Chapter Fourteen

Markham grabbed a candle in one hand, Clarissa by the other, and led her up the stairs. Julia’s counting rang out through the library into the hall.

He’d pleaded with Katherine to keep Julia from interfering. Instead, she and Bromton had decided to abet Julia’s schemes—and come up with a few of their own.

He wasn’t going to survive a fortnight of this madness.

Couldn’t they see? “Help” was useless.

Every time his connection with Clarissa flared, she shied away. They could meddle all they wished; Clarissa wasn’t about to change her mind.

They reached the top of the stairs.

“Playing games was not my idea,” Markham said. “Julia, Katherine, even Bromton—they believe they are helping, and, this afternoon, I made everything worse.”

“How?”

“By interrupting a tryst between Bromton and Katherine to complain.” He ran his fingers along the paneling. “Now, Bromton is practically goading Julia.” He located the hidden lever, pulled, and then the paneling popped open. “After you, my lady.”

Clarissa cocked a brow.

“What?” he asked.

“My lady?”

“Just an expression, of course.”

Or, not.

Truth was, she’d been giving him that look—that sure, direct gaze, as skeptical as it was devouring. A look that glinted with demand, as if she wished to break him to pieces and then puzzle him back together. He’d unconsciously responded.

When she looked at him that way, all else disappeared.

But a look was just a look—he had nothing he could surrender, not when she refused to explore.

“This is Julia’s favorite hiding spot,” he explained. “And always the first place she checks.”

“Play hide-and-seek often, do you?”

“Not in the last ten years.”

She swished inside, glancing about the hidden cupboard. “What is this place, anyway?”

He closed the panel and then set the candle on a beam. “A priest hole—a hiding space within the walls. Priests used them during Reformation raids.” He paused. “I should say mock priest hole, because the house isn’t old enough to have a real one.”

“Mock or real, something tells me Julia is going to ‘forget’ about her favorite hiding place.”

“Likely—the little fiend.” He placed his ear against the panel. “Footsteps.”

“Guess we were wrong.”

“Open up.” Julia’s voice came through the panel. “I know someone is in there.” She jiggled the panel. “Oh no! It’s stuck!”

“It is not stuck.” Markham yanked the latch. Nothing happened. “It is stuck.” He reached down inside the mechanism within the panel to see if he could remove whatever was blocking the lever, but the lever was missing. “Julia!”

“Don’t worry,” she replied. “I’ll find Bromton and Katherine and then—”

“Get the butler.” He glanced back at Clarissa. “And an ax if you have to.”

“I can’t understand. Your voice is all muffled.” Julia’s voice faded as she moved away. “I’ll be back, though I can’t say how long I’ll be…”

Clarissa leaned against the wall. “Looks like we’re stuck.”

“She’s removed the lever from this side. I told you she is a little fiend.”

“She is a little fiend you adore.”

He flashed a crooked smile. “Guilty. The banshee was born screaming—a primal wail that never stopped. She’s an outspoken, frustrating firebrand, but I’d do just about anything for her.”

“Does that bother you?”

“Does what bother me?”

“That she challenges you at every turn.”

“We fight,” he conceded with a shrug. “Though I don’t understand why I’d be bothered. She behaves as she ought when she must.”

“True.”

He eyed her carefully. She wasn’t just talking about Julia. “In case you haven’t noticed, strong women do not scare me.”

Clarissa laughed reluctantly—an infinitely satisfying sound.

“You’re odd, Percy Stanley.”

“You don’t know the half…”

But she did, didn’t she? She knew more than the half. She knew parts of him he hadn’t given to anyone else; that he would never give to anyone else.

She glanced away.

And she seemed to be able to read his thoughts.

“Outspoken, frustrating firebrands”—she rested her hand on the panel, staring into the flame—“are not usually the kind of women my brother fancies.”

He responded with an inarticulate grunt. “I wondered if you were going to ask about Julia and Rayne. You guessed a long time ago, didn’t you?”

Clarissa nodded. “I’ve suspected something happened between them. Can you tell me more?”

He didn’t have to wonder if he could trust her. He already did.

At least where Julia was concerned.

“All I know is that Katherine and Bromton said they heard them trysting. Julia refused to confirm or deny; Rayne swore they’d only kissed. Whatever happened, she fell hard.”

Clarissa sighed. “I’m sorry my brother hurt her.”

“I’m sorry—for your sake—he left the country. And I thank you for not holding that against Julia.”

She mimicked his shrug. “Only Rayne knows why he left, and as for Julia…I think I understand her better than she understands herself.” She faced him, her gaze unsettlingly speculative. “I know what it is to lose a mother at a young age. Losing both parents young must have been difficult for Julia…difficult for you all.”

Difficult, yes.

Apprehension closed his throat.

Like finding oneself adrift on the ocean without any idea how to sail…and knowing others’ lives depended on how quickly you learned to survive.

Words couldn’t communicate just how terrified he’d been.

Just show Clarissa who you are.

Easy for Katherine to say.

It was one level of trust to share a family secret, to discuss his visions and plans, or to allow Clarissa to dominate him in bed.

But to slice open his deepest wounds?

No.

He would, he suspected, bleed for the kind of explosive union he and Clarissa could achieve. But he refused to open his heart if she wouldn’t commit.

“Losing my parents was most difficult for Katherine.” He kept his voice light. “Julia doesn’t remember my mother at all, and, well, my father wasn’t exactly attentive. Not after he lost my mother.”

“And you?”

“The loss was difficult for all of us, of course.”

She waited. “Aren’t you going to tell me how the loss affected you?”

A thousand wants tripped through his mind, each stumbling over the immovable truth—she did not want him. I just don’t want you to think I’m going to change my mind.

“No, I’m not going to tell you.”

“What happened to the devil-may-care Lord Markham?” Her tone soured. “Elegant and controlled…always a step apart, always with an amused eye-sparkle and a mocking half smile.”

Now that hurt.

Actually hurt—as if she’d thrust a long thin pin downward through his chest.

“A great many people depend on you, don’t they, Markham? And you do care.” She laid a hand on his heart. “You care a great deal.”

He studied her eyes.

In Clarissa’s eyes he read her anger, her fear, her lust. He saw that she’d intentionally lashed out—wanted to hurt because she was hurting. Still, he would have held her close and absorbed it all, if only she had the courage to stay.

Of course, he cared.

He gave over his entire being to those in his care—to those he loved. He’d been shouldering responsibility for his family since he was an awkward seventeen-year-old boy—grieving and confounded and utterly unprepared for his duty.

If he hadn’t cared, he and his sisters would have been reduced to poverty.

And if he hadn’t acted as if he didn’t care, he would have broken into useless pieces under the twin loads of debt and expectation.

Just like he was breaking now.

“I was fine with you taking charge, Clarissa.” He lifted her hand from his person. “But I am no one’s plaything.”

…

The edge in Markham’s voice sent shivers down Clarissa’s spine. His eyes sparked like faceted emeralds, and she could not look away. In his hard features, she caught her first glimpse of the real Percival Stanley.

And she was breathless.

She’d known her angry impulse was wrong, but she’d felt him slipping away—stealing the heat between them as he retreated.

She’d struck out in response.

She’d wanted to break him open so she could gather him back together. And she’d wanted to do it without offering any of herself in return.

She may have built a fortress, but sentinels that hadn’t been in his gaze before pointed ready cannons—defensive cannons. Much as she wanted him to, he wasn’t going to advance. This was his power. The power to say no.

He’d allow her to take only if she gave. And she did not wish to give.

But— “I don’t want a plaything.”

“You do.” His words held that same spine-twisting edge. “You want me to satisfy your needs without—” He stopped himself.

“Markham,” she said dismissively, “it’s not as if you committed to every lover.”

“I may know—in the carnal sense—more than you know, but I am as unfamiliar with what happened between us as you are.”

He thought he was new to this?

She’d never kissed any man but him, and suddenly, she was imagining things that would have confounded a courtesan.

Or, perhaps not.

Courtesans were probably very familiar with unusual needs.

She frowned. “Have you ever paid a woman to—?”

“No!” he interrupted, eyes flashing. “Satisfaction is not a commodity.”

Well.

His anger had a particular scent. A heady, dangerous scent. Come back from the ledge, lapin. She gentled her voice. “I cannot read your mind, Markham. How would I know if I didn’t ask?”

Slowly, his breath calmed.

“Can you tell me why this is different?” she asked.

Those guards in his eyes remained. ““I’ve had lovers, not mistresses. Not that I feel I’m morally above someone forced to sell satisfaction. I—I just refuse to participate. And I don’t,” he swallowed, “generally play at domination in bed.”

“Generally?”

His pupils had grown wide again. Fathomless, and yet fully present.

“The times I have, I’ve taken command.”

Now, she was rather fixed on his lips. “Then why did you let me—?”

“Because,” he interrupted, “you asked. Because you asked,” he changed the emphasis. “You with your wide, curious eyes, with the lip you bite to keep from trembling, with the voice you keep low to mask uncertainty and fear.”

He’d seen everything, hadn’t he?

“I was scared.” She was scared now, too. Terrified, actually. Unshed tears knit a dam in her throat. She blinked until she could see again.

“You took a risky chance, Clarissa. You dared. I wasn’t about to shun that offering. And once we started down that path—I don’t know. The noise ceased, I guess. I was more than intrigued. In fact, I’d never been as captivated.”

Why did he have to be so honest? So bravely, boldly honest?

He leaned back, dropping his head back against the brick—the very picture of a spellbound man, struggling against temptation.

She sighed.

“Heavy sound.”

“The weight of a thousand contradictions.” She focused on his loosely tied cravat. “For each contradiction I solve, three more appear.”

“Contradictions…” He paused, considering. “You wish to bind me, but you know if you do so, you will also be bound.”

She did wish to bind him. She wished to claim his masculine force as her own. “Your strength is intoxicating.”

His breath grew short. “Is it growing warm in here?”

Poor man. She opened the top two buttons on his waistcoat. The skin beneath his shirt was like fire. Simply touching his chest left her fingers tingling.

“Better?”

“Quite.”

Marriage would make her disappear. But Markham…

Markham made her come alive.

She placed her hands on the brick, one on either side of his head. “Do you know why I said no kissing?”

He shook his head no.

“Because if I start kissing you, I am scared I won’t be able to stop.”

There. The truth of the matter.

If she kissed him, she’d forget to be prudent. She’d throw away the chance at freedom for the pleasures of his bed.

And she was no longer certain she’d regret the trade.

“Markham.” Her voice had gone deep and throaty. “Tell me what you want.”

He went perfectly still. “The truth?”

“The truth.”

“I want you. In my bed. Every night. For the rest of my life.”

A shadow from the past haunted—I’ve secured a husband for you, daughter. The sentence that had marked the end of her separate existence.

“Not all contradictions can be solved through thinking.” He spoke low and even and breathy. “Some contradictions must be lived.”

Lived. Yes. She wanted to live. She wanted to be fully alive.

“Live the contradiction with me, Clarissa. Bind me and be bound.”

Her whole being became the beam of a scale—on one side, Markham, on the other, all the possibilities she’d been denied. And then, voices sounded in the hall.

Markham clenched his teeth. “Fiend.”

They both retreated. The door popped open.

“Would you look at that?” Julia placed her hands on her hips. “The door wasn’t stuck after all.”

Katherine snorted. “Funny how a lever works…when you pull it.”

Markham towered over his youngest sister. “Put the inside lever back, Julia.”

“What lever?” Julia asked.

He pinched the back of Julia’s neck. She squealed and lifted her shoulders.

“Let go!”

“Lever first!”

Julia reached into the folds of her pocket. “This lever?”

Markham grabbed the lever, sent Julia a fierce glance, and then reinserted it into the door.

“Perhaps,” Katherine winced apologetically at Clarissa, “we should all—”

“Play billiards?” Julia interjected.

Katherine rolled her eyes. “I’m going to bed. Besides”—she glanced through her lashes at her husband—“I promised I’d only play billiards with Bromton.”

Bromton groaned and then kissed Katherine soundly, ignoring the fact they were in full view of everyone else.

Clarissa pursed her lips.

She’d been present when Katherine made that promise—as had half the ton, a good number of the demimonde, and Beau Brummell himself.

It had been romantic. Sweepingly so. Almost as breathtaking as being told by a muscled, deep-voiced man you can’t stop touching that he wants you in his bed for the rest of his life.

“I’m going to bed as well,” Markham announced.

Markham had trusted her with his body. Could she trust him with her life?

Panic returned—a cold wet rag. Her heart spasmed. Her throat closed.

Run.

“I’ll play billiards with you, Julia,” she blurted.

“You will?” Markham and Julia answered in unified disbelief.

Clarissa forced a breath. “Well?”

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

With a flat-lipped grunt, Markham turned away.

Gracious. What had she done?

Markham had offered his devotion. Instead, she’d chosen billiards.

She didn’t even know how to play!

Unthinkingly, she followed Julia down the stairs and then waited as Julia lit a lamp and adjusted the wick.

“When the chandelier’s lit it’s bright as day in here, but let’s not bother the servants, shall we? Not for a quick game.”

Dark, wood-paneled walls came into view. The billiards table was, of course, the largest piece of furniture, however, overstuffed chairs of green leather sat in each corner. Windows lined the wall on one side while the other had racks for billiard sticks and balls.

Like Markham’s bedchamber in London, this was a very masculine room.

She shook her head.

She’d come here to avoid thinking about Markham’s bedchamber.

“Which game do you prefer to play?” Julia asked.

Clarissa frowned. “Billiards?”

“Yes, but which kind, ninny? Don’t tell me you don’t know how to play!”

“I don’t.”

“Then why—?” Julia shut her mouth and scowled. “I suppose Rayne has ideas about women playing billiards. Markham did, too, before we fixed him.”

Clarissa raised her brows. “I’ve never discussed billiards with Rayne. I discuss very little with Rayne, actually.” Other than Bromton. “Markham is against women playing billiards?”

Julia nodded. “He used to call this room”—Julia lowered her voice—“a man’s refuge.”

Suddenly Clarissa sincerely wished to play.

“Katherine disabused him of that notion by beating him, three rounds out of three.” She picked up two ivory balls. “We’ll start with the winning game, I think. One white ball belongs to you, one to me. I’ll take the one with the dot.”

Julia explained the rules and then demonstrated how to hit the balls.

Each time Clarissa leaned over the table, her aim improved. She liked the feel of a stick in her hands, liked hitting the ball and having it come to a stop in the place she intended.

She lost anyway. Julia was quite good.

“Well,” Julia sighed, “I must say, you learn quickly. How about another—” She stopped. Then she yawned and stretched. “Actually, now that I think about it, I’m suddenly sleepy.”

“Sleepy?”

“Dreadfully so.” Julia glanced over Clarissa’s shoulder. “Markham, why don’t you play with Clarissa instead?”

…

Julia winked as she passed Markham. Winked.

Fiend.

He grasped her arm. Her eyes widened. He chucked her beneath her chin.

“Good night.”

“Good night.” She grinned, skipping off.

And now, to his purpose.

Something was happening between him and Clarissa, and no matter how angry and scared he became, only one choice would ever conquer the beast of the unknown.

He had to forge forward. He had to see it through.

He’d been watching Clarissa almost since she’d first started playing. The “man’s refuge” line had been a means to annoy his sisters, but he wondered if he should have enforced the rule. Clarissa’s lifted bottom gave him…thoughts.

Never mind what was happening to him now that she was studying the billiards table, distractedly running her cupped hand up and down her stick.

“Are you here to play billiards with me?” She did not look up.

“No.”

“Why?” She glanced askance. “Because this is a man’s refuge?”

“Does that sound like something I’d say and mean, Clarissa? Lording anything over my sisters gets a rise out of them both.”

“And you find this amusing?”

“Vastly. And they give as good as they get. Might I remind you that Julia locked us in the priest hole?”

And suddenly they were back in the quiet confines of the cupboard—back in the breathless aftermath of his unanswered question.

Live the contradiction with me.

Only here, in the open, the question didn’t have such an easy answer.

Nor was it easily repeated.

This time, he turned away. “This is a man’s refuge, actually. I modeled the room after one in Sharpe’s.”

“The gentleman’s club Sharpe’s?” She glanced around the room with new interest. “I’ve never set foot inside a gentleman’s club. Ladies should have clubs, too.”

“Ladies have command of the drawing room. Why do you think men escape to clubs?”

“Don’t even begin to tell me men are afraid of women.”

“Most are,” he answered. “Afraid. Angry. Completely unaware of what they want or how to get it.”

“And you?” She arched that lovely brow.

Ah. That look. “I’m not angry.”

“Anymore.”

“Anymore.” It would have been entirely improper to adjust his falls. He leaned on the table instead. “I didn’t come here to play billiards. I came to negotiate.”

“Oh?” She drew her bottom lip between her teeth.

Ah well, he’d known she wouldn’t play fair.

He’d fumed his way back to his bedchamber because he’d been sure he’d done everything he could. Just to be certain, he’d made a mental list—he’d shown respect, sensual deference, even allowed her to set the pace…

That’s when he suddenly understood.

Allowed. Allowed.

That was the source of her distress. No matter how much of himself he gave, the very structure of Society would always favor him. If he was to convince her they could have a mutually happy future, he needed to give her more time.

More experience.

“It isn’t fair for me to demand everything of you.” He spoke to her lips.

“But you are going to demand, aren’t you?”

He smiled faintly. “I said negotiate, not capitulate. But I am willing to explore those contradictions without asking you to make promises.”

“And what do you wish for in exchange?”

“Honesty. Fearlessness. We’ll have to discuss things most people can barely speak about. It will be embarrassing. Scary. But, if we do trust each other, it will also be,”—he placed his hand on the small of her back—“very exciting.”

“My honesty is all you ask?”

He shook his head no. “I must have one promise—any door I wish to keep closed, you must not attempt to open. Don’t ask about my past.”

“You don’t want me to know you.”

“You already know me.” But some truths were just too explosive. He could open up enough to explore, but he still refused to bleed. “I’d like to keep my pride, if nothing else.”

In truth, he wasn’t sure he could keep his pride, only, she didn’t have to know that.

She moved out of his half embrace to place her stick back inside the rack.

She hadn’t denied him.

Not yet.

“What kind of things do we have to talk about?”

Progress. “What we like. What we don’t. What we will and will not allow.”

“Well?”

“I like undressing you. I’d like to undress for you.”

“I hear you sometimes go about naked.”

He snorted. “Why am I not surprised?”

“Is it true?”

“In the privacy of my own bedchamber, yes.”

“I’ve almost never been without all my clothes. I even bathe in a shift.”

He pictured her rising from his copper tub—long, white linen clinging to her breasts and thighs.

“Why would you wish to go about naked?” she asked.

“I grew up in a houseful of women. Disrobing was a means to enforce solitude—a way to enter a space all my own.”

“Your secret rebellion.” Understanding dawned in her gaze. “Like what we shared—you can be the opposite of what you must always appear.”

He considered. “Possibly.” He smoothed his thumb over the crease in her brow. “Your little disapproving scowl has always left me a little breathless.”

Her pupils widened. “I want to make you breathless.”

“I know.” Her desire had its intended effect. “And I want to be told exactly how to bring you pleasure.”

She took a slow, deep inhale. “What won’t you allow—besides questions?”

He imagined a number of humiliating scenarios he didn’t think he’d enjoy. For instance, though the idea of being bound rather intrigued, he didn’t particularly like pain. So maybe no caning?

Then again, he wouldn’t have thought he’d enjoy being told to undress her and then use his cock to stroke her to climax.

“I don’t know my limits, yet. For now, I’m happy to place myself entirely in your hands.”

“Even though you generally take charge?”

He couldn’t ignore the challenge in her eyes.

He caught her hips and swung her around, so she faced the table and he was at her back. He wrapped his arm about her and held her tight, just below her breasts.

“Make no mistake.” He lowered his lips to her ear. “I’d be just as happy to bend you over, stretch your arms above your head, and hold you still while I rut with you from behind.”

She sucked in.

“Embarrassed?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“So am I.”

Devil take it. He couldn’t resist much longer. “Do you accept my terms?”

“Yes.”

A hot rush spread through his veins.

She reached behind his neck and grabbed him, yanking his face forward until his cheek pressed against hers. “I’m going to go upstairs, now. When I unlock the door, I expect you to be naked.”