Page 22 of Tender Blackguard

In an effort to change the subject, she tipped her head toward the offensive portrait. “You know you could have it removed?”

There was a long silence as he looked back to the painting. Tension returned to darken his features. “I will. But not yet.”

It was clear he hated the man who’d sired him, but as she watched him staring up at the man’s image, she suspected his hatred acted like a fuel. Toward what purpose, she couldn’t imagine.

As the silence lengthened, Lark slowly rose to her feet. The movement drew the lord’s attention back to her. Looking into his eyes, she saw something in their depths that reached straight for the center of her soul. It was poignant and heavy and dark.

“Mrs. Evans.”

His voice moved through her like white lightning through the night.

“Yes, my lord?”

“Is that your true surname?” he asked.

She met his gaze. “It’s the name I chose for myself when I needed one.”

“Does that mean there is no Mr. Evans?”

Again, not a proper thing for him to be asking. Yet she answered anyway. “There is not.”

There was a brief flicker of acknowledgment in his eyes followed by a long pause as they stared at each other. Then his brows lowered, shadowing his gaze. “And your given name?”

She hesitated only a moment. “Lark.”

“Did you choose that as well?”

“No, it was given to me by the orphanage.”

When he said nothing more, just continued to stare at her in an unsettling way, she gave a quick curtsy and murmured, “I’ll leave you to your evening, my lord.”

As she walked away, a small part of her anticipated the marquess’s dark voice quietly calling her back. But the room remained silent.

The next morning, to Lark’s surprise, the marquess requested morning tea be brought to him in the morning room. To everyone’s shock except Lark, he also requested breakfast.

Chapter Eight

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