Page 10 of Daring the Forbidden Earl
What? It is because I wed his uncle? Why would that aggravate him so?
She felt as though it should be obvious, and yet the pieces would not drop into place. Instead, she became defensive, for what right did he have to judge her? Did he not understand how the world worked for young ladies? He, of all people, ought to have known that they were not given the same choices as their male counterparts.
Her mouth opened in utter disdain. “The next time you are tossed into my path, I would ask you to refrain from even speaking with me. You clearly do not have the capacity to be civil, or to understand that not everyone is privy to whatever notions you have conjured. I do not know what goes on in that mind of yours, but you still have not detailed what I have done that is so abysmal. Until you can learn to explain yourself clearly, and think from a different perspective, you do not deserve to be in my presence.”
Mark squared his shoulders, and looked as though he was about to unleash a torrent of vitriol at Johanna, when Kenneth suddenly strode out of the intrigued congregation and took hold of Mark’s arm.
“It is time you left, Dear Boy,” Kenneth urged. “Nothing can be settled here, and certainly not after you have imbibed freely.”
Mark shot one last, bitter look at Johanna, before he dipped in a sarcastic bow and walked off, with Kenneth in hot pursuit.
Left alone upon a dancing floor, where waltzing couples were waiting impatiently to begin, Johanna felt her insides shrivel. Perhaps it was her mortification, or her imagination, but it appeared as though everyone was gawping at her.
This was supposed to be her re-entry into society, and Mark had gone and ruined it. This was supposed to be her reprieve, after a gloomy spell of mourning, and he had chased all of her cheer away. This was supposed to be a night of laughter and revelry and dancing, and yet she could feel the barbs of his stinging words, and the venom that had dripped from his tongue.
And still, she did not know why he hated her so very much.
“I am sorry,” she murmured, feeling humiliated tears prick at her eyes. “Please… continue.”
With that, she fled. Her night was well and truly over.
Chapter Six
In the days that followed, Mark retreated to his Mayfair townhouse and kept himself locked away where he could stew in peace. Ordinarily, he preferred to make a nuisance of himself at Liam and Nora’s home, where they always kept spare bedchambers prepared for him and Kenneth, but he could not bear to be in that place after the ball’s less than favorable conclusion.
He had not gone out once since that night, though he knew the gentlemen’s clubs, public houses, and “menageries” would feel his absence keenly. Indeed, his greatest concern was that the proprietors might alert the Bow Street Runners, fearing something had happened to him.
“Will you take breakfast this morning, My Lord, or are you still feeling unwell?” Mark’s manservant, Chalke, breezed in through the open door of the drawing room, disturbing him from an agitated slumber.
“Hmm?” Mark peered through heavy eyelids at the thick-set man.
Chalke smiled politely. “I asked if you were wanting to take breakfast this morning, or if you were still feeling unwell.”
“Oh…” Mark urged himself out of his sleepy slouch and rubbed his eyes. “I thought you had come to tell me that my ‘mother’ was arriving.”
Chalke arched an eyebrow. “Why would she do that, My Lord? Her Ladyship said she had no intention of returning here, now that your father is gone.” He paused. “Have you heard otherwise? Should I have her chambers prepared?”
“Relax, Chalke.” Mark wafted a hand at him. “I was teasing.”
Chalke exhaled loudly. “Goodness, My Lord, you had me fooled.”
That was part of the reason Mark did not like to reside at this townhouse, for he had little desire to be among the belongings of his deceased father and his father’s second wife.
I will never call you “Mother” again, you vicious snake.
His father had insisted Mark do so, while he was alive, on pain of Mark losing his inheritance. So, he had obeyed, but he had despised it every time he was forced to call her by that precious name. The word had always belonged to another. Not that opportunistic harpy.
Mark stretched out his arms. “I think I shall take tea in here. Might you bring in the morning’s mail?”
“Of course, My Lord.” Chalke bowed and departed.
“I will begin to look haggard if I continue on like this,” Mark muttered to himself, feeling weary right down to his bones.
He had not slept much in the last four days, no matter how hard he had tried. Every time he closed his eyes, he thought ofher. Even when his eyes were open, Johanna was never far from his thoughts. If he really concentrated, he could still feel the smooth silk of her gown beneath his palm, and the tantalizing curvature of her waist and her spine beneath. He refused to dwell on the press of her breasts against him, for if he allowed himself that luxury, he would likely never set foot outside this house again.
Does she really not understand why I cannot be civil? Does she not remember?
Sighing, he sank back into the leather armchair and tilted his head up to look at the vaulted ceiling. Latent guilt still roiled in his stomach, for he had not meant to be insulting toward her. But it was an impulse that he could not suppress, and it seemed she suffered from the same affliction, considering she had given him a choice barb or two.
