Markham. Yet another suspicion he could verify.
They fell into step with the horses trailing behind on their leads. For long seconds, silence filled the air between them until she vibrated with tension. “It is uncommonly foggy this morning, my lord.”
Lord Markham’s deep laugh echoed along the tree-lined side path they’d chosen. “Well, that will certainly teach me to temper my thoughts.”
She hadn’t intended to make him laugh. She had merely been trying to break the uncomfortable silence pressing on her. Pleasure tingled along her skin and emboldened her words. “And what thoughts are you trying to temper, my lord?”
The uncomfortable silence returned. His jaw clenched tight. A muscle ticked in his cheek. She gripped the reins in her hands tighter. This anticipation was worse than anything she’d experienced before, even the latest dressing down she’d received from William after the Thornton debacle. “Markham, please.”
His lordship groaned and mumbled something that resembled, “Not our best idea, my dear.”
“Pardon?” It hadn’t sounded like the words were meant for her. Besides, meeting him hadn’t been her idea anyway, so who was he thinking of?
He shook his head and clasped his hands behind his back. “Nothing of import, Miss Abbott.” He shot her a sidelong glance, but didn’t hold her gaze, rather returning his to the path ahead. “You do realize your behavior last night was outside the bounds of propriety?”
Annabelle bristled. Had he really built up her curiosity, just to draw her out for a lecture on propriety? She could have stayed at home and listened to William—that was if he wasn’t tending a sick wife, and someone was stupid enough to inform him of her indiscretions.
And if Lady Markham was indisposed, why wasn’t Lord Markham at home tending his wife? So much for the saying that reformed rakes made the best husbands.
But then, wasn’t she the reason Markham was out instead of with his wife? Guilt chased away her irritation. She truly did like Lady Markham. “Sir, do not feel it your duty to lecture me. William and Minerva serve in that stead admirably. You can return to Lady Markham and tell her I’ve been duly chastised.”
Lord Markham snorted before dropping his horse’s reins and spinning toward her. She stepped back as he neared, but he kept coming. Her heartbeat, which had slowed to normal, raced once more. Her chest rose and fell with each rapid breath. “My…my lord?”
“Miss Abbott, I doubt you’ve ever been suitably chastised in your life.” His gaze skated along her form, leaving her feeling stripped and excited. “Indeed, I believe it is a desire for a proper chastising that has driven you to such reckless and ill-thought behavior.”
The rough bark of a tree arrested her backward progress. Her horse, its reins dropped sometime during her retreat, grazed out of reach.
Not that Annabelle necessarily wanted to escape. What was the meaning behind Markham’s emphasis on chastising? The truth tantalized with its proximity just as the earl halted but inches from her.
“It isn’t really your place to chastise me, my lord.” The breathiness of her voice countered the admonition. It dared him to…what?
His jaw clenched and unclenched as he raised a gloved hand to hover beside her head. Trapped. She was trapped between his hard, unrelenting body and the immovable tree, but her limbs were impossibly heavy and heat pooled low in her belly. She really was incorrigible. What of Lady Markham? Gareth? But neither were here to answer her unspoken questions and fulfill the desire pounding through her veins.
She moistened dry lips. “My lord—”
“What the bloody hell is going on here?”
Gareth? Annabelle whipped her head in the direction his voice had come from, blinked, and swallowed hard.
Despite no hat, hair mussed—and not by the artful skills of a valet—and a simple but askew cravat, the duke was an even more imposing figure in the
They fell into step with the horses trailing behind on their leads. For long seconds, silence filled the air between them until she vibrated with tension. “It is uncommonly foggy this morning, my lord.”
Lord Markham’s deep laugh echoed along the tree-lined side path they’d chosen. “Well, that will certainly teach me to temper my thoughts.”
She hadn’t intended to make him laugh. She had merely been trying to break the uncomfortable silence pressing on her. Pleasure tingled along her skin and emboldened her words. “And what thoughts are you trying to temper, my lord?”
The uncomfortable silence returned. His jaw clenched tight. A muscle ticked in his cheek. She gripped the reins in her hands tighter. This anticipation was worse than anything she’d experienced before, even the latest dressing down she’d received from William after the Thornton debacle. “Markham, please.”
His lordship groaned and mumbled something that resembled, “Not our best idea, my dear.”
“Pardon?” It hadn’t sounded like the words were meant for her. Besides, meeting him hadn’t been her idea anyway, so who was he thinking of?
He shook his head and clasped his hands behind his back. “Nothing of import, Miss Abbott.” He shot her a sidelong glance, but didn’t hold her gaze, rather returning his to the path ahead. “You do realize your behavior last night was outside the bounds of propriety?”
Annabelle bristled. Had he really built up her curiosity, just to draw her out for a lecture on propriety? She could have stayed at home and listened to William—that was if he wasn’t tending a sick wife, and someone was stupid enough to inform him of her indiscretions.
And if Lady Markham was indisposed, why wasn’t Lord Markham at home tending his wife? So much for the saying that reformed rakes made the best husbands.
But then, wasn’t she the reason Markham was out instead of with his wife? Guilt chased away her irritation. She truly did like Lady Markham. “Sir, do not feel it your duty to lecture me. William and Minerva serve in that stead admirably. You can return to Lady Markham and tell her I’ve been duly chastised.”
Lord Markham snorted before dropping his horse’s reins and spinning toward her. She stepped back as he neared, but he kept coming. Her heartbeat, which had slowed to normal, raced once more. Her chest rose and fell with each rapid breath. “My…my lord?”
“Miss Abbott, I doubt you’ve ever been suitably chastised in your life.” His gaze skated along her form, leaving her feeling stripped and excited. “Indeed, I believe it is a desire for a proper chastising that has driven you to such reckless and ill-thought behavior.”
The rough bark of a tree arrested her backward progress. Her horse, its reins dropped sometime during her retreat, grazed out of reach.
Not that Annabelle necessarily wanted to escape. What was the meaning behind Markham’s emphasis on chastising? The truth tantalized with its proximity just as the earl halted but inches from her.
“It isn’t really your place to chastise me, my lord.” The breathiness of her voice countered the admonition. It dared him to…what?
His jaw clenched and unclenched as he raised a gloved hand to hover beside her head. Trapped. She was trapped between his hard, unrelenting body and the immovable tree, but her limbs were impossibly heavy and heat pooled low in her belly. She really was incorrigible. What of Lady Markham? Gareth? But neither were here to answer her unspoken questions and fulfill the desire pounding through her veins.
She moistened dry lips. “My lord—”
“What the bloody hell is going on here?”
Gareth? Annabelle whipped her head in the direction his voice had come from, blinked, and swallowed hard.
Despite no hat, hair mussed—and not by the artful skills of a valet—and a simple but askew cravat, the duke was an even more imposing figure in the
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