Chapter 30

“I told my parents about this wretched condition I have,” Langdon said quietly once he and Marlowe were settled into his carriage.

He’d arrived right on time. Marlowe wasn’t at all surprised. He seemed to have no trouble at all reading the passage of time

in the shadows. She supposed ancient man had done the same before clocks were invented. “Having met them, albeit briefly,

and seeing how much they love you, I suspect they were extremely supportive.”

He looked out the window. “They were actually relieved. They’d already surmised something was amiss. They thought I was dying.”

“Oh, my God! Poor things. They certainly hid their fears well.”

“It’s what aristocrats do, Marlowe. We don’t show our emotions. Didn’t Hollingsworth teach you that?”

“He wasn’t expecting me to go out among the nobility. At least not among the proper nobles. What he expected me to know of the aristocracy, what he thought I needed to understand, was the way of the unfaithful husbands and the randy young swells. How to tell if a man would treat me with kindness or... misuse. That’s the reason he stayed close after we ended our association. He didn’t want me to choose poorly.”

“I don’t want you to choose poorly either, but I don’t know that I have it within me to stand by and watch while you choose

at all. You might have to seek his guidance again.”

“I know. I’ve considered that. You and I haven’t many nights left. I know it will mean nothing if I tell you how many, but

it will be soon. I have enjoyed being naughty and taking some time away from responsibilities.”

“I think some might argue regarding your definition of naughty .”

“Not if they saw what you and I get up to.”

He laughed. Oh, she was going to miss that sound.

The carriage came to a stop and a footman wearing the Twin Dragons livery stepped up and opened the door for them. Langdon

climbed out and then reached back and assisted her. With a smile, she wound her arm around his.

She took a step.

Felt the pull as he took a step as well, only in the opposite direction.

They both stopped, looked at each other. With his brow furrowed, he appeared as confused as she felt.

“Why are you headed toward the front steps?” she asked. “The entrance to the secret rooms is around this way.”

“We’re not going to the secret rooms. We’re going to the main area.”

Her bubble of laughter cut off into a scoff. Because people were rushing past to get to their destination, she dragged him

off to the side. “I can’t go in there.”

“Why not?”

“It’s for proper people.”

“You’re proper.”

“No, I’m not. I’m a courtesan.”

No one wanted mistresses in the respectable part of the Dragons for fear that if associating with them, wives would begin

having affairs and daughters would decide to become paramours instead of wives. It was ridiculous, of course. No one was going

to change their ways because they looked upon a mistress or stood near one. It wasn’t as though they were a disease to be

caught.

“You’re not tonight. Not mine. You refuse to be mine. You’re my lover.” He leaned near and whispered sotto voce, “But no one

need know that.”

“They’re all going to believe I’m your mistress. Just as those who were in the secret rooms the night we left together are

convinced that I’ve chosen you.” She sighed. “Let’s just go to the area where the clientele is more accepting of sinners.”

It was where she belonged. Why was he being stubborn about this?

“Have you ever been inside the more acceptable area?”

“Of course not.”

“I should think a woman who is daring enough to go up in a balloon would at least be curious.”

She was dying to take a peek. “I hate you,” she muttered under her breath, which only caused the rapscallion to laugh.

He offered his arm. “Come on, Marlowe. Let’s go have some fun.”

“Are you going to attempt to play cards?”

“Roulette. I don’t have to know the numbers to place my tokens on them. If I’ve lost the croupier takes them away. If I’ve

won, he adds to the stack. I’ll even give you tokens to play with.”

She placed her hand on his arm. “If things go pear-shaped, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“Everything is going to be fine.”

She wished she didn’t feel so much excitement as they ascended the steps.

At the top of the stairs, a footman opened the door. “M’lord.”

Langdon gave a curt nod and ushered her into the massive, elegant chamber with its gigantic chandeliers. So many tables of

various games. The gentlemen weren’t attired so differently from those in the questionable areas of the club, but the women...

They were all so stylish, with glittering jewels at their throats. They didn’t bray, talk loudly, or seek attention. They

were graceful and sophisticated, projecting an image similar to hers. She understood now that Hollie had done her a favor

when he’d taught her to act demurely. It was what would appeal to these men of rank, what they were accustomed to.

And Langdon was correct. She didn’t feel at all out of place. In truth, she felt she belonged here more than she did within the secretive walls. She looked up to find Langdon watching her with the air of a man whose horse had just crossed the finish line first.

“Still hate me?” he asked.

“I may have misspoken earlier.”

“I thought perhaps that was the case. There is a room for dancing, a room for dinner. A library if you want to sit and talk.

Perhaps we’ll explore those later. For now, shall we get some tokens and play a little roulette?”

Langdon decided he wanted to experience with Marlowe everything there was to experience in the world. He’d seen her at the

card table with Hollie where she’d only watched.

But when she was engaged in play—good Lord, but her excitement was intoxicating. She was so animated: giving a little hop,

clapping, and issuing the tiniest of squeals when she won. Even when she lost, she continued to smile, and he could see in

her eyes her determination and belief that the next spin of the wheel would be hers to own.

If she played cards with the same enthusiasm, his family would have had no trouble at all determining when she was holding

something of worth, when to best her. If he could convince her to become his mistress, he’d teach her how to manipulate the

cards so she could hold her own against his family.

Although he suspected she’d done that anyway. Held her own against them.

While she wore a gown of striking crimson that caught the eye, made her more visible than the other ladies, none could hold a candle to her when it came to beauty or elegance.

While their time together was coming to a close, he didn’t want to let her go. He’d already begun compiling a list of all

he’d offer her if she would but stay with him. Mistress, lover, friend. Why she parsed words when applying any of them to

their relationship was beyond him. Why define what they had together? He possessed the means to provide for her. He just had

to convince her to allow him to do it, to reassure her that his doing so would change nothing between them.

She looked up at him, her smile so bright, the sort of smile that demanded a kiss. “I think I should quit while I’m ahead.”

“Always a wise move.” He slid her tokens into his hat. “Let’s exchange these.”

“And then?”

“You decide.”

With his hand on the small of her back, he began guiding her toward the corner where a man behind a cage would handle the

transaction.

“I say, Langdon—”

He turned to face the Earl of Chadbourne.

“—I don’t believe whores are allowed in this part of the building.”

Unfortunately, the crowd was thick tonight, and he was aware of a few gasps as others heard the vile words uttered. He’d never

much liked the earl, a man who had broken off his engagement to the daughter of a duke when the duke had been convicted of

treason. “Apologize or name your second.”

This time the gasp came from Marlowe. She placed her hand on his arm. “It’s not important. Let’s just leave.”

“Not until I have satisfaction.” He held Chadbourne’s gaze. “Apologize to the lady.”

“She’s not a lady. She spreads her legs—”

He struck quick and hard, his fist slamming into Chadbourne’s jaw, closing his vile mouth and sending him sprawling to the

floor. Glaring, Langdon stood over him. “Name. Your. Second.”

He felt Marlowe’s hand on his arm again, noted the trembling of her fingers, and his anger went up several notches because

she had been exposed to this.

“You’re not going to engage in a duel,” she said. “It’s against the law.”

“Not for the nobility. Exceptions are made for us all the time.” He didn’t take his gaze from Chadbourne.

“Please, Langdon. Let’s just—”

“What’s this, then?”

He recognized the voice of Drake Darling, owner of the establishment. Chadbourne scrambled to his feet, obviously of the belief

that help had arrived.

“Chadbourne insulted Marlowe. I can’t let it stand. I demand he apologize to her or face me at dawn.”

“I suppose I’ll serve as your second, then.”

“If you’d be so kind.”

Chadbourne’s eyes bulged. “You can’t be serious.”

“I don’t allow insults in my place,” Darling said. “Although you should know, I’ve gone hunting with Langdon. I know him to

be a damned good shot.”

Chadbourne looked on the verge of bringing up his accounts. He turned his attention to Marlowe. “I apologize. I may have imbibed a bit too much this evening and uttered what I ought not.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Marlowe said. “I accept your apology.”

Darling clapped his hands. “All right. We’re done here. Chadbourne, I suggest you go home to your wife.”

The man scurried away.

“What an arse,” Darling muttered. “I halfway wish he’d let you shoot him.”

Langdon placed his hand on the small of Marlowe’s back, acutely aware of her trembling. “I regret you had to endure that.

However, allow me to introduce Drake Darling, my cousin.”

She gave a small curtsy. “Sir, it’s an honor to make your acquaintance. Thank you for your assistance with the matter.”

“My pleasure. My family would never forgive me if I allowed Langdon to do something reckless. Although he is a damned good

shot.”

“I wouldn’t have liked him dueling.”

“Don’t blame you.”

“You’re the second family member I’ve met today.”

“Oh?”

“She met Uncle James earlier,” Langdon explained.

“Ah. You’ll find we’re rather a large family. Lot of different branches on our family tree. My adoptive father, the Duke of Greystone, is Langdon’s mother’s brother. Now if you’ll both excuse me, I have some other pressing matters to which I must attend.” He patted Langdon on the shoulder. “See you at Grace’s ball.” With that, he strode off.

Langdon turned to Marlowe. “Grace is his sister, the Duchess of Lovingdon.”

She didn’t look as though she cared for a genealogy lesson.

“I suppose you’d like to leave now,” he said.

She didn’t look at him when she responded. “Yes.”

Marlowe was still shaking as she climbed into the carriage. While exchanging their tokens, Langdon had sent someone to alert

his driver they’d be leaving, so the conveyance was waiting for them when they stepped out of the club.

As the carriage rumbled away, she didn’t know if she’d ever experienced such anger. She was mad at Langdon for convincing

her to go into the club; mad at herself for agreeing; mad at Chadbourne, certain his coarse words were a result of his upset

that she’d not become his mistress after the awful poem he’d recited. But most of all she was furious with Langdon for putting

himself at risk.

“Did you give any consideration to the fact that numbers are involved in dueling?” she asked the shadow sitting across from

her. “Would you have recognized that ten comes after nine and been at the ready to quickly turn in order to fire your pistol

at your opponent before he got off a shot at you?”

His answer was to look out the window.

“I thought not.” She imagined him getting confused as the numbers were called out, his hesitating, the echo of gunfire, and him crumpling to the ground. The prospect of his death was more terrifying than that of her own.

“I’d have worked out a signal with my second,” he stated succinctly.

“Oh, well, nothing to go wrong there.” She took several deep breaths to calm her temper because other matters needed to be

addressed.

“All that aside, I tried to tell you what would happen,” she finally said. “That I wouldn’t be welcomed.”

“I didn’t notice anyone else not welcoming you, and as Darling pointed out, Chadbourne is an arse. I won’t be at all surprised

if at some point, he does face a pistol at dawn.”

He was trying to appease her, and she wasn’t in the mood to be appeased. “There were a few raised eyebrows, a few narrowed

gazes.”

“Has it happened before? An insult?”

“Of course it has. Whenever Hollie took me to a lecture or the theater or even the horse races. Sometimes the slights were

muttered behind my back, sometimes to my face.”

“What did he do about them?”

“Ignored them. Told me to ignore them as well. So those who issued them wouldn’t know they’d hit their mark. It would have

drawn much less attention and caused less embarrassment if you’d simply ignored Chadbourne.”

“I protect what is mine, Marlowe.”

“But I am not yours.”

He crossed over to her so quickly she barely had time to note what he was doing before he was sitting beside her, his hand

cupping her face. “Are you not?”

He trailed his lips along her throat, the heat from his mouth turning her anger into an emotion far hotter, far more dangerous to them both. “Tell me to stop and I will,” he growled.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she searched for the words to end this madness. Why with him did it always feel like a storm was

swirling around her? Why did she want so desperately what she knew she should deny?

She grabbed the lapels of his coat, intending to shove him away from her, and instead she pulled him nearer. His mouth traveled

down to an upper swell of a breast, and molten fire poured through her, unleashing a torrent of desire and need that she couldn’t

have denied if her life depended on it.

Cradling his head, she lifted it and took his mouth with urgency, as if it provided all the sustenance she needed to live.

Their tongues tangled, their breaths clashed. Their hands became greedy to touch forbidden skin.

He was dragging down her bodice. She was unbuttoning his trousers. When he sprung free, she knew triumph. He groaned low,

a tormented keen as she wrapped her fingers around him. She whimpered when he latched onto her breast and suckled hard.

She felt they were trying to punish each other for the reality of their situation. They were not a couple who could go into

proper places. They were meant for the shadows. For secret doors. For sin.

Tonight had brought the reminder home. He wasn’t one to ignore a slight, and she knew they could come as fast as the arrows

slung by archers during a battle.

At that moment she hated her father, hated that his actions had denied her the very life he’d promised. She was angry at her mother for not being stronger. Mad at her younger self for choosing a path that had seemed to be easier but in the end was all the harder to traverse.

And worst of all, she was furious at this man for making her want everything she could never have. For making her squirm with

need. For forcing her not to want to let him go.

He skimmed his fingers up her leg, drawing little circles over the sensitive flesh of her thigh, going higher and higher,

until the circles became strokes where she was damp and ready for him.

He plunged into her and she cried out from the pure ecstasy of taking him into her body and holding him close. As he rocked

against her, she grabbed his buttocks and urged him on, his thrusts hard and forceful, his grunts and groans echoing around

her as the pleasure built to almost unbearable heights.

“Tell me you’re mine,” he ground out.

“I’m... not yours.”

His tempo increased, his thrusts more powerful. A storm to be reckoned with. But she’d faced storms before. She moved her

hips in rhythm to his, taking and giving, until all the sensations converged, and she bit down on his shoulder to stop her

cries from competing with Big Ben for volume. Her body spasmed and shook as a million stars erupted within it.

He released a tortured growl as he slammed into her one last time.

They both lay there on the bench, cramped and awkwardly positioned, their clothing askew as their rough breathing slowed. Finally, they began to extricate themselves from each other. Without a word, he helped her to put herself back together. Then he saw to himself.

She couldn’t look at him. She had no words. All she’d needed to utter was “stop.” Only, she hadn’t wanted him to cease his

attentions. She would never want him to stop. Always she would want him to continue. Always she would want him. And therein

resided the danger of obtaining a broken heart.

The carriage came to a halt. He shoved open the door, leapt out, reached back for her, and handed her down. He walked with

her up the steps. She placed her hand on the latch before turning to him.

“We’re done,” she said quietly but with conviction.

“Marlowe—”

“We’re. Done.”

She went inside, leaving him there, and almost doubled over from the pain of doing so.