Page 3 of Daring the Forbidden Earl
“Don’t forget, my friend… I understand men better than anyone. I have learned the language of their expressions and gestures, reading the subtlety you all think you keep so well hidden.” Nora leaned into him, lowering her voice to a whisper. “I know what I saw.”
Before he could retort, he found himself being marched in front of Johanna herself. And, this time, there were no drapes to hide behind. But he did have one powerful weapon left in his arsenal, the one force he could rely upon, without fail. His unwavering, unavoidable charm. If he could not escape her, then he would have to bombard her with a flirtation until she felt just as exposed as he had, when he first saw her standing there.
Chapter Two
Johanna had spied her old nemesis the moment he had stepped into the ballroom, though she had had the sense not to cough and splutter. Instead, she had pretended not to see him, in order to gather herself for the moment when they would surely come face-to-face again. Though that did not mean she had not made a discreet observation of him.
He looks well… Very well, indeed.
Tall and athletic, with wavy brown hair and a figure that elevated the elegance of his attire, she could not deny that Mark was the most handsome gentleman at this ball. If they had met here for the first time as strangers, she might have hoped to see some kind of admiration in his warm, brown eyes. But their shared history only served to gain her cold disapproval from his pretty eyes. As such, in order to defend herself, she had no choice but to match his scathing retorts.
Oh goodness… He is coming over! That is fine. I was expecting this. I can endure, then we will go our separate ways, and enjoy our respective evenings.
“Not dressed in black today?” Mark jumped right in with the less-than-subtle jibes. “Did you fear it might make you look dowdy among the ravishing creatures here tonight? I imagine it does make you look even paler.”
She forced a smile. “Having been on the Continent so often, you must have forgotten the etiquette of mourning. I no longer have to wear black.” She took a sip of her drink to moisten her dry throat. “Or did you forget the date of your uncle’s funeral, because you were not there?”
Why do you look so aggravatingly handsome? The Bordeaux sunshine truly has agreed with you… Curse you.
Her gaze lingered on the strong, masculine hand that gripped his champagne glass, knowing there was gentleness in those fingers. She had once watched him stroking the ivory keys of a piano, playing a melancholy tune that she still hummed from time to time. He had thought himself alone, unaware that she had been standing in the shadow of the doorway, listening to the entire thing, and admiring the rippling muscles of his back through his shirt as he had played.
“I will never forget that date, and I do not recall you being present at my father’s funeral, either. One should not cast hypocritical stones unless one is prepared to have something shatter,” Mark replied, putting his lips to his glass. He took a gulp, and she watched the motion of his throat as he swallowed, wishing it were not obscured by a high collar and cravat.
Johanna drew her gaze away, aware that her cheeks were warming slightly. “I could not attend.”
“Neither could I,” he shot back.
“Only because you chose to scamper off to France, ignoring your duties. I almost mistook you for a well-dressed farmer, for your skin is almost as browned as dear Nora’s mahogany walls.”
“Ah, but you did think me well-dressed,” Mark retorted, grinning with satisfaction. “Do not worry for me, though I thank you for your concern. I have not found myself short of attention since I have returned, so there must be an appeal to my sun-warmed skin. I rather think I remind the ladies of summer.”
Johanna sniffed. “I imagine the ladies of London were glad of the reprieve when they discovered you had gone away. Perhaps, in that regard, your absence was of benefit.”
She was aware of Mark’s reputation as a Casanova. It was impossible to be a member of society andnotbe aware of the trail of broken hearts he had left across the Capital and beyond. With other gentlemen, such a reputation might have made him repulsive, but there was a mischief and a charm about him that seemed to have the opposite effect. Why, at this very moment, there were no less than ten young ladies gazing at him with adoring eyes. Including the one he had accidentally spat upon.
If he were not my dead husband’s nephew, I imagine he would be the perfect remedy for my situation—a passionate salve to heal my solitude.
“You see, Nora, I told you this conversation was futile.” Mark put on a contrived sigh. “Mrs. Carlton disapproves of me. If she only knew the dutiful service I provide to the ladies of London, perhaps she could understand.”
If only I did…
She pushed the thought away, knowing it was improper. Mark was her husband’s nephew and, by proxy, hers. She had never treated him in that capacity, for she had known him since she was a young girl, when her family had spent summers at his family’s manor. Her father had been a merchant, with business acquaintances throughout England’s peerage. In order to keep him sweet, these peers had invited her father and his family to their homes, so he would not seek investment elsewhere and remove a hefty portion of their needed income, to fill the deficit in their inherited fortunes.
“I am sure the physicians are grateful for the services you provide, though I do not know how the mothers and fathers of these poor girls, nor the midwives who tend to them, must feel,” Johanna shot back, immediately regretting her harsh words. But Mark merely smirked.
“I am wise enough to avoid having children,” he said. “There are ways to prevent such things, and I know each and every one. If I was not so careful in my endeavors, there would be countless fathers holding pistols to my head, demanding I wed their divine daughters. And yet, I remain blissfully unmarried. That is not coincidental.”
Johanna’s mind drifted to places it should not, envisioning him without his attire, moving beneath the covers in the act of lovemaking that, in her own experience, was a distant memory. She could not even remember how it felt to couple with a man, or to feel a sensual touch upon her skin.
I remember when you were not so… wayward. Perhaps, I preferred you then. Perhaps, you preferred me.
If she were to close her eyes, she knew she would have been able to recall the vision of him bathing in the river at his family estate. She had not meant to spy on him, but she had been walking in the woods, in order to avoid the tension of her own family, when she had seen him burst through the surface. He had been three-and-twenty, back then, in the prime of his youth, with naturally sculpted muscle and skin that had glistened in the water. Eleven years later, he did not look much different.
“How clever of you,” she said cuttingly. “If you were not so intent on ruining the integrity of so many ladies, you might have found the kind of love that Nora and her husband share. Marriage is not such an abhorrent thing, you know.”
Mark shrugged. “Forgive me, Mrs. Carlton, but you are not the person I would seek marital advice from. After all, you ended up marrying the vilest man in all of England, so your judgment cannot exactly be trusted.” He patted Nora on the arm. “That is not to say that you and Westwood do not have a glorious union. You do. It is enviable, but it is a rarity.”
“I imagine it is near obsolete in your world.” Johanna could not help herself.
