Chapter 11

With practised calm, learnt she did not know where from, Margot drew away from the earl. If he were being truly, utterly, completely seductive, she did not think she would be able to resist, but somewhere she managed to ignore both his appeal and her own growing desire for him.

The fact of the matter was that Langley seemed to delight in the occasional subtle needling or teasing comment, which wormed their way under Margot's reserve until she felt as if he were consuming her. It was difficult because he was the one she had trusted, he was the one she knew could not have killed Ashmore, and if the key in her hand was any proof, he was the one who was helping her get closer to solving the mystery.

In the dark garden, with the glinting, far-off lights of the ball, it felt as if the two of them were in their own secluded world. How easy it would be to give in to the lulling magic of the night, swayed by a man who was an expert in all things seduction, in pleasure… in a joy far too long denied Margot.

"What do we do now?" Her voice was brisker than she intended. She could not allow such wanton feelings to frame and dictate her choices—she would not fall victim to the same downfall that had seen her mother abandoned and cast out. Were things different and her parents had been married, she might be Langley's equal—she would have been a duke's legitimate daughter, and might look to an earl for a match…

Where had that dangerous idea come from?Margot shook her head. With patient steps she moved around the tree, hearing the satisfying crunch of leaves beneath her feet. She was being ridiculous. She had assured Langley she had no interest in matrimony, and certainly not with someone like him, a man who could not comprehend the meaning of faithfulness any more than he could practise it.

"If each location on the map does not contain a diamond, then I assume they would contain a key instead. Like the one you found." She forced herself to concentrate on the map that Ashmore had left. The markings on the key were not visible now in the semi darkness they stood in, but if there was a key, then there would be a lock. The question was how many keys they would need and where the final treasure would be found.

"I would have thought that rather obvious," Langley said. "We need to go to each location, find the right clock and extract the key. It is a shame your godfather could not have just left these keys with his lawyer, or at a bank."

"I can only assume he trusted neither."

"But he did trust you," Langley said. It was not a question, although there was an implication, and allusion to one through what he was suggesting—something underhand or rather something untoward. When Margot did not jump in, Langley pushed himself off the tree and walked over to the bench, sinking into the wooden seat. "I suppose he must have trusted you, and your family."

"Indeed." Margot followed him. She had no desire to tell another soul the truth of her birth. No matter that it might explain to the earl why the duke trusted her.

"Strange," Langley said. "You are not of this world, and were raised so far away. But his grace decided on a whim that?—"

"His grace was perhaps not in the best place to be picky, given he had just been shot," Margot said drily. She sank into the seat next to Langley. "His judgement may have been different had he not been attacked."

"I assumed he invited you down with the task of distributing his wealth."

"As to that, I cannot say," Margot said. "I did not know him well enough to know his decisions."

"Had I been in Ashmore's shoes…" Langley paused. "I suppose an untried girl unfamiliar with the ton seems like an odd choice. Perhaps he did not know the danger of the task."

Perhaps he did, Margot thought, and he thought her life was worth the risk.

Langley was digging in an attempt to discover the dark truth about her history. Margot shifted in her seat. She hated the idea that someone might discover her secret, and then that person would have a way of attacking her. Or worse, her mother. She wondered how Langley would react were he to know she was a bastard. Presumably he would treat her with less respect—after all, he was the one who was so knowledgeable about the ton and its rules.

"If we are to continue to look for the keys," Langley said into the painful silence, "co-ordinating would seem wise."

"If we are seen repeatedly together, talk will start."

"I think my reputation will survive," Langley said.

Margot refused to laugh in response. She would not be amused by his antics. Nor would she be charmed by his willingness to help her. She needed his help, but otherwise she needed to resist him as a man.

"I would also suggest we arrange to meet and pick where we go next. Simply put, have a plan for our strategy going forward. For the different locations," Langley continued. A small spark within her wished to smile because he had used the term ‘ours'. "I can rouse myself relatively early tomorrow, and arrange for this before your companion wakes. Perhaps ten o'clock?"

To this, Margot could not hide her confusion. "Ten being early? According to you?"

"Mrs. Bowley will not be awake until at least eleven in the morning. On that I would take a bet."

"No need," Margot said. "I will meet you tomorrow in the garden at eight."

"You will be waiting awhile; I never rouse myself that early. I will call on you at a civilised time."

Margot made a disapproving noise, got to her feet, and walked away from him, calling back over her shoulder, "Good night, Langley."

She was almost disappointed that he did not follow her back into the ball with an offer to dance, but hopefully in the harsh light of the following day she would be a great deal less charmed by him.

The restof the ball was a blur, but Margot was self-aware enough to know that she was sad not to see Langley again, or have a chance to dance with him. She would, of course, deny this if anyone were to ever question her on this matter. How had he become such an overwhelming desirous presence to her?

When she arrived home, she told her maid to wake her early, and watched Mrs. Bowley go to bed. Climbing between her own sheets, Margot tried to sleep, but found half the night was occupied by thoughts of the earl. For some reason, every time she dozed off, the memory of his half-naked body would reappear. The shape of his calves, the dark blond hair on his forearms, Lud, even the shape of his strong feet held an appeal that she could feel in the depths of her stomach, and trailing out from there. Margot rolled over and prayed for dawn to arrive and for her wanton thoughts to depart.

When Jessop knocked, Margot roused herself and hurriedly dressed in her morning gown, one of soft mauve with a lace trim, before sitting down and drafting a letter to her sister. She needed to pace herself and not hurry, awaiting eagerly for the meeting with Langley.

Besides, she told herself, she was keen to make the most of her handsome chamber. It was nice to finally have her own bedroom. It was clearly just a guestroom, but nonetheless it was the first time that Margot had ever had her own room.

She stared down at the desk and the thick sheet of paper, keen to tell her sister everything that had occurred. Yet dare she place all the news on the page? Hopefully Elsie was now safely in Cornwall and had found the new duke. Margot tried her best not to imagine what the man would be like. She hoped since he was her cousin, he might be sympathetic. Predicting the aristocracy was difficult though, given who Margot had met so far. Perhaps it would be wiser to have the old duke's death announced… That was another point she needed to consider. In the end she wrote a simple note expressing the hope that Elsie had safely arrived, and telling her sister about the beautiful gown she had worn to the ball the night before. It was the sort of thing that Elsie would have enjoyed.

Outside her bedroom window, the day was a pretty one, a bright spring day, and the air was warm and pleasant. There were birds in the sky, colouring her experience and reminding Margot of her faraway home and her distant parents. She was missing all her family, and it was distressing for them to be so far away.

"Miss Keating?" Jessop entered her chamber, and gave Margot an excited smile. "There is a gentleman downstairs. Lord Langley is requesting your presence."

Of course, Margot thought, even Jessop was thrilled by the arrival of Langley. He could charm the birds from the skies if he so desired.

"Do you wish to have Mrs. Bowley present?" Jessop looked a bit uncertain, but Margot gave a reassuring shake of her head.

"No, that won't be necessary. If you will remain in the room, that will be sufficient. His lordship may be here to discuss business."

"Oh, well he did bring flowers. Anemones and roses," Jessop gushed as Margot got to her feet and exited the chamber, heading downstairs to meet her guest.

Langley had been placed in the front-facing salon, and when Margot entered, she saw the beautiful bouquet of flowers Jessop had mentioned clasped in his fingers. Lovely, tiny white baby's breath, and then great blooms of pink roses. Getting to his feet, Langley bowed when she entered and presented the posy to her. Partly out of instinct and partly because the scent was so pleasing, Margot raised the flowers to her face and sniffed loudly. It smelt the same as if she had stepping outside and into a wild woodland to enjoy the height of summer.

She grinned over the bouquet at Langley, unable to help herself, and the earl locked eyes with her. There was something so enthralling about his stare that it brought up vividly the heated memories of last night. All their encounters, in fact, washed over Margot, and it took Jessop coughing to draw her attention back to the rest of the salon.

"If you could place these in some water," Margot said, "and then bring in some tea, please."

Jessop departed and the two of them took a seat.

"I take it that I have arrived early enough to avoid the supervision of Mrs. Bowley?"

"So it seems," Margot replied. This was the right sort of space between the two of them. A good five feet. She found if she only focused on the gap between Langley's eyebrows, she was not at risk of falling into the intensity of his dark, hypnotic eyes, or worse, getting caught in that wicked dimple on his left check.

"You have the map?"

Hastily, Margot pulled it from the pocket of her dress and placed it on the table between them. "We have a limited amount of time in order to arrange this."

Langley leant closer, surveying the locations, and then he nodded. "Very well. I have a good memory. You may put it away. I would suggest that you copy down the map in case it is lost or stolen."

"And visiting the sites themselves?"

"Well, that is something we will do together," Langley said smoothly.

"What of your reputation, my lord?"

"After the Verne's ball, I would say I have thrown the cat amongst the pigeons." He laughed and then continued, "In truth, I cannot think of a better solution. Unless you wish to tell another member of the ton about this mystery?"

"You know I cannot for risk of them being the murderer."

"In that case, you must let me know when we are to visit the following sites: Vauxhall Gardens, the British Museum, the Theatre Royal, Gunter's, the races, several large family houses, these will need to wait for us to gain entry via ball or party. So, in summary"—his eyes darted over the map— "pretty much the entirety of the Season's highlights. Although there are several places listed that I doubt Ashmore would want his goddaughter to visit."

It was starting to make a perverse sort of sense of why Ashmore had suggested that Margot pretend to be a debutante, as visiting all those locations was part of the ritual of being in the marriage mart. As for the other locations Langley alluded to, she could not explain them to Langley, or even herself. It was strange the duke had placed the treasure there, but it was slowly dawning on Margot that Ashmore hadn't been the one to hide the keys, he had been the one to find the map, and that was all. Someone else would have hidden the treasure and drawn it up—it was the only thing that made sense.

"How would it have been hidden at Vauxhall? Is it not all held outside?"

"As to that, is there any clue on the back of the map? Perhaps it will be hidden in the kitchens," Langley replied, when the door swung open, and Jessop re-entered with the tea tray.

"My lady," she murmured as she lowered the tray down onto the table, "Mrs. Bowley is awake, and is having her breakfast."

"Thank you, Jessop." Margot made a fuss over preparing the tea and pouring it out. Her focus was entirely on this, and when she turned it was to find Langley had moved far closer than she expected.

"As for visiting any of the more lugubrious locations on the map, well, there are certainly several places left that most gently reared ladies would object to."

"I cannot imagine it being any worse than what I witnessed in your salon the last time I was there." Margot tried to make her voice sound as calm as she possibly could, and as prim as the vicar's daughter she was supposed to be. She had her doubts that it entirely worked as there was a definite wobble to the end of her sentence, and the grin that it brought to Langley's face was not an encouraging one.

"I thought we had an unspoken agreement to not discuss that," he murmured as he accepted the cup from her. Damn him, he sounded as if he were close to laughing.

"Well…" Margot took a sip of her tea, trying to regulate her mind. It did little good. The very mention of shady sites by him had her mind pulling forward all the noises, the bodies, the sounds of that fateful night. "I certainly hope you will cease constantly alluding to it. Discuss it frankly and then move on." She felt herself warming to the topic as she spoke, and then added, "Sometimes it is better to have a matter out in the open."

"I don't think you can accuse me of hiding anything away." Langley's voice was one of complete innocence, and again Margot felt her entire face go red at the outright implication.

With a cough, Langley, who still looked remarkably pleased with himself, lowered his cup of tea and saucer back to the side table, and said, "Since Vauxhall Gardens does not open for another week, then allow me to invite you to a talk on Thursday morning." He leant closer, indicating the point on the map, presumably where the talk would be taking place.

"I had no idea you were interested in politics." Since that was what was normally raised at those meetings, from what Margot had read about the London Institute.

"I believe you will in fact find it to be poetry on Thursday. A far more suitable topic, as all the matrons agree, for young, unmarried ladies." He looked for all the world as if he wanted to wink at her, and short of telling him that she wasn't young, Margot did not know what to say. "Then on Saturday, I suppose we could head to Tattersalls. As you must see the horses. I will endeavour to have a few in my party for that event."

"In order to protect my reputation?"

Langley nodded. "We wouldn't want any speculation. Especially when you throw me over, and I will return blissfully to my bachelor status. For your sake, however, for a brief time period I will give the impression that I am genuinely considering the marriage trap. Not for any girl in particular of course, so no one would need to feel jilted."

"Which of course explains why you have arrived with flowers, as if we were courting." She rolled her eyes. His actions were so mixed it would have to confuse anyone who witnessed them. Even a country nobody like Margot knew of that particular tradition.

"They were pleasant," Langley said. "Besides, they seemed to suit you."

To this absurdity, Margot wrinkled her nose, but from the other side of the salon she could have sworn she heard Jessop sigh. What silliness. Margot was busy congratulating herself on remaining unaffected by Langley when the dratted man leant over the table and caught the worried end of her sleeve. With skilful ease he rebuttoned it, and only when he freed her hand did Margot realise that she had been holding her breath.

So, she was not quite as safe as she would have liked to think.

"Ahem." There was a noise and they both turned to see Mrs. Bowley in the doorway, looking a little flushed and slightly dishevelled as she glanced between the two of them. Her pose only relaxed when she spotted Jessop in the corner. "And what brings you here, my lord?" She moved forward to join Margot, who hoped her companion had not seen the moment of hand holding. If she had, Margot would never hear the end of it.

"Why, to ask you both to promenade with me along Rotten Row. I am quite sure there are several of my dear friends who would be charmed to make Miss Keating's acquaintance."

To this, Mrs. Bowley did not look convinced, but an expression of complete calculation passed over her face and then, she suddenly smiled, clearly remembering that no matter what gossip said, Langley was a wealthy earl. He had status, position, and was very eligible. Mrs. Bowley it seemed could not help but be flattered on Margot's behalf. "Do run and fetch our bonnets and shawls, Jessop, as we would be delighted to accompany you, my lord."