Chapter 16

Having been to hundreds of London balls in his time, Langley was not entirely sure why this one was putting him on edge. But it was. Undoubtedly.

He had taken the precaution of bringing with him a weapon, a discreet pistol that was stowed in his jacket pocket, easy to use as it was loaded, so he could use it if called upon.

Even its reassuring weight was not as much comfort as he would have imagined. The decision to arrange both Adams, his footman, and his driver, Brewton, to be armed and to be stationed at strategic points in the mansion was an extra precaution too, but it still did not feel like enough. If only he had not been so cavalier with Verne earlier in the Season.

Arriving and taking in the magnificent Norton abode should have been reassuringly familiar—everything was beautifully attired and arranged. Candles lit the ballroom, and the wide glass windows had been flung open so that the opulent chamber remained fresh and with the pretty impression that nature was only a few steps away. Langley knew this place, he knew these people—they were his society, his milieu, and he knew what to do with them. But tonight, he could not find any peace. Idly, he wondered whether it was simply that he had not tupped a woman in a long time. Far too long. But practised seducer that he was, he knew he would not be satisfied with anyone but his Amazon.

This realisation for some might have been uncomfortable, but Langley had decided to accept it as a specific type of lust. He wanted her. He needed to know more of her body, to understand her better, to know with complete certainty how she would sigh as he slid into her, how her neck would arch and what her delicate breasts would feel like cupped in his much larger hands. In the past he'd had women he'd wanted, of course he had not bothered with growing a friendship with them first… that was the only difference here. Once he had had Margot, once he knew her, it would be easy to say goodbye. Any other idea he would not tolerate.

Precisely what was making him so anxious though was difficult to pinpoint, but he decided to attribute it to the search for the clock and fears of what would occur should Ashmore's killer arrive.

Watching Margot dance in the arms of Sir Phineas was not providing any consolation. Margot and he had briefly talked, giving the impression of a casual greeting that was in fact the pair of them consulting on where the clock was located and who was best placed to go and retrieve it.

"Langley doesn't mind, do you, darling?" Lady Georgianna Herbert's voice was loud and yet her tone conveyed an intimacy of acquaintance, pulling Langley back to his immediate surroundings and away from staring at his Amazon. He pivoted with as much ease as he could manage to look down at his curvaceous former lover. Lady Herbert's round blue eyes sparkled temptingly, and he knew he would normally make some joke and ease himself back into her good graces.

"Quite. I often find my Lady Herbert is right on a great many matters."

"See." There was a sharp pleasure to Lady Herbert's voice and Langley leant closer, with all the impression of enjoyment in her company to whisper into her ear.

"What have I agreed to?"

"Merely that Lady Norton's niece is quite the belle of the Season," Lady Herbert said.

"Mhmmm." Langley looked around the group of Lady Herbert's followers, only recognising two out of the five of them. "But as you may be aware, I rarely care for the good opinion of the ton, at least in matters of who is an eligible lady."

"Far too interested in who isn't eligible. And leaves the suitably dull for the rest of us," said one of the gentlemen next to Langley, who he vaguely knew as a fellow earl. Preston, he thought. Either way, the man's large jowls and beady brown eyes showed a person not likely to appeal to any rational woman. This lord slapped Langley on the arm, and normally it would not have mattered—he was used to such sporting and teasing innuendoes, and would often crack the same ribald jokes himself. But there was a lewdness apparent in the earl's eyes, or perhaps it was a carelessness that Langley had never bothered to notice before, but it troubled him now with an ill-definable air.

"Come, my dear." Langley offered his hand out to Lady Herbert, suddenly eager to be away from this particular circle. "Can I secure you a glass of ratafia or perhaps whisk you away onto the dancefloor?"

Graciously, Lady Herbert accepted his offer and allowed him to march her away from the group. As she talked, they moved past the dancefloor, Langley still watching Margot. She had chosen to wear a simple green dress, the shape clinging to her lean frame, and he recalled all too well how her fingers had dug into his hair as he'd plundered her body with his mouth.

"And then I think I shall throw off my clothes and dive naked into the serpentine," Lady Herbert said, causing Langley to start and realise he had not been paying the slightest heed to her.

Turning he looked down apologetically at her. She gave him an exasperated look. "Who is it now? Which poor lady has caught your attention this month?"

"Why would she be poor? I do believe that all my favourite amours have been pleased by our… encounters?" he asked, confident in his own abilities to satisfy a woman in bed.

"Oh yes, on that side of things." Lady Herbert reached for the ratafia herself and took a gulp. "I doubt any woman living would complain. You are awfully good."

"Good?"

"I won't stroke your ego anymore," Lady Herbert said, almost primly. "What I meant was, you never reached a point of being vulnerable. Not that I could see."

"I hardly think that aids in the act."

A slight look of sadness passed over her face, and Lady Herbert then shrugged as if dismissing the memory. "No, but what it means, dearest Silvester, is that you have fucked half of London, but you have never made love to one of them."

"That is merely a clever play on words," Langley said, although the only incident of making love he could think of, the only act of passion he wished to dwell on was the taste of Margot, the feel of her strong thighs as she lifted and held on to his face, the tickle of her dark curls… He did not wish to sully the memory of it by comparing it to the other numerous acts he'd indulged in.

Lady Herbert shook her head. "You know, I never took you for a fool, Langley." With that she straightened and gave a wave to a passing widower. "Chalford, darling, there you are. I have been looking for you all evening."

With that, Lady Herbert left him standing by the milling servants and their trays of drinks, feeling as if he had been considered, evaluated, and on final judgement, seen for all the failures Langley had tried his best to hide. Added to that he had the distinct impression that Lady Herbert thought he was missing a decided trick in bed. He had considered himself to be a good rake, one who was not uncaring, just uninterested in anything deeper. Now he saw his own failure laid bare…

But what he couldn't see was Margot.

His gaze had moved to the dancefloor and back again, but the waltz had finished, and the partnered couples were departing, and when Langley moved back to the swirling ballroom, he could not make out Margot's moss coloured gown in the crowd, or even the top of her tall, dark-haired figure.

Would she have been foolish enough to slip away now at the height of the celebrations to retrieve that blasted clock? It would be busy, and she might be unnoticed, but what was her plan if she were missed? Was it to take the clock with her, hidden away under her skirts…

Another thought occurred to him as he hurried through the ballroom: Margot sneaking off and being caught in her search…

On reaching the foot of the staircase, Langley darted up the stairs, hopeful that as there was an announcement occurring in the middle of the ballroom floor, he would be unnoticed by the beau monde. Besides, if he was seen most would assume he was merely going to sate his lust, and not attempt to find a bloody clock.

The landing was unoccupied, and Langley made his way briskly down the corridor. Third along, he'd told Margot, and when he reached and pushed the door open, it was to see her poised next to the fireplace, one hand on the clock. The chamber was a guest one, its furniture a handsome oak, its wallpaper a glossy hand-painted blue, but the large bed against the wall to the left of them drew most of the attention.

Margot looked up from her task of shifting the clock forward, a guiltily coloured blush flaming on her cheeks as her eyes fixed on his. She swallowed. "You didn't mention it was a bedroom."

"I thought we'd agreed I would fetch the clock. After all, I have a much better excuse for being up here on my own."

"I was not simply going to stand there and watch you continue your affair with Lady Herbert. I have heard the rumours. Everybody in London has, I should not wonder. Just because the ton are used to your behaviour does not mean I am. Or as your invited guest, that I should tolerate it. Are you going to deny that you are lovers?"

"No." Langley leant back against the door. He rather hoped that this outburst from Margot could be attributed to jealousy. That would at least indicate she was not indifferent towards him. It wasn't an honourable emotion, but he wanted to see the raw, ugly side to her—to know her completely and find why they were not compatible, as he had always done. "We were lovers, Georgianna and me. But if you must know, we are not anymore. I cannot recall the last time I was—" He did not say ‘fuck', figuring it would not amuse Margot. "—was with her. It was before I met you. I am not interested in resuming an affair with her. Rest assured on that point." He did not add that the only woman he wished to bed was the fiery, bad-tempered brunette before him.

"Hmm." Margot's nose wrinkled, her brows creased, and she seemed less than convinced. For all the world she looked like an angry librarian readily searching for the next argument. Langley should have found it infuriating but he thought it rather endearing. "I have my sincere doubts on that front." With a sigh, she turned back to the clock. "I had assumed that this was merely a chamber you had previously met one of your lovers in. If it is not Lady Herbert, I am sure it must be one of the other numerous?—"

"You wish to know why I was in this chamber? It was not because of any lovers."

Margot's eyebrow rose doubtfully. He wondered if she would believe him if he told her he'd spotted it when half cut and staggering from the ill effects of whisky.

"I can hardly be blamed for my past," Langley said. He sauntered away from the doorway, crossing closer to her with the aim of helping lift down and examine the heavy clock. On reaching it, he eased it from her hands and placed it on the more accessible side table. "I would not hold any past sins or errors of judgement against you…"

"You refer to my moment of utter foolishness at Madam Sandrine's?"

That stung, and Langley wished it didn't. "If that is all you considered it to be, madam, that is your choice."

With a furious gleam in her eye, Margot slapped the front of the clock back in place, abandoning their discovery to stalk nearer to him, stopping so that only a handful of inches separated them. "I can find joy, love, and affection. I simply do not have to cave into any baser instincts on my part. It is you who refuses to let anything ever be worthwhile—it is not me…" She sucked in a breath, her attempts to control the emotions failing as she looked at him. "Every blessing and advantage are yours, and yet you are afraid to feel. At least I can comfort myself with the knowledge I am not as much of a coward."

The moment of triumph on her face vanished when Langley bent nearer, so that his mouth was a hairsbreadth from hers. The narrowed air between them fizzed and tightened with a desire that Langley doubted even Margot could ignore. Without even touching her he was rock hard. It would be so easy to seal their lips together, to taste the fullness of her mouth, and drown in the luxury of knowing her. His voice was low, and he did not move back when he said, "You can be just as afraid as me, love, in denying what is here between us. That's a form of cowardice. I for one, do not feel like a coward now. Your inability to treasure true pleasure is a cross you alone must bear. Because I know what you felt at Madam Sandrine's. You cannot lie to me on that score."

"Please," Margot said, and he was not entirely sure what she was asking of him—to leave her here alone, or to press even closer and claim her. But after everything he knew it, she had to make the first move.

"Do you want me to demand that wager you promised me all those weeks ago?" Langley asked, hoping against hope that Margot would not waver and change her mind from the temptation she so clearly wished to succumb to. Seconds dragged by, feeling agonisingly slow.

"You mean when I said I would kiss you?" Desire was clouding her eyes as she looked up at him, her pointed chin angled as she stared at his face.

"That was what we agreed."

"Hmm." Her hands came up and held his face. Her touch against his skin was humbling and he knew as much as he wanted her to say yes, the prospect that she might was equally thrilling and overwhelming. The sheer need for Margot blocked out the memory of the other women he had bedded, banishing them from his thoughts, maybe forever. Perhaps that should have worried him, but Langley told himself it was merely a phase. As soon as Margot and he had found their satisfaction, these feelings would pass. "You would tempt a saint, and I never said I was there. Silvester, you are too good at these games of seduction."

Heaven though it was to hear his name on her lips, he didn't want her to think this was merely because of the bet, or because of his game playing. Besides, he had hardly even started trying to seduce her. Margot was too good at seeing through such acts. Anytime he'd tried she'd simply laughed.

He shifted one of her curls behind her ear, tucking it away so he could look into her clear face, examine her handsome features at such a close distance. "It is not a game with you, love."

She closed the distance between them, wrapping her hands tightly around the back of his neck and kissing him hungrily, as if she were a starving woman. Her mouth was firm and sweet, and when Langley ran his tongue along the seam of her lips, she parted them willingly, and he tasted her completely. If a man could be undone by a kiss, one that had started off so willingly but chastely, it suddenly seemed as if it might be him.

Unable to hold back anymore, Langley let his hands fall upon the back of her dress, moulding her form to his, pressing Margot to him as if he needed above all to memorise the shape and feel of her. By the time he was done she would be imprinted on his frame, his mind, God, even his soul—then he would tuck her away within him as easily as he moved that stray strand of her hair. It might not be making love to her, but this might be as close as he could get.

They moved together unevenly, with none of his practised elegance, as if they were youths, scrambling and eager for one another, pulling and loosening each other's clothes, his suit jacket discarded, and he heard his own shirt rip under the franticness of her hands. When he bent and scooped her up in his arms, he took them both towards the massive guest bed.