Free The Punishment of Ivy Leavold (Markham Hall Book 3) by Sierra Simone

wasn’t to Julian.
    She continued as if she hadn’t seen my response, “Or you spend the rest of your days alone, also unhappy, and for what? For who? Who will be so rewarded by your denying yourself that it could make such an existence worthwhile? You will not be, because you will only be half a self, a husk. Society will not care—if you married Jules, that would be good enough for them. You think that by nursing these doubts that you are some kind of saint? What does God care about how you like to be fucked? David lay with Jonathan, Solomon had concubines upon concubines, think of Hagar, Rahab and Tamar, and yet all of these people contributed to ultimate action of God’s will. False holiness will get you nowhere in life. But living it with those you love, following your heart—that is how you become the self you want to be. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a business to run and a board to punish. Have a pleasant afternoon.”

The day was chilly and wet, and a low layer of fog hung over the Serpentine. I leaned across the bridge, thinking a thousand thoughts—mostly having to do with Ivy naked—and so I didn’t see my summoner until she was next to me.
    “Mr. Markham,” she said curtly.
    I could barely hide my surprise. It was my housekeeper. My housekeeper of all people.
    “Brightmore, what the hell are you doing in London?” And not at my fucking house doing your job? I pressed down this last thought. It was the kind of thing that my father would have said, and I usually tried my best to be as different from him as humanly possible.
    “First of all,” she said, “have you been followed?”
    “I don’t believe so.” I cast a glance around me, frowning. “And why does it matter? Brightmore, this is really most irregular—”
    “I know it is,” she interrupted. “Which is why I’ll be as brief as possible. But I couldn’t wait any longer to speak with you about this, especially if you bring another bride home.”
    God, I hope I did.
    “See, I realized—” Her voice stopped.
    “Mrs. Brightmore,” Gareth said from behind me. “Mr. Markham. Hello.”
    I ignored him and gestured for her to keep going. But she pressed her mouth shut.
    “Sir, Mr. Cecil-Coke is looking for you,” Gareth said. “He is ready to visit Miss Leavold.”
    “Of course.” I looked at Brightmore. “Would you like to finish?”
    She shook her head brusquely. “We can discuss the household accounts later, Mr. Markham. And I will continue with my shopping for new upholstery.”
    Household accounts? Upholstery? But then she gave me a sharp look and Gareth an even sharper one. Sparks, as if from metal grinding on metal, seemed to flash between the two of them, sparks of dislike or even hatred. For whatever reason, she didn’t want him to know she was here. And while I disapproved—of her sudden presence here in London, of her need for secrecy, of the ever-brewing animosity between my valet and my housekeeper, I also trusted her. She’d been loyal and discreet the entire time she’d worked for me. I had no reason to doubt her now.
    I gave her the slightest of nods. Brightmore turned on her heel and left, her solid footsteps reverberating throughout the bridge.
    “Most unusual for Mrs. Brightmore to be here in London,” Gareth remarked casually as we walked back to the hotel.
    I kept my voice authoritative as I lied. “I asked her to come down to London to examine new fabrics for Markham Hall. If I do indeed bring Miss Leavold back home, I want her to be living among nothing but the best.”
    “I see,” he said, although suspicion still laced his words. I turned to examine him.
    “Is everything quite all right, Gareth? You’ve seemed distant lately.”
    “Everything is fine,” he said. “Or at least in a few days it will be.”
    “Good.”
    And I didn’t say anything more because I was going to see Ivy today and that was all that mattered.

    The next two days passed in a quiet blur. Ivy was subdued and