Chapter 12

With fishing poles in hand, he knew it was complete madness to find Marlowe—charging ahead of him across rocks and bits of

green—alluring. Over his shirt and her makeshift skirt, she wore his greatcoat, its hem nearly reaching her ankles. Or where

her ankles probably were. He couldn’t see them because she’d stuffed bits of linen into a pair of his boots so they at least

stayed on her feet. She reminded him of a little girl playing at dressing to look like an adult.

Although she was far from being a little girl.

Unfortunately, she’d assumed herself invited on his outing. Not that he could blame her for wanting to escape the confines

of what had no doubt felt like a prison. It wasn’t her place of solitude. No, hers was in the sky.

He possessed additional fishing poles because sometimes his younger brother would join him for a lazy day of casting out a line and waiting for a nibble. Hence, he was carrying a pole for her as well as himself. For some reason, he was under the impression she wouldn’t want to simply sit and watch; she’d want to participate.

The more he was coming to know her, the less he understood her willingness to become some man’s ornament.

And the more he wished he hadn’t changed his blasted cards that night at the Dragons. He wouldn’t have bedded her, not under

those circumstances, but he might have kissed her, might have touched his fingers to a cheek that had yet to be bruised by

a storm. Might have trailed those fingers over the long length of her neck, along her bared shoulders. Might have taken some

liberties simply to teach Hollingsworth that he needed to demonstrate more diligent care when it came to the woman who warmed

his bed. He’d obviously begun to take her for granted, as men often did with their mistresses.

And Langdon was beginning to believe she never should be taken for granted.

Suddenly she stopped, like she’d rammed into a brick wall. But there was no wall, nothing about. They were still on the high

ground, walking near the edge of the cliff. Then she lowered herself to the clover.

Immediately, he dropped his fishing gear and began running toward her. “Marlowe!”

Had her injuries overcome her? Were they worse than he’d surmised? When he reached her, he slid to his knees. “Did you grow

faint? Swoon? Are you feeling ill?”

She looked at him, smiled softly. “No, the rainbow.”

“Rainbow?”

With a slender finger, she pointed and turned her attention away from him. “I wanted to take a moment to appreciate it. How is it that nature can be so ugly, throwing about its wrath, and then create something so beautiful?”

Irritated by his near panic that she might have been in need of assistance, he dropped to his backside and scooted away just

a little. The woman was turning him inside out. But he had to admit the rainbow was awe-inspiring, one of the largest he’d

ever seen, stretching across the sea with one end disappearing somewhere in Cornwall.

“What do you think is on the other side of that rainbow?” she asked.

“Water.”

She laughed, a sweet, noncynical sound that caused a strange tightening in his gut. “You’re not very imaginative, are you?”

Oh, he wouldn’t say that. He could well imagine trailing his mouth from her throat to that sweet valley between her thighs

and lingering there until he’d had his fill. Could take days.

“When a storm isn’t raging, it’s rather peaceful here,” she said. “I don’t suppose we could stay a few days, even after the

sea is not so choppy and is safe to travel.”

“Don’t think you’ll grow tired of eating eggs?”

“Thought we were going to have fish.”

“The weather might have chased them away.”

“I should think you’d be able to lure them back.”

“Wouldn’t want Hollingsworth frantically worrying over your absence.”

“He’s at his country estate for a few more days, but even if he were in London, I very much doubt he’d be worrying over me.”

I would. He didn’t speak the words aloud because they had no place on this islet and were not appropriate to direct toward this woman.

She wasn’t his to worry over or care about. And she most certainly was not his to reach out and tuck behind her ear the strands

of hair that the breeze had freed from their plaited mooring.

“I knew my father as the Earl of Wishingham,” she said quietly, and every thought within his head stilled as he shifted his

backside slightly so he could inch a little closer to her. If she was going to at last reveal something about her history,

he didn’t want to miss a word. “He arrived via balloon, near the small village in Northumberland where my mother grew up.

At the time, I doubt as many as fifty people lived there. None had ever seen a balloon.”

Her laugh was quick, sharp. “Nor a lord for that matter. When he married my mother in the small village church and moved into

her tiny cottage that had once belonged to her parents, no one questioned why he didn’t take her to the earldom to live. He

told my mother he’d never been happy there. It was haunted by sadness, unlike her residence where she’d been loved. Where

I came to know that love after I was born.”

She drew her legs up, wrapped her arms around them as he wanted to wrap his arms around her, and pressed her chin to her knees. He refrained from urging her to continue, to show his impatience for her to finish the tale. He didn’t know Wishing ham, which wasn’t unusual. Langdon didn’t yet sit in the House of Lords, and he hadn’t met every peer who existed, although he would ask his father if he knew anything about the man. He did find it odd that an earl’s daughter would become another lord’s doxy. Had she run away from home and been in need of money?

While it certainly wasn’t uncommon among the lower classes, he’d never heard of a lady among the nobility falling on such

hard times. Surely someone among the peerage would have helped her out. Was that where Hollingsworth had come in?

“People revered him. A lord living among them. From the moment I was born, I was addressed as Lady Marlowe. Or so I’ve been

told. I don’t recall the beginning of course, but any memories I have of my time in that village include being addressed as

m’lady. I was special. The villagers celebrated my birth. We never did without. Individuals gifted us with this or that. I

don’t imagine royalty had it any better.”

She released a long, slow breath. “My father would take me up in his balloon and show me the world from on high. I loved those

magical moments... and I loved him. He was my hero. Seven years ago, when I was all of fifteen, he said he had some business

to tend to, the Queen’s business he said, would be gone for a few days. As he prepared for the flight—because he only ever

traveled by balloon—I begged to go with him, but he wouldn’t hear of it. Mother and I watched his ascent. The wind carried

him away. We never saw him again.”

He hadn’t expected that ending to her tale. “Did you ever learn what became of him?”

She shook her head. “We never received any word. Mother assumed he crashed somewhere. Although I like to think that he sailed

over a rainbow and landed safely in a magical land of leprechauns, sprites, fairies, and maybe even a couple of witches. Once

the rainbow faded away, no avenue for him to get back to us existed because there was no colorful arch to go over.”

She looked at him. “You can laugh at my silliness. I won’t be offended.”

In all likelihood her father had met a frightening and ugly end. He’d once seen a balloon catch fire and there had been no

escape from death for the passengers aboard. All they’d been able to do was choose the ending to their story—either by fire

or fall.

He much preferred the fantastical conclusion she’d drawn. “Losing someone we love—or even just someone we know—is difficult.

I favor... your assumption. Maybe there is more than water on the other side of that rainbow. Perhaps there is that magical

land you envision. I’m sorry I didn’t know your father. I never met the Earl of Wishingham.”

“Oh!” She laughed but this time the sound was a bit caustic. “That’s because there never was an Earl of Wish ingham. My father was an utter fraud and merely wished he was an earl.”

Marlowe still had a time of it, dealing with the truth regarding her father. She’d had a multitude of moments when she’d been unable to reconcile the man she’d known with the man he was. Why would he pretend to be something he wasn’t? Because the villagers gave him deference and were so honored by his patronage that they never insisted he make good on his debts? To impress her mother? But she would have fallen in love with him anyway. He was kind and funny and dependable—until he wasn’t.

“Well, now you can see why I put off telling you. It doesn’t place my father in a very good light. Or my mother, for that

matter. That she would believe him so thoroughly. But then why would she expect him to lie? She’d grown up in a tiny village

where people were honest.”

“Based upon what you’ve told me thus far, his subterfuge went on for years. How could no one know?”

“As I said, it was a small village. The people lived a simple, contented life. Few strayed far from where they’d been born.

I’d wager not a single one had ever been to London. Even you didn’t doubt. You just assumed you’d never heard of him.”

“However, I’d have eventually asked my father about him or looked in Burke’s Peerage .”

“Until we came to London, we didn’t even know a book that provided the lineage associated with each title existed.”

“We?”

“My mother and I.” She wished she hadn’t started down this path. It was only that she couldn’t see a rainbow and not think

of her father. One day we’ll fly over a rainbow to a land of enchantment , he’d often told her when she was small. And, oh, how she’d believed him. On a unicorn, she’d gallop over flower-adorned

fields.

For some unfathomable reason, she’d needed to give voice to all the emotions swirling through her. Perhaps because she’d been convinced that she was going to die last night in that storm. Life seemed so precious and precarious at the same time. And while Langdon had not hidden his desire that she not be about, he had still managed to make her feel protected. “She waited two years for my father to return. Perhaps he had crashed, been hurt, needed to heal. Maybe he’d gone down in an isolated portion of England and had to trek over hill and dale to find civilization. At first, we discussed endlessly all the various scenarios that could be delaying his return. Over time, the discussions became less frequent. Neither of us ever voiced our worst fears. We loved him, you see. Neither of us wanted him gone.”

Langdon held still and quiet, waiting, waiting for her to gather her thoughts and continue. How she knew this, she couldn’t fathom. She experienced moments when she felt she knew him better and more intimately than she knew herself. Taking a deep breath to strengthen her resolve, she kept her gaze on the rainbow. “When I was seventeen, she decided that it was time we find his family, let them know what had happened. They would see to us, surely. See me educated in the ways of a lady. My mother was determined that I should have my coming out. After all, I was the daughter of an earl, and like her, I should marry a lord. Only properly, with all the pomp and circumstance the situation warranted. No small church and forgettable vicar for me. It was to be Westminster and the Arch bishop of Canterbury. A white coach and white horses delivering me to the church. Bells ringing throughout the city. She wanted me to have what she hadn’t. As an earl’s daughter, it was what I deserved.

“The cottage sat on a small farm. We had a few animals: cows, pigs, chickens. Occasionally we’d sell one. So she had a little

money set aside. But when the villagers discovered we were going to make a trek to London to claim our place among the nobility...

well, goodness gracious. Some were dipping into their own coffers, a few giving us their last shilling. We were part of them,

and they were part of us. We wouldn’t forget them, surely. Once we were embraced by the earl’s family, perhaps we could settle

our debts.

“One of the villagers offered to ferry us in his wagon to a village where we could find a coach to take us to London. Then

there was London. We found lodgings, the sort where we shared a room, a bed, with strangers. No one cared that she was Lady

Wishingham and I was Lady Marlowe. We hardly knew where to begin to search for my father’s relations. Mum decided Buckingham

Palace. After all, Father had told her he danced with the Queen. You can well imagine that they thought we were mad. They’d

never heard of him. After several tries to be seen by someone of authority or even the Queen herself, we were finally told

by a fellow dressed in livery that we needed to make enquiries at the College of Arms. Things only worsened from there.”

Watching the seagulls circling down below, she envied them their ability to fly while she was presently restricted to keeping her feet on the ground. Then something red caught her eye. Waving briefly, a quick hello, before scarpering off and disappearing. She shot to her feet. “Oh, it’s my balloon!”

“Slow down!” Langdon yelled.

The daft woman was going to break her lovely neck the way she was scrambling over the rough terrain in an effort to get to

the small cove where he’d found her last night. Following in her wake, he’d already yelled at her several times to hold on,

but she failed to heed his words, the stubborn wench. She was as independent a woman as he’d ever known.

Intriguing and secretive, no doubt grateful the bit of cloth that had made its quick appearance had given her an excuse not

to finish her tale. He wanted to know exactly how she had gone from knocking on the door at Buckingham Palace to warming Hollingsworth’s

bed. He was striving not to be jealous but had the sense he was failing miserably. He didn’t want to return her to London,

didn’t want to envision Hollingsworth there waiting for her to escort him to her bedchamber.

It was more than lust, more than physical attraction driving his thoughts. He was beginning to enjoy her company, especially when she opened up and shared parts of herself with him. He’d always envisioned that a woman who used her body for currency would be more callous and pragmatic, for surely a hard life had influenced her decisions. Yet in spite of her father being unworthy of siring her, she hoped he’d flown over a rainbow into a kinder existence.

Whereas Langdon wanted to beat the man bloody for his deception.

He also understood how a man falsely claiming to be a lord could be believed and revered by those of a small village far from

London. He’d certainly never bothered to memorize every title. And a man with no coins in his coffers—there were merchants

and shopkeepers so enamored of having the nobility as customers that they would never stoop so low as to actually ask their idol to pay up. Although he did have to wonder if her father had failed to return because his ruse had been discovered

or his debts were in danger of seeing him in debtor’s prison.

For her sake, as much as he didn’t like the thought, he did rather hope the man had met an accidental end so she would at

least be spared ever learning that her father was far worse than she imagined.

He skidded the last few feet to the beach and dashed around the outcropping behind which her balloon—and she—had disappeared.

He found her on her knees, running her hands over long strips of cloth, each a different color—a brilliant red, blue, or purple—and

he fought not to imagine her running her hands over him in the same manner. Her motions were almost loving, tender, as though

she were examining wounds and expected the recipient of them to yell out in pain at any moment. Nearby, still attached to

the balloon portion, was the basket, lying against a mound of rocks. Shattered and broken.

As she might have been.

Cold dread shivered through him, and he had a strong urge to pull her away from the blasted thing and order her to never again

take such risks. He crouched beside her. “It doesn’t look salvageable.”

“The basket, no,” she said in a mournful tone, “but the cloth I can repair.”

“The cloth alone isn’t going to get you off the island.”

She looked at him. “Of course not. I’ll need your boat for that. You did say you’d take me to the mainland when the water

was calmer. I’m not in a hurry, however. It’s rather nice to be away from the madness of it all. Is that the reason you come

here? For the peace and the quiet and the isolation?”

Possibly at first, but now it was more so no one could hear his cries when the nightmares came. “Here, mamas can’t toss their

daughters my way, expecting me to catch them.”

“How horrible indeed, to be so spoiled for choice.”

“You are. You could have any man in London you wanted.”

“Not at first. Oddly, it was Hollie who taught me how to ensure I had options when it came to my benefactor. Do you have a

knife?”

The sudden change in topic took him aback, especially as he’d been considering how he might convince her Hollingsworth didn’t

deserve her loyalty. He’d obviously taken advantage... although Langdon had always known the earl to be a decent chap.

“I do.”

“Help me detach the basket.”

He almost told her the price would be a kiss, but he wasn’t fool enough to do that. He imagined one of the things Hollingsworth had taught her was how to pretend enjoyment. No, he wanted her begging for it.

While he sawed through the ropes that held the balloon fast to the basket, Marlowe wrung out small portions of the silk that

made up the balloon. So many little rips and tears. A few large ones. Occasionally looking over at the basket where Langdon

worked caused her stomach to knot up. She was damned fortunate she hadn’t arrived on shore as crushed as the wicker. It was

a sad, pitiful heap of broken dreams.

She wasn’t altogether certain that dreams could be mended. Perhaps it was best to search for another. All the dreams she’d

held as a young girl had shattered when she’d discovered her father’s deception. In spite of him being weak and flawed, she

didn’t doubt his love for her. Still the truth had robbed her of her dreams. No noble husband for her. No love, no children,

no family. What is it you want of your life? Hollie had asked her when they’d met. She’d once thought she’d wanted to be known.

Now all she wanted was to be forgotten.

She dragged more of the balloon from the sea and wrenched the salty water from it, ignoring the sting of protest from the

few small cuts and scrapes on her hands. It was probably silly to go to such bother but what else did she have to do until

the swells calmed and Langdon could deliver her to the opposite shore?

While she’d been enjoying the book she’d been reading, she cared more about her balloon. Besides, the cloth had saved her from carrying on with her tale. She’d told Langdon enough. He didn’t need to know all of it. It was the unknown that made her such a mystery, that resulted in her being somewhat famous. Never tell anyone everything, Hollie had advised.

“What now?”

She looked up at the tall man looming over her, hands on his narrow hips. She wondered what it might feel like having those

hands on her hips, pulling her close as he lowered his head...

She didn’t want to admit that he had the most beautiful pair of luscious lips she’d ever seen. It was the reason she’d wanted

to kiss them so badly that night at the Dragons. She could well imagine that they were quite skilled at delivering pleasure,

for, surely, they’d been designed with that purpose in mind.

“Once I’ve gotten the rest of the envelope—”

“Envelope?”

“Yes, that’s what this portion is called because it holds the air. Anyway, once it’s out of the water, we can haul it up to

your residence. Spread it out over the floor in that front room so it can dry. I could even begin repairing it.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier to simply purchase one anew?”

“Simpler isn’t always the best way.” She’d learned that through a series of trials and errors. “Besides, this one has memories

associated with it.”

“Right.” He grabbed a handful of cloth and heaved a massive amount of the material from the water with a single action. Corded muscles were extremely handy. She imagined running her hands over them as he tugged and pulled. Why was it that she couldn’t seem to stop thinking about touching this man? Based on her reputation, he’d no doubt be surprised to learn that she didn’t normally think about touching men. Few really appealed to her. She had exacting tastes, Hollie had once explained, just as he did.

The things that man knew about sex, desire, want, and need. It had frightened her at first, until he’d made it all seem so

natural. It was one of the reasons she loved him.