Page 20 of Daring the Forbidden Earl
“I think it is time for you to leave, sir,” Chalke urged. “I do not want you to have to suffer the indignity of being thrown out onto the street.”
The Baron’s mouth opened and closed in shock, like a beached fish. “How dare you speak to me like that!”
“You are in the residence of my employer, theEarlof Sinclair. You are the one who is being impolite, while I am merely trying to encourage you to leave of your own accord,” Chalke replied, his jaw clenching.
I wonder who the real miscreant is? I ought to have him slapped for using my name and causing distress for this poor girl, while using me as a scapegoat.
He could understand the fury of fathers when he actuallyhadtaken their daughters to bed, and the occasional ire of women who misunderstood the situation, but he was not going to be held to ransom for enjoying relations with a young lady when he had not.
“I mean it, Lord Sinclair,” Lord Dresday’s voice shook with rage. “I will not let this lie until you are wed to my daughter.” He began to edge toward the front door, clearly realizing that he could not take on both men at once.
“And I mean what I say, Lord Dresday—I did not do anything untoward with your daughter. She is charming, and no mistake, but I was otherwise preoccupied with the death of my father to even consider taking her into my bed.” Mark knew he should not be so brazen in the face of a man who was clearly hurting, but the words came out before he could stop them.
Lord Dresday wrenched open the door. “I am glad your father is dead, Lord Sinclair, so he does not have to see the wretched beast you have become.” He shot one last, deadly glare at Mark. “But you shall not evade your duties as you have done in the past. I will ensure it.” Tossing that last remark back over his shoulder, he stormed back out into the street.
Mark gave a low, nervous whistle as Chalke closed the door. “And I was having such a… strangely pleasant day.” He had half a mind to stalk after the Baron and unleash a tirade, as punishment for ruining the delights that Johanna’s kiss had inspired. “Can you believe the audacity of the fellow?”
Chalke shifted awkwardly, saying nothing.
“Oh, come now, you are not going to heedhimover me, are you?” Mark rolled his eyes. “If I had done such a thing, I would have told him.”
“True, My Lord, but you cannot blame his suspicions,” Chalke said quietly. “Where there is smoke, there is usually fire.”
Mark sniffed. “Yes, well not in this instance. My flames are presently smokeless.” He narrowed his eyes at his manservant. “And I would ask you, of all people, not to cast judgment on my way of living.”
“Of course, My Lord.” Chalke bowed his head.
As Mark turned on his heel, walking toward the staircase so he might seek refuge in his bedchamber, an unusual sensation roiled in his stomach and made his hands shake involuntarily. A sentiment he had not felt in many, many years.
Shame.
Chapter Eleven
Giddy with the kind of passion she had never imagined possible, Johanna felt as though she was floating on air as she opened the door to her spacious apartments on the outskirts of Mayfair.
However, as she closed the door behind her, the jarring solitude of the empty rooms hit her like an icy cold tidal wave. Even though her mourning period was finished, she was still not used to the intolerable quiet of being utterly alone. It did not matter that she and her husband had been a distant pair, for there had been an odd companionship in knowing that he was, at least, somewhere in the apartments.
“I am home,” she announced to the silent entrance annex.
Her housekeeper, Mrs. Sawyer, emerged from the nearside door, which served as a kitchen. “Will you be wanting luncheon, My Lady?” she asked flatly.
The woman was a few years older than Johanna, but not of an age where it would have been peculiar for them to be friends. And yet, no matter how Johanna tried to engage in conversation or attempted to elicit warmth from her housekeeper, she received nothing but stiff ambivalence.
“Yes, please,” Johanna replied.
Mrs. Sawyer frowned. “You should take a rest, Mrs. Carlton. You look like you’ve a fever coming on.” She tutted. “I’ll have to leave the lamb for another day and make you some chicken soup to take that red out of your cheeks.” She disappeared before Johanna could protest.
Are they really so red?
Embarrassed, Johanna ran to the looking glass on the wall nearby and observed herself. In truth, she was somewhat surprised by her reflection. For the first time in a very long time, she looked more youthful than her years, with rosy cheeks, and a cheery glint in her blue eyes. And a smile appeared to be fixed to her reddened lips, which she could not remove.
Tentatively, she brushed her fingertips against those faint flushes of pink and closed her eyes, imagining that Mark was touching her instead. Grazing her teeth across her lower lip, she remembered how Mark had done that very same thing. And she chuckled shyly as she thought of his tongue sliding into her mouth, and his hands upon her in the most remarkable way.
“Do you want buttered bread?” Mrs. Sawyer stuck her head out of the kitchen again, making Johanna jump in fright.
“Uh… yes, thank you.” Mortified that she had been caught in such a private moment, she hurried away to her bedchamber where she would not be disturbed.
Once she had the door closed behind her, her gaze settled upon the pristine, painstakingly neat bed. A fresh chuckle emerged from her throat, though it held a note of anxiety, as she pictured those coverlets all mussed and tangled around her and Mark.
