Chapter 18

The last time Marlowe had felt any sadness at all at leaving someplace was the day she left Vexham without her mother and

began her solitary journey to London.

For some strange, preposterous reason, she was experiencing some of the same sadness now as Langdon rowed them toward the

mainland. His small stone keep was not home, and yet she didn’t know if she’d ever felt safer anywhere else. She’d been rescued,

warmed, and pleasured.

In a way, she was sorry to be headed back to London, although she knew she needed to go. Hollie would be calling on her as

soon as he returned, and they had some things between them to settle.

She didn’t want to admit that part of her melancholy was a result of leaving Langdon. Which was utterly ridiculous. They didn’t mean anything to each other really. The only reason she couldn’t take her eyes off him at the moment was because he was wearing only shirtsleeves, trousers, and boots, and his lack of jacket or coat made it easier to see the strain of his muscles as he rowed. His actions were so smooth, so damned masculine.

He’d rolled his sleeves up past his elbows and she could see his muscles bunching, his veins bulging, and she imagined them

doing the same as he levered himself above her.

Hollie was slender, his pallor that of a man who seldom frequented the outdoors. She found no fault with his build, but it

didn’t make her mouth water. As a matter of fact, no gentleman’s ever had until she met Langdon.

And then he became all she could think about.

She brought his greatcoat more tightly around her to ward off the chill of the wind that wasn’t strong enough to blow them

off course, but offered a bit of a challenge when it came to reaching the other shore. It had taken them a while to bundle

up her balloon and secure it with rope so it wouldn’t unfurl and become ungainly. It also made it easier for Langdon to haul

to the boat. She’d offered to carry it with him, but he’d insisted on doing it alone, as though he needed to show off his

masculinity. Much to her chagrin, she’d quite enjoyed his efforts and the way in which they’d made his muscles bulge. He hadn’t

even breathed heavily, had simply carted the monstrously large item that was composed of yards and yards of cloth as though

it was no bother at all. Although once he’d settled it in the boat, he’d rubbed his lower back before reaching over to assist

her in climbing aboard.

“Were you part of the rowing team while you were at Cambridge?” she asked.

He nodded. “I was. It is easier when there are more hands at the task.”

“I offered to row. You said you only had the one set of oars.”

“I wasn’t complaining. Merely making conversation.”

“You like your outdoor activities.”

“I do.” He grinned devilishly. “Indoor ones as well.”

“Those that involve ladies, I suppose.”

“Depends on the lady.”

She shouldn’t ask. It was absolutely none of her business, and yet—

“Do you have a mistress?”

“Don’t now, never have.”

She was beginning to wish she hadn’t started down this path, and yet she was curious. “I suppose there’s no shortage of women

willing to warm your bed.”

“Are you one of them?”

She definitely shouldn’t have started down this path. “I’ve never been unfaithful to Hollie.” She felt her cheeks go pink.

“Although I suppose last night might count.”

“Only partially. I wouldn’t feel guilty about it. Whatever happens on that bit of rock stays there.” He glanced over his shoulder.

“We’re almost where we need to be.”

She wasn’t certain she knew where she needed to be any longer. Although thoughts along those lines had been plaguing her for

a while. It was part of the reason she’d recklessly gone up that evening in spite of dark clouds brewing in the distance.

Twisting around, she looked back at the small castle-like structure and wondered why she wished she was still there. It certainly wasn’t the fanciest of dwellings or even the most welcoming, and yet she’d had an odd sense of belonging there.

A sudden lurch had her gasping and struggling to catch her balance. They’d hit shore.

With one smooth, easy movement, Langdon leapt out into the shallow water, took hold of the bow, and dragged the boat onto

the sand before securing it with a rope to a post beside another boat. She supposed this was a favorite mooring spot for his

family.

Returning to her, he helped her stand. “Place your hands on my shoulders,” he ordered.

When she did so, he circled his strong hands around her waist, lifted her out, and carried her beyond reach of the waves before

returning for the balloon.

“This way,” he indicated with a nod, and she began to follow him up a series of wooden steps.

At the top, she stopped to admire the front of the massive manor house. A large drive circled in front of it. A time would

come when Langdon, his wife, and children would live there. When his heir would row across to the small island and wander

the halls in the fortification as she had. She’d once thought that eventually she’d live in a house such as the one she now

studied, whether it was her father’s or her husband’s. She’d loved her father, and yet he’d irrevocably hurt her. And the

path she’d chosen to travel put marriage beyond reach.

Turning, Langdon continued walking, only backward. “You coming?”

She hurried to catch up and he swung back around to face the manor. “It’s quite impressive,” she said.

“To the right of it, at the bottom of the cliff, is another cove. Within the residence is a secret passage that leads down

to it. Stuart and I spent many an hour playing within it, pretending we were pirates.”

They reached the pebbled drive, and he turned toward the house.

She staggered to a stop. “Wait. Where are you going?”

He walked back to her and dropped the parcel he’d been carrying. “To change out of my wet trousers and boots. And to have

a carriage readied in which to transport you to London.”

“I can walk to the nearest village and hire transportation there. I assume it’s at the end of this path.”

“Taking my coat and boots with you? And what of your balloon? Are you going to haul that?”

“Perhaps you could provide a footman to assist me. As well as a letter of reference stating I will pay what is owed once I

reach London, so hopefully I’ll have less bother obtaining a ticket. I’ll just wait here.”

He shook his head. “Come on. You’ll like my mother.”

When he reached down to pick up the balloon, she grabbed his arm to stop him. “You know what I am. You can’t introduce me

to her and you most certainly can’t take me into her parlor.”

“With all your confidence, I’ve always had the impression you thought you were worthy of dining with the Queen.”

“I might give that impression, but I do know my place, and it most certainly—”

“Oliver!” An older woman, with pale blond hair, was dashing down the front steps. A dark-haired gentleman was following at

a more sedate pace, although his long legs allowed him to nearly keep pace with her.

“Too late now.” Langdon’s tone was one of victory and satisfaction.

“Bugger it,” she muttered beneath her breath.

“Careful or you’ll find yourself in a cursing match with my sister.” Turning, he opened his arms wide and embraced the woman

as she rushed into the circle of his arms. They hugged each other tightly. Marlowe didn’t know if she’d ever seen such an

enthusiastic greeting among the aristocracy. The gentleman who’d been accompanying her reached them and looked on with affection.

She didn’t need anyone to tell her that he was the Earl of Claybourne, because his son so favored him—except for the nose.

The earl’s appeared to have been broken a time or two.

The woman leaned back, patting her hands against Langdon’s cheeks, his shoulders, his chest. “I’ve been so worried about you.

That storm was awful.”

“Stuart should have told you I was fine.”

“He did, but I like to see for myself.”

He stepped back. “Mother, Father, allow me to introduce Marlowe. The storm saw fit to deliver her to my shore in her hot-air

balloon.”

The countess smiled. “The aeronaut Stuart told us about. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Marlowe.”

Before curtsying, she caught sight of Langdon’s jaw tensing, no doubt because Stuart was not to have revealed her presence

within his dwelling. Without a chaperone, it would have been scandalous. On the other hand, being a mistress probably overrode

that. “It’s just Marlowe, my lady.”

“Still, it’s a pleasure. Do come inside and rest before dinner.”

“We’re not staying,” Langdon finally said—thank God. “I need to change and have my carriage readied so I can return Marlowe

to London.”

“But if you leave now, you won’t get far before you’ll be traveling at night.”

“We’ll stop at an inn—”

“Your mother would like you to stay,” Claybourne said, in a tone that would brook no argument. “Besides, after that storm,

the roads are likely to be muddy and treacherous. You risk getting stuck. Best to wait until the morning to leave.”

“I’m not properly attired to join you for dinner,” Marlowe said.

The Countess of Claybourne patted her shoulder gently. “Poppy will have something you can wear. You’re about the same size.

Come up to the residence and we’ll get you settled.”

She slipped her arm around her husband’s, and they began walking away. Marlowe looked at Langdon and he gave her a sympathetic

yet small smile. “It won’t be that bad. We might as well surrender.”

“Do you think they have any idea who I am?”

He nodded. “My father has long made it his business to know who everyone in London is. My mother and sister scour the gossip

sheets, although they probably won’t know about Hollingsworth. I don’t think he’s ever referred to by name when you're mentioned.

But they won’t be judgmental, Marlowe. They’re not without sin. But if at any minute, you tell me you don’t want to stay,

we’ll leave immediately.”

She gazed past him to the residence. “Do you know I’ve never been to Hollie’s estates?”

“I would think a woman who ascends into the heavens would have nothing to fear.”

Especially, she thought, with him at her side.

As they walked into the main entryway, she fought not to be awestruck, but the impressive surroundings took her breath. The

high vaulted fresco ceiling, the wide staircase with its red runner, the walls bearing portraits of his ancestors. The furniture

with its intricate carvings, polished to a shine. The statuettes, the vases, the adornments. She couldn’t help but believe

that her mother had expected, at some point in her life, to have been living in a mansion such as this. To have servants at

her beck and call, similar to the footman relieving Langdon of her balloon and carrying it away, after he’d been ordered to

see it well cared for.

As though it were a person. A treasure as fine as any that surrounded her now.

His mother was standing at the foot of the stairs. “Come. I’ll show you to your chamber, and we’ll see about finding something of Poppy’s for you to wear. She and Stuart are out riding, so you’ll meet her later. Would you care for a bath?”

“I’d love a bath, if it’s not too much of a bother.”

“No bother at all.”

Marlowe was acutely aware of Langdon following behind her as his mother escorted her up the stairs. She was also very much

aware of the elegance of his mother. Marlowe had practiced for hours to portray the same sophistication, and yet she couldn’t

help but feel that her movements were shadowed by a bit of coarseness, a bit of striving too hard to be what she was not—a

true lady.

After they reached the landing, everything passed in such a rush. A couple of lady’s maids—obviously the countess’s and then

her daughter’s—were already waiting, as if the countess had known all along her son and his guest would be staying the night.

Langdon disappeared, no doubt to get out of his wet trousers and perhaps enjoy his own bath.

In a mauve room of white furniture, a gown was located as well as all the sundry undergarments necessary. In a blue bedchamber

at the end of the hallway, a bath was being prepared, a fire was dancing on the hearth, and Marlowe found herself being assisted

in undressing. She had her own servant to help her dress and undress, to fix her hair, and to tend to anything else she required,

so she was quite comfortable being waited upon.

“I’ll leave you in the care of these two,” the countess said, her hand on the doorknob. “If you require anything at all, let Jenny here know.” Jenny bobbed a quick curtsy. “She’s served me for many years now. Feel free to rest and relax before coming down to dinner.”

“Thank you, my lady.”

When the door closed behind the countess, Marlowe wondered if perhaps she should sneak out and make her way to the village

on foot. If she couldn’t carry the balloon all the way herself, she could leave a note for Langdon to deliver it to her when

he returned to London.

“Lord Langdon has never brought a lady here before,” the younger of the maids said a bit slyly.

“It’s none of our business,” Jenny scolded her.

“I got caught in the storm, and he’s helping me get back to London,” Marlowe assured them. “I certainly hadn’t intended to

impose on the earl and countess. My being here is more nature’s doing than the viscount’s.”

When the last of the water was poured into the tub, Marlowe lowered herself into the heavenly warmth. “The road in front of

the estate, does it lead to the village?”

“Aye,” Jenny said. “When a body gets to the fork, they just go to the right, away from the water.”

“Is the village far?”

“Not too far.”

Perhaps she would head there after she washed up. She’d always believed herself good enough for a place like this but at the

moment she was wishing they’d never left the island.