Chapter 18

The gauzy, deep sleep of a man thoroughly satisfied had engulfed Langley, the resting hand of Margot lying on his stomach as he dreamt. He had needed the comfort of sleep, the reassurance of it, because after she had drifted off Langley had stared at the canopy above him, poleaxed by the overwhelming feeling Margot had stirred in him. Tupping was an act that Silvester was far too familiar with. It never bored him, but he knew the ropes of it, knew what it was to have a good fuck. A bad fuck. And everything in between. This had been none of those three, but something else entirely, and he lay completely still, almost afraid to move for fear of what it meant.

He must have slept through until the rude awakening of Margot's cry. This abrupt start was not what he had ever envisioned—the rest of the world had seemed like a mistake, an error entirely, whilst he was still not clear what it was supposed to mean.

Now the three of them were in a standoff, with a murderer pressing a knife against the fragile skin of Margot's neck. Everything within Langley was focused entirely on that pale piece of flesh with the blade hovering above it. If he had thought that making love to her would banish those confusing, perplexing emotions that cartwheeled through him previously, then this freshly delivered dose of danger disproved that particular theory.

Flicking his eyes up, he focused in on Margot's panicked, darting eyes, hoping to convey to her a calming reassurance, that he would not allow anything to happen to her.

"Release her." Langley's voice was not his own. He had adopted the strange stiffness of a much older man. He realised as he wetted his lips, he was using the cold tone of his father. Long dead, but who had the authority that Langley needed in this moment. Where the knowledge or the need came from, he did not know, but he wanted something of his father's strength for this moment. "I will not allow you to leave this room if anything happens to her."

It dawned on him that he was naked, and it might have worried another man, but Langley found the only real concern he had was that he hadn't fired his hastily snatched up pistol. Snatched up from his jacket when he'd heard Margot cry out.

Why hadn't he thought of this risk, why hadn't he spirited her back to Bolton Street, to safety? Sadly, Langley knew the answer—he had been far too distracted by the opportunity of bedding Margot to think of what would happen next. What a fool he'd been. A predictable one at that.

He wished more than anything to stride forward and launch himself at the attacker. The man was well covered, hiding his face as much as he could. There was a hat sat low on his head, but Langley had a sneaking suspicion he had seen the man out in society, at one of the many parties Langley had attended, not just his own orgy. Perhaps they had even been introduced at a racetrack or a gambling den.

"I don't care for the key; it's slid under the bed. Release the girl, and you can go for it. I will not interfere," Langley said. "Just give her to me. Now."

The man seemed to be considering this course of action. At the mention of the key, Langley could see Margot's ‘no' form on her lips. Langley would certainly hear a mountain of abuse directed at him for choosing her over the key, but he would reward himself with the knowledge she was safe. That was what mattered, not some blasted key.

So much for this plan of his, because he had not considered his Amazon's choice.

She was not satisfied with this, and in one moment that would play forever in Langley's nightmares, Margot moved. She ignored both the knife close to her neck, and Langley's own levelled pistol, driving her elbow back into the stockier man's ribs. The intruder's arm slipped as he grabbed at her, attempting to strike, and when she cried out in pain, Langley threw himself forward, reaching them and slamming the pistol into the man's face.

Behind him he could hear Margot scramble away out of range. He tilted the man backwards, pushing him with just one hand down to the floor, and slammed the pistol repeatedly into the man's face, a grim satisfaction growing in him, at the sight of blood on the ground. He could beat this man until there was not a breath left in his body. And with the image of that nasty blade against Margot's throat he was tempted to. He would not need a weapon; no, he would enjoy the savagery of ripping the man apart.

"Silvester," she called out, pulling him back to himself, and Langley turned to look over his shoulder.

Margot stood by the bed. She had the key in her hand, because of course she did. But that was not what his eyes were drawn to—no, it was the gash from her collarbone to her shoulder. That bloody blade had cut into her. A strange, unpleasant shake possessed Langley, and for the first time in his life he was scared.

He dropped the lulling attacker to the carpet, who landed with a moan, forgotten and abandoned. With hurried steps, Langley ran to Margot's side.

"God." He caught her up before she slipped down to the ground, propping her back onto the bed, grabbing up his shirt, tearing it to pieces, and pressing the material against her cut, trying to stem the bleeding. She flinched at the contact.

"Is he?—"

"Don't think about him. He's unconscious. Leave him. We have more important things to do. Hold that there." Hurriedly, Langley threw on his breeches and jacket, the bother of his shoes he left, and anything like his cravat he did not bother to search for—it would take too long. He placed her dress beside Margot on the bed. "We must leave at once."

"Before our presence draws in too many eyes?"

"I know a doctor," Langley said. The man would have to help him now. It was worth the risk of exposure. "Come, can you walk?"

"Of course." Margot attempted to stand, using one of Langley's proffered hands and the bed rail to ease herself up. Even in the moonlight she looked very pale.

Deciding this would take too long, Langley scooped her in his arms, tucked her evening gown on her lap, and marched out of the Norton guest room, descending through the mansion as silently as he could, taking the servants' stairs.

"You seem very familiar with the route," Margot said after a few minutes. He was pleased she made no motion to climb down or out of his hold, simply lay in his arms, accepting his aid.

"Indeed, I have witnessed a great many escapades in these halls," Langley replied.

She lapsed into silence, which Langley did not like, and when they reached the outside of the house and he hurried towards the stables, the flickering light of his carriage illuminated far too clearly the gauntness of Margot's features, and the redness of his blood-soaked shirt. How far away was Bloomsbury, ten or twenty minutes, or less because it was so early in the morning? Doctor Caton would be asleep, or worse, what if he was out visiting with a patient?

"Adams, take us to 5 Marchmont street, quick smart. Don't stop for anything." He gave the address of Philip Caton with the hope that Pip would do all he could to help Margot. Despite everything.

Easing her inside the carriage, Langley held on to Margot as he settled into the seat, cradling her against him in an intimate and, were she not injured, romantic pose—close, he supposed, to an embrace. The carriage took off, rattling down the streets with Adams following Langley's hurried directions. Lights and houses dashed past, but Langley did not see them, his eyes were riveted on her face.

"If anything should happen." Margot wetted her lips. "You will find my sister's direction at the lawyer's. Please go and find her in Cornwall. I have written to her several times, but I have not heard back—" She sounded frightened, and Langley did not know if this was for herself, or simply for her absent sister. Margot sucked in a breath. "Elsie will know how to proceed with my parents and William. She will know what to say… She always does." Her voice wavered there, and she sounded as if she wanted more than anything to see her younger sister again. "You would like her so. I shouldn't have sent her away, I should have…"

"We will be in Bloomsbury in no time, and there is a wonderful doctor there who will make everything right." Langley realised he was talking to her as if Margot were a child. The need to offer out reassurances was changing him. Perhaps it was said just as much for him as it was for her. "You'll be as fit as a fiddle before the day is out."

Even in the shadowy depths of the carriage, Langley could see Margot's scepticism at this amount of optimism. Were this any other circumstance he would have been tempted to reach for a humorous comment, a light-hearted remark in an attempt to lift the dark mood, but nothing occurred to him. Nor did he want it to.

"And will you tell Mrs. Bowley?—"

"Oh my God," Langley cursed, "woman, stop bloody fretting about everybody else. I will take care of it all." He wanted to add that he would take care of her, but the words would not come to his lips. He recalled too clearly what had happened when they'd been together. As he tried to force these sentiments into a convincing sentence, the carriage started to slow down, so instead he said, "We're here."

The Bloomsbury house was a familiar one to Langley. He had bought it for Pip. It was a handsome if simple three-storey abode, made from red brick with black railings and a matching painted door.

Adams ran to the front and started knocking, and Langley helped Margot forward and out of the vehicle. It was an awkward business, as she seemed torn between wanting to protect her modesty and continuing to hold Langley's ruined shirt to her wound. Once she was on the street level, Langley hoisted her up in his arms and carried her up the steps, and through the now-open front door.

The contrast of warmth, of comfort, flooded through Langley at the sight of the hastily grabbed and lit candles and the face of Caton's housekeeper as the doctor appeared at the top of the stairs. The doctor took one look at the scene of Langley holding up the injured Margot, and pointed towards his surgery.

"Through there," Caton ordered, hurrying down the steps.

Everyone followed his direction, Langley first with Margot clutched to him. The fireplace was filled, and a spark spluttered it to life. The curtains were pulled more tightly shut, and the housekeeper hurriedly closed the door. Only when this was done did Langley lower Margot down onto the doctor's table, and take a shaky step back.

Leaning close, the doctor said a few words to Margot, who gave a brisk nod and allowed him to begin his examination.

Stepping across to his servant, Adams, Langley told the man to get back to the Norton household, and wake up the servants present, alerting them to the intruder in the guestroom. "He's injured but dangerous. Bind and gag him if you can and take him to the Runners."

Adams nodded, and slipped silently from the room, out to the waiting carriage. That done, Langley turned back and hungrily stared at the scene before him, trying to work out the next best course of action he could take.

"Give me something to do, or else I shall run mad." Became his mantra as he started to pace in ever decreasing circles around the surgery, as he watched Caton stitch up her cut. Why hadn't he enabled Pip to buy a larger surgery? Surely a doctor needed more space than this poky surgical room. Pip had always assured him this was the perfect house, but now he was actually witness to the reassurances, the stitching, the administration of the medicine… Langley simply felt guilty.

"I reckon," Pip said, "that is you done, miss. All sewed up. For now. You've been very brave."

"I am Margot Keating. I can pay…" Margot said. Her lips were tinged blue, and she looked close to fainting, but she fixed Pip with such a pleasing smile that for one ridiculous moment Langley almost felt jealous. "You look so familiar," she continued, her words a little slurred as she tried her best to look at Pip's face. For the briefest of moments Langley swore her eyes shifted back towards him.

"Come. You needn't worry on that score. His lordship will cover any costs," Pip said, pressing a drop of liquid past her parted lips. "This is a tiny amount of laudanum. Only the smallest of amounts. It should have the desired effect of getting you to rest. You just need to sleep. Remember you are safe now." With that said, Pip took from his housekeeper the proffered blanket and draped it over Margot's partly exposed body, before turning to stare at the two remaining occupants of the room. "Mrs. Wotton, would you go and make some strong tea for his lordship and me."

The housekeeper slipped from the room silently. Langley was almost tempted to call after her a request for something stronger.

"She will live?" He moved closer to the now sleeping Margot.

"Aye. But it's just as well you brought her straight here. I won't always be able to treat another like this," Pip said. His stare fixed Langley with a question.

"I can explain," Langley said.

"You don't owe me an explanation. It is thanks to you I am here, operating and running a business." Pip sounded annoyed, despite how well-mannered his words were. "I am just shocked at the treatment of such a girl."

"I didn't do that to her. God. What do you imagine I do to my women?"

"I try not to."

"Jesus, well not that. I would never hurt a woman. Ever."

"But this one was put in danger."

"She's not a one. She's…" He could not admit to Pip what she was, as he had almost called her, his Amazon. "Believe me, the man suffered for his treatment of her." With a wry noise, Langley continued, "If she hadn't screamed at me to stop, he would be dead."

There was an uncomfortable pause, and the doctor stepped nearer, studying Langley's face as if he might be able to ascertain the truth. There was a weariness to Pip's features which had never amassed on Langley's face, presumably because Pip actually worked for his living, whereas Langley just gave the impression of great activity with little to show for it.

"I don't think I have ever heard you talk so," Pip said, folding his arms over his chest. Suddenly a small smile appeared on his face, almost as if he found something amusing. A crease curving his features and removing the earlier fear. "Not about anyone that I can ever remember."

"Well." Langley was uncomfortable at the perceptiveness of Pip's look. "You don't move in my sphere."

"True," Pip said. "But then, since you're my brother, I had hoped you might still think me worthy of a degree of consideration. We can talk about it, about her, over tea."