“Will that guarantee the lecher won’t return?”
“Yes, that and…” No, he had no reason to tell her he threatened to beat the man within an inch of his life if he ever touched the girl again.
She crossed her arms under her breasts, reminding him of their weight within his hands. His blood heated.
“What? What else? How can you be so sure he won’t come back?”
“I am. You refuse to trust me.”
“You could have done more.”
“I did plenty.”
Her eyes sparked again. “Plenty? You could have done much more. You could give Elizabeth work here at the house, Sarah and Robert too. Little Albert could go to school. And Annabel—”
Suddenly, her rant stopped. The baby. Something about the baby quieted her outburst.
Markham cleared his throat. “I can’t find a job for every poor family out there.”
“The House of Lords,” she countered. “You could help with the laws.”
No longer able to resist, he swept the stray hairs from her face. “I am only one man, Miss Parker.”
“They are only one family.”
He lifted her chin, daring her to pull away. The touch of her skin stirred his body into action. She was so soft. Devil take it, their last kiss had been far too long ago.
After witnessing her indignation, her fervor, his body burned. The more spirited and emotional she was, the more he yearned for her. Almost as if she completed the part of him that had lacked in expressiveness for so long.
Lizzie blinked up at him, her mouth slightly parted. Would she allow it? Or would she reject his advances again?
“You affect me,” he whispered, barely aware of the words tumbling from his mouth. “I’ve never felt so much. At anytime. With anyone.”
Her pulse slammed madly at her throat. “I do?”
“Yes, Miss Parker, you do.”
“Lizzie.” Her eyes didn’t move away. “Call me Lizzie.”
Markham captured her lips then, drinking their sweet nectar. Yielding, warm and enticing, her mouth opened for his entry. A silky tongue greeted him, its strokes hardening his groin to a painful ache.
He brushed his hands along her shoulders and wished that her bare skin was under them instead of the coarse fabric.
Lizzie whimpered and brought her tiny fingers to cup his jaw. She pulled him deeper into her mouth, urgency and desperation unmistakable in her caress.
Markham slid his hands down the front of her dress, his palms gliding over her breasts. She moaned. Encouraged by her echo of pleasure, he cupped them more firmly.
Lizzie backed away from the kiss, her breathing rapid, her eyes hooded. “Oh God,” she murmured. “It feels so…they, they’re aching…”
Restraint unhinged by her innocent remarks, Markham plunged forth, cupping both mounds fully in his hands. He bent low and nuzzled her earlobe and lost himself in her sweet scent.
He didn’t even know if the door to the study was open. He didn’t care. Carelessness overtook him. A need, a hunger, must be behind it. Not more. Nothing more.
Lizzie skimmed her palms down his chest then slid them under his waistcoat. His breath lodged in his throat as she explored his waist, his back, and then back up the front. Her tiny hands teased him with their purpose and pressure. Had she any idea what this was doing to him? He could explode at any moment. She must be aware of his heart slamming under her fingers. Devil take it, this agony was sweet.
When Lizzie nuzzled against him, Markham slid his hands around her back to hold her. So small, and yet she felt so right within his arms. Her stomach pressed against his solid arousal, tormented him without mercy.
He had to lose himself inside her soon. She tortured him. In so many ways, she tortured every part of who he was.
“You affect me,” she said his words back to him, her breath warm against his shirt. “I’ve never felt so much with anyone.”
Markham held his breath. Not anyone? Not Alcott? Not Edmund Greene? He wanted to ask, but did not dare.
“My body,” she continued, holding him tighter, “burns and aches. But it’s from bliss not pain.”
He swallowed, unsure how to answer. He could fulfill those yearnings here and now, but she wanted more. Lucinda was after him for only physical pleasure, Lizzie would need more. Even if she had lain with the curate—which he doubted—she had yet to experience the thrill of a man’s expert touch.
Rubbing his hand on her small back, he lowered his voice. “I could lessen those aches. Help to satisfy that itch.”
She shifted and glanced up at him. “Am I more than a sport to you? Or do you only toy with my heart?”
“No, Miss Parker, you are more than just a sport.”
“Prove it to me.”
A coil of unease snaked across his skin. “How?”
She arched a red eyebrow. “Court me outside the confines of privacy.”
“Pardon?”
“Escort me out. As you did Lady Harriet. Show me that I am not a mere conquest for you to take behind closed doors.”
She was right, of course. He must do it. Lucinda’s threats and Lizzie’s embarrassing behaviors could no longer hold him back. Perhaps he could push Alcott out of the way at the same time. “All right then,” Markham said, his fingers skimming over the twist of her braid. “The Crystal Palace. This Saturday.”
She tensed. “I already have plans this Saturday to attend.” Her eyes narrowed. “But you knew that, didn’t you?”
“What of it?”
“It’s an easy way for you to make an attempt and not have to follow through. I won’t go back on my word to Lord Alcott and you know that.”
“You might if you’d rather attend with me.”
She pushed herself out of his arms and moved from of his reach. “Even if I did, I would not do something so rude.”
How did everything change in a bloody instant? One minute she was tender and supple under his caresses and then she glared at him from across the room.
“I had wanted to ask you, but Alcott was quicker.”
“Rubbish. You knew I wished to go that first day it opened. No, wait, you knew I was interested the first day we arrived in London.”
She had him there. Apprehension and prejudice had stolen his opportunity. “Come now, Miss Parker, I realize my mistake.”
Cheeks flushed—from desire or offense he did not know—as she marched across to the wide open door. “I’ve asked you to call me Lizzie,” she quipped, not even looking at him.
“Find a way to correct your mistake, Markham, or you’ll not find me in your arms again.” She vanished into the hallway.
He knew what he must to do appease her. Bring Lucas to London. But his heart raged with his gut. It would mean spending hours—days—around Lucas. He loved the boy. In fact, he missed checking on him as he slept. Markham could watch the moonlight play across his son’s innocent, slumbering face for hours. But in the daylight, he could not bear to see the growing intelligence in the child’s eyes. One day soon Lucas would ask the questions Markham never wanted to answer.
Damn to Lizzie and the changes she wrought to his calm, predictable life. She tortured him. In so many ways, she tortured every part of who he was.
Markham turned to face the waiting papers on his desk, a thudding heart and a painful erection still plaguing him. With a resounding growl, he swept his arm across the surface. Documents scattered to the four corners of the room.
Chapter Eighteen
Lucinda gnashed her teeth as she descended from the carriage and started up the overgrown path. Who would live like this? Other than that thatched-roof cottage she passed a few hundred yards back, there were no other buildings for miles.
She gasped as her foot slipped on the muddy ground. She’d ruin her shoes on this mission. It had better be worth it. Ordinarily she would send a messenger, but this could only be handled by her wit and charm. It took her enough questioning and poking around to locate Miss Parker’s curate, h
e’d better merit her visit.
The late afternoon sun cast a shadow across the tiny cottage before her now. Sprouts of blooming vines climbed up the walls near the wooden front door. The frayed, thatched-roof dipped low enough for her touch should she wish, but she didn’t. Already she could feel her nerves tingle with the idea of being inside something so tiny, so unkempt.
Lucinda pulled herself to her full height, adjusted her dress so just the right amount of décolletage showed and knocked on the wood door.
She heard shuffling sounds from within, a chair scraping across the floor, dishes clattering on a table. Then the door opened.
Lucinda released the breath she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding. This curate was not as unattractive as she feared. His blond curling hair framed his face pleasantly and his gray eyes were almost a match to her own. He stood several inches shorter than her, though most men did. Other than Evan.
Edmund Greene raised his eyebrows and gave her the grin she’d been welcoming since long before her first Season in London. “Have you lost your way?” he asked.
“Are you Edmund Greene, curate?”
He nodded. “Why might you be doing looking for me? I’ve no strong ties left to your society.”
A gust of wind rustled her skirts. “May I come in?”
“First tell me why you are here.”
So he wasn’t stupid either. Well, if her looks alone couldn’t charm him she was not beneath using other methods. “Evan...erm, Lord Markham.”
The curate’s face decidedly pinched at the name. “I don’t know how much I can help you.”
Lucinda pulled her gloves off one by one and tucked them into her reticule. Without looking up at him, she said, “I do think you can help me, Mr. Greene. You see, Lord Markham has an interest in someone you know very well.”
He cleared his throat. Surely, he must know who she meant. Or did this poor boy really have no idea of the goings-on in London?
She ran her fingers along his jaw, pleased when he didn’t flinch away. “Miss Parker. You know her rather well, don’t you?”
He gulped. “Come in.”
She’d rather not enter such a tiny dwelling, but she’d do what she must. What it must be like for this Edmund Greene, having come from wealth as a child and then reduced to this because of his birth order?
He stepped aside to allow her entry and she ducked inside the low doorway. Even as her eyes adjusted to the dim interior, Lucinda could distinguish that only one room took up the entire first floor. A set of rickety steps led the way to what must be his sleeping quarters. She could make out a small stove in the corner, near the sooty fireplace. An abused table held a stack of books rather than meal settings.
Everywhere the odor of acrid smoke permeated the air. Lucinda drew in a deep breath, but only succeeded in filling her lungs with dust. She coughed and moved forward to a wooden bench. Was this the only seating? Or perhaps he had a sofa hidden under more papers and books.
Mr. Greene came forward to remove several stacks from the bench. “I don’t entertain visitors much.”
“No,” she replied, sitting on the hard surface. “I can see that you don’t.”
He shoved a blanket off a chair and sat opposite her. “What does Lizzie have to do with you and who are you anyway?”
“Well, no sense wasting words is there?”
“State your name and business. I’ve things to attend to around here. The Reverend Parker has me giving the sermon this Sunday and I need to prepare.”
Lucinda bristled, her pulse increasing slightly. She didn’t expect such brashness from Mr. Greene. His attitude both irritated her and impressed her. “I am Lady Fallston. And I am here to help return your lover to you. That is what you want, isn’t it?”
“My lover?” His face paled slightly. “You mean Lizzie? We had planned to marry, yes. But her father sent her to London to find a proper husband.”
“Do you want her back?”
He took longer than anticipated to respond. “Has Lord Markham soiled her?”
“Does it matter?”
“I expect my wife to know only me.”
Lucinda suppressed the grin on her lips. The very reason for her task here was to make sure that Evan made it back to her bed, her own husband be damned.
“Has Miss Parker known you, Mr. Greene?”
Red splotches blossomed atop his still pallid skin. “That is none of your concern, Lady Fallston. What is this about, pray tell?”
She leaned forward slightly, hoping her feminine charms were visible to him. Lord knows, she had much more to show than that skinny girl he thought he loved. “Lord Markham is spending far too much time and attention on your beloved and I want it stopped.”
“Why does it disturb you?”
“That is none of your concern, Mr. Greene. The two of them should have nothing in common whatsoever and yet they are always together.”
The man had the nerve to curl the corner of his mouth. “I think you are jealous of Lizzie.”
“Jealous?” Her stomach clenched at the idea of Evan’s hands on that freckled skin instead of her own unblemished body. “She doesn’t deserve him.”
Instead of defending his future bride, the curate lifted his eyebrows and widened his grin. “And so you have yet to answer me, Lady Fallston. What is it that you require of me? Sympathy? To share your misery?”
“No, Mr. Greene. I want much more than that.” She cleared her throat, the smoke and dust still irritating. “I know Lord Markham. He would have never given Miss Parker a second glance were it not for a compelling reason.”
“And you want me to find the reason?”
She winked at him. “My, you are smarter than you appear.”
“And you are more calculating than you appear. What is it you’d have me do?”
“Well, I believe there must be some connection between Miss Parker’s father and Lord Markham. Find out what it is.”
“The Markham family owns this living. It is not entirely implausible that they would take Lizzie to London for the Season.”
Her pulse rate jumped again. She would not be wrong about this. She did not come all this way to have reached such a simple explanation. Lucinda narrowed her eyes. “Do you wish to have Miss Parker return to marry you or not? Would you be better motivated by something else?”
Mr. Greene snorted. “If the earl has had his way with her, which you seem to think he has, then I’ll certainly need other motivation to do your dirty work.”
“I have no idea what has transpired between the two.”
“Nevertheless, if you expect me to pry and sneak around in Reverend Parker’s house then I should certainly need more incentive.”
Lucinda lifted her chin. “I am willing to pay you. Half before as encouragement and half when you bring me something worthwhile.”
He leaned close and touched her knee. “Anything else you’d like to offer?”
She stood. What he suggested would only happen as the last possible resort. “That should be enough for now.”
“What am I looking for?” he asked, still in his chair.
Picking her way through the stacks and debris, Lucinda finally arrived at the front door. “Anything that holds the earl to the rector or Miss Parker, other than the living, of course.”
“What are you suggesting? Bribery? Blackmail?”
She shrugged and pulled open the door. He obviously was not coming to see her out. “Perhaps. Just find it and soon. The more rapidly you can bring me this news, the greater your reward.”
“How will I get in touch with you?”
Lucinda slipped a card and several coins from her reticule and set them on a chipped table. Nearby, molding flowers drooped from a rusty bucket. “Send me a post, Mr. Greene. And do make it quick.”
Without a need to hear more or a will to remain in that gloomy cottage for another moment, Lucinda stepped outside into the darkening afternoon. All in all, this wasn’t a wasted trip. Mr. Greene was clever
er than she expected. A good sign. And since greed spoke louder than love, he should find what she needed within the week.
She drew in a sharp breath, the blooming honeysuckle now a welcome respite to the dusty air inside. Once she had something to sway Evan her way, her dream would come true. A handsome, virile man to give her the only thing she lacked.
A baby.
The train clicked along the tracks with its comforting rhythm, reminding Markham of the journey he had taken with Miss Parker. She had slept through the majority of the trip and yet already he had known how much she would disrupt his predictable world.
Next to him, at the window, sat Lucas, smelling like sweet treats. With his dark head angled toward the passing landscape, Markham could see bright eyes in the reflection.
When they had first arrived at the station, Lucas was thirsty but the nanny had already got on her coach. Markham had no idea what to get him. What did a child drink? What did his child prefer? It was the first time Markham had ever felt befuddled and useless.
And now, as the train pulled them toward London, Markham had no idea what to say to a five-year-old. He had little idea of the daily activities Lucas participated in. He had no idea what conversation to start, what questions to ask. His son was a mystery to him. A child raised by other adults. A child left motherless only days after his birth.
Markham opened his mouth to speak, but no words would form. The nanny had passed along the news of a trip to London while Markham checked on the affairs of the estate. After sixty minutes, he found both the nanny and the child waiting by the front door.
Lucas asked only a question or two on the ride to the train station, but then withdrew into silence. An awkward emptiness filled the carriage at that point, just as it did now.
Giving up on finding the right words to say, Markham reached for his Times. He spread out the newspaper with a sharp flick of his wrist.
Beside him, Lucas shifted forward and reached into a bag. Markham watched from the corner of his eye as the child brought out a book and put it on his lap. Quietly, he stared at the first page.
A Tarnished Heart Page 17