Chapter 27

With their breaths still coming harsh and heavy, their bodies sweaty and cooling, following a session of mad lovemaking, Marlowe

stared up at the deep purple canopy and decided she would never again look at purple in the same way. It would always remind

her of these few nights of animalistic coupling. Sex was never tame with them, as though by knowing their time together was

limited, they were determined to rejoice in each other’s bodies and celebrate as if they were shooting off fireworks inside

each other.

By silent mutual agreement, they never stayed within her residence. During the past week, with the arrival of dusk, they would

be in his carriage heading through London toward his town house. If the street she lived on was surreptitiously referred to

as Mistress Row rather than by its true name, she suspected his was known as Lords-a-Plenty Way because on more than one occasion

she’d caught sight of a lord or two she recognized as they were entering or leaving their residence.

It had been funny to watch the manner in which their heads jerked back around once they realized whom they’d spotted. The widening of their eyes, the dropping of their jaws.

While ink had been devoted to reporting that “Marlowe” had been carried out of a notorious club by “Viscount L,” she suspected

the lords hadn’t expected to see her on their street. Mistresses were visited upon within their lodging, not taken to the

home of their benefactor. Perhaps that was the reason he brought her to the place where he lived—because she was his lover,

not his mistress.

She was no doubt being silly to make such a distinction, and yet she found great comfort in knowing they were together simply

because they wanted to be. She wasn’t obligated to spread her legs because he’d provided her with an additional servant or

purchased her a new piece of furniture or ensured she’d had a gown made using that red silk she’d been coveting at the dressmaker’s.

She was welcoming him into her body because it was where she wanted him and where he wanted to be. The freedom she felt was

almost as grand as what she experienced when she was floating high above the earth, queen of her domain.

“How many times do you think we’ve made love?” she asked, knowing it was seldom they did it only once a night.

“Haven’t a bloody clue.” His tone was almost mystified.

She turned her head to find him watching her. “Perhaps we should keep count.”

“What does it matter?”

She couldn’t quite identify his attitude, but it was like he really didn’t care and wondered why she was carrying on so about it. “I suppose it doesn’t. Hollie visited today.”

They were lying on their backs, side by side, joined from shoulder to her ankle and his calf because of course his legs extended

far beyond hers. Hence, she was very much aware of him visibly stiffening, like she’d punched her fist into his gut.

“For tea,” she hastened to clarify, as she twisted onto her side so she could observe him more clearly.

He bent his head so his eyes could meet hers. She liked that they almost always held each other’s gaze when they spoke, truly

interested in what the other had to say.

“He was surprised you didn’t ensure you won the last time you played cards, when he made another atrocious wager. He knows

you have the ability to manipulate your hand.” She didn’t know why she was pushing on this, except it had bothered her that

night and suspicions wouldn’t leave her in peace. “Between what you held and what you discarded, you had the cards needed

to form a straight.”

“Did I?”

“You knew you did, surely. You looked at your cards before you discarded them, and then after you got new ones. You even rearranged

them.” She’d been watching him so closely she even knew how many times he’d clicked a finger against the back of one of his

cards. “Did you not work your magic because I hadn’t given you a proper smile?”

She’d never known his face to be so unreadable, stony, as if he’d locked his thoughts within a castle keep and not even a fire-breathing dragon could set them free.

He studied her for the longest time, as if he was searching for something buried deeply within her... or within himself.

When his response finally came, the words were slowly, torturously delivered, like he expected each one might explode or would

lead him toward a destination he didn’t want to reach. “No, that’s not the reason I didn’t manipulate the cards.”

“Then why didn’t you?” It wasn’t that she necessarily had wanted him to win her, but it had been his chance to show Hollie

and every man at that table that he truly wanted her.

He sighed. “What does it matter?”

He’d asked the same thing a few minutes ago regarding the number of times they’d made love. Suddenly she felt uncared for,

as if she didn’t matter, at least not to him, not with the same strength of conviction he mattered to her. She wanted to tell him that

it did indeed matter, but it was only her pride, her heart, yearning for what she knew would never be hers to hold. His heart.

Perhaps it was a good thing their time together would be short, the few memories accumulated, dear.

“I suppose it doesn’t.”

He rose up on an elbow and the shifting of the mattress caused her to roll onto her back. Cradling her face with one large

hand, he looked at her with an abundance of tenderness. “That wasn’t a very convincing lie. Why is it important that I should

cheat to have you?”

“I suppose I wanted to feel that you yearned for me to such an extent that you’d do anything to have me.” She shook her head as much as she was able with his grip on her. “It wouldn’t have proven anything really.” They’d have still ended up in bed, and she wanted him to want her without that. Or at least in addition to that.

“I do yearn for you. I burn for you. Have I failed at showing you that?”

“No.” She smiled brightly. “You’ve shown me spectacularly well. You’re right. It doesn’t matter.”

His mouth came down on hers, hard, almost punishingly, his tongue thrusting with the precision of the most finely honed rapier—one

designed to pleasure, not hurt. There was fire. Need. Want.

How could she question his yearning for her when he always came to her with such hunger? It didn’t matter if hours or only

minutes had passed since he’d last tasted her. Always, always, he sipped and savored even as he plunged and stole.

Stole her ability to breathe, to reason, to think. To do anything except feel. Respond.

Her body heated as though he’d arranged wood in the most efficient way and set kindling alight within it. Slow to start until

it was blazing with full force. The winds and rains of a tempest could not douse it. Instead they joined in the dance, fueling

it. Every element responded and came alive.

And she knew, knew where they were headed, where he was going to take her. All the doubts she’d been giving voice to went

silent. She was going to travel with him on this journey, as his equal, as his partner. It was the way he always treated her.

He dragged his mouth down the column of her throat, and then up. Along the soft underside of her jaw. Stopping at the sensitive spot just below her ear where he pressed the smallest of kisses.

“I didn’t manipulate the cards because I couldn’t determine what I was holding. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve made

love to you because I no longer possess the ability to count.”

Saying the words aloud to her made him feel like a boulder being catapulted toward a stone fortress, and he hurled himself

off the bed with such force and so quickly that her fingers barely grazed his hip when she reached for him. He stalked over

to a table where he kept a bottle of scotch near for those nights when he awoke from a nightmare.

The only time he seemed guaranteed not to have one was when she was in his arms, in his bed.

He splashed scotch into a glass, tossed it back. He heard bare feet padding across the floor, a whisper of linen flowing over

flesh, and when she stopped beside him, he knew without looking she was wearing his shirt.

“Would you like a nip?” he asked.

“ What I would like is to understand exactly what it is you were telling me.”

Words he’d uttered because he’d been able to see from the expressions shifting over her face, like storm clouds going from

gray to black as they charged over the land, that she was beginning to think she didn’t signify. When she mattered so much that it damned near ripped him apart whenever he considered how short their time

together would be.

“I’m not sure there is an understanding to it.”

“You went to Cambridge. You must have mastered maths.”

“I could count to a hundred by the time I was five. Not only that, but I could also write the numerals. I always loved numbers.

They were so much easier to understand than words. They had a purpose, could tell stories with precision. Then after the railway

accident... they went away.”

He poured scotch into a glass and slid it toward her. Filled another glass, picked it up, walked over to the sitting area

before the fireplace, and set the glass on a nearby table. Feeling her eyes on him, he strode over, snatched up his trousers,

and drew them on.

By the time he returned to his chair, she was already perched in the opposite one, her feet tucked up beneath her, her hands

wrapped around the glass she held as if it was the buoy that would prevent the gigantic swells from taking her under.

“At your residence on the island,” she began cautiously, “the room I went into, the one with the maths primer—”

“I was striving to relearn what I’d once known. You can probably guess from all the evidence of my frustration—and the temper

I exhibited toward you, for which I apologize—I was having no success. I don’t even know how much I paid for your barometer.

As your father learned, when you are part of the aristocracy—or pretending that you are—you don’t pay then and there. You’re

sent a statement at the end of the month or the end of the year. I send it to my man of affairs and that’s that.”

He could fairly see all the thoughts bombarding her brain. Her brow was furrowed so deeply, and she was gnawing her lower lip with such intensity she was going to create more scars.

“That night we had dinner with your family... you didn’t play cards with them... because they don’t know... that

you are living with... this challenge.”

“ This challenge ? Such a pleasant way to put it. I prefer to think of it as this hell . And you are correct. They do not know. My mother would only worry. When there is nothing to be done. At least according

to my physician.”

She brightened. “You’ve been to a doctor, then?”

He nodded. “Dr. William Graves. A friend of the family, and one of the more skilled surgeons in all of Great Britain. But

even he is flummoxed. He identified it as railway spine. But in truth all that means is that I was in a railway accident and

came away from it not quite right.”

“How long will this go on?”

He took a swallow of scotch because this was the hardest part of all. “Graves said it might just miraculously go away. Probably

not, though. Should I marry, I could line my children up and not tell you how many I have. When my father dies, how am I to

effectively manage the estates? Stuart will no doubt help, but it shouldn’t be his responsibility.” He was weary of going

through all this. Talking about it wasn’t going to change it. He’d gotten lost in the dark depths when in truth she needed

to understand only one thing.

He shoved himself to his feet, crossed over to her, knelt beside her, and cradled her face with one hand. “I cannot tell you how many times we’ve made love, Marlowe, but I promise you that I remember each one.”

She felt the tears sting her eyes, and while she’d long ago learned to blink them back into submission, to never show any

vulnerability, this time she gave them their freedom because she was so deeply touched by his words.

Her heart shouted, I love you!

Even as her voice refused to utter the words. Because just as nothing could be done for his struggle with numbers, nothing

was to be done about her feelings—except to endure them in silence because she fully understood he had responsibilities as

a lord.

“I’ll keep track of the numbers for you. All of them. How long you’ve been married. How many children you have. How many dogs.

We’ll arrange a secret assignation where we simply pass each other on the street, and I’ll tell you what you need to know

so you can repeat it. Even if you can’t fully appreciate the numbers, if they seem without context.”

“You think your protector will be happy about that?”

“Hollie is often viewed as soft, but he knows what is needed to project power, and he ensured that when the time came, I could

lay out my terms and if a gent wanted to serve as my benefactor, he had to accept them. We can remain friends, Langdon, even

if we’re not lovers.”