Taboo (9 page)

Her eyes narrowed, a flush racing up her neck. “But I do know…a rude, boorish, self-absorbed peer who thinks he can manipulate people however he pleases.”

He showed no reaction, damn him. “And you are a foolish country girl who has no gratitude for the opportunities she’s been given.”

“Opportunities. What do you know of my dreams?”

“Oh, I know of your dreams but I can’t tolerate thinking of you with
him
.”

Markham’s jaw snapped shut. His gaze shuttered from surprise to detached to unreadable so quickly Lizzie barely had time to recognize their meanings. Had he not meant to say that out loud? Could it be possible that Markham harbored some feeling for her?

She squeezed her eyes closed but the last sight of his kissable lips lingered in her vision. If only he would move off her. How could she think of Edmund, remain true to him, if this man drove her to such stretches of distraction—or such ranges of passion?

The weight on the cushion shifted, causing the seat to squeak. A terrible sense of emptiness filled her as she expected him to move away. But his scent drew nearer to saturate her senses, his one hand held firm to her arm. Despite the loud rumbling wheels, his breathing echoed in her ears.

Then his warm fingers brushed her cheek and no sound could penetrate the thundering of her heart.

Markham swallowed, certain she could hear his pulse hammering.

Passion flared in his veins. Jealousy, anger, desire careened and shattered within his blood, like a small boat upon a raging river. His flesh throbbed for her, his heart drummed.

If seeing her in the arms of Edmund Greene wasn’t enough to begin his quest for her heart, having her slender body beneath him was. And, yet, if his damn stepmother hadn’t insisted on calling upon friends this morning, she’d be here. Her presence would keep his wayward urges in check.

But she wasn’t here. Not yet. And Markham couldn’t help but sweep his gaze down the length of her. The rapid rise and fall of her breasts brought his erection to full attention.

A faint scent of roses hovered, intoxicating him, pulling him under a spell of hazy lust.

Markham lifted one of her vibrant curls and wrapped it around a finger. He envisioned the strand wet, drops of water slipping down his skin. He licked his lips, but then dropped the curl as if it would burn him.

He’d make this girl fall in love with him. He wouldn’t fail his father. He’d not allow his heritage to vanish or for Lucas to live in shame. She aroused him in ways he’d never imagined, piqued his curiosities, enlightened his mind and enraged his passions.

Markham released the grip on her wrist and cupped her face with both hands. Before they even reached Oxford, Miss Parker would be under his spell.

Her vivid green eyes burst open. “No.”

Markham searched for shadows in her gaze, those secrets that kept him at bay. But anticipation and yearning overpowered her resolution. She revealed herself too easily. Despite any resistance, this fairy craved his touch.

“No, what, Miss Parker?”

Her pink tongue ran along the inside of her lips, moistening them, tempting him. “Whatever it is you’re about to do. Don’t.”

He lifted her chin. “Are you so sure about that?”

“No…yes.”

“It seems you are uncertain.”

“You can’t…you can’t do this to me.”

“Do what? Kiss you? Do you really wish me to stop?” Markham brushed his thumb across her lips. Her protests silenced as her eyes drifted closed again as if commanded by his touch.

Her lips parted. “Please…”

Her warm breath invited him to lower his mouth to hers. He kissed her lips delicately, tasted her sweetness, swallowed her sighs.

A surrendering whimper escaped from her throat.

Intensity exploded. Swells of need crashed against his skin, into his scorching arousal, even within his very bones. He slid his way inside her mouth, searching for the velvety smoothness of her tongue. She tasted like honey and hyacinth and all that reminded him of the countryside.

Her fingertips brushed his shoulders. The devil. He wanted her to touch him. Touch him everywhere with those tiny hands, graceful as a butterfly’s wings.

He ravaged her mouth, drank in her spirit, indulged his desires. She responded with an equal hunger, her tongue stroking his, her back arching. Shudders wracked through him, his nipples puckered.

Markham trailed his lips down her neck, where her heartbeat leaped against his tongue. His hands itched to capture her breasts, knead them with his fingers.

His erection throbbed, desperate for the heat of her body, or even the touch of her tiny hands.

His craving for this tempting pixie bewildered him, and yet he could think of nothing he wanted more. If only he could push her down onto this cushion and remove every piece of clothing, every barrier between his skin and hers. He could thrust himself deep inside and find heaven.

But heaven must wait. He could not take her body, discover her secrets, until he’d secured her heart.

Markham wrenched himself from the nectar in his grasp. He let her go so suddenly that she slumped against the seat, eyes opening in surprise. Stark vulnerability contrasted against the bright flush of her cheeks. Devil, she may have let him continue. And then he would be the very rake he so despised.

Without a word, he slid across to the other side. He waited for her sharp tongue, for the assault. But she only said, “Have-have you retrieved my items from my father?” The words trembled.

He nodded, unable to trust his own voice.

She stared at him. “Why, Markham? Why did you kiss me when you despise me so?”

He said nothing. He could not tell her that he feared her heart would remain locked away for the curate, when the stinging ache to have her dulled his reason. Nor could he say that to protect his son’s future, she must fall in love with him. He could not give her the answers she sought.

Right now, he could give her nothing.

They stared at one another until rain beat a steady rhythm on the roof. Soon, Markham could see the familiar shadows darkening her eyes. Then, she bit her lower lip and finally turned away.

When the dowager joined them only a short time later, Miss Parker’s silence turned into the light, even breaths of sleep.

Is he her darkest dream…or her most terrifying nightmare?

Midnight Secrets

© 2011 Jenni Grizzle

Cassiopeia’s dreams have never been her own. They are harbingers of death. Yet when she learns her gentle cousin, Mary, has disappeared from a remote castle on the Cornish Coast, the official story doesn’t fit with Cassie’s prophetic dream.

The mystery compels her to leave the safety and middle-class comfort of Oxford to take a job as a maid in the house of Killdaren. There she discovers more than the daily indignities the working class must endure. There’s a darkness surrounding Sean Killdaren, a man born with his hands at his twin’s throat. Whispers of the murderous Dragon Curse…and an aversion to daylight that adds
vampire
to spine-chilling rumors.

When Cassie encounters him in the shadowy corridors, his touch should make her tremble in fear. But that’s not what makes her knees shockingly weak. It’s the spell of desire he casts with his wicked green eyes…and the small acts of kindness that soften her heart.

The closer she comes to the truth, the greater the danger. Mary isn’t the only woman lost to the Killdaren brothers’ curse. And as a killer lurks ever closer, Cassie wonders whom she can trust…and if she will be the next victim.

Warning: Contains a prim and proper advice columnist who finds herself in situations not covered by the rules of etiquette, and a deliciously dark hero who sees more than a maid in itchy wool…he sees the only star that lights his tortured life. Lace hankies strongly recommended.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Midnight Secrets:

A leather gloved hand clamped over my mouth and nose from behind. An arm wrapped around my stomach and arms, trapping me, and jerking me back against the hard body of a large man. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t scream, I couldn’t reach my pistol. I could barely move. Terror flamed in my breasts and fired through my veins. The man pulled me deeper into the darkened room, shutting the door. Dear Lord. Is this how Mary disappeared?

Wrenching violently, I tried to free myself, but the man clamped me tighter to him, crushing me with his strength. I pressed my head back, fighting to ease the pressure on my face enough to breathe. In my panic I remembered the size of Jamie Frye, his anger, the veiled threat that if I were to die none would care. Then the hand covering my mouth and nose loosened enough for me to suck in blessed air. I smelled leather, mint and something frighteningly unknown, but compelling enough that I drew another needed breath.

“The scent of roses,” a deep, cultured voice with a hint of an Irish burr whispered close to my ear, and I knew it wasn’t Jamie. “The feel of a woman.” As he spoke, his arm about my stomach slid higher, pressing beneath my bosom, almost caressing the undersides of my breasts a moment. I rammed my spine back, lifting myself to my tiptoes, trying to keep from knowing the warmth of his muscled arm so intimately against me. This brought his mouth and the heat of his breath closer to my ear.

“The actions of a thief.” His tone was soft, menacing. My heart thundered harder, more painfully. “Will you come to such an ill fate, lass? ‘Like a rose, she has lived as long as roses live…the space of one morning’? Or will it be even less for you?”

Any affinity I had for Malherbe’s poetry met a quick death at that moment. I shook my head, trying to speak, but only managed a muffled squeal.

“Let’s see what you’ve stolen, my rose.”

I didn’t understand what he meant to do until he moved his gloved hand from beneath my breasts, sliding downward, pressing firmly along the contours of my body all the way down to my hips, then brushing over my intimate flesh as he slid from one dress pocket to the other, and finding my father’s pistol. His body jerked with surprise and he drew a sharp breath.

“Run or scream and I will kill you instantly.” He pulled the pistol from my pocket. His voice chilled and became deadly. I’d never heard true menace before now.

“Are you an assassin?” He released me, shoving the muzzle of the pistol into my back, urging me deeper into the room.

My legs shook, and my vision blurred. “Assassin? Good God! Please. I don’t know what you’re talking about. I haven’t stolen anything either. The pistol is mine. To keep me safe.”

I heard him light a lamp, filling the dark-paneled room with a muted glow. I barely saw the billiard table before me and the numerous game tables beyond that. I was too aware of the man behind me with my pistol to my back.

“Take off your cap,” he ordered.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I pulled off my cap, feeling almost as if I was removing my clothes before him. I hadn’t taken the time to pin my hair and it spilled down my back.

“Turn around, slowly.”

I did as he asked. Opening my eyes to fearful slits, I kept my gaze on the pistol and his large, black-gloved hand. At that moment I wanted to know if and when he would pull the trigger more than who he was or what he looked like. He’d barely eased my pistol back enough to allow me room to turn. As soon as I did, he pressed the muzzle deeper into my breast, directly over my pounding heart.

When he didn’t shoot, when he didn’t say anything at all, I finally lifted my gaze and met his deadly green stare. Sean Killdaren was everything his portrait promised and more.

“Who are you?”

Swallowing a lump of pure fear, I found my voice. “Cassie Andrews. I’m…the new housemaid.”

“I don’t know how well you can see, but I assure you, I am not that stupid. You’re no more a housemaid than I am a street urchin. The truth.”

“’Tis the truth. I am Cassie Andrews, and I…I needed work. Hard times…my father lost his post.” I held up my blistered hands.

“Where are you from?”

“Oxford.” I cringed, realizing I should have lied.

“You’re educated. You can’t convince me that between this hell and Oxford there wasn’t a single teaching post.”

“I left home…there was a…scandal. I had to,” I said, desperate. Inferring that I was a fallen woman seemed the only plausible excuse for why an educated woman would seek employment as a housemaid so far from home. I took heart in that every word I’d said was essentially the truth. I considered Mary’s death a hidden scandal.

Bolstering myself with that, I met the fire of his gaze as he studied me. Dressed completely in black right down to the cape he wore, he was as dark as his midnight painting had portrayed him and just as dynamic. The cleft of his shadowed chin, the fullness of his mouth, the height and breadth of him in person loomed larger than life, even more so than the painting. Only the fire in his dragon green eyes gleamed brighter than his picture, and I noted a sharper, more sinister edge to him, as if he could very well be a vamp—

I mentally shook the ridiculous thought away.

“Why the pistol?”

I swallowed and shut my eyes. “Protection. The scandal.” Heat flooded my face.

“Look at me, lass.” He pressed his gloved fingers to my chin.

I met his gaze with trepidation. How could I so unashamedly lead another person to such untruths?

His thumb caressed my cheek and a different sensation besides that of fear, coiled inside of me. The unknown emotion gripped me just as strongly as my terror had, but left me wanting to know what his ungloved touch would feel like against my cheek.

Whatever he looked for, he must have found it in my gaze, for he lifted the pistol from my breast and stepped slightly back, releasing my chin. “You’ll not need a weapon in my home, so I will keep it safe for you for now. Before you go, I want to know why you were eavesdropping on my father and Sir Warwick.”

“I…got lost. I wanted a book to read.”

“And you thought making use of the library a servant’s right?”

I shook my head no and lowered my gaze, feeling the sting in his question, but then couldn’t stay silent. “Don’t you think servants thirst to know things?”