Chapter 24

Although she never turned around, never so much as glanced back, she was keenly aware of his gaze following her movements.

When she passed over the threshold, closed the door, and slumped against it, she could still sense him standing there, waiting.

She wondered if he was holding his breath as she was. Until her chest ached with the need for fresh air.

She was still standing there when her butler returned after taking her balloon someplace out of the way.

“Will there be anything else, madam?”

“No” came out on a croak, most likely because she wanted to utter a different response. Because there was something else she

wanted, but it was futile to ask him for what he hadn’t the power to give her.

Love.

Through the oak, she heard the distant slamming of a coach door, quickly followed by the clomping of horses’ hooves and the whir of wheels. In all these years, she’d never been angry at her father. She’d been dumbfounded, confused by his actions. Most assuredly, she’d hated what her mother had been forced to endure.

But in her mind’s eye, memories of him had never been tainted. He’d always remained the loving father, the one who lifted

her onto his shoulders when she grew tired of walking or needed to see into the distance during the village’s annual fete.

He was the one who had shown her the world from on high.

I lay the world at your feet , he’d once told her just before he’d hugged her close and laughed.

She’d always believed his laughter to have come about because of joy and love. But she was having a difficult time at the

moment not hearing his words as anything except a horrendous joke, his laughter a sinister foreshadowing of a life that stole

away dreams rather than granting them.

Belatedly, she realized her butler still stood at attention, scrutinizing her, striving to determine how to be useful. For

surely, it had to be apparent that something was amiss with her. She suspected he was trying to determine exactly how much

he could pry before he’d be stepping over a line that separated servant from mistress of the household.

“Have the balloon spread out in my study.” She wanted to ensure she hadn’t missed any tears. Lie. She wanted to run her fingers

over Langdon’s needlework. “And please see to it that a bath is prepared.”

With tasks in hand, he visibly relaxed, all the air seeping out of him as it did the envelope when the balloon needed to return to earth. “Very good, madam.”

She might have chuckled at the swiftness with which he departed, but she wasn’t certain if she’d ever laugh again.

Trudging up the stairs in her gaslit residence, she found herself comparing the trek to one recently made on darkened stairs

where she’d needed a lamp to guide her. How uneven the steps were, but how full of character they seemed. It was ridiculous

to miss them, to regret that she’d never again climb them.

In her bedchamber, she stood before the cheval glass, hardly recognizing the woman reflected back at her. It wasn’t the cuts,

scrapes, or dark blue bruises. It was the light gray frock, with buttons done up to her throat. Within her wardrobe was no

frock to match it in portraying innocence or virtue. Everything had been designed to reveal, while not slipping into the area

of obscenity. It seemed odd to have so much of her covered and hidden away.

Her discomfiture served as further proof that she wasn’t meant for Langdon’s world.

She wandered over to the window. The draperies were drawn aside. Gazing out on her streetlamp-lit surroundings, she found

herself wishing she was looking out on the blue water, turbulent or calm. That she could hear the wind whistling through ancient

cracks. That she could reach down and pick up a book from an ungainly stack.

Why was it that after only a few days she could be missing so much? Langdon most of all.

God, not even an hour had passed, and already she had so many things she wanted to discuss with him.

A knock sounded. Her bathwater. But before she could bid the servant to enter, Hollie was strolling into the chamber.

“Where have you— What the devil happened to your face?” Quickening his step, he reached her, gently took hold of her chin

with his thumb and forefinger, and tilted her head this way and that, striving to take note of all the injuries. They looked

worse than they had that first night. The lump on her head had flattened, but below her eye now was a dark bruise. Blood draining

down, no doubt. “Did someone attack you?”

True depth of concern echoed through his voice.

“Mother Nature, I’m afraid. When did you return to London?”

“Yesterday. I tried to get here sooner but the rain slowed me down.”

“Yet your announcement in the Times had no difficulty winging its way to an editor’s desk.”

With a grimace, he released his hold on her and stepped back. “I was hoping to get here before you saw that.”

She lowered herself to the chair by the window and indicated the one opposite her. “Tell me about Lady Euphemia.”

Ignoring the chair she’d indicated, he leaned against the wall, his shoulder digging into the edge of the window as though

he was striving to punish himself, because while she had tried to speak flatly, she was aware the tiniest sliver of hurt had

edged its way along her tone. And he’d noted it.

“Have you seen a surgeon?” he asked, ignoring her previous request.

“I’m not in need of a physician. I have only scrapes and bruises.”

“I came by to see you yesterday. Your butler said you’d gone up in your balloon and had yet to return.” He looked out the

window. “I was afraid... afraid you might have suffered your father’s fate.”

“I don’t know his fate.”

His gaze came back to her. “Which is all the worse. I feared I might never know what happened to you, might never see you

again.”

He looked diminished and indeed fearful. She knew he cared about her, but she’d never felt any emotion containing much depth

coming from him. They were cordial toward each other. Certainly from him, she’d never experienced the fire that raged within

Langdon.

Hollie was a few inches shorter, his shoulders not as broad. And bless the man, he didn’t have much of an arse. Three of his

front teeth overlapped each other, which gave him a bit of a boyish look. His nose was too wide for his face, his lips too

thin. But she’d never minded that he wasn’t classically handsome. He’d always been kind and introduced her to new experiences.

His hair was nearly white, but she didn’t think it was prematurely lacking in color. His sister’s, from what Marlowe remembered of her visits to the modiste, was the same shade. He’d never introduced her to any family members, hadn’t really introduced Marlowe to his sister. She’d never been to any of his residences, so had never seen portraits of any of his ancestors. In truth, they’d never shared much beyond the surface of their lives.

She’d told him about her interest in ballooning because of her father and how he’d never returned from one of his flights,

but she’d certainly never confessed how he’d managed to convince an entire village that he was an earl. Why had she told Langdon?

It had seemed so natural to share so much of her past with him.

“I crashed into the sea, near an island that was inhabited. I was rescued.”

His brow furrowed. “Which island?”

She shook her head. “I don’t believe it had a name.”

“The inhabitants must have called it something.”

“Inhabitant. There was only one. Lord Langdon.”

Blinking, he eased away from the window edge. “You were with Langdon?”

“He was a perfect gentleman.” Perfect, at least. The gentleman part might be up for debate. “As you are well aware, since

you offered me to him, he has no interest in me.” A little lie because what had passed between them was for her and her alone

to hold dear and reminisce about from time to time.

“I don’t know why he switched out his cards that night—perhaps because he is a gentleman—but he was definitely interested,” Hollie assured her.

“Did you offer me to him because you knew a betrothal was on your horizon?”

“The way you two looked at each other... I fairly came away from that table scorched. Hence, I decided where was the harm in letting you test the waters. Magnanimous of me, I thought. Perhaps when the time comes, he’ll be your protector.”

“I don’t think we’d suit.” To have him for only a little while when she wanted him forever. Had she known that becoming Hollie’s

mistress would have prevented her from having Langdon into eternity, she wouldn’t have become a mistress. But had she never

become a mistress, she’d have never met him. Oh, the ironies of life. “As for when the time comes, it’s now, Hollie.”

With a brisk nod, he finally lowered himself to the chair. “I really did want to get to you before the announcement appeared.

Her family was quick to see it done. I suppose they wanted to ensure I didn’t back out, or if I did, they could sue me. As

for your inquiry”—he gave her a wry smile—“she’s very timid, my Effie.”

The depth of affection surrounding the name took Marlowe by surprise. She’d no idea that Hollie could feel so strongly about

anything. “You love her.”

He nodded. “I have for years. She is so lovely, Marlowe, and she comes with a substantial dowry. Not that I care about the

dowry, but I knew it would mean competition for her hand. At first, I had to patiently wait for her coming out, which occurred

two years ago. Far more handsome chaps than I were calling on her.”

“There’s nothing amiss with your features, Hollie. Why should looks matter anyway?”

“Easy enough for a beautiful woman to say.”

“I believe I’m going to have a few scars, but I think they add character. So she’s pretty, has a good dowry, and is timid. What else do you like about her?”

“She’s kind, sweet.” He studied her a moment. “I assume you were angry when you saw the announcement.”

“Not angry. Surprised you hadn’t told me about her.” And a bit hurt.

“It seemed in bad form to discuss the woman I love with my mistress.”

“But I always thought we were friends of a sort. Weren’t we?”

“Yes. Which I suppose is the reason you aren’t currently throwing things at me.”

“Have you ever known me to throw something?”

He shook his head. “Although I do think you’re a bit hasty in being done with me.”

“It would prove awkward if we tried to carry on as we had been. You have someone now to whom you should owe your allegiance.”

Letting that hang in the air between them for a minute, she wondered if he regretted having taught her how a woman could have

power in a relationship. Not with all the sexual ploys she knew some mistresses used, but with a steel spine and steadfast

gaze. She’d taken control from the beginning, vowing aloud that she wouldn’t be the cause of his betrayal to a pledge. At

the time, she’d meant a marriage oath but before the storm had tossed her about like a child’s toy, she’d come to the conclusion

that a betrothal was a commitment that meant just as much. At least to her.

And he’d shown her that her feelings were as important as his.

Eventually our time together will come to an end, and I don’t want to worry that some gent is taking advantage of your good humor, he’d told her in the beginning. When you leave me, you will do so with power to wield. You will be a queen, in a position to select your own lover. He will

bend the knee, grateful to have been chosen as your consort.

Hollie had always been flamboyant with his goals, and she suspected the timid Lady Euphemia would one day have more confidence

and daring than most of the ladies of the ton .

“You learned your lessons well,” he said with a bit of pique, and she suspected he’d been trying to get to London before the

announcement landed on her doorstep because he was hoping for one more coming together. She might have gifted him with it

if she hadn’t fallen in love with Langdon.

That thought struck her so hard that she nearly doubled over. She did love him. It was the reason she couldn’t be his mistress,

the reason giving him over to another woman would tear her apart—and needle and thread would not repair the damage.

She realized those feelings were going to create a problem for her. He’d spoiled her, ruining not only Hollie, but any other

man for her.

“I had a good teacher,” she teased, determined not to let Hollie discern how much she was hurting. “When are you marrying?”

“December. She wants a Christmas wedding. I shall, of course, continue to pay the lease on this residence until the end of

the Season. That should grant you plenty of time to find a replacement for me.”

“No one could ever replace you, Hollie.”

“That’s kind of you to say, but then you always were kind, Marlowe. You were good for my pride. That I should have a beauty

such as you...”

While she’d always suspected he’d valued her appearance above all else, she now had it confirmed. You are more than your beauty , Langdon had told her. And he’d made her feel whole, as though all of her mattered.

“I wish you every happiness, Hollie.”

“You’re not quite done with me, Marlowe. I intend to escort you about and ensure all these randy gents know you are still

under my protection and guidance.” He twisted his mouth. “We’ll be a little more discreet, however, as I shouldn’t like to

make the gossip columns.”

She didn’t bother to ask if he’d introduce her to Euphemia, because she was aware that sort of thing simply wasn’t done. She

realized far too much of his life hadn’t involved her. Living on the periphery was a price a mistress paid. It hadn’t seemed

so high with Hollie, but with Langdon—

Every time she thought perhaps she could be his mistress, she considered how much it would hurt when a night such as this

came, when they spoke so politely to each other, without any fire or passion, when—

The knock interrupted her thoughts.

“That will be water for my bath,” she told Hollie, hoping he could hear in her voice that he would soon be dismissed. There had been a time when he’d enjoyed watching her bathe and she’d enjoyed him watching, but not tonight. Tonight she would no doubt be thinking of pewter eyes watching her. “Come,” she called out to the servant.

Her butler walked in, holding something white and folded on his outstretched hands, like someone presenting a crown on a pillow

to a queen. “The maids were unrolling the balloon as you requested when one ran across this shirt, madam. We weren’t quite

sure what you would have us do with it.”

He arrived at her side, and she took his offering as though it was made of handblown glass and might shatter if not treated

with the utmost care. It was wrinkled from its journey. Still, she held it to her nose and inhaled. It wasn’t the one she’d

been wearing. It smelled not of her, but of him. When had he placed it in the folds of the balloon? How had he managed—

Why was she even questioning its placement? A man who had mastered sleight of hand when it came to cards could surely manipulate

other things without being detected. Just as he’d manipulated her heart.

She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at his absurd gift, but her eyes took the choice from her as tears began to well.

She pressed the shirt to her face in order to capture the tears and stifle the sob.

“Marlowe?” She was aware of Hollie’s nearness, his hand on her knee. “Darling, whatever’s wrong?”

Vigorously shaking her head, she knew he would think her mad if she explained that she’d be wearing this shirt to bed for

the remainder of her life.