Chapter Six

Clarissa had often explored London with Katherine, Katerina, and Philippa. On occasion, their respective husbands or brothers had been in attendance. Even then, Clarissa had never been particularly aware of any of the gentlemen…not as men, anyway.

This outing to Hampton Court was entirely different.

And it wasn’t the absence of Katherine, Katerina, and Philippa. It wasn’t the inclusion of Julia and Horatia, whose excited chatter provided, at least, a screen.

It was, of course, him.

Lord Markham.

Whose presence, up until yesterday, had irritated Clarissa more than anything else. But then, they’d kissed, and, well…

She stole a glance across the carriage.

Right now, Markham didn’t look like a man whose lips could transport a woman, even if those lips were curled into a rather entrancing smile.

He sat opposite Clarissa, and their knees brushed from time to time, though he sat angled toward Julia’s side of the seat.

Markham, Julia, and Horatia were playing some sort of hand game that included a great deal of slapping. And, judging by Horatia’s giggles, Julia hadn’t properly explained the game to Markham.

Either that or Markham was simply allowing the young ladies to win.

He did that sort of thing for his sisters. He indulged their whims and fancies, purposefully made them laugh and, on occasion, endured the roll of their eyes.

Rayne would never—and had never—given her interests a second thought, nor would it have occurred to him to keep her—not to mention any of her friends—entertained on a long, jolting carriage ride through the city.

Not that Rayne had been a bad brother. He’d simply absorbed their father’s attitude—he felt a duty toward Clarissa, but beyond providing shelter, food, and the occasional escort, he deemed little interaction necessary or required.

She’d spent so long linking Markham’s faults to Rayne’s, she’d never seriously contemplated Markham’s finer qualities.

And Markham had fine qualities, didn’t he? Unexpected qualities. Some of them she’d noticed last summer. Loyalty. Good humor. Care.

And Markham wasn’t just amiable. He was attractive. More infuriating, he knew it. Just like he probably knew exactly how stunned she’d been by their kiss.

The carriage lurched forward. The girls oohed in unison and, without time to grasp the strap, Clarissa slid from the bench…directly into Markham’s arms.

Or, rather, one arm.

One strong arm that had been there just in time, catching her fall just before she landed in his lap.

His laughter died as she looked up. His pupils widened. Her breath stopped.

He cleared his throat. “All right?”

She nodded. She would be, just as soon as they reached Hampton Court Maze and she could get out of the blasted carriage.

He helped her back into her seat, smiled swift and brief, and then turned back to Julia and Horatia. The entire episode had lasted but a moment. But that moment had taken Markham’s presence from problematically distracting to all-consuming.

Why did she have to catch a whiff of his scent?

Spice, definitely. His cologne was rich and dark and comforting, but what was the base? Clove? Bergamot?

He laughed at something Julia said, caught Clarissa’s glance, and winked.

Inner awareness blossomed—greedy…anticipatory.

She glanced out the window, cheeks coloring…but his compelling aroma lingered.

Definitely bergamot.

And perhaps—she inched forward and inhaled—the faintest touch of tobacco.

She’d never seen Markham smoke, but Farring smoked a pipe on occasion. She thought she disliked the scent, but, on Markham, it was quite pleasing.

Quite.

Feel-it-in-your-toes pleasing.

“What do you think, Lady Clarissa?” Julia’s eyes sparkled.

Dear Lord, had Julia seen her sniff Markham? How utterly mortifying. “I’m afraid I wasn’t listening.”

“Weren’t you, now?” Julia patted Clarissa’s knee. “I’ll catch you up—we are deciding whether we should enter the maze separately or keep together.”

“Of course we should—”

“—go in pairs?” Julia interrupted. “You have the best ideas, Lady Clarissa. See, Markham? I told you she would agree with me.”

Pairs had not been what Clarissa was going to suggest.

“Let’s see,” Julia continued. “Horatia and I can make up one pair, and you and Markham can form the second. Won’t it be fun?”

“How about,” Markham said drily, “you and I make up one pair, and Lady Clarissa and Lady Horatia the other?”

Julia twisted her lips to the side, and then shook her head no. “I don’t care for that idea.”

“I know!” Horatia cut in with a seat bounce. “How about Lady Clarissa, Lady Julia, and I in one group, and Markham in the other?”

Julia frowned. “That’s not pairs…Oh! You’re thinking of a contest, aren’t you, Horatia? Clever girl!”

“Thank you,” Horatia replied. “A contest…the ladies against his lordship.”

“I like the sound of that.” Julia smirked at her brother. “A long time coming, I’d say.”

“Julia—” Markham said warningly.

Julia blinked with open-eyed innocence. “Are you afraid of being outwitted?”

His brows flattened. “No.”

“Well then, why not? I think it would be entertaining.” She paused significantly. “More so if we wagered.”

“You know I do not wager,” Markham said. “Not anymore.”

“You have a card suit name,” Horatia noted. “Since when don’t you gamble?”

“Since he lost Katherine in a bet—or…” Julia furrowed her brow. “Was it that Bromton won Katherine? We are all a little unclear. Only Bromton and Markham know exactly what happened.”

“Stop.” Markham said in a deep, decisive tone.

Shivers ran down Clarissa’s spine.

“Well,”—Julia shrugged. Markham’s voice had no effect on her, obviously—“you just admitted that you no longer wager. Clarissa already knew the rest. And you didn’t think I could keep that kind of a secret from my closest friend.” She reached across the carriage and put her arm around Horatia. “You won’t tell anyone, will you, Horatia? Horatia is the soul of discretion.”

“The very soul,” Horatia repeated, nodding along.

Markham exhaled through his teeth.

Clarissa glanced through her lashes at him.

She’d witnessed Julia banter with Markham on any number of occasions—he usually responded with theatrically exaggerated anger. This time, however, the air was weighted with very real tension.

Or was something else causing his discomfort?

Lady Horatia sighed. “I think the wager was romantic. I wish Farring would lose me to a dashing stranger in a bet.”

“No, you don’t.” Julia, Markham, and Clarissa spoke in unison.

“The truth of the matter wasn’t romantic in the least.” Markham leaned down to capture Horatia’s full attention. “I used poor judgment and came very close to causing my sisters,” he ahemmed, “my sister permanent harm.”

Clarissa stared, startled. He sounded sincerely penitent, completely aware of the pain he’d caused. Had she misjudged him entirely?

“Do you understand?” Markham asked Horatia.

Horatia nodded slowly.

Oh dear.

If he’d understood and atoned for his wrong, what armor did she have left?

The last thing she needed was to admire Markham.

She didn’t. She couldn’t.

Besides, why should she believe he’d atoned? He’d simply made a mistake and then instituted a rather draconian set of rules to make sure he didn’t make the same mistake again.

In fact, he probably expected everyone else to follow his rules, too.

“About the maze?” Clarissa asked. “I respect that you no longer wager. However, would you object to my making a bet?”

“Not at all,” he replied. “Why should my rules apply to you? You are eminently qualified to guide yourself.”

She lifted her brows.

That wasn’t the first time he’d implied respect for her judgment.

“Living would become terribly tiresome if he did,” Julia said. “He has all kinds of rules for himself. So does Katherine. So do I.”

Clarissa broke their gaze. Embarrassed. Flustered. “Is that so? What are your rules, Julia?”

“Behave according to the highest standards when in the presence of gossips,” she answered. “And the companion rule—avoid gossips if at all possible.”

“Or,” Horatia cut in, “as Julia usually puts it, dance a pair beyond the Jack o’ Bedlams.”

A startled chuckle bubbled up. “Is that all?”

“No. There’s another.” Julia lost her smile. The undertone in her voice whispered Rayne. “Once burned, never touch the same kettle.”

Julia turned her gaze outside the carriage. Markham took Julia’s hand.

Clarissa stared at their joined hands.

She’d never asked what had happened between Julia and Rayne, but she knew Rayne had gone to Southford just before Bromton wed and then had abruptly left the country. And when she’d met Katherine and Julia, Julia hadn’t been able to hear Rayne’s name without paling.

If she asked Markham—she met Markham’s gaze—he’d tell her the truth. That much, she simply knew.

I don’t intend to lie—not again.

He was glib and prone to teasing, but beneath that was an honest man…possibly the first man in her life she could actually trust.

What did trust require?

A belief in another’s competence, in their goodwill, in their truthfulness. She’d always dismissed Markham’s competence…perhaps unfairly. His estate thrived, did it not? Unlike many others.

Markham’s treatment of Julia provided ample evidence of his goodwill.

And—oddly enough, as he and Clarissa were attempting to fool the ton—Clarissa had never doubted his honesty.

But if she allowed herself to trust Markham, what would come next?

Clarissa turned purposefully toward Horatia and intentionally started a conversation about the birth order of the Maxwell-Hughes sisters and the origin of their colorful names that lasted through their arrival at Hampton Court and all the way until they stood in front of the opening of the evergreen maze.

There were five living sisters to discuss, after all.

As they waited for their turn to enter, Clarissa marveled at the sight. The centuries-old yew had long ago replaced the original hornbeam maze. She inhaled the soothing scent.

Of course, she got a good whiff of bergamot in the process, leaving her rather heady.

The last time she had come to the Hampton Court Maze, she’d been with Katherine, Katerina, and Philippa. They’d all had a dashed good time, and she hadn’t been nervous in the least. But that had been in spring, more than a year ago.

Today, a chill edged the September air. But the cold wasn’t the reason that she bounced in her shoes, not did it have any connection to the way her heart danced against her ribs.

“So”—Julia splayed her gloved fingers and made a downward motion with her hands—“I’ll wager the ladies reach the center first. And, if we do, Markham must buy us all ices.”

“But it’s cold,” Lady Horatia protested.

Julia rolled her eyes. “It’s never too cold for ices.”

“Julia,” Markham cleared his throat. “You cannot wager someone else’s coin.”

“Oh, really? But you can wager someone else’s hand in marriage? Besides,” Julia changed tactics and made her voice softly cajoling, “how could you object to ices? You love ices.”

“That I do,” he conceded with lifted brows.

Julia clapped. “Then you will agree to buy them for us?”

He sighed. “If you win.”

Julia beamed and patted him on the arm. “There’s a good brother.”

“Um,” Clarissa cut in, “are you aware you’ve left me no choice but to wager on Markham’s success?”

“Did I?” Julia shrugged.

Markham grinned. “How about this? If I win, you can buy us all ices.”

“Lady Clarissa buy you an ice?” Horatia furrowed her brow. “I am not sure that would be quite proper.”

“Why not?” Clarissa asked, bristling. If Markham could buy her an ice, she could certainly buy his.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Horatia asked. “You are a woman, and he’s a man.”

“Astonishing,” Julia teased. “But must we play by the rules among ourselves? Can’t we choose democracy? Huzzah for liberty, equality, and sorority.”

“And you’re the soul of discretion, remember?” Markham added.

Horatia glanced between them. “Heaven help me if I were to tell His Grace.”

“Oh,” Julia scoffed. “Your father dotes on you.”

“He does,” Horatia agreed. “But”—she shivered—“if possible, I try to avoid his raised brow.”

“That’s all it takes?” Julia asked. “One raised brow?”

Horatia nodded, with a visible swallow.

“I wonder if it would work on Julia.” Markham glowered. Then both Julia and he broke into immediate laughter.

Clearly, Katherine had been the disciplinarian of the family. Yet there was loyalty and care among them all—a bond produced by affection, not duty.

What was it about Markham?

He caught Clarissa staring again and responded with another wink. She went warm and alert again.

She really wished he wouldn’t do that.

She approximated his meaning as “we understand each other,” but whatever his message, it was private. Intimate.

Each wink turned her insides outward. And each wink left her craving another.

“It’s settled. I look forward to my ice.” Markham’s smile was positively sinful. “Shall we go in?”

“Wait!” Julia exclaimed. “We can’t all enter at the same time.”

“I am sporting,” Markham replied. “You ladies enter first. I will count to twenty and then follow.”

“And if we finish first?”

“Start counting when you reach the center. If I don’t join you by twenty, I lose.”

His answer pleased both young ladies, who weren’t keen to be given an unfair advantage. Julia and Horatia joined hands and entered with a squeal.

Clarissa glanced over her shoulder. Indeed, Markham was counting.

He winked again.

Fie on the rogue.

Scowling, she followed the girls down the path.

“One hundred and sixty-two,” he called after her, making no sense at all.

The girls stopped at the first intersection.

“Which way?” Clarissa asked.

Julia shrugged. “Shall we take a vote?”

“How about this,” Horatia suggested. “We’ll follow whoever chooses a direction first…unless there is a strong objection?”

Clarissa nodded. “That’s fine.”

“Very well, then,” Julia said. “Let us advance to the right.”

Seven choices—and two returns—later, the girls were arm in arm and laughing in much the same way Clarissa, Katherine, and the other ladies had laughed the last time she had attempted the maze.

Clarissa’s heart grew light at the sound.

Why were female friendships so easy, while female-to-male friendships were fraught with peril?

Then again, that was not quite right, was it? She’d been friends with Farring for years. Never once had she been distracted by his eyes, his scent—or anything he did. And Farring’s shoulders were respectably formed, too.

Which meant her problem was specific to Markham.

Markham, whose company she could not avoid…at least until Rayne returned.

“Do you think we can win?” Horatia asked breathlessly. “There is a chill in the air, but I have decided I would very much like an ice.”

“You’ll get an ice either way, remember?” Julia pointed out. “We designed it—”

She stopped abruptly.

“What were you about to say, Lady Julia?” Clarissa asked.

“Oh, nothing.” Julia waved her hand in the air. “You know, I’m quite astonished how blatantly my brother is mooning over you.”

Clarissa forgot why she’d been questioning Julia. “Nonsense. I barely know your brother.”

“Well, I know Markham well,” Julia replied. “And he looks at you the way he looks at his favorite flavor of Gunter’s ice. Which”—she glanced at Clarissa—“happens to be bergamot. He’s rather partial to the taste and scent. Have you noticed?”

Clarissa flattened her lips—not so much a scowl as a warning.

Horatia frowned. “Lord Markham must have made eyes at other women. How else would he have gotten the name Hearts?”

“Because he’s a fool for love.” Julia sighed dramatically. “Or he will be, once he finds it.” She paused. “You wouldn’t happen to know why your brother is called Diamonds, do you, Clarissa?”

“You don’t?”

Oddly enough, Julia blushed. “No one will tell me.”

“I never asked,” Clarissa replied. “Lord Rayne and I are not as…affectionately connected as you and your brother.”

Julia raised her brows.

“Rayne is an excellent brother, of course,” Clarissa added.

But was he really? Rayne had defended her when Bromton refused to offer for her—but he’d been more hurt than she’d been. He’d given her free rein in her choice of teachers after their father had died—but he’d been completely uninterested in the subjects of her study. And once she and Philippa had grown close, he was more than happy to have her spend as much time in the ducal household as she wished.

“I suppose,” Clarissa continued, “when compared to Lord Farring and Lord Markham, his fraternal instincts leave much to be desired.”

“I’ve always assumed,” Horatia said, “all brothers were like Markham and Farring.”

“I’m afraid not,” Clarissa replied.

They paused in front of another fork.

“Oh bother,” Julia said. “This one’s difficult. Would you mind going to the right twenty steps or so and calling back what you see?”

Clarissa eyed the overly innocent-looking Julia with suspicion.

“Very well,” Julia sighed, “I’ll go if you don’t wish—”

Clarissa caught her arm. “No, you and Horatia stay together. I’ll see what’s around the corner.”

She advanced down the pathway twenty paces and then the pathway came to an end. She turned back…and then realized she had passed a fork without noticing. She did not know which direction would lead her back to the girls.

She peered around the bend. “Lady Julia?”

No answer. Of course.

She doubted this had happened by accident.

Julia undoubtedly believed she was doing Clarissa a favor—as in, sooner or later, Markham would appear. There’d probably been hundreds of quick, stolen kisses in this maze over the years.

Clarissa pulled her cloak closer and advanced to the left. She halted before another dead end. In the distance, Julia’s squeal was followed by Markham’s low murmur. Their words were indistinct, though Markham did not sound happy at all.

So, he thought Julia had planned this, too.

In some ways, she wished she’d been more like Julia when she was younger. Julia hadn’t any fear of Markham’s displeasure, while Clarissa had been more like Horatia—fearing Rayne’s slightest scowl.

How would her life be different if she had challenged Rayne—or her father?

Her passivity had not come all at once. She’d started out demanding answers—answers that had never come. Then, lesson after lesson had slowly shaved away her spirit, forming her into a perfect future marchioness.

But she wasn’t a marchioness.

She was just a spinster.

Alone.

In a maze.

With yews like blank, green walls, towering high in every direction.

…

Markham recognized Clarissa at once, and not just because her ivory cloak gleamed ethereal against the evergreen boughs.

He’d just known she’d be there.

In fact, he’d known even before he’d turned the last corner.

Never before had he been so aware of a woman’s presence. And ever since they’d kissed, he hadn’t been able to force his awareness to lessen.

When she’d fallen forward in the carriage, he’d reacted without thought and caught her. Anytime he’d felt a sort of tingle, he’d glance over, and she’d be staring back.

He hadn’t known what do to. So, he’d winked—a wordless acknowledgment of their connection—a connection he did not yet understand.

He was drawn to her. He always had been. He had no choice but to admit that, now.

But was she drawn to him?

She hadn’t realized he was standing right behind her. She continued to stare at what appeared, from her vantage, to be a canvas of green, but from his, was actually a false end.

Several black ringlets had escaped her hat and rested against her back. Her arms hung limp at her sides. Still, she appeared as regal as a queen.

The Queen of Hearts?

He shook his head. How had that come into his mind?

She turned.

For as long as Markham had known Clarissa, she’d been composed, imperturbable. Occasionally warm and laughing—at least to others—and frequently pert with him.

Suddenly, however, she’d lost her cultured, sovereign sort of presence. Now, her eyes held whispers of confusion. Uncertainty.

He didn’t like the look.

He definitely didn’t like suspecting he was its cause.

“Are you well?” he asked softly

She closed her eyes and exhaled. “No—yes. I… For a moment, I was lost.”

He smiled, but only one side of his mouth lifted. “I’ve found you. And, you aren’t lost.” He held out his hand. “Come look.”

Both of them wore gloves. Still, when she took his hand, he burned.

He drew her to his side. “See the hidden opening?”

Her lips formed an O. “How did I miss it?”

“Clever pruning?” he suggested.

She half chuckled, still looking a bit confused.

His heart panged. “I’m sorry you’ve been caught up in all of this. You must rue the day you heard of the Stanley family.”

She turned toward him and shook her head no.

Her eyes were so very deep and blue. He brushed her hair from her cheek.

She placed her other hand over his, making a cradle against her jaw. He brushed his thumb against her chin. A small caress. Barely a caress at all. But enough for tender warmth to melt into desire.

“A kiss”—she glanced up through her lashes—“for courage?”

He wished he hadn’t told her about his Mother’s turn of phrase.

They hadn’t been happy words. Nor were they happy memories. But this—this could be a happy memory.

A very happy memory.

He bent his head and brushed his lips against hers. She let go of the hand she held and hooked her arm behind his neck, drawing him closer and holding him tight.

His insides went molten as he kissed her again, running his tongue along her lower lip. She opened her eyes in shock.

And then, she kissed him back.

He grasped her by her waist as her fingers bit into his shoulders. She sighed softly against his lips.

He dizzied as his blood drained downward.

Clarissa.

The end he’d sought without knowing. The maze he wanted to win.

Then he heard it. Julia’s and Horatia’s giggles.

Immediately, she broke away.

“Yes. Right.” He inhaled. “Again, I apologize.”

She squinted. “You didn’t have a hand in this, did you?”

“Me?” He pointed to himself. “I play fair, Lady Clarissa.”

She squinted one eye. “I actually believe you.”

“You do?”

She nodded.

Now, he was truly light-headed.

“Follow me,” he said, leading her around to the final opening before the center. He stepped aside. “Go ahead, you first.”

Clarissa frowned. “You already won.”

“I haven’t,” he replied. “Fair play, remember? I joined Julia and Horatia just outside of the end. Until you step inside, no one has won.”

She lifted a brow. “I say we forfeit.”

“Ahem,” Julia folded her arms. “Neither of you are sporting at all! Why can’t both win—we ladies and Markham?”

Markham rolled his eyes. “You just want ices.”

“And you don’t?” Julia asked.

Markham glanced toward Clarissa, winked, and said, “I do have a weakness for ices.”

“There will be ices either way,” Horatia reminded them.

Clarissa’s eyes twinkled. “Why don’t you order ices for Horatia, Julia, and myself, and I’ll pay for yours?”

He nodded, throat dry.

Horatia had been right. Clarissa paying for his ice wasn’t proper at all.

Her small, slight smile said she relished this small power over him…and, oddly enough, he didn’t mind at all.

He longed for her to seize the full force of her will; a fully confident Clarissa would be something marvelous to see. And just how far would she go if she took charge of not only her life, but her desire?

He swayed, rocked back on his heels, and covered the sensation of a blow by holding out his arm to her and giving himself an internal shake.

He’d been absorbing the blows of her scowls for years—that didn’t mean he could fulfill her deepest needs.

But his yearning would not budge.

Perhaps it shouldn’t have mattered, but the thought of her indulging one of his dearest fancies with her coin left him not just indebted, but beholden—as if he should pledge some service to her, in kind.

Some intimate service.

Without trying, he imagined her with a spoon in her hand, pressing cold sweetness against his lips—not at Gunter’s but in the privacy of his bedchamber. Heat rushed in dual directions—into his cheeks and into his groin.

“Well.” He pulled his coat closed to cover his trousers. “To Gunter’s we go.”

Which was perfect.

Lord knew he needed to cool down.