Chapter 14

Of all the reactions Langley had expected from Margot, this had not been it. He might have hoped or dreamt of hearing that strangled gasp of desire, but from a vicar's daughter, one who had spent the last ten days to two weeks cementing a platonic wall around herself, that desire was not something he would have imagined from her. It didn't mean, of course, that he didn't smile, and she must have seen that grin, because Margot turned away from him, hiding her face in her hands.

"Don't look at me." Margot moved away, turning as if she meant to run into the darkness.

In haste, Langley moved forward to her. When he reached Margot, he wrapped his arms around her with as much gentleness as he could manage. It angered him to no end that women were made to feel shame for their desires. Her admittance had been a godsend, but he would hardly be cad enough to act… despite how much that one little outcry of hers had shot a lightning bolt of want through his body, and his cock was throbbing for her. Hopefully she was naive enough not to notice, or failing that, that his trousers hid the evidence.

"Hush" His forehead rested against hers as he held her lightly, hoping he sounded sufficiently soothing. "There is nothing in this world you could do to be embarrassing, and desire is one of the greatest joys there is."

She wriggled against him, and Langley immediately stiffened, the fleeting touch of her body inflaming him. But he needed to stay in control, to not allow himself the pleasure of her tantalisingly warm perfume, or to luxuriate for too long in the feel of her slender shoulders under his grip.

"I—Just…" Margot's voice was very low, whispered close to his face as she stared up at him. He couldn't see her expression, but he could sense her trembling uncertainty, and something else—something he thought he knew all too well: feminine need. "I don't think I can be at ease. I ache… as if there is…" Margot trailed off, and she shook her head. "I should not be saying such things to you."

With an unsteady release of breath, Langley controlled himself. It was not the first time a woman had admitted her desires aloud in his presence, in fact he had lost track of the number of times they had approached him hoping for his ‘help'. But there was something utterly consuming and different about Margot's revelation. If he moved in that moment, it would be to push her through the nearest door and into whatever bedroom happened to be there, to capture her mouth with a hundred kisses, taste the sweet nectar of her tongue and lips, and then rip her clothes from her body. All the promises and reminders of the last fortnight were now working against him. Normally, extending his acquaintance with a woman or lady taught him all the little ways they would not suit beyond the bedroom. In Margot's case it seemed as if the qualities he admired in the daytime were driving him wilder. He wanted her because of her qualities, whether that was her bravery or her talk of her family. The humour at the absurdities of the ton made the intimate pose they now found themselves in even more illicit, and all prior memories of other women faded from his mind.

There was a mad, urgent need to possess her which had Langley in its grip so tightly that for one wild second, he indulged in the idea of what heaven it would be to give in to temptation.

Of course, he couldn't do any of that.

She wriggled again.

"Stop it." He had meant to sound jokingly irate, but instead his tone came out with a husky edge to it. Her hips with the last move had jogged against his front, the most unconscious of brushes, and yet it was driving him out of his mind.

"It won't pass," Margot said, and Langley knew precisely what she meant, and when she leant closer, pressing herself entirely against his frame, her neat body flush to his, all those restrictions and naysaying thoughts fled from him. With his forehead still resting against hers, Langley lowered his right hand from her shoulder, and with a deft touch gave her all the time in the world to move away if she wanted to.

Margot did not. Instead, he felt a small shuddering breath escape her lips as his fingers drifted down and over the small shape of her perfect breast. Her neck tipped back, and in the faint light of the lantern he saw her swallow. Unable to stop himself, Langley's hand moved faster, over her stomach and down to nestle in amongst the soft silk of her gown, he pressed in as close as he could get, rubbing at the apex of her thighs, touching her sex through the material. He could feel the sheer wanton wetness of want.

Margot's eyes opened wide as he stroked her through the material, the beat of her breaths heightened as their eyes locked.

"Silvester—I want—I—" It was bliss to hear his name on her lips.

"I know," Langley said. There were even some nerves at the back of his mind in case he could not bring her completion—this had never worried him before, but it mattered so greatly that he could. With a grim realisation, he knew that this was the risk of becoming friends with Margot first. Now he cared, more than he ever had previously… Perhaps it was even more than friendship.

She shifted her sex against his hand once more, lifting herself against his fingers with a keenness that was so provokingly intense.

Together they struggled back against the wall of the passageway, Langley fumbling with the folds of her silken red skirt, lifting and adjusting her until Margot was flat against the panelling. There was no time to crash through the nearest doorway, besides, something told him that if he dragged the pair of them through into whatever available bedroom he happened to find, Margot might regain her senses.

In his own eagerness for her, Langley hardly had time to admire the shapely outline of Margot's long, stockinged legs, or even the nakedness of her long legs before he found what he sought—Margot's damp, dark curls. God, had anyone ever wanted a woman more?

"Hold on to your skirts." Langley did not recognise his voice as a small part of her dress got in his way.

Unquestioningly, perhaps for the first time ever, Margot followed his direction, snatching up the material of her gown and clutching it to her torso. The back of her head was thrown back as she writhed and gasped against the wall each time that he touched her. His finger stroked in increasingly strong movements, finding the specific place inside her that would made Margot squirm.

Langley dipped one of his fingers into her tight passage. She was warm, tight, and inviting. Whilst there was only a faint amount of flickering light for him to see her, Langley could make out the outline of Margot's delectable sex, the curving points of her hips and the sheen of her pale skin. Distantly, he wondered if Madam Sandrine or her servant might come upon them, but then he heard Margot laugh as she moved, and the thought of anyone else fled from his mind.

"Like that," she said, pulling Langley back to her with just a whisper. Her feet arched upwards as she strained against his fingers. One of her stockings had completely dropped down her thigh to pool around her ankle, leaving yet more of her body exposed. He wanted to kiss all of her and tell Margot how lovely he thought she was as he explored her.

In fact, that was an excellent idea, Langley told himself with pride. After all, thinking of anything beyond simply touching Margot was now a distant concept. With that in mind, he dropped to his knees before her, lifting Margot up so that her legs draped either side of his head, adjusting her to give himself better access to her sex. His face was buried amongst her curls, those delicious legs of hers hanging down his back, and all he could smell, and taste was her.

Margot cried out as his tongue pierced and stroked against the peak of her sex, it was music to his ears. Langley felt certain the noises she was making were some of the sweetest he'd ever heard. Of course, he'd imagined previously how Margot might sound in the height of her passions, but the reality was far better.

As he swirled his tongue more thoroughly against the inner folds of Margot's sex, he could feel her body tensing against the intrusion. Distantly, his mind told him not to press in too deeply with his mouth or fingers, he hardly wanted to take Margot's virginity in a mere passageway. But that knowledge pulled against the reality of her squirming body, and his own need to worship at the fount of her, drinking in every single moan, wriggle, and reaction.

Being with her so, unmanned in a way, he could understand. His passion felt like a thing alive—unhealthy, and needy, and almost animalistic in its desire to consume and be one. But the idea scared him too.

Sexual congress had always been his forte, and Margot had dismissed his libertine choices. For her to now admit she too felt desire was a bittersweet sort of victory. Still, it was an uncalled-for emotion. It would have been an enjoyable time, so as his tongue probed more deeply into Margot, she gave another lusty cry, her body shaking, and Langley knew she was close. That sudden, vicious thought entered his head on running, inexpiable but present as he fought both his own wants and the overwhelming need to continue tasting her.

"Margot." He eased his head back to look up at her, visible as a tempting, writhing sight above him, balanced delightfully on his shoulders. His fingers took the place of his tongue to play and touch the folds of her sex as he watched Margot arch and reach desperately for her release. Their eyes met, hers keen and needy.

"Let go." He told her. Then he bent once more back to his task, kissing, nibbling, and stroking with his tongue until he felt Margot's body start to shake and convulse around him.

She gasped out his name as her body peaked, and he watched in fascination as the colour rose in her chest and cheeks, lighting his Amazon in pinks and reds. It suited her a great deal, as if she had finally cast off some unknown burden.

Langley stayed where he was, enjoying as he always had the reaction of a woman on finding her completion. There was a satisfaction in knowing he had played a part in such an act. This was fun, enjoyable—perhaps too, a sense of finally having one over on Margot's stiff-necked refusal. Well, it was petty on his part, but he could settle that at least in his favour.

But when Margot lowered her eyes to seek him out, her breathing eased and she seemed to come back to herself, Margot saw him holding her steady against the wall. There came over her face the most tremendous of smiles, a grace that illuminated her as if by a light from within. She was both the wanton woman he had tasted until his tongue and face thought he might die from the pleasure of it, but she was also the lady he had traipsed through London with on a mission. She was as strong, clever, and resourceful as ever. Then there was added to this mix all the titbits she had dropped about her life and pastimes, the little giveaways Langley swore he hadn't been listening to, but somehow had lodged in his mind: ones that indicated that she was a dear, sweet companion ready to risk all for the right cause. It had not occurred to Langley that this would happen when he saw her after such an act. Or rather, he had not realised how it would bring a sudden tear to his eye, and that urgent need reared its head again, and he knew he wanted to put as much space as possible between Margot and himself before those dangerous feelings came upon him again.

With as much speed as he could manage without, he hoped, too much rudeness, he lowered her to the floor, stood up, and set about righting her gown.

"Silvester," she tried as he pushed the red material back down her legs. Somewhere nearby her mask must have been displaced or forgotten. He needed to find that before they left the passageway. "Silvester," she said his Christian name again, but he would not let himself heed her. That urge to put space between the two of them was mounting, and remaining to talk, to dwell, or to pick through what had occurred was anathema to him. "Langley." Margot's voice was sharper, calling him back to himself, and he finally turned back to her, the false, charming smile he used with countless other women firmly in place.

"Yes, love?" Even to his own ears the endearment sounded false.

"I will take my mask." The softness and the shining grace from Margot had vanished, and in their place was the familiar robustness they had gone about their mission with. It stung, although Langley reminded himself, surely it was preferable to confronting whatever he might be feeling. "We must resume our search."

All thoughts of the blasted clock and key had honestly fled from Langley's mind the minute he had touched her. Now the damned woman wanted them to continue through the brothel… well, he would have to honour that.

With a mock bow, he bent and scooped up the lantern. "Lead on, love."

Margot turned on her heel and marched off, with Langley forced to follow in her wake, unable to resist watching the bob of her bottom in the faint shadows. The next gap in the panelling they found was thankfully unoccupied, and the one after that, the couple had clearly just finished. Neither room had the clock in it.

"Perhaps," Langley said, desperately wishing they could leave, "I should return on my own."

"No, I am here now. This is the final key I can find without the rest of the map; I want to have as many as I can before the new duke comes to Town." Margot leant forward and took the lantern from him, making her way down the stairs. Following in her wake, Langley saw her glance briefly through one peep hole, colour, and then shake her head before turning and looking through the room opposite. At this point he caught a tiny smile before she looked back at him. She stepped away from the gap and then she spoke triumphantly. "It's in there. On the mantelpiece. I recognise the markings."

"How long do you reckon we might have to wait?" Langley tried to make his question sound humorous, but it brought no answering smile to Margot's face.

"I don't know, my lord. I would suggest you simply ask Madam Sandrine if we can buy the clock, and then we can leave this place once and for all."

"Very well." Langley strode away from the room and rapped against the panelling that was linked to the outer corridor. It swung open and he exchanged words with the servant. He watched the man's eyes widen in surprise, but it was hardly the oddest request the servant would have heard that week, and after Langley had passed over a pound note, the man ushered them out of the passageway onto the main corridor, indicating where they should go. Minutes ticked by as they waited, and then the servant returned with the clock, which he passed over to the earl. In the candlelit hallway, Langley recognised it. They had completed their mission, he thought with a sinking heart. With that done, the two of them departed the brothel via the main staircase and made for his waiting coach outside.

"Will you break into it now?" Langley asked after a few uncomfortable moments of silence in the carriage.

"No," Margot said. "I think from now on, I will speak to the Runners, and reveal all I know."

"All in preparation for the new duke?" For some reason a note of annoyance edged its way into Langley's voice, and he had a sneaking suspicion it was down to jealousy of the mysterious heir. Which was, of course, stupid, as Langley never got envious of any man.

"It is time the truth, or as much of the truth as can be known, be made public. Besides, Ashmore deserves his funeral."

Whether this was true, and the danger was now removed from her situation, Langley had his doubts, but he knew by the decided set of Margot's jawline that she had come to a decision. Perhaps tomorrow he might be able to convince her of the wisdom in waiting just a little longer, but right now he knew it was pointless. They lapsed into silence, and when they reached Bolton Street, the two of them hurriedly parted company, walking speedily up to their own front doors.

It was only then as he saw her pause as if to speak, that the noise of what was certainly his friends carousing inside his house could be heard out on the street, and it dawned on Langley then that this was the night he had suggested to Fleming for an orgy. It had entirely slipped Langley's mind.

Margot pivoted where she stood, hesitating on the doorstep, her eyes searching his face for the truth. To Langley's disappointment, she read him all too clearly. He had always been good at cards, but to her, his face revealed too much. "A late-night treat for a returning lord?" she asked with disdain dripping from every word as her hand fumbled to both manage the clock she held and to push open the front door.

To Langley's annoyance, the door to Margot's abode swung open and she disappeared inside before he could think of a suitable reply.

Served her right, Langley thought, if he were to go and indulge himself. She may have found her own climax, but he certainly hadn't. His visible desire for her may have waned, but he was still frustrated. The doorway to his own townhouse opened, but rather than beat his way into the salon which was undoubtedly filled with his friends, willing bodies, and happy laughs, instead he turned and went straight up to his own bedchamber, stopping only to pour himself a large glass of brandy before falling into his own empty bed, all too angry and confused to do anything else.