Unclaimed (Turner, #2)

The young lady was looking at him. She didn’t have the usual look of adoration that a debutante in her position might have exhibited. “Did you love her?” she asked breathlessly. “It is the question everyone wants answered, after all.”


He barely managed not to trip over his own feet. “What are you talking about?”

“The woman in the papers,” she said, “of course. What else should I be talking about? Nobody has been talking about anything else for days. And now that the last of the serial has run—”

“The serial? What serial do you mean?”

“You haven’t seen it?” Her eyes widened. “And here all my friends had deputized me to get the particulars from you. You must have seen it.”

“I’ve been out of town for weeks.” He felt faintly sick. Why hadn’t anyone told Ash?

But, no—they’d arrived hours after his men of business would have departed. Mark could see precisely what had happened. No doubt they’d deputized Jeffreys, Ash’s right-hand man, to deliver the bad news. No doubt Jeffreys had left Ash a report, and the remainder of the servants, delighted to know they would not need to bring it up, had kept quiet.

Or not so quiet. Was that what his valet had meant when he said Mark had been busy in the country?

“My brothers and I—we’ve been out of town these last few days. We’ve been utterly unreachable.”

They’d purposefully traveled through isolated villages, on roads with little traffic. Mark hadn’t wanted to meet one of his hangers-on. They’d shared the road with cattle drivers and peddlers—people who didn’t care about polite society and did not read the gossip papers. On the train into London, people had stared at him and whispered. He’d not thought anything of it, though. People always stared. These stares had seemed more pointed than before, but then, he felt all the more vulnerable.

“What was her name?” he heard himself ask. He already knew. Jessica.

“Nobody knows,” she replied. “But surely you can tell me.”

Mark could remember his last words to her with almost cold clarity. Print that you brought me to my knees. Fine words, then. Now…

Did all of London know of his courtship, his disappointment? Had everyone truly been looking at him with pity? How was he ever supposed to forget her under those circumstances?

“Who printed it? What was it called?”

“It’s—it was called—” She gulped and then glanced across the room. Mark couldn’t see what she was looking at—probably her friends, waving her on, urging her to find out more of the sordid tale. What on earth had Jessica said? His dancing companion had a faint blush across her cheeks, and she whispered all in one breath, “It was called ‘The Seduction of Sir Mark.’”

“Seduced, was I?” That much, at least, was true—in mind and soul, if he’d managed to barely restrain himself from the final physical act.

“Oh, no, sir!” she said innocently. “That is to say—it was the most romantical tale. I wept buckets at the last installment. Can you tell me, is there any truth to it? We all want to know,” she explained earnestly, gesturing toward the side of the room. Indeed, there were five ladies sitting there, watching them intently—they raised fans to cover their faces as he turned in their direction.

“I can’t know if it’s true. I haven’t read it. What is it that I have purportedly done?”

“Why… You encountered a woman, not knowing that she’d been hired by your dastardly enemies to ruin your name. And you—you treated her kindly, in the most Christian manner, and made her decide to change her ways.”

Mark looked at her. “That’s the entirety of it? I treated her kindly?”

She nodded.

No mention of kisses? No mention of that moment when she’d curled her fingers around his? Kindly did not begin to cover the truth. He could almost feel the humiliation creep over him. Still, she might have mentioned his own feelings. He’d told her about his mother. He’d told her about Smite—or at least, some portion of that. Had he mentioned Ash’s secret? That would be more devastating.

No. No. He didn’t think he had. That much, at least, was safe. Still.

No wonder everyone was casting such pitying looks at him. They all knew that he’d been stupid enough to fall in love with a liar.

“Sir Mark,” his companion said earnestly, “I think I speak for every lady here when I tell you that I could have fallen in love with you myself, except I so want you to love her.”

From across the room, he caught Ash’s eye. His brother’s expression was grim, and he jerked his head. Get over here quickly.

The waltz was winding to a close.

“Do you love her, Sir Mark?”

He’d thought his emotion had begun to burn down, to sputter and fade. But this news had fanned it to life, had made his every wound feel raw once more.

“Love her?” Mark said, his voice low. “When I find her, I’m going to kill her.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN