The Punishment of Ivy Leavold (Markham Hall Book 3) (3 page)

Only he gave this to me, I realized. This three-dimensional world, this open world, and only with him could I completely be myself. In the haze of pleasure, it was so easy to ask myself
why did I run?

Why?

Mr. Markham held me carefully as I came down, but when I finally opened my eyes, I could read the look on his face as clearly as if he had spoken aloud.

My turn.

His hands found my waist, those long fingers almost meeting in the middle, and he lifted me up and slammed me back down, the force of it making me grunt. He didn’t go easy on me, as if he were punishing me in the same way I had just punished him. I surrendered myself to his impressive strength and let myself be carried away by it. By him and his brute force. By the huge cock that jabbed into me over and over again. By the waves of uncontrollable emotion that rolled through me.

And I couldn’t help the heat pricking at my eyelids when I felt him stiffen and then start pulsing inside of me. Oh God, it felt so damn perfect. But that was the problem, wasn’t it? When we were fucking, our world was perfect. When our bodies were joined, everything but our love melted away, refined into gold by the furnace of our desire.

But we couldn’t always be fucking. We had to live lives. We had to coexist for decades, we had to see other people, and one day we would probably have children.

I loved him. I wanted him by my side, always. More than anything. But the things he had done, and the truths he had hidden—how could I willingly embrace all of that and carry it into a marriage?

I didn’t know that I could.

His hands tightened on my waist as I lifted my hand. The light, as always, caught the ring and threw glinting arcs of color around the room. There had been a time when I imagined it on my finger until the end of my days, a cool weight on my hand as I fell into my final slumber, hopefully surrounded by children and grandchildren with the Markham green eyes. What a foolish fantasy. Girls like me—poor, without connections or property—didn’t get their fairy tale endings. I wasn’t a queen. I wouldn’t even be fit to serve a queen. I had always been destined for the gray world of isolation and solitude, and it had been stupid of me to ever think anything different.

I slowly tugged off the ring as he watched, and I put it in his inside jacket pocket. He was still inside me through it all, a deeply physical reminder of how empty I would feel without him.

“I will always love you,” I said. “But I don’t know how to live with you. When we are together, everything feels right. But what if I wake up one day and I’m like Violet and you despise me?”

“That will never happen,” he said fiercely.

“And Julian—” He froze at his name, as he often did. “I…you make me want strange things. The woman that I am becoming—I am frightened by her. I don’t think I can live my life with the kind of desires I have with you.”

He didn’t let go of my waist. “You are becoming more like yourself, Ivy. And only I can give you what you need.”

I slid off of him, wrestling out of his grasp. I took in everything about him, drank him in for what would probably be the last time: his lanky frame, square jaw, thick eyebrows. I touched his face, laying my hand against his high cheek and feeling the stubble tickle my palm. He closed his eyes, pressing into my touch.

“Goodbye, Mr. Markham.”

Three weeks later...

“So the rumors
are
true.”

I blinked against the sudden wash of sunlight in the hotel room. I’d been slumped in a chair in front of the fireplace, debating the merits of having a drink this early in the morning. I wasn’t normally the type to seek solace in drunkenness, but I would be lying to myself if I didn’t admit how appealing the feeling was. The feeling of forgetting.

Silas hurled himself into the chair across from me, all charm and smiles like always. “At least you don’t smell. I was worried that I would have to come dunk you forcibly into a bath and burn your clothes.” He looked around the room. “I’m actually impressed, Markham. You are quite a tidy little hermit.”

“What are you doing here?” I asked tiredly. “How did you even get in?”

“I told the concierge I was your brother and I was worried for your health. And then I handed him some money. You know, the usual.”

“But why…” I trailed off, already exhausted by the exchange. What did it matter? What did anything matter? Ivy had ended our engagement, not seconds after we’d stopped shivering through our climax, and I couldn’t bring myself to care about anything else. Even the thought of leaving London for my own house seemed untenable—no matter how sundered we were practically, I couldn’t tear myself away geographically. I spent my days imagining her days. Was she walking in Hyde Park now? Visiting the British Museum? Spending time with her aunt?

“Molly said she saw your valet running errands and so she asked around, and word was that you were holed up here brooding. And I said, ‘Our Markham
brooding
? How out of character for him.’”

“Your sarcasm is duly noted.”

Silas folded one long leg over the other, studying me for a moment. “What happened?” he finally asked. “You can tell me.”

I wouldn’t. It was unthinkable, laying bare the pain and shame once more by speaking it all out loud. But when I opened my mouth to tell him it was none of his business, the story started tumbling out. All jumbled together—Ivy breaking off the engagement, using Mrs. Harold as a weapon against Violet, the ever-present fear that I was indeed an evil man, and therefore Ivy deserved better. She deserved for me not to hunt her down. She deserved for me not to possess her. She deserved a life free from me.

But the trouble was, I couldn’t live any kind of life without her.

Silas listened to the whole saga, punctuated with the frequent outbursts of my despair, and even though disgust flickered briefly in his eyes when I described what I had done to Violet the night she died, it wasn’t followed with judgment. In fact, his voice was kind when he said, “Markham, my man, you’ve got to forgive yourself. Yes, you did something terrible, but we all saw how desperately unhappy you were. No one who spent any time with you and Violet could truly fault you for lashing out like that.”

My face was in my hands at this point. “Ivy faults me.”

He cleared his throat. “Have you seen her? You know, since she broke your heart and all?”

“No,” I said into my fingers. “She made it very clear she doesn’t want to see me.” Then I thought a moment. “Wait, have
you
seen her?”

He shrugged. “That aunt of hers is parading her through every fashionable house in London. She’s out every night.”

My chest squeezed. She was out—laughing? Drinking? Dancing? With other people?

With other men?

“She seems to hate every minute of it,” Silas said softly. “In case you were torturing yourself.”

He knew me so well.

“I saw her at the Rochefords two nights ago. She’s lost weight, she’s got dark circles under her eyes, she barely talks. I asked around, and while it seems her aunt is hell bent on making Ivy this season’s prize, Ivy is not at all interested. She has not danced once since she’s arrived and has refused most callers.”

How funny. I had hated the idea that she was gallivanting about town, being courted by other men. But I also hated that she was unhappy. I wanted to wrap her in blankets and make her sleep away those dark circles. I wanted to feed her from my fingertips until her flesh became supple and soft again.

“Of course, given this new fortune she’s tied to through her aunt, and—let’s be honest here, Markham—even with the weight loss and the tired look, she is still quite beautiful, she’s become the most talked about girl in town. Who is this new gorgeous girl who is suddenly so rich? And what is the mysterious tragedy that haunts her?”

“Why shouldn’t they talk about her?” I murmured. “She is beautiful. Captivating.”

“Snap out of it,” Silas ordered. “You aren’t a complete martyr yet. And I have some hopeful news for you.”

“What is that?”

“I talked to her. I talked to her for quite a long time. And she is still hopelessly in love with you.”

I looked up, my stomach jumping. “She is?”

“Of course she is, you idiot. But I think she’s frightened of you.”

“God.” My head sank into my hands again. “She should be. What kind of man am I, to do the things I do and expect her to stay devoted to me?”

“Stop wallowing. I’m not finished.” He waited until I looked up at him. “You are pretty terrible, but I think the real problem is that she is frightened of herself. She’s frightened of who she is with you. You may be twisted, but you reveal to her that deep down, she is the same as you. And she is balking at that.”

“She said all that?”

Silas grinned. “Well, not in so many words.”

“It doesn’t matter. She said the same thing to me when she ended our engagement.” I stood up, suddenly too agitated to sit still. “Nothing has changed. She still can’t bear to be with me.”

“No,” Silas said. “She thinks that she’s not
supposed
to bear being with you. She’s like you, Markham, she’s scared that somehow she’s tainted inside. Evil. But you and I know that’s not the truth. It’s up to you to show her that she already
is
the kind of woman who can love you, that she already has those tastes and passions peculiar to you, and that nothing about that is evil.”

I stopped by the window, looking out over the street. Silas was right, but I didn’t know that it made a difference. Ivy had made a decision, and even though it would kill me, I loved her enough to abide by it.

“Listen to me,” Silas said, standing to join me. “This is not her saying that she doesn’t love you. This is her saying that she’s scared to.”

“I know all this. But I can’t force her to see that.”

“Who said anything about forcing?” He turned and leaned back against the windowsill so that he was facing me. “Look, I’m just saying that you
show
her that you are still here, ready and waiting for her if she changes her mind. Show her that your devotion is unabated and that it can actually survive if you two aren’t constantly fucking.”

I frowned. “I don’t like the idea of hovering around, being a menace. She wanted space away from me. Trying to insert myself into her social life to prove that I love her seems like the opposite of what she wants.”

Silas held up his hands. “I’m not talking about stalking her every move. You have standing invitations to most of the places she’s going to, correct? Go there in your own capacity, socialize with your own acquaintances. If she’s there, then ask her if you can dance with her, dine with her, speak with her. Let her know that it’s not a promise, it’s not a contract. It is just your time and company, with no strings attached. If she says no, then you have your answer. But she may say yes.”

“But she may say no.” But then I remembered something just then, something she said when she had left Markham Hall.

I’m not using our signal…

She hadn’t three weeks ago either. And even though that may have been an oversight, I realized that we were still within the boundaries we had set with each other this summer. I was still her teacher, she was still my pupil.

She was still mine.

I lifted my head. Christ, why hadn’t this occurred to me before? I had made it clear that until she had spoken it, our word, then I was free to do with her as I pleased.

This realization must have shown on my face, because Silas smiled and clapped me on the shoulder. “That’s the spirit! After all, what do you have to lose?”

If I had ever regretted not having a proper debut in town, I didn’t now. The last three weeks had been a flurry of afternoon teas, dinner parties that lasted well past midnight, and balls that lasted even longer than that. Not to mention the dress fittings, visits to the haberdasher and milliner and the endless hours I spent being prodded and primped by Esther’s staff of capable maids.

I’d tried to beg off. I was tired, I wasn’t feeling well, and I could barely hold a conversation longer than five minutes. But Esther was a formidable opponent, either ignoring my complaints or arguing with them until I was worn down—which admittedly wasn’t difficult. I’d felt so bled dry after ending the engagement, as if severing myself from Mr. Markham had in turn severed something essential in me. I was a machine that no longer worked properly, a watch without cogs, a compass without a magnet. Esther moved me from place to place and changed me from dress to dress like I was a doll, and I let her, because inside I felt just as vacant and inanimate.

When I had seen Silas two nights since, I had almost wept with relief. Talking to someone who knew Mr. Markham, who would see him again, who reminded me so much of him—it was cathartic. And awful. And wonderful.

So now, at whatever terrible ball Esther had brought me to tonight, I felt a similar feeling of relief and excitement when I saw Silas across the room, bracketed by the blond pillars of beauty that were Rhoda and Zona.

“…Which is precisely why Oxford is making a mistake letting the women in to study.” I realized the speaker of this sentence was talking to me, one of the foppish young men that seemed all to eager to seize onto Esther’s introductions. They seemed so
soft
—all striped pants and coiffed mustaches. The kind of men who, when married, would roll on top of their wives once a month and blindly poke for less than a minute before squirting and then falling asleep. My lip curled a little. These men were so unlike my Julian had been. I would never marry one.

Mustache mistook my expression as sympathetic disgust for his chosen conversational topic. “Exactly! You seem a reasonable woman, Miss Leavold. The fairer sex does not have the strength for that kind of rigorous study.” His chest swelled. “That is of course, why they should be shepherded into the care of a husband directly after leaving home. To leave home for school and then spend several unmarried years studying…it seems like such a dangerous undertaking.”

My eyes were following Silas from across the room. I had to go to him, I had to know if he had spoken to Mr. Markham since the other night. I was so hungry for any mention of him, even just his name would be a kind of psychic salve.

“Girls do it for boarding school, do they not?” I asked Mustache politely, my gaze still on Silas.

He smiled at me as if I were simple. “But a boarding school is not in such close proximity to a boys’ school, Miss Leavold. The collegiate scholars will all be on the same campus—it seems a risky proposition.”