie lifted her chin, pulling away from the intoxicating awareness of the man before her. Let him dwell on Edmund. She made no secret of her wish to marry him. “That is no secret.”

  “But perhaps there are others.”

  Lizzie shrugged and leaned back against the velvet seat. Her eyes shifted to the window, where she watched the city pass. “What is it that you seek, sir? Is there something in particular that you wish me to say?”

  He cleared his throat. “I asked you when arrived in London what your relationship was with him.”

  “And I’ve answered you. Yes, I wanted to marry him. What else is there?”

  “Wanted?”

  Lizzie froze. Blast it, she meant want. Oh God, she still wanted to marry Edmund, didn’t she? There was no denying her yearning for Markham, but he could never be her husband. Edmund was the man who made sense for her, the man who could keep her close to her father, close to the villagers. She must forget Markham and rekindle her love for the young curate back home.

  She didn’t belong here. Wasn’t it obvious after her disastrous horse ride in front of Markham’s friends, after she accidentally dumped a plate of food down Lady Harriet’s dress? These weeks had been torture. First, she suffered being away from home. Being so far from her father drowned in her worry and guilt. But as Markham startled her with narcotic kisses, guilt and confusion stormed in her soul. How could she love Edmund if thoughts of Markham consumed her? How could she yearn for the simplicity of Abingdon if dazzling wonders like the opera and the Great Exhibition stole her breath away?

  Lizzie crossed her arms and fixed her stare on his unreadable gaze. “So, you insist on knowing all of my secrets, what are some of yours?”

  He coughed, his cheeks reddening. After a quick shift of his eyes, Lizzie knew he harbored more secrets than she’d ever learn. “Markham?”

  He coughed again, then pushed the curl from his forehead. In an instant, his mask returned, making her think she’d imagined his lapse.

  Markham leaned forward, brushing his thumb across her lip. She had an urge to both swirl her tongue around his finger and bite it until it bled, but she kept still. “We’ll make an agreement. You tell me your secrets and I’ll tell you mine.”

  So Markham was holding something back from her. Perhaps it was that he knew of her feelings for him. Perhaps that she was only a conquest to him—one of many on his road to finding another proper wife.

  “How can I trust you?” she whispered against his hand.

  “I have your best interests at heart.”

  He slid to his knees before her, then slanted his head, his eyes half closed. Lizzie knew he meant to kiss her, meant to steal away her reason, obliterate all doubts. Her heart surged forward as if his lips were a magnet tugging on her core.

  Breathing shallow, she stared at those sensual lips. What did this man do to her? How could he take her body and transform it into a wanton blaze of desire?

  She wanted to love him, to open her arms and give herself over to his heat.

  But she knew better. Markham did not love. He did not have her best interests at heart. She remained his ward. Just a young girl whose innocence he could toy with while he sought a bride among the more titled sort.

  “No, Markham.”

  His eyelids flashed open but he did not move. His breath was warm, intoxicating. “No? How can you deny my touch?”

  The words flowed like warm honey, their sweet promise tempting.

  Her body fought desperately with her determination. Her breasts pressed tightly against her bodice, her nipples aching. Her lips tingled with yearning, tongue burned for a taste of him.

  If he caressed her, she would lose all willpower. He could bring her to ruin with a mere touch.

  Markham’s fingertip reached for her jaw but she flinched away, trying to muster a hard stare. “No, do not ply me with your kisses to render me senseless. You wish to wipe away my judgment with the skill of your lips and I won’t stand for it.”

  He finally backed away from her but she saw a glint of victory in his eyes, a hint of satisfaction in his grin.

  “Tell me of your secrets first, Markham. Why is it that my father has forced me to come here? Why is it that you seek to kiss me but only in absolute privacy? Why is it that you question me about Edmund but give me no explanation to your attendance at the opera with Lady Harriet and Lady Fallston?”

  The carriage rolled to a stop and victorious relief swept across his face. But the poor timing would not alter her resolve. She would question him again on the return trip or at some other point. Lizzie would harass him like the relentless pursuit of the hounds on a fox. She would discover the reasons behind his nonsensical treatment of her.

  And until she did, she absolutely must refuse his mind-numbing kisses.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Lizzie ruffled the little boy’s dirty blond hair, grinning at his expression. Albert squeezed her legs, then his eyes widened to a size of Papa’s pocket watch. “What’s that?”

  Lizzie followed his pointing finger. “It is a globe.”

  “What’s a globe?”

  Annabel crawled over to it and pulled herself to stand along its wooden support. She stood by herself briefly and patted the circular Earth. Then, she let go and her bottom dropped to the floor.

  “It spins. See?” Lizzie turned it for him. “It is the world. London is just a tiny part of England and much smaller part of the world.”

  She glanced about the dim room and scooped the baby into her arms. “Has she eaten? Have you changed her?” She rushed to the table to search out some food. “Oh,
Albert, you are too little for this.”

  But neither Albert nor Annabel looked any worse for wear. The baby’s mood was curious and happy and Albert spun the globe around as if it were his new toy.

  “Did it come from Lord M’s ’ouse?” he asked.

  “Yes.” She gave Annabel a scone to eat that she’d brought from the house on Grosvenor Square. Lizzie pointed to the pile next to the door. “And here are books from his library.”

  Albert rushed over to them. His fingertip stroked them with such care and reverence, Lizzie’s heart shook with sadness. By God, these children wanted to learn. She wished she could take them away from here, away from the many dangers of the London docks, away from the hardship that could eventually consume them.

  Lizzie squatted down next to him. His yellow-brown hair needed washing and his clothes needed mending, but she loved him just the same. How would she feel about Markham’s son, the boy he would not let her meet?

  As he said he would, Markham had gone on in the carriage after letting her off. His footman stood outside the door on guard. But did he guard her or the valuable globe and books?

  Albert rocked on the balls of his feet and continued to stare at the stacked volumes. “Mama’s eyes ’ave been real sore of late. She cannot sew by candlelight no more. She’s been falling on the bed asleep with a ’eadache.”

  Lizzie found her way into the chair. Tears blurred her vision. Sorrow burned her throat. What would these children do if Elizabeth took ill? She thought of young Sarah, who had the start of a woman’s body. So many girls her age had already resorted to prostitution. No. Lizzie couldn’t let that happen.

  The two of them, Lizzie and Albert, went through the books one by one. Albert was eager to look inside them and studied the pictures with interest. He asked about the letters on the paper, wanting to know what it said. He wanted to read.

  Lizzie knew these books from Markham’s library would do her no good, not until these children could read. But there was only one way to teach person to read. There were textbooks and readers. She would need chalk and boards. She needed to go home. They were all there, in a cabinet in Edmund’s cottage.