Chapter 4

London

Late May 1878

Sitting beside Hollie at the round table where cards were being dealt and wagers made, Marlowe was bored. Bored. Bored. Perhaps

it was time to find a new paramour. Or retire completely from the courtesan business. Even if she’d had only one devotee.

And being with him had made her notorious. He’d taught her so much and she was grateful for his tutelage. Ah, but she was

bored.

Because Hollie was mostly interested in boring things. Cards mainly. Cards, cards, cards. Nearly every night. Here at the

Twin Dragons in a room where the lighting was dim and the cigar smoke thick. A secretive chamber to which men didn’t bring

their wives, but instead on their arm, they often sported a woman of ill repute. One who dressed so tawdry she would be forbidden

entry to the main gaming floor of this establishment.

But Marlowe never looked or acted tawdry. She could stroll into the palatial ballroom of the Duke and Duchess of Lovingdon, and no one would blink an eye in surprise or drop their jaw in horror. Because she had also mastered the art of appearing to belong, even when she didn’t. She knew all about the power of deception and how to best use it to her advantage. She’d been tutored by an expert: her father, who had successfully perpetrated a fraud for years. And she’d been an unknowing accomplice.

But she’d never again be taken for a fool. Never again would she fall for another man’s ruse. She was in complete control.

Even if at that particular moment it appeared she was under the thumb of the Earl of Hollingsworth, that he dictated her actions.

He didn’t, but men feared women with power and so she pretended to be at his beck and call, when in truth, he was at hers.

But she’d learned the most powerful kept their power hidden in the shadows. When one possessed something of exorbitant worth,

one didn’t need to boast about it. As a matter of fact, it was best not to. When discovered by the doubters, it made victories

so much more rewarding, especially when everyone was expecting her to lose.

And if there were times when her position made her feel like rubbish discarded by the ton , she had but to review her accomplishments to know it was all worth it.

These men who might dine with the Queen knew Marlowe. As did their wives, who sometimes strolled the hallowed halls of Buckingham Palace. While they might never invite her into their parlor or allow her to wed one of their precious sons, they couldn’t prevent her from flirting with the heirs, teasing them, giving them hope that they might learn the exact shade and pattern of the wallpaper in her boudoir.

Tonight, as always, she wasn’t involved in the game, but merely served as an elegant and expensive ornament. She didn’t mind.

It was the role she played in his life. In exchange, he provided her with a very nice town house on Mistress Row—the unofficial

name of a street in London where many lords provided accommodations for their indulgences—as well as a more than satisfactory

allowance, which was hers to do with as she pleased because anything she needed she purchased on credit and he paid the amount

owed at the end of the month. And while she often felt like a valuable piece of pottery to be gazed upon but not touched...

well, she’d managed to be perceived as being an exquisite bit of art few men could afford to possess.

Hadn’t Hollie told her often enough that her beauty was beyond compare and a gift to the eye of the beholder? Then he’d taught

her that aloofness would increase her value. Even if at times, it also increased her loneliness.

For some strange reason, tonight the loneliness seemed particularly present and cut a little deeper than usual. She had the uncomfortable sensation that it was because of the man sitting almost directly across from her. He was far too handsome, his gaze too intense as it seldom left her. While the other men at the table concentrated on their cards, every aspect of him seemed to be focused on her. Although maybe it was merely the strange color of his eyes that made it seem so. A silver, such as she’d never seen. She was left with the impression he was uncovering her secrets, one by one. She had a strong urge to fetch her pelisse and use it to cover her bare chest, shoulders, and upper arms. She was grateful to be wearing gloves that went past her elbows, even if they caused her to have visions of him slowly removing them, kissing the exposed skin as he went.

Hollie had taken her to the most risqué parties—and on a couple of instances to an orgy—and yet on none of those occasions

had she felt that her clothing revealed more than it hid. This man wasn’t leering. No, no, it wasn’t anything with which she

could feel truly insulted. The appreciation in his eyes, however, was still a bit unsettling.

She’d never had a fellow peer at her as though he’d like to slowly take complete possession of her.

Chaps had looked at her with greed, lust, and blatant lasciviousness, but this man was scrutinizing her with sensual carnality.

Whenever he slowly lifted his glass of scotch and took a sip, studying her over its rim, she dearly wished he was sipping

her.

During the years she’d been with Hollie, she’d never truly experienced desire. To discover herself now yearning with such

desperation was somewhat frightening. She felt nearly completely out of control. It was absurd. She’d not even been properly

introduced to the man. However, she had managed, based on those nearby speaking to him, to determine who he was: Viscount

Langdon.

While the other gents were animated, shifting in their chairs, puffing on their cheroots, occasionally braying with laughter, Langdon was nearly still, not really part and parcel of the gathering. Except for the infrequent times when he drank his scotch, he was like a panther that had sighted its prey and was striving to determine precisely when to leap forward and conquer it.

Each time after the cards were dealt, his hand whispered over the baize as he lifted the edges of his cards and barely gave

them a cursory glance, and yet he had incredibly good fortune, taking nearly every hand. However, he gave the impression that

the win was expected and brought with it no sense of satisfaction. He was simply whiling away his time in anticipation of

something more important, more... rewarding.

Watching him, she suddenly realized she was no longer bored. She could recall reading nothing untoward about him in the gossip

rags or in the Society columns she scoured. She’d always had an interest in the happenings among the nobility, mainly because

she’d always believed she’d be part of it. It had been a shock to discover she wouldn’t—not the proper part at least. However,

she had managed to secure herself a spot along its edge.

And she’d turned that small spot into a kingdom, surrounded by high walls and a moat.

Yet she didn’t know if it was enough to protect her from Langdon—or the way he made her feel. As she’d once dreamed of feeling:

precious and special. Desired. Appreciated. Cherished.

“Fetch me a scotch, will you, love?” Hollie asked quietly, snapping her attention away from Langdon.

She took a quick assessing glance around the table. Only Hollie and Langdon still had cards in front of them. It was her job to pay attention to the play, and she’d not been doing so. “Yes, of course.”

She caught Langdon’s eye and gave him the smallest of smiles before sultrily getting to her feet. Hollie had taught her how

to move so men would follow the sway of her hips, and while she normally enjoyed being on display, for some reason she didn’t

want Langdon watching her performance. He didn’t strike her as the sort to be trifled with. She reached the sideboard, surprised

to find her hand shaking when she lifted the decanter.

Situating herself so she could see over Langdon’s shoulder, she slowly poured, waiting and watching, until he finally lifted

his cards. Although he was incredibly guarded with them, she managed to catch a glimpse.

After setting down the decanter, she returned to her chair beside Hollie and placed the drink beside his hand. Then she slipped

her own hand beneath the table, slid it along his thigh, and squeezed his knee. The signal that he couldn’t beat Langdon.

She watched as Langdon tossed more coins into the center of the table, his gaze never leaving her. “Twenty quid.”

Hollie leaned back, sighed. “You’ve cleaned me out, old chap. I don’t suppose you’d take my vowels.”

“No.”

“I thought not. However, I do have something to offer that’s worth much more than twenty quid.”

“I’m not interested in baubles.”

“But based on the way you’ve been watching her, I’d say you are interested in my mistress.”

Marlowe’s stomach lurched as she swung her head around to stare at Hollie. “What?”

“You can have the remainder of the night with her in a private room here,” Hollie continued.

“I don’t bed unwilling women.”

“Oh, I think she’s more than willing. I’ve also seen the way she’s been looking at you. You don’t mind, do you, love?”

“Hollie, this is ridiculous.”

Leaning near her ear, he whispered, “Of late, you’ve complained of being bored. I suspect he is anything but.”

She hadn’t complained. She’d mentioned wanting to go ballooning. She shook her head.

“Let him give you what I, of late, have failed to deliver.” He pressed a kiss to a spot just below her ear. “Consider it a

gift, a new experience. A broadening of your education.”

He was risking losing her. What was that about? However, it wasn’t as though she had a reputation to protect. Well, unless

she considered living up to the title associated with her: London’s most notorious courtesan. Still, none of this sat well

with her. “I’m your paramour, not your whore. I’ll not be bartered. I choose with whom I lie.”

“Fair point.” He turned his attention back to Langdon. “You can take only what she is willing to give, although I suspect

she won’t object to a kiss. Beyond that, you’ll have to entice her into wanting more. I suspect you’re up to it.”

Good God! Why was he doing this when she’d already signaled he’d lose? What was in it for him? They’d always had an understanding, and he’d treated her so well. Was this his way of showing he was done with her? “Hollie—”

“I’ll accept those terms,” Langdon drawled.

She couldn’t have been more stunned if he’d suddenly stood and removed his clothing. Words failed her as the fury bolted through

her. Men always thought they were in charge, but in this matter they were not. She simply had to determine how best to deliver

the message that made that fact crystal clear when they were alone in that room together. That she was intrigued by that perfectly

shaped mouth was beside the point. That Hollie was striving to gift her with a kiss from another man might be the oddest gift

he’d ever given to her and he’d given her some unusual, unforgettable ones.

“In that case,” Hollie began, “I call.”

With a negligent flipping of his wrist, his gaze never leaving her, Langdon revealed his cards. And she fought with every

last bit of weaponry within her arsenal to not let the shock—or disappointment—be revealed on her face. They were not the

cards he’d been holding, not the ones she’d glimpsed. Not the cards that would have ensured he won.

Not the ones that would have seen them together until dawn.

No. The assortment of random suits and numbers that formed no meaningful pattern whatsoever ensured he lost. He’d had a chance to win her—and he hadn’t taken it. She was being a complete dunderhead because she was insulted. Hurt. He didn’t want her. When had any man not desired her? Accustomed to sloughing off men’s advances, she was unprepared for responding to a rebuff. She had a strong urge to pick up the glass she’d refilled and toss its contents at that handsome visage. The bastard. No man had never not wanted her. Good Lord. There were even women who had expressed a desire for her.

“I thought perhaps you were bluffing,” Hollie said, as he tossed down his pair of jacks.

Only Langdon hadn’t been. He’d been holding four aces. She was certain she’d seen four aces.

Tapping a finger on the table, Langdon continued to look at her. “Fortune doesn’t seem to be with me tonight.” Then he stood

and presented her with a shallow bow, that almost came across as a salute. She simply couldn’t determine if he was mocking

her. “Madam, enjoy the remainder of your evening.”

He ambled away, leaving her with a riot of emotions roiling through her. Anger, hurt, doubt, confusion. Her value resided

in being wanted, desired, craved. And she’d never felt so discarded in her entire life. God, she wished she’d one day have

an opportunity to make him feel the same.