Chapter 25

“Sophie, do you ever think about giving up this way of living?”

Marlowe was sitting in her own parlor, sipping tea—even mistresses could appear civilized—with one of her dear friends who

was also a mistress and lived on Mistress Row.

“It is the only life in which I have Sheridan.” She and the earl had been together for several years now. “Why are you, of

a sudden, discontent with what we have achieved?”

“It’s not that I’m discontent with it. It’s just that I wonder if I might find more satisfaction elsewhere. Hollie is getting

married, so if I am ever going to begin anew, now is the time.”

Sophie wasn’t much older than Marlowe, and yet she had a tendency to look at the world through a vast array of experiences.

“Who is it you want?”

Marlowe knew she shouldn’t have been surprised that Sophie had managed to discern someone else occupied Marlowe’s thoughts these days. She shook her head. “It’s moot. I couldn’t be happy with only part of his life and it’s all he’d offer.”

Sophie gave her a melancholy smile. “I have found part to be better than none at all.”

During the week that had passed since she’d seen Langdon, she’d debated that very question—was a portion better than nothing?

She’d even written up a list outlining all the advantages and disadvantages to both part and nothing. Nothing always won.

Yesterday morning she’d almost decided she could be content with a little. Until she’d sat down to breakfast, opened the newspaper

that her butler dutifully ironed and placed beside her plate each morning, and been greeted with gossip concerning Lord Langdon

waltzing with one of this year’s new crop of debutantes. She’d felt ill, feared she was going to cast up her accounts then

and there. How could she possibly invite him into her bed, knowing a time would come when after he left her, he’d invite his

wife into his bed. Or perhaps he’d go to hers. Marlowe knew jealousy would eat her alive.

But she had also come to the conclusion that she was entitled, deserving, of the whole of a man’s heart, not merely a section

of it. Although, truth be told, she didn’t know if she held any of his.

“Can you afford to leave behind all that your hard-earned status as a man’s fantasy has gained you?” Sophie asked. “You could

have anyone you wanted, demand more of him.”

Ah, there was the rub. She had yet to pay back all of her father’s debts. Those who were owed would harass her mother if Marlowe didn’t make monthly payments. With her scandalous reputation, who in London would hire her? She’d earn less than a pittance if she went elsewhere. And anyone who knew of her behavior was certain to take liberties.

She had followed this path because it solved so many of her problems. To walk away from what she had managed to accomplish

would be foolish indeed.

Two weeks. It had been two weeks since Langdon had enjoyed a peaceful sleep, since he’d dropped Marlowe off at her residence.

Sitting in a plush leather chair in the library of the Twin Dragons, he slowly sipped his scotch and wondered if she’d yet

discovered the shirt he’d left for her hidden within the folds of the balloon. He didn’t know why he’d done it.

Like an idiot, that night at the family estate, after she’d taken her bath and changed into a gown for dinner, he hadn’t thought

to ask a servant to bring him the shirt she’d been wearing. The next morning it would have been laundered and placed in his

room, waiting for a future visit. He had nothing of hers to serve as a reminder of the time they’d been together. As though

he needed any token when he could recall every minute.

With things truly over between her and Hollingsworth, she’d need a consort. While she had rejected his offers, now that some

days—and nights—had passed, perhaps she’d reconsider.

He scoffed, louder than he’d intended, catching the attention of a gent who was sitting nearby reading a newspaper. Langdon

gave him an apologetic nod before sipping more of his scotch.

Since his return to London, before tonight, he hadn’t even stepped foot in the more respectable areas of the club because he’d recognized there was always a chance that he might pass Marlowe on a nearby street. Or that she could emerge out of the alleyway and cross his path as he bounded up the steps for the front door.

It was even possible she might be seen within the respectable portion of the establishment. Hollingsworth had spared no expense

when it came to his mistress’s wardrobe and Marlowe was clothed as finely as a queen. The gossip columnists had recently commented

on her attire, noting that this Season’s gown didn’t seem quite as risqué as those of the past. But most of the ink devoted

to her had revealed that London’s most notorious courtesan was not in fact a brunette as everyone had been led to believe

but was a blonde. Oh, the scandal of it all.

He’d been glad to learn that perhaps she was being more herself, that she wasn’t catering to Hollingsworth’s whims. However,

he knew her well enough now to know that she never had. If she didn’t want to do what he asked of her, she wouldn’t.

Sipping his scotch, he contemplated his choices. Go to the main gaming area where he could flirt with spinsters, debutantes,

and wives. And on the morrow he might see his name associated with someone, a hint of interest remarked on, but it would be

all speculation and rumor. Just as had happened when he’d recently attended a ball.

Or he could go to the hidden-away portion of the establishment where he might cross paths with her. But if she wanted more from Langdon, would she have not said, would she have not sent word? She might not know where he resided, but his parents’ residence was no secret. She had to be aware that she could always get in touch with him there.

Did he ever cross her mind?

He couldn’t stop thinking about her. He’d been home only two days when he’d sent her a copy of Sense and Sensibility with a note, Happy Endings . Even if they were not destined to find one together, he did wish she would have her own. He didn’t identify who had sent

it. She either knew or she didn’t. Four days later, he’d had delivered to her a barometer. For safer travels among clearer skies . Again, no identifier. However, with it, he had included instructions regarding how she could use it to avoid storms in the

future. It had been a selfish gift. He’d rather she not go up at all, but he had no desire to deny her any joy. Which was

the reason he was keeping his distance. Because with him, she would no doubt eventually have regrets one way or—

A shadow loomed, the light from the chandeliers blocked. He looked up. Gave a brisk nod. “Hollingsworth.”

The earl smiled slightly and dropped into the chair opposite him. “Langdon.”

“I hear felicitations are in order.”

“You heard that from my mistress, no doubt. She tells me you were instrumental in saving her from nature’s fury.”

“Having come to know her a little better, I very much doubt that nature is her equal, and hence my role in her rescue was

minimal at best.”

Hollingsworth tapped his fingers on the arm of the chair. “I suppose you’re aware she and I will be ending our association.”

“I’ve heard rumors.”

“Even now she is searching in earnest to replace me. She’s holding court here, auditioning men in the secret rooms that really

aren’t so secret.”

The thought of other men touching her, performing for her, set Langdon’s teeth on edge and caused his gut to tighten.

Hollingsworth shook his head. “Young swells are attempting to beguile her. However, I suspect, Langdon, she’s yours if you

want her.”

He wondered what all she had told Hollingsworth. If Langdon was the jealous sort, he might resent her relationship with the

earl. Hell, he was the jealous sort.

How could he not want her?

“I asked. She said no.”

Perhaps she had sensed that he was broken.

He thought about how diligently she’d worked to repair her balloon, how she’d likened the patching up she’d done, the meticulous

stitching, to creating scars and how she’d found no fault with them. He had scars that weren’t visible but ran far more deeply.

Would she find fault with them?

“You never struck me as the sort to give up easily.”

“I won’t force her to take a path she doesn’t truly want.”

“You think she truly wants any of those swells who are presently trying to woo her?”

God, he hoped not. He could think of no one worthy of her.

“How did you manage it?”

Hollingsworth jerked a bit, like he’d been taken off guard. “Manage what precisely, old chap?”

“Spend so much time with her and not fall in love with her?”

The earl glanced around before leaning forward slightly and arching a brow. “Who says I didn’t? At least some. But my heart

has always been occupied elsewhere.”

Which rankled. She deserved someone who would be devoted to her.

“You should have told her you were on the verge of becoming betrothed.”

“I know. I have chastised myself repeatedly for any hurt I caused her. Tell her you will handle the matter better when the

time comes. It might make a difference if you reassure her that you won’t be a scapegrace like me.” He slapped his thighs.

“Well, I’d best get back to her,” Hollingsworth said, coming to his feet. “Until she’s replaced me, I’m still her protector.

If you find yourself interested in a game of cards, come find me. I’ll make the same wager as before. If you win, you’ll have

an opportunity to make your case. Only a fool would turn down such an offer. You’ve never struck me as a fool.”

“As long as I have a face, you shall always have a place upon which to perch.”

Marlowe fought to keep her features neutral and to swallow back the guffaw that desperately wanted to escape. She’d had far worse words—meant to entice—thrown her way this evening, but for some reason these suddenly seemed the most ridiculous.

The young man, who couldn’t have been much older than her own twenty-two years, leaned forward expectantly. “You do know to

what I am referring.”

“What I know, my lord, is that we would not suit.”

“But... but... shouldn’t you at least invite me into your bed to be sure? I have a most impressive cock.”

“I’ve no doubt. It seems to be the only kind present here tonight. Nevertheless, since I recommend you continue your search

for a suitable bedmate elsewhere”—she wasn’t the only woman in attendance tonight searching for a less fleeting arrangement

that would be beneficial to two parties; she was however the most popular and well-known—“allow me to offer you a bit of advice.

While bedding is a large part of having a mistress, it is not the most important part. Consider how you would get along when

you’re not in bed.”

He blinked. Blinked. Blinked. Narrowed his eyes. Furrowed his brow. Tilted his head like a dog suddenly alert. “You like being

taken against the wall, then?”

Oh, dear Lord. Hopeless. This one was utterly hopeless. She patted his cheek like he was an errant schoolboy. “Continue your

search.”

She whipped around and nearly ran into another prospective lover. It was so easy to tell because their eyes held such expectation. His were glittering with merriment. He was on the other side of thirty if he was a day.

“Your beauty is beyond compare

“Whether black or blond be your hair.

“I invite you into my lair

“Where I shall spoil you with utmost care.”

Well, that was unexpected and almost lovely.

He flashed a broad, cocky grin, took her hand, and pressed his lips to her gloved knuckles. “Marlowe, I should like very much

to replace Hollingsworth in your esteem.”

At least he was a bit less flagrant and full of sexual innuendos than many of the scallywags who’d approached her tonight.

“Lord Chadbourne. I should think your wife wouldn’t be particularly pleased with that arrangement.”

When it came to gathering information on men, the gossip sheets were her friend.

His smile faltered a bit. “Ours was not a love match.”

“Regardless, it gives me pause to consider an intimate relationship with someone who has not yet mastered the art of keeping

a vow. Nor do I fancy causing a wife distress when she reads her husband’s name associated with mine in the gossip columns.

As I’m sure you’re aware, I’m quite often a favorite subject of the gossipmongers.”

He leaned nearer. “I have found that keeping a relationship secret adds a thrill to the entire association. Sneaking about

can be jolly good fun.”

It was moments like this when she wished there were a universal law of mistresses that they all had to adhere to. She truly didn’t believe that a marriage license should be required for a woman to engage in sexual relations but that didn’t mean she lacked a moral code. She decided with this gent she needed to be blunt. “I don’t take married men as lovers.”

“Why limit yourself?”

Hadn’t she already explained? Therefore, he was either a man who didn’t listen or he believed a woman’s words were of no consequence.

She felt a hand come to rest against her lower back. Hollingsworth. Strange how she’d never noticed before that his touch

had a ghostlike quality to it. Barely there. A whisper. Gossamer.

Whereas Langdon could touch her with no more than a tip of his finger and it was as substantial as a branding. It left an

invisible mark on her soul, her heart. A mark that ached anytime she thought of him. Since their parting, he’d sent her two

gifts. She’d not written him an acknowledgment because she knew she shouldn’t encourage him. She had to let him go. Their

time together had been wondrous, but it was all she could allow without opening herself up to hurt. He had the power to break

her heart, bring her to her knees, and cause her to caterwaul.

“Chadbourne,” Hollie acknowledged with a bit of ire. “You’re wasting your time, old chap. I believe I mentioned my mistress

has no interest in married men.”

“There is always a first time for everything.”

“For you, to be rejected apparently.”

“You’re ending your association with her, Hollingsworth. I really don’t see that you have any say in the matter.”

“My association, not my protection. Did you know that I have a pair of dueling pistols I inherited from my father—who was kind enough to teach me how to use them?”

Marlowe was surprised Hollie didn’t die then and there from the daggers Chadbourne was shooting with his eyes. Chadbourne

turned his attention to her. “Should you change your mind, send word to the proper gaming area. That’s where you’ll find me.”

He gave a curt bow and strode off.

She blew out a great huff of air.

“He’s an arse, Marlowe. I would be most disappointed if you settled for him. When you trade, dear girl, always trade up.”

She laughed, wrapped her arm around his, and pressed her head to his shoulder. “Oh, I’m going to miss you, Hollie.”

“And I you.”

Straightening she released her hold. “Where did you get off to?”

“Just did a bit of exploring.”

“Why did you spread the word that I was looking for a new protector?”

“It seemed the most expedient way to ensure you no longer needed me. I don’t want Effie hearing that we’re still together,

although I’m not sure if she is even aware we were ever a couple to begin with.”

She shook her head. She did hope the young lady knew how fortunate she was to have his love. “Will you take me home?”

“I haven’t had a chance to play cards yet.”

“I’ll hail a hansom cab, then.” Perhaps she’d take out an advert for a lover because she certainly wasn’t coming here again.

“Stay a while longer. Sit with me. For old times’ sake.”

“No wagers like you made before with Langdon.”

He placed his hand over his heart. “On my honor.”