Page 66 of A Kiss Of Lies

He pulled her so she lay sprawled on his lap, and kissed her soundly. “I know, but I want to show you off to the world.”

“Stake your claim, you mean?” she asked with a raised eyebrow. She couldn’t help being sensitive to any mention of ownership. However, when she gazed into Christian’s eyes and saw the love, she didn’t seem to notice the conflicting sentiment.

“No. I’d hoped that when we marry, you’d stand by my side, as my partner, so that we could share the good and bad times together,” he answered.

She did not doubt him. She kissed him back. “I hope this will be the end of our bad times.” He deepened the kiss, and she could feel his erection nudging her bottom. With reluctance, she eased her lips off his. “You should go before I decide you should stay in for the night.”

“Don’t tempt me,” he growled resignedly.

“I’ll be here eagerly waiting for you.”

The progress toward his private box was painfully slow. The foyer of well-dressed people, milling about like scavenger birds disguised as peacocks, seemed to be totally focused on his arrival. It appeared everyone in the theater wanted to converse with the returned hero, who’d suddenly disappeared for several months, only to, just as suddenly, arrive back into the fold, with a mysterious ward in tow, no less.

In addition, the young debutante on his arm caused a major sensation. Lady Marisa Hawkestone was the jewel of the season. Every young buck was lining up to talk with her. Her presence on his arm caused a twitter among the married ladies. Christian couldn’t wait to get her safely tucked into the box. The last thing he needed was for the forceful married women of thetonto be avidly matchmaking.

“People appear to be jumping to a totally wrong conclusion about our relationship,” she said. “I’m sorry if it’s making the evening uncomfortable for you.”

Noting Marisa’s smile, he riposted, “I’ve known you since you were a babe in arms. You’re nothing of the sort. You’re enjoying seeing me squirm.”

She laughed gaily and a tad too loudly, causing more eyes to turn their way. He wished the performance would start so that they would be forced to take their seats. He continued to push their way through the throng, enduring the inane conversations along the way. Once they were safely in the box, Marisa said, “I am enjoying myself.” She nodded her head toward the box opposite them. “It might make Lord Rothburg come to heel when he spies me on the arm of the handsome and heroic Lord Markham.”

He looked at her critically, trying to judge if her words were in jest. “I beg your pardon. You think being seen with me would make him jealous? Hardly!” At her surprised gasp, he added, “Before I left for Canada, I didn’t seem to be overly popular with the ladies.”

“Men, they can be so dense! Rothburg doesn’t see your scars. He simply sees another man on my arm whose company I am appearing to enjoy.” She leaned in closer and examined his face. “Besides, I’m sure once a woman gets to know you, the scars would diminish in importance. I hardly notice them now.”

He’d heard those words before, from Serena. A spark lit deep inside him. Perhaps she had been sincere in her pronouncement of still finding him attractive. Perhaps he’d been the only one full of pity and self-hatred, so wrapped up in himself he’d failed to see people’s true reactions.

“Take it from me, Christian—I may call you Christian, mayn’t I?” she asked as she leaned intimately into and ran her finger down his arm. At his shocked expression, she whispered, “All for the benefit of Rothburg, my lord. I’m a debutante looking for love, and nothing incites truer devotion in a possible suitor than the threat of a rake. Although if you weren’t Sebastian’s best friend and obviously already in love with someone else, you would have been at the top of my list of dashing, virile men worthy of becoming my husband.”

“My scars did not put you off?”

“No, my lord, because I knowyou. Besides, what woman doesn’t want an experienced lover? From the stories I have overheard about the Libertine Scholars, you’re very experienced.”

Bloody hell! This was Sebastian’s little sister. He felt his face flush. “You’d better not let Sebastian hear you talking like that. Wait—love? How on earth do you know I’m in love?”

She sat back and waved her hand toward the filled theater. “Look at all the men here. They are all studying women. Beautiful women, of course. Men do not attend the opera for their own pleasure—well, most don’t. They suffer through it for a woman. You, my lord, have not looked at or been interested in any female since we entered the building. My pride was a little hurt at first, until I realized it wasn’t me that was lacking. It was all females. If that doesn’t signal loudly that you’re besotted, nothing else does.”

This time he was the one to chuckle, drawing both a frown from Hadley and a glare from Lord Rothberg across the way.

“Why is she not with you, this lady of yours?”

His smile died. “A long story, I’m afraid.”

She moved closer. “I’m not really an opera fan. I only came to torment Rothberg. He’s being very stubborn. What is it with you rakes and your fear of matrimony?” To send Rothburg’s temper soaring, she placed a hand on Christian’s sleeve. “Why don’t you tell me your story? I’m assuming you met her in Canada. If it was someone from London, I would have heard about her—unless, of course, she’s someone totally unsuitable. Is that the problem?” she asked excitedly. “Have you fallen for one of your doxies?”

“Christ, no wonder Sebastian was so concerned about leaving you alone in England. A young lady should not know of such things, and no, my love is not a doxy. She’s the daughter of a duke, actually.” This slipped out unawares.

Marisa frowned. “A duke’s daughter? The only duke’s daughters I know of are Harriet Penfold and Serena Castleton. Serena married Mr. Dennett—in an indecent rush if you ask me.” She frowned, her pert nose twisting in puzzlement. “And he took her to America. So that leaves Harriet. Is it Harriet? But I’ve heard she’s been unwell . . .”

The mention of Harriet’s name saw him grip the armrests. “Never you mind who it is, madam. Unlike you, I happen to find the opera soothing. You’ve tortured Rothburg for long enough. He looks as if he’s about to race over here and challenge me to a duel, and with my injury that could prove life-threatening. Sit back and listen. Don’t worry, Rothburg will be in this box at the interval.”

True enough, no sooner had the curtain fallen for intermission than Rothburg was in their box. Christian wanted to laugh at Rothburg’s obvious jealousy; instead, he slipped out to get refreshments, and came face-to-face with Simon Penfold and his father, the Duke of Barforte.

“Markham! I don’t know how you have the audacity to show your face here,” the Duke hissed. “What if I’d brought Harriet?”

“I wish you had. Then I could straighten this mess out with her. I did not touch your daughter,” he stressed adamantly but quietly. He looked around and nodded politely to those soliciting greetings. “This is neither the time nor place to have this discussion. I suggest we meet tomorrow and get this sorted out. There is more to this than either of us is aware of. Carla, the woman who was with me that night at the Honey Pot, was found with her throat slit shortly after you threw me on the boat to Canada. Someone wanted me framed for rape and murder. When you shanghaied me, you ruined their plan. I, for one, would like to know who is out to destroy my reputation, and you should be concerned for your daughter’s safety. For if Harriet and I meet, she’ll realize it was not me and then their game is up.”

“He’s right, Father. Lord Blackwood did try to warn us. I can’t believe that Blackwood, Coldhurst, and Fullerton would side with Markham if he were guilty. They have too much honor.” Simon turned to Christian. “I have two men shadowing and guarding Harriet at all times. I took Viscount Blackwood’s words to heart.”

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