Chapter 14

Marlowe’s breath caught, held, until finally like the air in a balloon, it slowly leaked out. The way he’d looked at her that

night—no other man had ever regarded her with so much heat in his eyes, like a fire slowly simmering until it was smoldering.

Oh, certainly, she’d seen want, lust, and yearning. She’d reveled in her ability to bring it to the fore, to be able to create

such desire. But it had been different with him. Terrifyingly so.

When Hollie had offered her up, she’d objected because her body had been reacting as his eyes had, until every inch of her

was so heated, hot, that she’d been certain if he touched her, she’d combust. Perhaps they both would. Much as she’d once

witnessed a hot-air balloon going up in flames. It had happened so quickly, so unexpectedly, there had been no time to react.

She’d been able to only watch in horror.

Yet it hadn’t deterred her from taking the same risk each time she ascended into the air. Sitting here now, she knew the same was true when it came to Langdon.

From the moment she’d awakened in his presence, she’d been tamping down her unbridled longing. How could she want a man who

didn’t fancy her? Only, he did. Quite powerfully, according to his words and the manner in which he now looked at her.

She’d misread him before, thought he’d been disgusted by her.

It was so much easier to be in his presence when she believed that to be the case. But the truth, dear God, the truth made

it so much harder to resist the temptation that was Viscount Langdon.

Was he disgusted with himself, with his yearning for the woman she was, a woman kept? He hadn’t treated her as if he had no

respect for her, but then as a gentleman he was unlikely to show unkindness or be rude or give her a cut direct.

Reaching out, she grabbed the area of cloth she’d been working on and dragged it onto her lap. Quickly she plucked up the

needle, hoping he would do the same with his. It would be easier to say what she wanted to say if he wasn’t watching her so

intensely. Everything about the man was extremely passionate whether he was reading, eating, or sewing. She suspected his

kiss left a woman in a pool of fevered sensuality.

Finally, finally, he looked at the tip of his finger that she’d licked and, she assumed, after confirming it was no longer bleeding, returned to stitching up the cloth, creating a scar that would forever remind her of him when she was aloft. She’d already memorized the exact spot. Besides, it would be easy enough to find because his needlework was not as refined as hers. And yet in a way she thought it more beautiful.

“At the College of Arms, as I’m sure you’re aware because you’re no doubt included, is a document known as the Roll of the

Peerage in which every title and the name of its holder is listed. A Registrar of Arms showed it to us and explained no Earl

of Wishingham had ever existed. The gentleman, bless him, spent hours searching for my father’s name, on the off chance we

had the title wrong.” She shook her head. “But he was nowhere to be found. My mother wasn’t a countess, I wasn’t a lady, and

my father wasn’t a lord.” She was acutely aware of him going still, but she continued to pull needle and thread through the

cloth, quickly, hurriedly, her fingers keeping pace with the memories dashing through her mind. “My mother decided we would

return home—because we certainly hadn’t the means to stay in London—but we wouldn’t tell anyone what we’d discovered. She

was mortified and didn’t want her friends or associates to know what a fool she’d been.”

“She wasn’t alone. The entire village had been duped.”

“Oh, but she’d married him, kept him there. They’d given him goods and services without requiring payment. She feared they might demand payment of her, if the truth ever came out. Of course, we had no idea who his family truly was. Where they lived. How to find them. If they were in a position to help. They could have been as poor as church mice. She didn’t want to be a burden to them.” She hugged the cloth briefly. “She never wanted to be a burden to anyone.”

“How did you manage?”

She glanced over at him. One leg was bent, an arm draped across his raised knee. Did he always have to look so bloody masculine?

“The cloth isn’t going to mend itself.”

A corner of his mouth hitched up. “Regretting that you ever started the tale?”

Slowly she shook her head. “Where I am, Langdon, is not where I ever expected to be. And yet, eventually, it seemed an inevitable

course.”

He skimmed his thumb along her jaw, stopping when he reached her chin, his forefinger joining the effort to stop her from

turning away. “I’m not sitting in judgment, Marlowe.”

“I thought you were that night. I believed that was the reason you cheated.”

He tilted his head slightly. “Is it cheating if I lose?”

“Did you lose?”

“Much more than I’d wagered. It’s only during the past couple of days that I’ve come to realize exactly how much.” She was

left with the impression that whatever he’d lost had something to do with her. Although perhaps that was just wishful thinking

on her part. “I know a thing or two about painful memories. You don’t have to tell me how you came to be with Hollingsworth

if it’s too agonizing.”

But she wanted him to know. It seemed important that he know. It also seemed important she learn the specifics regarding his painful memories, only she wasn’t going to beg for them. Although she suspected the railway accident was at the heart of it all. She felt like she was wandering through a forest of brambles, not quite sure of her footing, hitting snags along the way. Every time she was convinced she had him figured out, she discovered she didn’t.

“We returned home, unexpectedly welcomed with cheers and excitement. Mum dashed a few hopes when she explained that we’d been

unable to locate his family but were continuing the search. The falsehood didn’t sit well with me. We were simply continuing

the farce. I tried to persuade her to tell them the truth, but she just became more withdrawn, melancholy. I worried so. And

then one day... she confessed everything to her dearest friend. As it turned out, she wasn’t a friend at all. She announced

it to the entire village. Just as my mother feared, the shopkeepers, tradesmen, and pub owners wanted what was owed. And we

had no way to pay them. I tried to find employment in the village, but no one would hire me. They no longer trusted me. And

that hurt, Langdon, so badly. I didn’t know it was possible to be in so much pain without a visible wound.”

“Hold there,” he said before getting up, walking to the table that housed his spirits, and pouring scotch into a glass. When

he returned, he handed it to her.

Grateful, she took a large, unladylike swallow before offering it to him and watching as he took a small sip.

“I’m sorry you experienced all that,” he said.

“I didn’t blame the villagers. All those years of debt.” Just as she had then, she felt an urge to punch something. “My father made some payments over the years but when they each presented the balance of what was owed... it would take a lifetime to pay it back. Some were muttering about debtor’s prison. I determined I would need to return to London. To be honest, I saw that as no hardship as I’d fallen in love with the city while we were there. It was so alive. An abundance of people moving about so quickly, chasing after life rather than just waiting for it to pass by. I was convinced I could find employment and a better wage. My mother was a true villager. She wasn’t comfortable with leaving, so she stayed.”

It was a relief in a way because not having her mother there gave her more freedom and allowed her to be not quite so honest

regarding what she was actually doing to secure money. She appreciated that Langdon was patiently waiting for her to continue.

“I had very few coins when I arrived in London. I took lodgings in a less affluent area of town.” A nice way of saying she’d

moved to the rookeries. She hadn’t even known people lived in such squalor. Her small village was lovely cottages with thatched

roofs and colorful gardens. Oh, certainly, a house or two was in need of repair but neighbors helped neighbors. No one dressed

in rags, went hungry, or slept in a bed with strangers. Fortunately, the boardinghouse in which she’d resided was clean and

she had a tiny room with a small bed she shared with one girl. A girl who snored. “I found a position as a seamstress with

a modiste.”

She couldn’t help herself. She held up the section she’d been sewing. “As you can see, I’m quite skilled with a needle. I was paid per piece, as long as the stitching was perfect. In theory, the faster I was, the more I would earn. The hours were long, but it was the only skill in which I had any confidence. I was there for two years. Then one afternoon, after I’d just finished a lovely sea-green ball gown, the shop owner was looking it over and decided the stitching wasn’t up to snuff. Mind you, she didn’t think it was untidy to the point it needed to be ripped out and redone. She simply wasn’t going to pay me for it. Which as you can well imagine didn’t sit well with me. We were in a back room arguing and I was threatening to quit if she didn’t give me the money I was owed for my labor. Suddenly a gentleman walked in. I’d seen him on a few occasions, sitting in a chair in the front of the shop while a young lady was being fitted in the back. I assumed she was his wife. Turns out she was his sister. He asked if it was his sister’s gown causing all the fuss. Madame said that it was, and he ordered her to pay me or he’d take his business elsewhere.”

“Hollingsworth, I presume.”

She nodded and took another swallow of the scotch. “Resentfully she did pay me. As soon as I had the coins in hand, I gave my notice. He invited me to join him for a cup of tea in a shop down the street. He filled me up on tea, cakes, and the promise of a life far better than the one I presently had. He’d caught glimpses of me at the dress shop on other occasions and was quite taken with me. I didn’t accept his offer right away. I did try to find other employment. But nothing paid well when it came to earnings. At a couple of places where I interviewed—one was a mercantile shop and the other a grocer’s—it was made clear that I would be expected to... lift my skirt on occasion. If I was going to do that, I might as well accept Hollie’s offer. Leave the squalor behind. Receive an allowance that would allow me to pay off my father’s debt more quickly. Bring my mother some peace of mind. And he gave me time for us to become friends first.” She said the last because she didn’t want him to think she’d felt that she’d been coerced or forced into the arrangement. “Who did I know in London who was going to care what I did? To be honest, I found it exciting, adventurous. He introduced me to a world that was very different from the one in which I’d grown up. My father had always told me someday I would have a lord. And now I did.”

“Still, it couldn’t have been easy, not at first. People being as judgmental as they are.” True compassion floated through

his deep voice. She was beginning to like him a little too much.

“It was easier than living in Vexham and seeing the condemnation in the eyes of those I’d known all my life. Because of my father’s actions, not my own. In London, I’d met so few people, what did I care about the opinion of those I barely knew or didn’t know at all? Nor did I understand why the manner in which I lived my life was truly any of their concern. I was doing nothing to harm them. Although I decided I would find a way to win them all over. I haven’t achieved that end, but the gossip isn’t quite as unkind as it was. So there’s the answer to your question and now you know everything about me.”

“I very much doubt that.”

“Well, more than most.” Even Hollie didn’t know about her father’s deceit or the massive debt she was striving to pay off.

He’d never asked about her past and she’d never felt compelled to reveal the mortifying truth of it. She wasn’t quite certain

why she’d told Langdon so much.

“If your father were alive, I’d beat him to a bloody pulp.”

“He couldn’t foresee what our future would hold.”

“He deceived your mother. He deceived you. He had to know no good would eventually come of it.”

She sighed, felt the tears sting her eyes, and blinked them to purgatory as she always did when faced with the truth of the

man who had sired her. “I know you speak true. I can’t reconcile the man I knew with the man he actually was.”

“And your mother left you to clean up his mess.”

She heard the disgust in his voice and was disappointed in herself for taking comfort in it. She always felt guilty for wishing

her mother had been stronger. But she also recognized that life’s disappointments had battered her. While they’d done the

same to Marlowe, she didn’t feel they’d been quite as brutal. She hadn’t fallen in love with a man who was more fiction than fact. Although it had made her wary of giving away her heart. How could she ever be sure she knew the absolute truth of someone? Perhaps that was part of the reason she felt so comfortable in her relationship with Hollie. He didn’t ask for love. “It wasn’t by choice, Langdon. Not everyone has the fortitude to withstand the onslaught of one more challenge. Instead of bending, some people break.”

He studied her for the longest time, and she had the sense he was considering all she’d told him and was striving to arrange

it into the nooks and crannies of what he knew about her. A softness finally touched his eyes. “I can’t imagine you breaking.”

“You don’t view my accepting Hollie’s offer as a possible crack? My becoming a kept woman?”

He wanted to believe she’d had alternatives. There were always options. But he recognized that others had placed her on this

path. She could have made far worse choices. One man paying for the privilege of being with her was better than many doing

the same. And she’d taken the opportunity to put herself in a position where no one could ever take advantage of her again.

She’d recognized her value and capitalized on it. Business decisions. Yes, she was infamous. Yes, she would never be welcomed

into an aristocrat’s parlor. But she’d made a place for herself where she held power. Not an easy thing to do when the law

still failed to recognize a woman as a man’s equal.

His sister lived a life of privilege and yet lamented all she would lose if she married.

“I think you made the best of a horrendous situation.” A situation Marlowe’s father had led her into, despite her love for

the blackguard. How any man could expect lies not to cause harm was beyond his reckoning.

Her head dipped slightly and her eyelashes came to rest on her cheeks as she closed her eyes, perhaps not wanting him to see her relief that he hadn’t chastised her for taking the route she had.

“Knowing the truth of me, do you still want to kiss me?” she asked quietly, lifting her lashes, capturing his gaze.

More than I did that night.

“You belong to another.”

“Who isn’t here. Besides, he gave us permission that night.”

Only Langdon wanted passion, fire. He wanted to delve into her mouth, possess it, and make it his own. He wanted her thinking

of him anytime she kissed Hollingsworth. He realized with a sudden jolt that it was terribly selfish of him, to make her yearn

for him in place of the earl. Perhaps it was because he feared if he kissed her, he’d never be able to kiss another without

thinking of her, that she had the power to brand herself on his soul.

With something as simple as a kiss. But even without her mouth pressed to his, he knew it wouldn’t be simple. It would be

complex, vastly so. He wanted to know her taste, her sounds—sighs or moans—her heat.

If a kiss could be so much, what the devil would fucking her do to him?

Could he be content with only kissing her, content with a part when he desired the whole?

He didn’t recall her moving. Perhaps it had been him. But suddenly their breaths were mingling, and he could see the black

outline that circled the blue of her eyes.

“You’re battling what you should do against what you want to do.” Her voice was low, throaty, intimate. “I have the means to make you surrender if you don’t want to take the responsibility for kissing me.”

He wasn’t half-tempted to demand she make him surrender. He’d never much enjoyed losing but suspected she would make it reverberate

as a victory.

“You can say it was all my doing,” she added.

“When I want something badly, I’m not gentle when it comes to taking it. After that cut on your lip heals enough that you

can smile fully without grimacing, I’ll give you a kiss that will drop you to your knees.”

She touched the tip of her tongue to the corner of her mouth, perhaps testing it, and he was torn between hoping to see a

wide smile and dreading how kissing her might destroy him. He was going to put her in the boat tomorrow morning, row her to

the far shore, and get her to a railway—no, not the railway. He wouldn’t risk taking her from the world. A coach, then. He

would ensure he never crossed paths with her again, never saw that bright smile, never had to honor the vow he’d just recklessly

made.

“I look forward to it,” she said, easing away from him, and returning to her stitching.

The breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding came out on a rush. It was then that he realized he had indeed been hoping to see a wide smile. He wanted to kiss her that desperately, so desperately at that precise moment that he would willingly accept the possibility that she would ruin him for any other woman. He hoped to hell he would ruin her for any other man, that with his kiss she would experience a tempest of desire such as she’d never known.