Chapter Sixteen

Clarissa woke to sun streaming across the bed. Light. Too much light. She rolled over and curled into a ball.

She ran a finger across her bottom lip. Everything felt tender, slightly swollen—her mouth, her nipples, her womanhood. They were all rich with the awareness that she had demanded pleasure of her body—and of Markham’s body, too.

No promises.

That’s what he’d said. She’d believed him, then. But she’d known only about promises made with words. She hadn’t understood about physical promises, the kind made between bodies. Vows that simply existed the moment a secret place was unlocked.

And last night, all her locks had been smashed to bits and her secret places unraveled—spun out into thin threads Markham had found and then woven back together with loving gentleness particular to him.

Their first mating had yielded little blood and almost no pain, but something else had happened. He’d claimed her somehow. And afterward, just as he had that first night, he’d cleaned them both. But this time he’d wrapped her up as if her safekeeping was his sacred duty.

Later, when the want had stirred again, he’d served her need, showing her what it was to be beneath him, pillowed in the softness of his mattress as he drove her to that peak. There’d been few words and no explanations—just two bodies making vows their minds could not comprehend.

And when she was exhausted—too drunk on his ministrations to move—he’d picked her up and carried her back into the countess’s rooms. He’d tucked her into bed, kissed her forehead, her eyelids, and her nose, and whispered, “Sleep.”

She’d closed her eyes and drifted away with the scent of bergamot imprinted into her skin.

She groaned. These thoughts were fancies—imagined things. Their joining may have felt like a vow, but the vow could not be binding.

She wiped her face and rang for her maid.

Although she thought what had happened in the night would be obvious, if her maid noticed anything amiss, she showed no sign. She chatted cheerfully as she dressed her, explaining that, though Lord and Lady Bromton had taken Lady Julia out, Lord Markham awaited her ladyship below.

When Clarissa reached the breakfast room, she found Markham sipping from a steaming mug.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” he said cheerfully.

She glanced over her shoulder. “Shh.”

He lifted his brows. “The servants are belowstairs. Julia has gone with Bromton and Katherine to visit the vicar’s new school. We are completely alone.”

“Still.”

He had to cease using the endearment that had sprung spontaneously from his lips. It took her back to the moment of their joining—to the place where she’d been panicked and lost, and he’d guided her back with murmured words of care.

Words that had been like wine to her parched soul.

“There’s plenty to eat. I”—he pointed to himself and inclined his head—“elected to wait for you to breakfast. After, we’re to join them for a call at the rector’s and then some refreshments at The Pillar of Salt, if you’re amenable, of course. You’ll want to meet our Lizzy. She’s famous around here—her and her gin.”

He gazed at her expectantly.

Did she want to meet their Lizzy? Never mind the rector and his family…

“Oh! I apologize.” He rose from his seat. “You came in here looking so charmingly pretty, I was momentarily dazzled—forgive me.”

He took her hand and pressed his lips to her knuckles. She blinked up into dimples—deep-etched and profound with happiness.

“Shall I pour you tea?” he asked. “Or, do you prefer something else?”

“Tea would be welcome.”

“Perfect.” He pulled out her chair and handed her into the seat and then pushed the seat back to the table. Then, he measured tea into her cup and poured the steaming water. “Sugar? Milk? Odd that I do not know.”

Why should he have known? “Plain, thank you.”

“That’s how I take mine as well.” His already impossibly wide grin grew.

She mirrored his smile with a growing sense of unease. Her plans had not changed. He knew that. He must.

He’d said no promises. And he was Hearts. Of course he knew that.

Of course he had not been irrevocably changed by a night of cavorting with a virgin. Who—from the soreness between her legs—was not going to be able to escape the awareness she was a virgin no longer. Not today, anyway.

After breakfast, he gave her his arm. Outside, the bright September sky blanketed the yellowing earth in impossible blue.

As they took a lane through the forest to the rector’s house, Markham talked.

Gracious, Markham talked.

He talked about the lanes he’d had cut, the allotment plans, the trees, the home farm, even the feed they gave their dairy cows and the changes in the taste of the milk that had resulted.

He talked as if all this should matter to her, as if she’d already agreed to stay.

She smiled and nodded through the walk—and through the visit to the rectory. And, as they were parting at the rector’s door, he told the rector’s wife he was certain she and Clarissa would be fast friends.

Clarissa’s growing dread congealed to certainty; Markham considered them betrothed.

Clarissa encouraged him to walk on ahead with Julia. Katherine whispered something into Bromton’s ear. He nodded. She fell back.

“Clarissa, dear, are you well?”

Clarissa glanced askance. “He’s happy.”

“Yes, I noticed.” Katherine spoke on a wry note. “I also noticed you are not. Please tell me that he didn’t…” She stopped. “Well, he did not insult you in any way, did he?”

Clarissa blushed. “No, no, of course not. He did nothing we had not agreed upon.”

Katherine raised her brows. “Then?”

“I’m so sorry, Katherine.”

“Why are you apologizing?”

She forced down the swelling lump in her throat. “Because I think…I think I’m going to break your brother’s heart.”

Katherine threaded an arm beneath Clarissa’s and they walked together for a spell in silence. Ahead, Markham said something to Julia. She knocked him aside, laughing.

“I do not wish to pry.” Katherine patted Clarissa’s arm. “But are you sure you are unable to return his affection?”

“I do return his affection.” Of course she returned Markham’s affection. She’d found heaven in his arms. “But I’m not sure I wish to wed, while he clearly considers the matter settled. I’ve made a terrible mess.”

“I, too, believed I did not wish to wed.”

“It’s not the same,” Clarissa groaned. “What if Bromton had swept you off your feet and you’d been alone, entirely alone?”

“But you aren’t alone.”

“I mean if you didn’t have Julia or Markham?

Katherine made a reluctantly pensive sound. “I would have been much more uncertain.”

“Yes, exactly. Up until two years ago, my future was set in stone, and then Bromton didn’t offer, and Rayne disappeared, and I went from being treated as a dependent creature to having no one to depend on at all. You’ve been a good friend, and Markham is charming and sweet and tempting…but I cannot place myself in another man’s hands. I’m just…I’m just…”

Her eyes watered.

“You’re just overwhelmed,” Katherine finished. “Percy can be overwhelming. Especially when he’s inspired. He hides it well, but he’s very eager to please.”

Clarissa whimpered.

Katherine stopped walking. “Just tell him you need more time.”

“Time is not going to help.”

Katherine winced, but she rubbed Clarissa’s back. “Then, be as gentle as you can when you hurt him.”

Clarissa dropped her head. “You aren’t angry with me?”

“I am disappointed, but you cannot choose to spend your life with someone simply because you don’t wish to disappoint him. If you go against your inclination now, you’ll only end up making you both unhappy. Trust me, a marriage of unequal affection can’t be sustained.”

“I know.” Clarissa sniffed. “Will you take care of him?”

“We always do,” Katherine replied. “He’s stronger than he looks.”

Julia, Bromton, and Markham had already reached the inn’s courtyard. Julia skipped inside while Markham gazed back at them. His smile faded.

“Do it quickly, dear,” Katherine urged. “I cannot bear to watch.” She exhaled roughly. “Go up to Vista Grove. The view is soothing.”

“Soothing would be pleasant,” Clarissa replied.

The door swung open and Julia emerged with a young woman with a wide smile and a stance that brokered no nonsense. Clarissa liked her immediately.

When the young woman saw Bromton, she yelped.

Then she hugged him.

Hugged him.

The Marquess of Bromton hugged the proprietress of a small posting inn.

In broad daylight.

What was wrong with people in this village? Something strange must be in Southford’s water. Or maybe Lizzy’s gin.

They exchanged pleasantries and then Katherine announced the change of plans.

“The folly!” Julia exclaimed. “What a marvelous idea.”

Katherine shook her head no. “You’re to stay with Bromton and me, Julia.”

Julia glanced between Markham and Clarissa, frowning. “Very well.”

Markham arranged for a gig while Clarissa waited, the autumn sun on her face. If she could just let go of her fears, would Markham catch her as he had last night? Draw her into the protection of his embrace?

His scent engendered deep feelings of contentment.

His eyes held wells of abundance.

Too much abundance.

Too much light.

Just like Southford had too much green. Too much love.

She wasn’t a creature of abundance, light, and love. She was a creature of the stark, rocky North; she had been raised to expect a humorless existence.

But if she could just summon the temerity to believe…

Markham returned with a gig and handed her up into the seat. He navigated the steep hill to the folly as if he had done so many times before.

He probably had.

He slowed three times to point out the vistas—the home farm in the distance, the chapel and neat little cemetery, the inn and the village. All too quickly, they reached the top. He handed her down and secured the horses. Then, he led her up a short set of stairs ending at the recreated ruins of a small Greek temple built inside a circle of tall hemlocks. The center columns framed a view of the manor.

The effect was, in fact, soothing—so wide and open, the opposite of the way she felt trapped and confined within.

“It’s beautiful.”

“It is,” he said flatly. “My father built this folly for my mother. It’s always been her folly.”

“If this is your mother’s folly, what was your father’s?”

He snorted. “My mother.”

“You don’t like it here.”

“Not particularly.” He leaned against the pillar, staring down on the manor house. “And I believe I’m about to like it even less.”

“I am so sorry, Markham.”

He sighed deeply and squinted, still looking away. “My mother wasn’t happy at Southford. And the less happy she was, the harder my father tried to make her so.” He kicked the pillar and then wandered to the edge of the rocks, hands clasped behind his back. “I was happy this morning—so happy I didn’t notice until the Pillar that you weren’t.” He glanced over his shoulder “You aren’t happy, are you?”

She’d expected this to hurt, but the ache was excruciating.

She shook her head no.

“I wonder…” A lost note sounded in his voice.

“What do you wonder?”

He plucked a long blade of grass. “I wonder if every truth doesn’t contain its perfect opposite.”

Like the fact that she wanted to be with Markham forever and she wanted to be back in London… Now.

He sent the grass flying out into the nothing. “The more we seek pledges and bonds and refuge, the more we make ourselves vulnerable.”

“Are you vulnerable?”

“Aren’t we all?”

He turned, and she read in his eyes a mirror of her own emotion.

“I will make this easy for you.” He glanced to the heavens and blinked. “You wanted Hearts, but you don’t want me.”

But she did. She did want him. She was suffocating with want.

“I wouldn’t trade a moment.” Even if she’d never felt so low. “But I cannot survive being trapped—not again.”

He didn’t speak.

“However, if—if there is a child, I will keep my word.”

He flashed a brief, bitter smile. “There’s that, I suppose.”

“It could be weeks before Rayne returns. Can’t we continue as we are—no promises?”

“No.” A muscle in his cheek flinched. “Come. I’ll take you back.”

A dull, pulsing pain weighted every reluctant heartbeat.

Did that mean she’d done the unthinkable?

Had she fallen in love with Hearts?

He gave her his arm, gallant as ever.

If she had, she supposed other women had done so and survived.

She would survive, too.

…

Had he thought Clarissa had shattered him before? Now, he was diced. Drawn and quartered…only to have those quarters quartered again.

This morning, he’d awoken to the brightest of suns. It had seemed an omen—the perfect start to a perfect day of the rest of his perfect life. He’d been so happy. So completely secure. The king had found a queen, and she’d graciously accepted her throne.

But love was nothing more than a jeweled knife—a pretty implement that stabbed. That much he should have known.

He helped her back up into the gig. Her blue eyes watery and confused, her dark hair mussed from frequent touching. He’d feel better if he could hate her, blame her for the throbbing pain in his chest.

But he had no one to blame but himself.

Explore the contradictions, he’d said.

No promises, he’d said.

He’d paved the path to his own destruction, one coaxing phrase at a time.

But she was hurting, too. Hurting because of him. Because he’d grasped when he’d known better than to reach. He climbed up onto the bench beside her. Taking the reins in one hand, he straightened her hair. Her lower lip quivered.

He could take her into his arms. Kiss her softly. Accept her offer to continue as they were. They could go back to Southford, and, using every weapon in Hearts’ arsenal, brandish his talent—leave her moaning and entranced, show her what it was to be seduced, mind, heart, and body, just as she’d seduced him.

He could even fill her belly again and again until a child wasn’t a possibility but a certainty.

Then, he would have everything he craved.

But, eventually, she’d awake from the haze and see what he’d done—locked her inside the same gilded prison in which his father had locked his mother.

He could, but he would not.

Jailers were just as confined as the hapless souls they kept behind bars.

He adjusted her hat. “I know better than to ask you to smile. But chin up.” He chucked her under the chin as he would Julia. “The worst is over.”

Her eyes softened with relief, scattering the small slices of his soul further afield. He pressed down the swell in his chest.

There would be no tears. None that she could see, anyway.

“When we return,” he said with consummate control, “I will remove to the blue room.”

“No!” She angled toward him. “You must stay in your room. I’ll stay with Julia.”

Reluctantly, he smiled. “You don’t know what you’re offering. She kicks.”

“I know.” Clarissa looked away. “I shared a bed with her on the journey here.”

“If you insist.”

“I do.” She sounded miserable.

He jostled the reins, and the carriage started down the pathway.

His office was to escort, not to comfort.

No matter how much she swore she wished to be free, one day there would be someone else who offered her his heart on terms she could accept.

Clarissa’s care, comfort, and protection would be that man’s office.

And maybe, some night many nights hence, she’d look out over a wide expanse, and think of him.

And if she did, she would never know he’d been forever crushed.