Chapter 19

In the library, scotch in hand, Langdon leaned against the window casing, staring out at the elaborate gardens. The sun was

setting. Night would be upon them soon. He shouldn’t have waited until it was so late in the day to bring Marlowe to the mainland.

By doing so, he’d ensured they wouldn’t be traveling to London this day, because he knew his mother well enough to know she’d

worry about them traveling in the dark.

Although he’d planned to seek refuge in an inn along the way, he still wasn’t certain whether he would have requested a room

for himself and Marlowe to share or if he would have ensured she had her own room. However, he also recognized that he’d left

their departure until he knew an invitation would be offered because he’d made a mistake that morning by not introducing Marlowe

to his brother.

The disappointment on her face had nearly cleaved him in two.

Hence he had decided that he bloody well would introduce her to his parents. They might disown him afterward—

A corner of his mouth hitched up because he knew they wouldn’t. They didn’t sit in judgment of good people, and in spite of

the majority of London questioning her morals, Marlowe was a good person. Life had tossed her a series of unfair disadvantages,

and she’d made the most of a society that valued women for their breeding potential and little else. Certainly laws were changing

to make life more advantageous for women, but it was a slow process.

Besides, it was no secret that his parents had been married only a few months when he made his arrival in their lives, so

they certainly weren’t going to cast stones at a woman who lifted her skirts without the benefit of marriage. She lifted them

for only one man. And maybe a little for Langdon. Although technically, she’d lifted his shirt.

“The estate manager says you haven’t discussed with him those plans you showed me last summer for improvements that would

increase the estate’s income.”

His father’s voice held no censure, only curiosity and a bit of bafflement. Langdon had been incredibly anxious to get the

improvements underway but the railway accident had derailed him—literally. He turned slightly to face his father, who was

sitting in a nearby chair. “I need to map out the plans again, recalculate figures.” I need to bloody well remember what they all were. “They didn’t survive the crash.”

“You had only the one copy that you were carrying with you?”

“I didn’t think I needed more. They were in a satchel beside me. But I was unable to locate it in the wreckage.”

His father nodded. “How are the headaches you were having?”

Debilitating. “Not as bad as they were.”

“I used to have massive pains in my head, whenever my past—which I couldn’t remember—tried to intrude on the present.”

“Dr. Graves told me that headaches are common following a collision such as the one I endured. Something about being knocked

about.”

“He’s one of the best physicians in all of England. You go see him again if those pains don’t improve.”

“I will.”

“Your mother worries that you’re spending too much time alone of late.”

“She always worries. In this case, she worries for naught.”

His father didn’t move, merely studied him, and Langdon knew that when utter stillness overtook his father, the lord was at

his most dangerous—uncovering secrets, divining the truth.

“I am fine,” Langdon stated succinctly, pouring every bit of deception he could muster into the words.

“Your mother will be relieved to know that.”

But he heard in his father’s tone that he had failed to convince him fully. However, he wasn’t yet ready to reveal his struggles. He was the firstborn, the heir, and as such he needed to be stronger than most. He needed to deserve what would be handed down to him. Felt a yearning to prove he would be a good guardian of his heritage for future generations.

Feminine laughter wafted into the library only a few seconds before his mother, sister, and Marlowe strolled in. He’d forgotten

how utterly elegant Marlowe appeared when wearing an evening gown, how gracefully she moved when not clomping about in his

boots. When her hair, upswept and artfully arranged, brought attention to the graceful slope of her neck and her enticing

shoulders.

Although he realized he’d only ever seen it arranged when it was black. The blond strands suited her so much better. Hollingsworth

was a fool to want anything at all about her altered. Even with the healing injuries, no one matched her beauty.

Staring at her, he found it difficult to breathe, while his gut clenched.

She gave him a quick glance, her smile small, as if she was embarrassed to be caught wearing so much clothing. He imagined

the joy to be found in divesting her of every layer, stitch, and bit of lace.

His father was handing each lady a small glass of port when Stuart ambled in and greeted their guest by taking her hand and

pressing a kiss to her knuckles. Langdon was hit with an overwhelming urge to shout, Mine!

Only she wasn’t his. She belonged to Hollingsworth.

Belonged. As though she were a piece of property. She was her own woman. She wouldn’t be with Hollingsworth if she didn’t

want to be. He wondered what it might take for her to leave the earl.

He wandered over to be nearer to the group con gregating around her, butterflies to a bright colorful petal. It amused him that she had the same impact here as she did at a soiree in London; people naturally migrated to her. When he’d seen it happening before, he’d assumed it was her beauty, but he was beginning to suspect she possessed a natural, welcoming mien. Seeing her encouraging his sister, who usually needed no encouragement, he realized she possessed a kindness that put people at ease. Thinking back on it, he recalled noticing shy gents who were prone to stammering around women speaking to her without issuing a single stutter.

He wanted to pull her aside, ask how she’d enjoyed her bath, being pampered, looked after. He wanted to ask her to cross back

over to his island for the night and they’d leave in the morning. He wanted her to himself. He wanted to speak with her alone

to ensure she was feeling comfortable, although he couldn’t envision any member of his family saying anything that would make

her feel uncomfortable.

The butler strode in, came to a stop. “Dinner is served.”

Before Stuart could, Langdon offered Marlowe his arm. “May I escort you in?”

She seemed surprised by his action. Even though it was only family, still the ladies were escorted. His father was already

leading his mother out of the room by the time Marlowe nodded.

“Looks like you’re stuck with me,” Stuart said, presenting his arm to his sister.

“I suppose in a few years, you’ll be saying that to the woman you marry.”

He chuckled darkly. “I’m never going to marry.”

“The famous last words of many a bachelor,” Poppy said, before slipping her arm through his and urging him to head for the

door.

Langdon waited until they were no longer within hearing distance to begin escorting Marlowe. “Has everything gone to your

satisfaction?” He kept his voice low, intimate.

“As kind as your family is, I very much wish we were on our way to London.”

“Tomorrow we will be.”

And once there, she’d be in another man’s keeping. An unfortunate realization struck him: he wished she were in his.