I would go down, I decided, but not right away. I would put in an appearance later—sneak into the room while they were in the middle of some raucous diversion—and then leave shortly thereafter. As twistingly painful as it was to have witnessed Mr. Markham’s—I couldn’t say betrayal because I was not his to betray—interlude, then, I still needed to be around him. I hungered for just one glance, just one word…one semi-accidental brush of hands or shoulders.
I chose a sapphire satin with a slightly fuller skirt and a neckline so low that I suspected if I were Catholic, I would need to be shriven after wearing it. I wore the black ribbon again since I owned no necklace or brooch to ornament the ensemble, made sure my hair was still adequately pinned, and then sat down to wait. I calculated that dinner would last at least a half hour more, and then it would be another half hour or hour after that when the men joined the ladies in the parlor.
A knock at the door interrupted my calculations. Probably another note reminding me that I needed to come down. I unlocked the
door and opened it, finding not a maid but Mr. Markham himself. I stepped back in surprise but not before he stepped inside.
“I couldn’t wait to see you. And I see you are already dressed,” he said, pleased. “I like this one. Turn, please.”
“I am not a mannequin in a shop window. You must contrive of ways to admire my figure discreetly, as other men must do.”
“There’s very little about me that is discreet, Miss Leavold,” he said. “Suppose I were to make you turn.” He placed his hands on my bare shoulders and spun me around, once slowly and then faster and faster.
There was dizziness and the beautiful dress swirling around my feet and the warmth of his hands on my shoulders, and a soft laugh escaped from me. When I finally came to a stop, I saw that Mr. Markham was smiling too, but once he saw my face, his expression stilled into something serious.
“Your eyes are sparkling,” he said. “I wish you could see them as I see them right now. They are truly arresting.”
I said nothing, and I couldn’t have spoken even if I knew what to say because my breathing stuttered and my pulse raced.
His hands grew tight on my shoulders. “Ivy—”
“Well, aren’t you a pair of lovebirds,” Molly said from the doorway. I realized, too late, that we’d left the door open. Her voice was teasing but her eyes were—not hostile exactly—but sharply observant.
“Miss O’Flaherty.” Mr. Markham’s voice was cold. He released my shoulders with a stern admonition to come downstairs and then left the room, leaving Molly and me together.
She studied me, her eyes raking up and down my form in a manner no less lascivious than Mr. Markham’s. She licked her lips. “You do look a treat tonight, Ivy. No wonder he couldn’t keep his hands off you.”
The jealousy unfolded in her presence, making itself larger and stronger and stifling my thoughts. “The dresses were his to choose,” I managed to say politely enough. “It’s only natural that they would be to his liking.”
“Oh, but it’s you that is to his liking, angel.” Molly stepped forward and drew a lazy finger across my cleavage. Gooseflesh pebbled along my skin. “Yes, quite nice,” she said. “You know, dear old Jules asked us to stay away from you, said you’d had a hard enough life without us corrupting you. But you know what? I think you’ve earned a little fun after the life you’ve had. And besides—you are too tempting to resist.”
And then she leaned forward and brushed her lips against my neck. I should have stepped back, should have pushed her away—the memory of her voice in the dark last night made my hands itch with the temptation—but then the sensation of her mouth on my skin was so delightful, so soft and entrancing, that I didn’t. Her fingers continued to trace circles on my chest. “He wants you, you know.”
“I know,” I said. It was difficult to sound calm and collected while her tongue flicked unknowable patterns on my skin.
“He’s saving you for himself. Selfish.” She nipped at my collarbone and a noise escaped my throat. I could feel her lips curl into a smile, and she nipped again.
She pulled away and looked at me. I knew I was flushed, that my breath was coming faster, that my body didn’t want her to stop.
“He’ll have his way with you, you know. Eventually. He’ll tease you and woo you and fuck you, and for a brief time, you’ll be his, totally and completely. Until he grows bored.”
There was bitterness in her voice. “Is that what happened to you?” I asked.
“Oh no, poppet. I left him. See, no one leaves Molly O’Flaherty. Not even the handsome, tortured, impossibly rich Julian Markham. Not even him.”
But what about last night? I wondered, but thought it best to keep pretending that I didn’t know. “And how do you know I won’t be the same?”
She looked at me a moment, cocking her head, blinking her jewel-bright eyes like a bird. “Interesting,” she murmured. “I suppose I don’t. See you downstairs then.”
I did exactly as I had planned. I went downstairs and sat in the back of the parlor, barely noticed by anyone save Mr. Markham. Tonight they played Blind Man’s Buff, taking turns being blindfolded and groping their way across the room, trying to bump into people and then guess their identity. Silas was dipping the people he caught into deep kisses, regardless of their gender, to the delight and merriment of all. Mr. Markham came near. “Will you have a turn?”
“Maybe later,” I hedged, knowing I would escape before then and I very nearly did, making my way out of the parlor some twenty minutes later. But Mr. Markham followed me.
“You are not enjoying yourself,” he said.
“I am,” I said. “I’m merely tired.”
He bit his lip, looking very young for a moment. “Molly said that she talked to you upstairs. About me.”
