Chapter 26

As Langdon ambled through the secret rooms, he couldn’t help but reflect that they were as they always were. Hazy, thick with

smoke. Loud. The din of conversation and the echo of ribald laughter. The clack of dice, the spin of a roulette wheel, the

whisper of cards being shuffled. And the heavy odor of too much perfume.

This room was not the sort in which Marlowe belonged. She should never walk through it, much less be allowed into it. Because

her fragrance was as light as the clouds through which she sailed.

“Langdon.”

He recognized the voice coming from behind him. Hollingsworth. He was torn between praying that she would be standing beside

the earl and that she wouldn’t. Slowly, ever so slowly, he turned. And felt as if he’d taken a kick to the gut.

Because she was there. He detected the smallest scar at the corner of her mouth and another angled across the tip of her brow, near her temple. Wearing a mauve gown that seemed to bring out all the colors of which she was composed. The blue of her eyes. The moon shade of her hair. The pink highlighting her cheeks. And there, entirely out of place with the pearl earbobs and pearl combs, resting just above the part in her cleavage was his St. Christopher medallion.

He’d hoped after their time apart, he’d be immune to the sight of her.

Instead, all he wanted was to toss her over his shoulder as he had that first night of the storm and carry her to his bed.

“Hollingsworth,” he said pointedly. And then a bit softer, gentler. “Marlowe.”

“My lord.” Her smile was small, almost bashful, much as it had appeared when she’d been on his island, when caution had been

required so all her cuts and scrapes could heal. How it had been that night when he’d possessed her and she’d possessed him.

Fully, completely.

He wanted her again, more powerfully than he had before. But not just the sexual aspect of her. He wanted to sit with her

in a quiet corner and simply talk. He wanted to ask after her balloon, if it was repaired, if she had gone up in it again.

“We’re heading off to play cards. Care to join us, Langdon?” Hollingsworth asked.

“Yes, I believe I will.”

Something was wrong. Marlowe had yet to determine exactly what it was, but she felt the tenseness in Langdon down to the marrow

of her bones.

He sat across from her, Hollie beside her, just as they’d been that fateful night when he’d changed out his cards. But she didn’t think that whatever was amiss had anything at all to do with the wagers being made.

Was he upset that she hadn’t given him the smile that would invite him to kiss her? She didn’t know why she hadn’t. Her mouth

was healed enough, and her entire body had fairly been singing with joy at the sight of him. She’d had to curb her delight

to keep a smile from bursting forth, from showing her giddiness that he was so near she could detect his unique fragrance

even in a room clouded with smoke.

Perhaps because she couldn’t take her eyes from him, was aware of every move, she was able to perceive that he was not at

all comfortable as cards were dealt, studied, cast aside, and replaced. His motions weren’t lackadaisical as they’d been before,

his posture not relaxed. He appeared brittle, as though at any moment something inside him could break off.

But more than that was the hesitancy, the uncertainty, every time he revealed his hand. And he was always revealing it because

he never folded.

When he laid down his cards for all to see, he waited. Waited for someone else to scoop up the winnings from the center of

the table. Waited for moans and groans and the winnings to remain untouched for several heartbeats before leaning forward

to gather them up.

In the past, he’d toss down his cards with confidence, and a bit of cockiness, to be honest, before quickly claiming his winnings.

Sometimes she’d thought he knew what everyone was holding before they exposed their hands.

When he’d lost, he’d shown his cards with the same confidence but a negligent shrug of a shoulder as if to say, It’s of no importance.

None of that arrogance was visible tonight. There was almost a timidity about him.

“I say, Langdon, as it’s only the two of us left, let’s make this interesting, shall we?”

Hollie’s words jerked her out of her reverie. She knew that tone. It never boded well.

“You wager all the money you have left, there”—Hollie nodded toward the far side of the table—“and I’ll wager that you can

spend the hours until dawn with my mistress.”

Langdon’s gaze sought out hers and held. She wanted to object, smack Hollie on the shoulder, remind him that he’d promised

not to do this—and yet she desperately wanted those hours with Langdon. She was nearly frantic striving to determine why he

was acting so differently. She wanted to give him that smile that would result in a kiss that would drop her to her knees.

Why hadn’t she given it to him before? Why had she felt bashful, like an untried debutante?

She was on the cusp of her world changing, but it could never be what she dreamed of with him. It couldn’t be forever. A reworked

version of Sophie’s words echoed through her head. The only way to have the man she loved. She wished it were different but then her father had taught her that wishes had no value. As a result, she was a realist.

She could look at a problem straight on and make the tough choices.

She could find some happiness, if not total joy. For a while he could grace her life. But eventually they’d both have to move on.

“I accept your terms,” Langdon said, his tone one of a man who’d already been defeated, a soldier on a battlefield drawing

his sword, knowing it would be the last time.

She dropped her gaze to his cards, striving to catch sight of the sleight of hand that would result in his winning, because

now was the moment when he could signal that he’d regretted climbing back into his carriage and leaving her alone at her residence.

Now was the opportunity for him to be alone with her one more time. How often could they have one more time ?

Hollie tossed down his cards, face up, even though she didn’t think he was supposed to display his hand first. She’d never

really paid much attention to the finer rules of this game.

She darted a quick look. A pair of jacks.

Holding her breath, she gave her attention back to Langdon and waited, his movements slowed as if he waded through treacle.

Everyone except him seemed to blur into the background. Blood rushed through her ears until all the surrounding sounds faded

into obscurity.

He never took his gaze from her as he set down his cards, one by one, and she struggled to make sense of them. Nothing matched.

Nothing was in sequence. Nothing could beat Hollie’s cards.

“Well, I wasn’t expecting that,” Hollie muttered as he began gathering up his winnings.

In Langdon’s eyes, she read an apology. A great loss. A sorrow.

Why? Why? He had the skills to win and yet—

He shoved back his chair and stood. “Enjoy the remainder of your evening, Marlowe.”

His tone said, Enjoy the remainder of your life.

Then he strode away as he had the other night when this stupid wager had been made. When she’d objected. But tonight she’d

held her tongue. Should she have smiled so he’d have no doubt that she wanted him?

Reaching across, she snatched up the cards he’d shown and the ones he’d discarded. It was impossible to know what he’d held

when he’d discarded those three—a five, a six, and an eight—but in the cards he’d shown were a four and a seven. Could he

have possessed a straight?

Why didn’t he play cards with his cheating family? Why did he have a maths primer?

Twisting around, she leaned over and kissed her former lover on the cheek. “Goodbye, Hollie.”

His grin was small, as he nodded. “Be happy, Marlowe.”

She knew he understood as well as she did that they were well and truly done.

She shoved herself out of her chair and began wending her way quickly through the crowd. A gentleman stepped into her path,

and she skirted around him. He dogged her heels, waving a piece of paper at her side.

“I’ve written out all I would provide for you—”

“I’m not interested.”

“I’ll be very generous.”

“No, thank you.”

“Women praise my bed play skills.”

“Leave me the hell alone.”

She quickened her pace, going at a faster clip, almost a run. He was halfway to the door. “Langdon!”

He stopped, held still for three of her heartbeats, before finally turning around. Reaching him, she staggered to a stop.

She had a thousand questions for him. But suddenly not a damned one mattered.

In spite of having just lost at the gaming table, he was looking at her with desire in his eyes. She wondered if he’d always

have desire for her. She would for him. It was the reason tonight had been such torment. She could choose any man in this

room. But her decision had been made before she’d ever arrived here tonight.

Her smile came slowly, almost bashfully, small at first until it bloomed full, brilliant, and, she dearly hoped, inviting.

In spite of the dimness of the lighting—why were pleasurable pursuits always wrapped in shadows—she could see the fire of

desire igniting over his features.

His hand cradled the side of her neck, his thumb stroking the underside of her jaw, tipping her head back slightly as he pulled

her near and captured her mouth with a low growl that reverberated against the fingers she pressed to his chest and quietened

all the other sounds surrounding her.

He was all that mattered. He’d always been all that mattered. From the moment she’d awakened to the sight of his bare backside—no,

from the moment he’d sat down across from her at a gaming table all those months ago. She’d been restless since then, not

certain why she was suddenly so discontent with her life.

Now she knew it was because he hadn’t been part of it. Not for any length of time.

As he’d promised, the kiss wasn’t gentle. It was hungry, starving in fact, his mouth feasting on hers as if in celebration

of some magnificent discovery. She loved the taste of him, plaited through with scotch, a dark promise of desires to be fulfilled.

His arm came around her, crushed her against his chest. His mouth left hers to travel along her throat until he pressed his

heated, moist mouth just below her ear. His breaths were coming in and out like heaving bellows. “I want to bloody audition.”

As though he needed to, as though anyone could compare.

“Take me to your residence,” she ordered.

She’d thought they’d separate and he’d offer his arm. Instead, he lifted her off her feet and cradled her against his chest.

As he strode from the room, she wound her arms around his neck and settled her head into the curve of his shoulder. She cared

not one whit that there was certain to be gossip on the morrow.

In a far corner, at a card table where he had promised not to cheat, and had kept to that promise for three dealt hands, Stuart

Langdon was sorry to see the most entertaining aspect of the evening come to a close as his brother carried Marlowe from the

room where every gentleman had gone completely still and stared—most of them enviously, he was rather certain—the moment his

brother’s mouth had landed on Marlowe’s.

“Now, gents,” he began, hoping to snap them back to attention, “at last you know why I didn’t make a play for Marlowe. And for those of you silly enough to wager that you’d be going home with her tonight”—he snapped his fingers and held out his hands—“I’ll collect what I am owed on the wagers I made with you that you wouldn’t.”

Groans echoed all around as he gathered up his winnings. Just as he’d known none of them would go home with her, he’d known

she’d choose none of them. He’d seen the way she looked at his brother when they were at the estate in Cornwall. He was rather

certain Ollie had ruined any other man for her.

He was also rather certain she’d ruined any other woman for Ollie.

What he didn’t know, and wasn’t yet ready to wager on, was what they were going to do about their fixation with each other

in the long term.

As his carriage traveled through the London streets, Langdon paid no attention to anything other than the woman on his lap

and the mouth moving so provocatively over his. As he had that night at the estate, he began locating and removing her hairpins

until her tresses tumbled down around her shoulders. He knotted his fingers in the long strands, pulled her back slightly,

and took his lips along a heated exploration of her throat.

“I am so grateful you didn’t cut your hair when it was so tangled the night of the storm,” he growled.

She laughed, and he thought he’d never tire of hearing her laugh.

Returning his mouth to hers, she gave his tongue permission to plunge deeply and to map the glorious confines. He loved the taste of her. Loved the way her tongue boldly parried with his. Loved the way her hands glided over him—through his hair, over his shoulders, along his chest—hurriedly, slowly, hurriedly again as if greedy for a time and then relishing.

He desperately wanted to undo laces, buttons, and ribbons. But they would be at his residence soon enough and he didn’t want

her struggling to hold herself together as they raced into his town house.

She tore her mouth from his and hungrily nibbled at his neck. “Oh, I have so longed for my mouth to heal so I could do this.

You taste so good. Sweat, man, and... sandalwood, I think.”

Kneading her breasts, he chuckled darkly. “I have decided you should only wear my shirts. All these layers of fabric put too

much material between my skin and yours. I could have my shirt off you before you could blink.”

“You should wear only your shirt. Your coat and waistcoat form unnecessary barriers to what I want to touch.”

“And my trousers?”

“Especially your trousers. You should never wear them.”

He took her lobe between his teeth and nipped. “I’ve missed you. No one challenges me as you do. The first time I saw you

I was reminded of a lioness.”

“Last summer at the card table.”

“No, before that.”

She drew back and held his gaze. He’d drawn the curtains and the lantern was lit. Her brow wrinkled. “Earlier that night.”

“No, about a couple of weeks before. I’d decided I wanted a mistress. I saw you with Hollingsworth and... even from a distance

I decided you were rare. It wasn’t your beauty. It was the manner in which you projected such power. I knew you would never

cower, never surrender—and then when you landed on my island and I discovered how you’d gotten there... I knew everything

I’d assumed about you was correct. You would never be conquered. You need someone who will rule beside you.”

“What I need is another kiss.”

She grabbed his lapels, jerked him back to her, and blanketed his mouth with hers, taking the kiss so deep it touched his

soul. He wondered if his words had embarrassed her or if she wasn’t quite certain what to make of them. She was no doubt accustomed

to compliments on her beauty. How many men truly looked deeper than that?

She shifted her position and straddled him. Taking hold of her hips, he pressed her against his aching cock, needed her to

know what she did to him. There was no aspect of his body that didn’t want her, no part of her that he didn’t want to lavish

with devotion.

The carriage began to slow. Squeezing her hips, he stilled her, then slipped a finger beneath the curtain and peered out.

“Thank God we’re here.”

Marlowe caught glimpses of his residence as they made their way through a front parlor, into a hallway, up the stairs, and straight to his bedchamber. She’d never known clothes could come off so quickly or that people could laugh like naughty children while removing them.

But everything changed once they climbed into the bed. Nothing that was happening between them was childlike. He obviously

enjoyed kissing very much, because that was where he began, with her mouth. While his tongue plundered there, his fingers

explored the sensitive area between her thighs. She was already so wet that he could slide right into her with no trouble

whatsoever.

Instead he taunted and teased and taught her that there was so much more than rushing to completion. That even a frenzied

journey need not be quick. He lavished sensations over her breasts, kissing, licking, suckling. Not just her nipples but every

portion of them.

She’d never known how sensitive the underside could be.

While he worked his magic, she worked hers. Stroking the inside of his thighs, going a little higher with each caress, noting

the tension building in him, the groans and growls going deeper and deeper, more feral. Until she cupped him and gently massaged.

And then higher, wrapping her hand around the sturdy length of him, with her thumb gathering the dew.

When she could take no more, she shoved him onto his back, straddled him, and guided him home, groaning low and deep.

She rocked against him, meeting his powerful thrusts. He cupped her breasts, flicking his thumbs over the hardened nipples. Then he sat up and took one into his mouth, sucking hard.

“Oh, God.”

She was fairly bouncing, taking him deeper and deeper.

His arms came around her, holding her close, and he flipped them until she was on her back and his hips were pistoning. He

laced his fingers through hers and carried her hands over her head, holding them there while he drove into her. She wrapped

her legs around him, held him tightly.

When his mouth reclaimed hers, she captured his with equal fervor. All along, the sensations had been building and stretching

out until there wasn’t a single aspect of her that didn’t feel touched, that wasn’t sparking.

She was writhing beneath him, crying out—

Soaring, on a wind so strong it delivered her to the heavens.

He grunted, cursed, and struck with a final thrust that made her feel both conquered and like a conqueror.

Gently he lowered himself until his chest was a whisper’s breath along hers. He kissed the once injured corner of her mouth.

Slowly he freed her hands.

When he made a move to roll away from her, she stopped him by tightening her legs around him. “Not yet.”

Several minutes later, resting on his side, Langdon watched as Marlowe slid out of bed, picked up his shirt from where he’d tossed it on the floor earlier, and slipped it on.

“You’re welcome to take a fresh shirt from the wardrobe.”

She smiled broadly. Damn, but he loved that smile. “It will be freshly laundered and won’t carry your fragrance.”

“If you want my fragrance, I’m carrying it right here.” He waved his hand over his naked body, in demonstration.

She laughed. “I can never have too much.”

She began sauntering sexily back toward the bed. His cock reacted. That shirt wasn’t going to stay on her very long. “Did

you find the shirt I placed in your balloon?”

“I did.” She climbed onto the bed.

“Did you like the barometer?”

“I love the barometer.” She lowered herself and snuggled up against him.

With one arm, he drew her more closely against him, while his other hand eased beneath the hem of his shirt and cupped her

incredibly luscious arse. “Has your balloon been repaired?”

“Not yet. Can’t afford the basket.”

“You can now, sweetheart. Whatever you need, whatever you want , I’ll provide.” Because so very much of her was pressed up against so very much of him, he was incredibly aware of her going

stiff and still.

“I... I don’t want you providing for me.”

They were not words that should have made him feel like a sword was piercing his chest. He looked down at the top of her head. “Did I not pass your audition?”

He kept his voice light, teasing, when so many awkward emotions were swirling through him. Confusion, hurt, jealousy.

Tilting her head back, she met his gaze. “You passed when we were on the island. I just... I don’t want you paying for

me.”

“But it’s all right for Hollingsworth to pay for you?” Apparently, anger was also slicing through him, and had taken up residence

in his voice. She jerked as though he’d taken a lash to her back.

“It’s different. You and I as opposed to me and him.”

“How so?”

She shook her head. “If I try to explain it, it makes it all sound worse. Makes me appear... cheap. Can’t we just be lovers

tonight?”

“So you can fuck him tomorrow?”

Pushing away from him, she sat up. “I told you that it’s over between him and me.”

“How many were you planning to audition tonight?”

Her jaw taut, she glared at him, so much fire in her eyes that he wanted to take her then and there and feel the heat burning

them both to cinders. “Twelve.”

She leapt out of the bed, leaving him momentarily too stunned to move. How had bliss suddenly turned into hell?

She whipped off his shirt and began gathering up her clothes. “I’ll need a maid to help me dress.”

“I’ll help you.” He began to roll out—

“No.”

Stilling at the sharp command, balancing halfway out of the bed, he looked over his shoulder at her. She stood there, straight

and proud, the woman who beguiled half of London and infuriated the other half. A woman who could command a room of men and

took no rubbish. A woman every man wanted to fuck, yet no man touched without permission. She had managed to become every

man’s ideal of what he wanted between the sheets, in the bedchamber. His equal when it came to carnal sin.

But few understood she carried all of that beyond the bed. It encompassed all of her, was part and parcel of the whole of

her. She could command the wind, ride it through the sky. She could touch him and make him almost feel that he was once again

whole.

“You’re not to touch me. I want a maid. Call for one or I shall.”

Slowly, as if she were a dangerous viper that would strike if he moved too quickly, he extricated himself from the bed and

stood. “Marlowe, I apologize for my anger. I can’t stand the thought of someone else touching you.”

“Do you think it’s what I want?” She shook her head. “Of course, it’s what I want. I wouldn’t do it otherwise. No one forced me into this life. But it comes at a cost. At nineteen, I was willing to pay it. I can’t now begrudge or hate myself because I like having a nice residence. I like fancy clothes. I like having an abundance of food. I like being squired about. I like being given an allowance. I like that each month I can use a portion of that allowance to pay off a little bit more of my father’s tremendous debt. It’s not fair to the shop owners or tradesmen that they provided him with goods or services and they are the ones paying the price for it. That some may be going hungry or having things rough because he didn’t pay what was owed. I’ll be thirty-six and a half years old by the time I pay it off. I’ve calculated it down to the penny.”

She took a deep, shuddering breath.

He wanted to cross over to her, take her in his arms, and hold her tightly. He wanted to find her father and beat him to a

bloody pulp. He wanted to pay off that damned debt. He wanted to give her everything she liked . “Marlowe—”

Her hand flew up, palm out, stopping him. “I’m not done. My mother will not leave her house.” She shook her head, visibly

trembled. “Before I could return to London, I had to hire someone to care for her. To stay with her, to go to the shops for

her.

“I know I was fortunate with Hollie. So many mistresses live in the area where I do. We visit with each other, chat, complain. I know some never go anywhere with their gents. They’re wanted only for the bedchamber. It was never like that with Hollie. We’ve become good friends. And, yes, we... tumbled into bed on occasion. Was it like when I’m with you? God, no. It’s a more quiet coming together. With you I feel like I’m being burned to a cinder and then I rise from the ashes and I feel so bloody marvelous and happy... outside of pleasure, I expect nothing from you and you expect nothing from me. And there’s a beauty to that and what is between us which I think we will lose. Because I will feel I owe you what I am now giving you freely. I don’t know what I’m going to do, Langdon. Perhaps I’ll go back to being a seamstress, and it’ll take me the rest of my life to pay off my father’s debt.” Another long, slow sigh. She held out her corset. “You can help me dress.”

It felt like a victory, although he couldn’t take it as her offering a white flag. He couldn’t imagine her ever surrendering.

They didn’t speak as he assisted her with her clothing. She’d given him a lot to contemplate, and he suspected she was worn

out from all the emotions that had been roiling through her. It was never easy to face regrets, fear, or uncertainty.

Later, in the carriage, he sat across from her, giving her space, watching as the glow from the streetlamps washed over her

and disappeared. Washed over her and disappeared. Again and again. He knew that at some point in the future, he’d watch it

disappear for the final time. If he married, he wouldn’t be unfaithful to his wife. And he knew Marlowe wouldn’t expect him

to be. But if he never married...

He supposed the audition, which he’d referred to as a joke, never thinking he was actually auditioning, wasn’t over. He had

to prove he could provide for her without making her feel like a whore.

The carriage came to a stop in front of her residence. He pushed open the door, leapt out, and reached back for her. He’d

never grow tired of closing his fingers around her hand.

He escorted her along the short path and up the steps. He started to reach for the latch to open the door for her and stopped. He was angled toward her while she faced the building. “Lovers, then,” he said quietly.

She turned slightly, and he read relief in her eyes.

“Until you say no more,” he finished.

Her smile wasn’t as brilliant as the one she’d given him at the club, but it was a smile nonetheless. “I’d like that but I

don’t know how long—”

“I’ll take however long you’re willing to give me.”

She nodded. “I’ll study my finances.”

He truly didn’t understand her reasoning for not accepting assistance from him when she had from Hollingsworth and would from

someone else. It would kill him when she did.

“We can argue about it later,” he told her, “but I want to cover the costs for the repairs needed on your balloon, including

the basket—”

“The car.”

He hitched up a corner of his mouth. “The car. Not in exchange for anything you’ve given me, but as a gift and because I want

to take a ride in the bloody thing.”

Another nod, a hint of a smile. “I appreciate the generosity and I won’t be stubborn about it. Because I want to take you

for a ride in the bloody thing.”

Some of the tension he’d been carrying left him with her acquiescence. If he were patient and subtle, perhaps he could over

time convince her there was no difference between him and Hollingsworth. And she would allow him to provide for her.

“I very much want to kiss you, Marlowe.”

“I very much want you to kiss me.”

He took her into his embrace, slashed his mouth across hers, and reveled in the eagerness with which she met his advance. He’d never have enough of her tongue parrying with his, of her sighs and moans, the manner in which her arms tightened around him, as if she’d cling to him forever, never relinquish her hold.

He considered following her into the residence, into her bed, awakening with her in the morning—the best way to begin a day—but

he needed a little more time to determine what his relationship with her would entail. He suspected she needed a little more

time as well.

Drawing away from her was hard, but he managed to do it and to place his thumb against her moist, swollen lips. Kissing was

certainly going to be a large part of what they did when they were together. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He shoved on the door, ushered her through the opening. “Sleep well, Marlowe.”

After closing her in, he bounded down the steps and clambered into his carriage. As it began rolling through the streets,

he was struck by how lonely it was. He wondered if for the remainder of his life, he would feel as if a piece of him was missing

when she wasn’t with him.