Chapter 9

Marlowe decided she was beginning to enjoy opening her eyes. No bare buttocks this morning but facing her was an incredibly

handsome visage in need of a shave. She’d like very much to run her fingers over the thick shadow of his beard, but he’d no

doubt object.

She had a vague memory of him standing beside the bed, an invitation issued. Obviously accepted, although she didn’t recall

him joining her. But his presence surrounded her in heavenly warmth and a sense of being protected. No doubt because of the

strong arm curled over her side and the long fingers splayed against her back serving as a shield, as secure as one made of

iron. She was left with the impression no one would be able to get to her, to harm her, as long as that hand rested against

her.

Dear Lord, he was gorgeous but even in slumber he didn’t appear particularly innocent. Or perhaps it was the positioning of

their bodies that belied the virtuousness because sometime during the night they’d sought each other.

The shirt she wore had risen up her thigh, barely covering her most intimate area. While one leg was straight, the other was bent at the knee and nestled between his legs. Thank goodness he was wearing trousers. If he wasn’t, the heat of attraction coursing through her would have no doubt caused her to ignite.

The storm had yet to abate, but the grayness pouring in through the windows allowed her to see him clearly. He was such a

lovely specimen of manhood, and she’d always had a propensity for appreciating lovely things.

When she’d first clapped eyes on him in London, he’d been clean-shaven. She rather liked the scruffiness he was currently

sporting. She supposed since he lived alone here, he kept his grooming habits to a minimum. Not that she blamed him. She imagined

the pleasure to be found in simply brushing her hair back and securing it in place with a ribbon—instead of sitting for an

hour while strands were artfully arranged to ensure another’s satisfaction.

His black hair, traveling over his ears, curled loosely at the ends. That, too, had been different before. It had been much

shorter, evenly cut, and tamed into perfect order. Now it was wild, like some feral creature that had been caged and then

set free. It would do as it would, following no man’s orders.

His eyelashes were the longest she’d ever seen. Resting against the curved upper edge of his strong cheekbones, they were thick and heavy. She was half-tempted to stir one loose of its mooring so she could blow it away with a gentle breath and make a wish. His eyelashes were sure to grant wishes.

She almost smiled. She hadn’t had such fanciful thoughts since she was a child.

Then he opened his eyes, and she was no longer thinking of eyelashes. She was no longer thinking at all. The pewter gray of

his eyes held her captive. Before meeting him, she’d never seen eyes of that shade. They were mesmerizing, reminding her of

gray stone peered at through fog. The eeriness of Stonehenge. The mystery of it. He was full of mystery. She was rather certain

of it. Here on this isle alone when, unlike her, he’d be welcomed as an honored guest into any home in Britain.

However, if he hadn’t been here, she didn’t know how she would have survived. She might have never woken up from the spot

where the sea had deposited her. She’d have probably eventually frozen there. Instead, she was all warm and snug, slightly

entwined with him, grateful she could still hear the rain pattering on the window. It gave her an excuse to remain where she

was.

“I don’t think I’ve ever slept so well in this bed,” he said, his voice raspy and rough, and although she knew it was because

he’d only just awakened, she imagined it sounded much the same after he made love to a woman. Or at least it was the way she’d

want it to sound if he ever bedded her. She wanted his throat raw from his groans and growls. Wanted him demonstrating with

grunts, thrusts, and muscles bulging with tenseness precisely what he endured as she turned him inside out.

Just the thought of him rising above her had dew gathering between her thighs, her breaths difficult to find, and her body igniting to such a degree that she’d have to toss aside the blankets before long. “Rescuing me no doubt exhausted you.”

“I’m not sure that’s it.” Moving his hand from her back, he laid it over hers where it rested against his chest, folded his

fingers around it, and brought it to his lips where he placed the gentlest of kisses against her knuckles, never taking his

gaze from hers. “Your body will no doubt protest any movement, worse than yesterday. The aches will have settled in to inhabit

your bones. So move about gingerly.”

“Have you experience floundering about in the sea and battling storms?”

A faraway look and pain entered his eyes before he shuttered all emotion. “In a manner of speaking.”

She remembered what she’d learned of the railway accident, and how it remained within him. Surviving the storm might do the

same to her. How did one escape the scars of trauma?

He released his hold on her hand, and she was keenly aware of more than his fingers withdrawing. She had the odd sense he

was stacking boulders between them. “I’ll bring up some warm water for the basin, then leave you to your ablutions. When you’re

ready, come down to the main room. I’ll have prepared something for us to eat.”

As he rolled out of the bed, she immediately felt the chill. It was more than cold air sweeping in; it was also more than the absence of his warmth. It was the distance she recognized that he was putting between them. Even though she told herself it was all for the best, she drew the covers more tightly around herself and wondered how he might react if she admitted she wouldn’t mind him becoming one of her sins.

In a series of fluid movements, he grabbed his shirt from where it rested at the foot of the bed, dragged it on, and marched

over to the fireplace. He crouched and began sacrificing logs to increase the heat. His shirt wasn’t tucked into his waistband,

so she didn’t have a clean view of his trousers pulling taut over his backside, but she was treated to the delicious sight

of the material hugging his thighs.

She’d never been shy about appreciating what a man had to offer. The lessons she’d learned after arriving in London probably

had something to do with her lax attitude when it came to what most people found offensive. The human form had served as inspiration

for any number of artistic works. How could it thusly be something about which to be ashamed, to be hidden away beneath layers

of confining clothing?

It was one of the reasons that she dressed so simply when she was going up in her balloon. Clothes she could easily remove

without the assistance of a maid. Who was to see her? Besides, it reduced the weight. The less cumbersome attire gave her

a sense of freedom. One she never truly experienced when she was on the ground. Because she was always at another’s beck and

call. Although of late, she was discovering she wanted to be only at her own.

After dusting off his hands, he shoved himself upright. It was a peculiar thing to think of his movements as poetic, yet they spoke to her in an odd sort of way, filling her with calm in much the same manner as reading a poem did. It was the rhythm of his actions, the smooth cadence, every aspect of him attuned to the whole.

He sat in a thickly stuffed chair and began pulling on a pair of boots that had been resting near the fire. “You might want

to stay snuggled beneath the blankets as long as possible. As you’ve no doubt observed, this is a drafty old place.”

“But it has its charms.” Him being one of them, she was discovering.

“And its privacy. Usually.”

“Sorry to have intruded.” She sounded mulish, ungrateful, which she wasn’t particularly pleased about. Men were wont to exhibit

their displeasure if her attitude wasn’t pleasant. And Langdon had no reason to be happy that he’d had to rescue her from

the sea. She was an intrusion... and to an extent that would make her unwelcome company to anyone.

Except Langdon merely quirked up one corner of his mouth. “I usually relish the solitude, but last night I found myself wishing

for companionship... and the sea delivered.”

Strange how his words caused warmth and a measure of joy to wash over her. “Even though there were no stars upon which to

wish?”

“I don’t have to see the stars to know that they are there, and I’ve studied them thoroughly enough to know where they are

at any given moment.”

“I suppose I should be a bit miffed if it was your wish that brought an end to my journey in the sky, but I do think they have to be visible to be wished upon. Hence I very much doubt you are responsible for my calamity.”

“I shall hope not.” He stood. “I won’t be long.” With that, he departed.

She pulled up her legs, nearly to her chest, grateful the warmth from his body hadn’t dissipated completely. She wondered

how he might react if she confessed that she’d be content to remain in bed with him as long as the rain fell. Longer still.

It had been ages since she’d found herself so drawn to a man. Especially one who gave the impression he couldn’t wait to be

rid of her.

Perhaps that was his appeal. Like a good many people, she wanted what she couldn’t have and being denied made the object all

the more alluring.

Adding some butter to the eggs he was stirring in the pot, Langdon’s thoughts shifted to earlier and how badly he hadn’t wanted

to get out of the damned bed. Certainly, he’d been in more intimate positions with any number of ladies, but with Marlowe’s

leg nestled between his thighs, her hand on his chest, and the narrow space separating the rest of their bodies, he’d been

unable to recall when he’d ever been more aroused. Fortunately, the distance between her hips and his was wide enough so that,

with his trousers keeping his cock confined, she’d been unaware of how much he wanted her.

And it was want . Not animalistic, savage need for mating that had possessed man from the dawn of time. No, something more had been driving this need within him to possess her. Something more personal, more directly related to her—as if she would provide the completion of his soul.

He’d thought he might go mad, simply lying there, eyes closed, absorbing her nearness. He’d been acutely aware of her studying

him, as though her hands—rather than her gaze—were roaming over him, alighting upon him. How could he be so cognizant of her?

And yet something about her called to the most primitive aspect of him: to protect, to cherish, to nurture.

In spite of all the bruising, swelling, and cuts marring her face that had greeted him when he did finally open his eyes,

the warm appreciation in her light blue ones nearly undid him, as though she was enamored of him, curious about him. As though

she wanted him as well—in spite of all the aches and pains that had to be plaguing her.

He hated the notion that she was suffering. Because of a tumble from the sky. Christ, he could hardly believe that she’d flown

in a hot-air balloon. She was an adventuress, and perhaps that, more than anything, had him anxious to determine what sort

of sexual escapades the two of them could experience. Surely a woman prone to not keeping her feet on the ground could welcome

and provide less-than-routine sensual delights.

That evening at the Dragons, if the time they would have had together had come about in a manner that was clearly her choice, that didn’t diminish her and treat her as an object... would she have been content with only the few hours allotted them or might she have wanted more? And what then? Was he to have called Hollingsworth out at dawn or convinced him to let his mistress go?

Sometime later, with two plates in hand, he strode into the main chamber and disappointment slammed into him because she’d

managed to turn one of the more faded blankets into a makeshift skirt that reached the middle of her calves. She still wore

his shirt, and he wondered if it would forever smell of her.

She turned from where she was standing at the window. “I was hoping to see the end of it, some clear skies in the distance.”

He set the plates on the table before the sofa, one at each end. “Could rain for days or hours. Coffee or tea?”

She began sauntering toward him, and he decided the sensual walk was done out of habit, not in any attempt to seduce him.

“Tea would be lovely. I’m in need of some comfort.”

By the time he returned, she was sitting in one corner of the sofa, her legs stretched out, her feet flexing before the fire.

The plate was on her lap, but she’d not touched anything.

“I have no milk.” The storm had prevented him from returning to the family estate for weekly provisions. He lifted the cups

just a bit. “One has no sugar, one has an abundance. Which do you prefer?”

“Surprise me. I’m not particular.”

He wondered if the same could be said of the men in her life. He handed her a cup before settling onto the other end of the

sofa, plate in hand. He set his cup on the table. “I’m sadly lacking in furniture, I’m afraid.”

“And culinary skills. The offerings very much resemble those from last night.”

“Eggs and fish are about the only things I’ve mastered when it comes to cooking.”

“If I had the correct ingredients, I could make you a right proper meal.”

“You don’t strike me as someone who cooks.”

“Like tea, I find baking comforting.” Her tone carried the tiniest bit of defensiveness.

He’d meant no insult, but he supposed neither could forget exactly what she was, and that the path she’d chosen was always

an undercurrent in conversations or actions, no matter how innocent.

They ate in silence for several long minutes, his gaze wandering to their feet seeking the warmth of the fire, hers so small

compared to his. Such tiny toes. He wondered if a single physical aspect of her wasn’t perfect.

Taking a sip of his sugarless tea, he mulled over how pleasant it was to be sitting here not alone, with the rain still falling,

the thunder occasionally booming, the lightning flashing, and the dark clouds preventing the sunlight from getting all the

way through. When he was younger, he and his brother would camp out on the island. Even if they stayed in the dwelling, at

the time, it was hardly inhabitable. They explored, had adventures. He had the unsettling notion that the hours she was here

would overshadow the memories from his youth. No matter how short her stay. He set his empty plate on the table. “I haven’t

forgotten that you owe me an answer.”

Her voice was soft, warm. “I didn’t think you had, but it’s such a lovely day and the answer isn’t all that pleasant for me to reveal.”

He’d begun to suspect as much and wished he’d never asked, wished he hadn’t brought it up now when there was a coziness he’d

never before experienced in this room. “Lovely day? There’s a blasted storm out.”

She slid her gaze over to him. “I’ve always loved the rain.”

“Is that the reason you went out in it? To be in the sky with it?”

She was still struggling to smile, her tongue touching the tiny cut. “I hadn’t considered that. If it affected my decision,

I wasn’t aware of it. No, I like to be indoors when it rains. This is a wonderful chamber, with its massive fireplace, in

which to wait out a storm. I’ve been giving some thought to your dwelling. It was a lookout, wasn’t it? A place to spot the

enemy coming in.”

“Legend would have it so.”

“Will you live here when you take a wife?”

Was that jealousy he heard in her voice? He very much doubted it. “What woman would want to live in such isolation? To miss

out on balls, shopping, and tea with friends?”

“Have you selected your lady?”

He gave her an indulgent grin and just held her gaze, until she blushed and looked away.

“Not my business, I suppose,” she muttered. “I’ve read nothing in the gossip sheets, so if you have, I wonder if she even

knows. Probably not. You’re considered quite the catch, so I suspect she would be anxious for the world to know.”

With a shake of his head, he chuckled. “I think you might be able to tell if I’m bluffing at the card table.”

She slid her gaze over to him, and he felt like she’d pinned him in place as one might a butterfly to a board—to study and

examine until all its secrets were revealed.

“It’s to my benefit to be able to decipher men, what they think, what they want, what they would die for.”

“And a good many would die for you.”

She laughed, grimaced, licked that corner of her mouth again. “For me ? No. For a chance to bed me? Possibly.” She shrugged. “Probably. Hollie took me to a symposium once. The subject was insects,

of all things. Did you know the praying mantis bites off the head of her lover after they’ve copulated?”

He’d never heard any woman use a term related to sex, and yet he couldn’t envision her not being direct. Although the way

she drew out the syllables of copulated , she might as well have said fucked . “Perhaps he disappointed her.”

She laughed again, a sweet sound that reverberated through his chest. “Still, a rather rash punishment. I couldn’t stop thinking

about it for days after we went. The poor creature gets to make love only once. Good Lord, but I do hope it’s an incredible

experience for him. He pays a ghastly price for it.”

He’d never spoken so openly about sex with a woman—even if it was insect sex. That she would feel sorry for a bug and worry about his enjoyment... he couldn’t imagine she wouldn’t give the same care and attention to a man’s pleasure. He didn’t want to con template what she might do, how exquisite the intimacy might be. Yet all the images suddenly fluttering through his mind were of her in various positions, engaged in various actions. If he’d had her those few hours Hollingsworth had offered, he thought her walking away might very well feel like dying. Even if his head remained attached.

“My apologies,” she said. “Not appropriate breakfast conversation.”

“Most women I know would rather crush an insect beneath their shoe than worry over its... happiness.”

Her smile was small, as though she’d learned how wide she could spread her lips before her wound protested. “You may have

failed to notice I am not like most women.”

“I haven’t failed to notice.” He hadn’t failed to notice anything about her. And that was the problem. He liked too much what

he saw and was coming to learn about her.

And that placed him on a short path to disaster.