The gentleman’s mouth was as foul as his reputation. Trust him to notice the only distinct difference. And why had he called her Rosemond? Had he mistaken her for someone else or had Caroline used a different name? More importantly, he showed not the slightest surprise at her presence.
“You presume to know me, my lord,” she said trying not to show her displeasure at his derogatory remark. He apparently felt within his rights to speak in such base terms, and she felt another pang of sadness for the sweet sister she once knew.
The Turkish prince sniggered, his turban wobbling back and forth, but became distracted when a lady stopped to admire the softness of his silk trousers.
Lord Markham raised an arrogant brow. “I know you a little too well, I fear.”
Grace lifted her chin. “How so? I find such a critical assessment causes my memory to fail me.” She was doing far better than she ever hoped and she resisted the urge to clap her hands together. After all, such a dire situation was not to be trivialised.
“When it comes to the weaknesses of the flesh, my memory never fails me.”
Grace smiled. “I’m afraid I can only recall the things I deem important.”
Lord Markham narrowed his gaze, and his mouth twitched at the corners. “Then tell me what you do remember.”
The request caught her by surprise.
How was she supposed to answer that?
“I-I couldn’t p-possibly repeat it.”
Oh, God, she was going to start mumbling.
Lord Markham turned fully and focused his attention, gazing deeply through the oval holes of her mask into her eyes. The room appeared to sway, and she sucked in a breath to calm the flutter in her heart.
“Oh, I think you can,” he said as the amber flecks in his green eyes grew more prominent. His gloved finger came to rest on her pendant, drifting seductively over the topaz stones. Grace shivered at his touch and his mouth curved up into a satisfied smile. “Tell me what you imagine occurred between us. Tell me.”
Grace swallowed. “I … I won’t repeat it.”
He leaned forward, the smell of pine and some other earthy masculine fragrance bombarded her senses. “Tell me.” He dropped his hand as his greedy gaze dipped to her breasts bulging out from the neckline of her gown. “Whisper the words to me.”
Little streams of light blurred her vision, forcing her to blink rapidly. Her mind felt fuzzy as though a dense fog had settled to obscure all rational thought. All she could think of was how it felt to lie naked with a man.
But not just any man — with Lord Markham.
Good heavens.
Beads of perspiration formed on her brow, and she touched her fingers to her forehead as strange words unwittingly entered her thoughts.
But there was murder afoot. She was convinced of it. The thought gave her the strength to fight whatever weird and wonderful notion filled her head.
She was here for Caroline. Nothing else mattered.
“I-I don’t remember anything,” she whispered her breath coming short and quick as she dismissed
the image of her eager fingers roaming over his muscular chest.
The muscle in his cheek twitched, and he jerked his head back with a look of utter bewilderment. Had no one ever refused his request? Knowing she had the power to knock the arrogance out of him, gave her the courage to be bold.
“Nor will I waste my time or imagination pandering to your warped sense of curiosity. If you’re looking for someone to indulge your fantasies, I suggest you try …” Her mind went blank. Where do gentlemen find women to frolic with, other than at a ball? “Try the … the market.”
It was the first thing that popped into her head. You could buy everything at the market, why not women?
Lord Markham’s eyes widened. “The market?”
While her blood rushed through her veins at a rapid rate, it decided to take a detour past her cheeks, choosing her ears to convey her embarrassment. She could feel them swelling, throbbing and burning. If she were to touch them with wet fingers, they would most certainly sizzle.
“I am a viscount,” he continued with an indolent wave. “I do not need to trawl the markets looking for someone to warm my bed, as well you know.”