Chapter 15

Margot made it into her bedroom and considered throwing the clock against the wall in the anger that engulfed her. On the way up the stairs towards her room, she could hear some of the raucous laughter from the neighbouring party. Yet more of Langley's sexual extravagances on display. Inescapable, it seemed.

Silvester had consumed her, literally and metaphorically, and now the memory of him was wedged in her chest. It wouldn't matter if she put half a country between them, or a dozen years, she doubted she would forget the sensation he had created with the touch of his tongue and hands. That realisation stung; he had shown her such unexpected but intense pleasure, only to abandon her as she came back to herself. She had even lost one of her fine silk stockings, abandoned on the floor along with her respectability.

"You know it's the nature of a rake," she said it aloud into the darkened bedroom. Mrs. Bowley had warned her. Her mother had. In the few trips she had had to Vicar Keating's mother in Edinburgh, there even Grandmother Keating had told both Elsie and her the same thing: rakes didn't care about their conquests. They didn't have hearts to lose, and hoping for faithfulness was like wishing for the moon.

Casting the red gown from her and throwing herself into the lonely bed, Margot thought she was no better than her mother—eager, willing, and begging for the touch of a noble. A lord who it seemed had no consideration for her.

The only comfort as she pulled the coverlet up and over her, was that at least he could not have impregnated her. She could hold on to that sliver of reassurance. She would never allow it to happen, if only for her own sanity, and because she would never let a child grow up as she had, only to discover the hideous truth years later. Truly, the only problem with that plan was how much she was tempted to give in to Langley regardless of her common-sense arguments in favour of ignoring the earl…

"That is, I suppose, why it is called a sinful temptation," Margot said into the empty chamber, hoping this might cease her hopes. Instead, loneliness washed over her.

Much to Margot's annoyance,try as she might, ignoring the oversized presence of Langley was far harder than she expected. Firstly, Mrs. Bowley was deeply confused and could not understand any of the rationale that Margot alluded to for avoiding the earl.

Her next step, inviting over Mr. McCreary and Mr. Talbot, the Bow Street Runners who were supposed to be working on the case around the duke's death. Neither were keen to discuss the matter with her, not until the heir arrived. The two of them stood awkwardly in the salon as she poured tea, and when she informed them that neither Mr. Holt, the estate's lawyer, nor the new duke were attending today's meeting, she even saw Mr. Talbot give a desirous look towards the doorway, as if the dratted man wished to leave.

"I suppose, miss," Mr. McCreary said as he smoothed his large hand through the short ginger whiskers on his face. "Your neighbour might be able to help in this case. Oversee things, as it were. He was here last time."

How come, Margot thought resentfully, everyone else wanted Langley's presence? It rubbed especially raw when she was determined to not acknowledge how much she missed his wry humour and jokes, or the solace he provided merely by being close to her. With a sigh, Margot blinked away those memories. She could not allow such things to distract her.

"Has there been any further indications of who killed Duke Ashmore?" She pressed on. Surely these two detectives must have found something. It had been weeks since Ashmore had been killed, and they had assured her no other assailants were present, and having been given access to almost all the details they could want of the household—something must have been learnt?

"Well." Mr. McCreary let out a sigh, as if Margot truly was the stupidest person he'd ever met. "Since we've been keeping it hush-hush, it's proving difficult to track down too many leads. We most definitely wish to speak to the new duke, that is for certain."

So do I, Margot thought. She would like it very much. Especially if the new duke could return with her sister. Neither of whom she had heard from since Elsie had departed weeks back. A small part of Margot was starting to panic. What if she had sent Elsie off somewhere dangerous? And by the Runner's implication perhaps he suspected the new duke.

"That is why I am now suggesting we reveal the truth of what happened to the ton," Margot said. Keeping the pretence going in her own household was hard enough, besides, as a vicar's daughter raised if not born, Margot was starting to think the Christian thing to do was to honour Ashmore with a proper funeral. She had collected as many of the keys as she could reasonably find, and if the murderer was to try and attack this townhouse again, at least everyone would be prepared. Besides, selfishly, the enforced mourning period would mean Margot would have to withdraw from society, and therefore not have to see Langley again. "I think it wise," she continued, "to announce his death from an illness. It was what I hoped would perhaps also bring the heir to Town."

Neither looked overly convinced, and it was dawning on Margot that without Langley both saw her as little more than a silly female.

"Of course," she continued, hopeful one of them might crack and see sense, "it would be wise once it's announced to have some more guards stationed close to the house."

Again, there was a doubtful air from the pair of them.

"Mr. Talbot, my godfather has played his part by staying ‘alive'. Our choice to keep his murder silent has now run its course. Surely any revelation at this point in a stilted investigation may well turn over new leads?" She tried her best to be persuasive, but to this Mr. Talbot simply yawned. Why did her feminine wiles not work on anyone? Barring, it seemed, a dissolute earl.

"Very well, miss, if your lawyer thinks it wise," Mr. McCreary said. "We'll go to him, and he'll contact the papers with the news."

"But until you hear back from Mr. Holt, I suggest you don't arrange another meeting with us, not without his presence," Mr. Talbot said. "Or the earl next door, if you prefer."

Margot forced herself to stand and not curse them. Never before had she felt more useless in her own sex, or more frustrated by the sheer stupidity of men—surely, she had proved herself again and again, managing to find those keys and even briefly the killer. Neither of which these two lumps had achieved.

They left and Margot moved across to the window looking out onto the street. She supposed she could depart—there was no need for her to stay inside. She could easily request Jessop's presence to head down Rotten Row or Hatchards and find herself a good novel, or if she were feeling so inclined head to the British Museum, but if she were entirely truthful, she had no desire to do any of that.

Her body, her very skin beneath her periwinkle blue dress felt alive in a way that she had never experienced before. Alert and conscious of the sensation in her limbs and torso. It was of course entirely Langley's fault, and no matter which way she cut it, she knew she had fallen under his spell.

In all Margot's twenty-eight years, she had never been more disappointed in herself. She wondered whether perhaps she should write to her mother and confess all. Or at least a version of it—she was hardly going to tell her mother what had happened at Madam Sandrine's. Feeling warmth creep over her skin, Margot climbed into the window seat and watched the ton meander past the townhouse.

As soon as it was known throughout Town, she would need to retire. Mr. Holt would arrive. Perhaps finally the new duke would grace them with his presence. It would mean that she could not dwell, or loll around in some girlish fantasy of bringing Langley around to whatever she had dreamt about.

"Excuse me." His voice, masculine but melodic, cut through her thoughts, and Margot sat bolt upright, looking across the room at Langley. Had her imaginings somehow caused him to appear?

With as much dignity as she could, Margot eased herself into an upright position and bobbed a simple curtsey. "Good day to you, my lord." Margot was pleased at how calm and no nonsense her voice sounded. It was good to see that despite everything, she could at least cling to the idea of respectability, no matter what.

Of course, curse him, Langley was as beautiful as ever. The light of the spring sunshine cut through the windows, warming him with a pleasant April heat, illuminating the blond curls of his head, and playing lovingly around the sharpness of his green eyes. His clothes were a magnificent suit of fine navy, and his white shirt was pressed and held together with a crisp cravat. He removed his dark hat, dipping an elegant bow to her, every inch the gentleman.

Her eyes drifted over his firm square shoulders. She remembered all too well how they had felt when she had been balanced on them. An itch wriggled through her to rush forward and grip hold of him. It was as if there were a thread wrapped between the two of them, and now with him present she was aware of that material tightening and pulling her towards his form.

With a great deal of effort, Margot folded her hands behind her back and reminded herself of three important things: one, she could always ring for a servant should she need to. Two: Langley may know far too much about her, but she had at least kept secret her bastardy from him. Three: finally, but by no means unimportantly, within the next week or month she would never have to see him again.

Why that was not such a solace, she could not say.

"I am pleased to see you, Miss Keating." Even with the driest of statements Langley managed to sound amused, as if it had some illicit implication.

"I am not sure what would have drawn your presence here today," Margot said. She eyed the door and wondered whether she could excuse herself. After their last interaction on the street at least, surely, he must know how little she wished to see him? "I felt quite certain there was nothing more for us to discuss. If my behaviour gave you the impression…"

Langley held up a hand, and Margot stopped whatever she was going to say next. "I did not seek to embarrass you. That was never my intention. I do hope you will believe me on that point."

"It is something you simply cannot help?"

"It may well be my weakness." Langley gave her a shy, almost apologetic smile, and she wished to loathe him, but those feelings of hatred would not come. There was not an ounce of abhorrence for him within her, no matter how much she tried.

"Why are you here, my lord?" She would not use his name, either of them. The memory of calling him by his Christian name left her vulnerable.

"There are two things and then I will be gone." He moved to the sofa, and sank down onto the seat. "Please know that the party you overheard, I had no recollection of organising that particular event. I was far more focused on…"

"Ruining me?"

"Oh, believe me, Miss Keating, if I had wanted you ruined that night, it would most definitely have occurred." He spoke with such arrogance that Margot felt the very blood in her veins plunge lower and heat. It was like he had control over her sensations, knowing precisely what to do to spur every one of her desires.

"It was simply a way of showing off your prowess, then?"

"No. I wished you to know that on that night, after you departed, nothing occurred between myself and anyone else in my house." There was such clear-eyed sincerity to his heated gaze that it twisted inside Margot, and she wondered whether he was telling her the truth. "I had no desire for another woman."

Unable to keep holding his gaze, Margot left her position by the window and moved across to a seat. Pleased for the support of the pillows. It was the armchair furthest from Langley, but she still felt the pull of the man.

"What was your second point?" Margot queried. She dared not ask any more details on that matter, although there was an urge within her to discover quite why he desired her. It was so tempting to discover if his want for her was as bone deep as hers was for him.

Langley leant forward, his eyes exploring her face before he spoke. "I was at one of my friends' houses, or rather I should say his mistress's abode."

"Yes?"

"I saw another one of Ashmore's clocks. It must have been one that was on the other part of the map." Langley sounded excited, clearly pleased with himself for the discovery.

"Did you manage to steal it?"

"No." A degree of annoyance entered his voice, but then he smiled his laconic easy grin, all charm once more that brightened his entire persona. "But Lady Norton is hosting a ball tonight, for all her nearest and dearest in the ton. A mere one hundred and fifty guests." He drew from the inner pocket of his suit a thick vellum invite, and offered it out across the space between them. "It would be dangerous to go," he said as he watched Margot's reaction. "It is entirely possible that Ashmore's murderer knows about this location. He may even be at the ball on the lookout for the clock himself."

Margot eyed the thick-cut invite before she nodded in agreement to attend, taking Langley up on his ill-advised offer of going to the ball. Of course, it was a desperate move on her part, but not for the reasons the earl thought.