A Tarnished Heart Page 5

  “Oh, was that poor etiquette?”

  His chest tightened at her mockery. “You slapped the Viscount Helmsley. That wasn’t a tavern, you can’t just begin brawls when something doesn’t suit you.”

  Miss Parker reached up and started pulling pins from her hair. Right there, in the mostly dark carriage, she began to undress. “That man perceived me to be something I am not. I’ll not stand for such insults.”

  “Of course not,” he snapped. But then the fight left him as the candlelight danced in the glass holders. It flickered on the thick sunset-colored hair tumbling about her shoulders.

  “Oh, that feels much better.” She collected the pins and shoved them in her reticule. “My head was starting to hurt.”

  Markham swallowed. He could not shake the image of her long hair, twisted, wet and dripping down her dress.

  One day he’d stroke his hands through those tresses. He’d watch them cascade down her back and over her hard nipples. One day her hair would spill over his chest and shoulders as she rode him into heaven. One day he would bury his fingers in those curls and watch her mouth as she…

  Hell, he was now fully erect, throbbing even.

  Despite after all that just transpired, she aroused him. What was it about this girl that created these passionate emotions? First she encouraged a fury he barely recognized. Then, somehow, she always transformed his rage into lust.

  He sighed and sat back against the cushion.

  Concentration. He needed to focus on making certain Miss Parker could finish out the Season respectably. The Marchioness of Fallston had it in her power to destroy whomever crossed her path. Miss Parker would be eaten alive by the predators here.

  Then he and Lucas would be spat out bone by bone, right alongside her.

  Chapter Five

  Lord Helmsley transformed into Markham as they danced, his strong fingers pressing into her waist. Then soft lips bent to kiss her and she melted into his embrace. Heat flared in her belly. Her breasts ached for his caress. Lizzie’s fingers wove through his black hair, pulling him closer.

  In the distance, Edmund called for her and she reluctantly loosened her hold. When Edmund’s voice called again, it changed to her own. Ice engulfed the blaze in her veins as she heard herself yelling for Rachel. But there was no answer. There was never an answer.

  Lizzie awoke.

  She’d never had that dream before. Oh, she’d searched for her sister many times, never finding her, never again seeing what she saw that day. But now to combine her tantalizing thoughts of Markham with her guilt at losing Rachel seemed an omen. Perhaps God was giving her a message.

  She forced herself to put the dream out of her mind. If nothing else, it reminded her that she must send a letter to Edmund, at least to explain why she had not yet returned home. He must know that she still wanted him, she still wanted Abingdon. Despite the temptation of Markham, Lizzie did not belong in London.

  Following her late breakfast, she’d set out for the post. Luckily, the late hour ensured the house should be empty save for the servants.

  Lizzie entered the breakfast parlor and her cheerful mood plunged.

  “Good morning, Miss Parker. Or should I say good afternoon?” Markham’s brooding eyes stared at her from the other end of the long table.

  “It’s Lizzie. And why are you still here? Shouldn’t you be out searching for a bride or something?” She sat in the chair at the far end from him. Instantly, servants put a basket of bread and some jam before her. Her cup was filled with tea.

  “We need to discuss the scene with Lord Helmsley last night. In fact, we need to discuss all of your behaviors since your arrival here.”

  Lizzie spread strawberry jam on her toast and licked a dab off her finger. She heard him gasp then cough. “I did what was necessary at the time.”

  “Had he touched you inappropriately?” Did she imagine his voice drop to a dangerous level of possessiveness?

  “He pulled me too close on occasion but his hands did not roam, if that’s what you mean.”

  She stirred sugar into her tea and waited for further scolding but he said nothing. When she glanced up, he was scowling.

  Finally, he sighed. “You must learn how to how address people you meet. Or not to…lick your fingers at the table.”

  Lizzie glanced up through her eyelashes at him. A befuddled expression darkened his face, but then he blinked, shutting down any lingering emotion. Now he appeared like a little boy who was having a hard time getting his way.

  For a small moment, she felt a little sorry for him and almost apologized. Then she remembered that he was part of this society. He defended it. He lived and breathed by its restrictions and codes. Worse, he was helping her father keep her here.

  “Your society has too many rules,” she said and popped the toast into her mouth.

  Finally, when she had had enough to eat, she pushed away from the table and stood. “It was kind of you to wait for me, but I have some duties to attend to.”

  “Right.” He stood and came over to her. “Let’s go then.”

  Lizzie’s stomach clenched. No. She couldn’t have him come along. She didn’t want him to see the letter. It would give him fuel to question her again about her relationship with Edmund. And it would once again expose her to the uneasy warmth—no, the shameless blaze—she felt whenever he was near.

  “You have better things to do,” she told him. “I’m quite content by myself. Truly I am.”

  He tilted his head, his dark eyes swallowing her reason. “I have an idea. A surprise if you will.”

  Lizzie shook her head. “I don’t like surprises.”

  “Come now, all women love surprises.”

  “Not this one.”

  “You’ll come with me first and then you can take care of your needs.” He touched her hand. “It won’t take long and I won’t let you refuse.”

  A shiver raced up her arm, stole her breath. Why didn’t Edmund’s caresses stir her into a wildness the way Markham’s slightest touch did?

  She finally relented and they rode into town in silence. The dowager had assigned a cousin to chaperone the two of them on trips when she couldn’t attend herself. Less observant and attentive than the dowager, Lady Harkmoor typically had her nose buried in a book, her mouth open in a snore, or an intent focus upon her stitching. Lizzie had yet to experience the hawk-like vigilance she’d heard about.

  The carriage came to a complete stop and a footman opened the door. Lizzie followed Lady Harkmoor down the step and onto a busy street. Her nostrils stung with the odor of horses, sewage and smoke. All around her, she could hear the tradesmen and vendors crying their wares to the passing crowd.

  “Muffins!”

  “Pies!”

  “Oranges!”

  An omnibus passed them pulled by a team of horses. Such chaos. The noises, the smells, the sights…they overwhelmed this girl from the countryside and yet a strange thrill also coursed through her.

  Markham took a hold of her elbow and steered her down the street. “Just a bit further.”

  But Lizzie stopped before a large display window. Beautiful, expensive gowns came to life beyond the sparkling glass. She stared at the shimmering colors and recalled those nights long ago when she would dance before her mirror. She would spin around gaily, wearing an imaginary ball gown while a pretend Earl of Markham held her in his arms. He would whisper about her beauty and beg an allowance to kiss her.

  “Oh, how lovely. I must take a look inside.” Lady Harkmoor’s cry was punctuated with the sound of the shop door closing behind her.

  Lizzie sighed, not moving from her stance on the street. The dowager had ordered dresses made for her when Lizzie arrived in London, but none so striking as these glittering gowns. None that could compare to that fantasy she once envisioned every night.

  Suddenly something slammed into Lizzie’s legs. Lizzie spun around and noticed a young boy sitting on the pavement, dazed.

  Markham reached down and d
ragged the child to his feet. His eyes were wide with outrage. “Watch where you are going.”

  “Please, sir.” An older boy came over and took a hold of the little one’s hand. “’E didn’t mean ter ’urt anyone.”

  Markham shifted his gaze to the older boy, whose black hair and dirty face masked his age. “Are you boys orphans? Who are you running from?”

  Lizzie’s heart tugged toward the children, as if her mother somehow pulled her to their aid. Lord, how she missed the laughter and innocence they brought. It was a shame Markham did not spend more time with his son and allow her to meet him. He never mentioned the boy to her, perhaps assuming she did not know. Or maybe he had little affection for his child. The thought saddened her.

  She stepped between Markham and the boys. “Is this your brother?” she asked, hoping her voice sounded kind. At least, kinder than Markham’s.

  He nodded. “I’m terrible sorry, miss. ’E can be careless.”

  “’Tis nothing.” Her heart ached. This little one must be six or seven years old. Rachel’s age when she died. Oh, how she missed her.

  “Yes it is,” Markham growled. “These boys could be pickpockets—”

  “These boys are in need of something other than your judgmental remarks.” She took the frightened child’s fingers. “Are you far from home?” she whispered.

  The older boy nodded. “Albert ran away. ’E don’t like working near the ships. ’E’s afraid of the water.”

  Terror froze on Albert’s face causing a lump in Lizzie’s throat. “You can’t force him to do something that frightens him.”

  “Mam needs the money, miss. ’E can’t do much else till he’s bigger.”

  How could a woman put her child through such misery? She must help these children. It was her destiny to assume her mother’s role, to help others in need. This was the perfect opportunity to continue her life the way it was meant to be.

  A hot sting pierced her eyes. As Lord Helmsley had said, she’d never find a husband here. No peer wanted her as his bride. She needed these children to give her purpose, maybe even more than they needed her.

  “What are you doing, Miss Parker?” Markham’s mask faltered despite his tightly controlled rage.

  “I’m taking these children home.” She took their hands in her own and let them lead her.

  He trotted up beside them. “You cannot leave me. I’ve taken you here for a surprise.”

  “I warned you that I didn’t like surprises.”

  “Leave these children to do their work. No doubt someone is out looking for them now.”

  Lizzie shook her head. “This little boy is not going to work near the water if it frightens him. If you’d like to help them, come along, your carriage would be welcome. If not, then continue without me.”

  “But Lady Harkmoor is still in the shop. You must wait.”

  They turned a corner and continued walking up a hill. Markham was no longer walking alongside them. She glanced behind and saw him standing on the corner, his hands shoved in his pockets and that scowl frozen on his face.

  So he would not come. He would not take them home in his carriage. He was a true aristocrat, unwilling to be bothered by those in need. She could never marry such a heartless man.

  A vehicle slowed beside them. It was the earl’s carriage. The footman swung the door open. Lizzie’s eyes widened. Had the man actually changed his mind? She followed the boys inside, but no one waited for them within. Markham sent his transportation but refused to join them.

  Lizzie noticed the footman waiting for instructions. “Where to?”

  “The Docks, miss. Wapping.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Robert.”

  “Then to the Docks we will go, Robert.” She turned to the little one, who was sliding his finger across the seat with awe. “Do you feel better now, Albert?” He nodded. “Good.”

  Lizzie lifted her head as the carriage rumbled forward, her heart unexpectedly buoyant and free. She didn’t belong in London with the likes of the Earl of Markham. Nor would she serve any delicious purpose for Lord Helmsley.

  Until she could go home, she would bring her sense of home to London.

  Markham gnashed his teeth, but forced himself still. He watched Miss Parker disappear up the hill with a boy on each hand. What the devil was that girl doing? She didn’t know those children, she didn’t know the ways of London.

  He possessed no desire to end up in the dredges of lower London, but he felt powerless to stop her. Oh, he could have carried her to the etiquette tutor he’d sought or back to the carriage. But not here on the street. Not in public view. No scandal. And not without the damned useless chaperone.

  What else could he do but send his driver and carriage to see her to her destination safely? And at least then he’d know where she’d gone.

  The carriage vanished from his sight and irritation skittered across his skin. Letting her go was a mistake. Keeping her by his side was impossible.

  “Lord Markham.”

  He inhaled sharply. Damn. Not today. Not now.

  He turned, pasting a pleasant smile on his face.

  Lucinda stood before him in one of her silver gowns, holding a parasol against the weak sunlight. The lovely Lady Harriet, in a striped confection of bows and lace, batted her eyelashes.

  “Good-good afternoon, Lady Fallston. Lady Harriet.” He recovered his shock and bowed before them. “How pleasant to find you out here on the busy streets.”

  Lucinda’s face twisted to a snarl. “Was that the impetuous Miss Parker climbing into your carriage without you?”

  Damn, they’d seen her. “Yes.”

  An omnibus rode past them, a cacophony of horses, squeaking wheels and chatting passengers. Once it was gone, Lady Harriet smiled with a practiced coyness. “She caused quite a stir last night, Lord Markham. They could talk of nothing else the rest of the evening.”

  Lucinda clucked her tongue. “That girl is an embarrassment to herself,” her voice dropped slightly, “and to you, Lord Markham.”

  He tensed. Perhaps he should have tried harder to keep Miss Parker from wandering off. Perhaps he should have tried harder with Reverend Parker to satisfy the debt another way. Perhaps he should push deeper in his research.

  The vein throbbed on his forehead.

  An old woman selling oranges approached them. Lucinda turned her back on her, repulsed. The vendor grunted a noise and pushed past. Once the hawker was gone, Lucinda regained her icy stare. “Don’t you have more important people to spend your time with than the clergyman’s daughter?”

  Hell, of course he did. But not this year. For the next few weeks, no one but Miss Parker mattered. Bewildering behavior or not.

  Markham cleared his throat and evaded Lucinda’s question. “Are you enjoying your afternoon, ladies?”

  “Yes, I’m so glad we came upon you,” Lady Harriet began, but then a boy, so similar to the ones who took Miss Parker away, drew near and asked to shine his shoes.

  He stared at the boy just a few years older than Lucas. Ragged, thin and dirty, a ghastly stench rose from his unwashed body. Why did someone like this matter to Miss Parker? If she paid any attention to etiquette, she would know that it was in her best interest to ignore them. They were different than her, than him. The two classes did not mingle other than when the poor served a purpose. For instance, if he needed his shoes shined. But he didn’t.

  “Go,” he told the boy. “You are not needed.”

  Lucinda raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

  Lady Harriet stepped forward, her voluptuous form obvious, even under the layers of cloth. Yet, for some reason he did not find her enticing. “Who were those boys with Miss Parker?”

  How was he to know? In fact, he felt as if he knew nothing any more. “They were two children she met on the street here.” He shrugged. “You know, her father is a clergyman and she did often visit the poor in the parish.”

  “She should remember she is in London now,
” Lady Harriet said, astonished, “not in some parish. Doesn’t she know that a lady doesn’t go walking off alone with two strange children?”

  And he was fool enough to trust her intuition, to trust that those children would not harm her in some way. What had he been thinking? He should have shooed them off immediately. If nothing else, he should have accompanied her. Instead, her actions stunned him into inaction. He must retrieve that wayward girl the moment his carriage returned.

  Lady Harriet quietly cleared her throat. “Lord Markham, are you planning on attending the opera?”

  He’d barely thought past today. “I’ve not decided.”

  Lucinda grinned, tapping his arm. “Well, then, we shall decide for him. Lady Harriet is quite interested in the opera.”

  “Yes,” the girl told him, “someone has asked me to attend with him. But I told him that I was unavailable—”

  Lucinda stepped in, “—that someone else had already asked her…”

  “Someone else?” Not himself. Going to the opera with Lady Harriet would be nearly as bad a move as rekindling his affair with Lucinda. Miss Parker deserved his attention. Being seen with another woman would certainly not be the key to her heart.

  “Lord Markham, you will take Lady Harriet to the opera.” Lucinda challenged him with a glare. “Won’t you?”

  Anger at her manipulation strangled his lungs. The tic started on his jaw. He snatched the hat from his head and pushed the wayward curl from his forehead. Damn Lucinda and her maneuverings.

  “Don’t be a fool,” she hissed near to his ear. “I may not have been good enough for you, but don’t think you can get away with dismissing Lady Harriet.”

  Like a hound in pursuit of the fox, Lucinda would not give up until the prize was secure. Perhaps he could placate the shrew just this once and be done with it.

  Markham picked up Lady Harriet’s hand and offered her the most charming smile he could muster. “I would be honored if you would accompany me to the opera. I’m sure we are attending with Lord and Lady Fallston, yes?”