Chapter 19

Margot felt the entire room around her spin, rather like she was a dancer set off on an endless loop. Distantly she could hear a murmur of voices, but she doubted she knew who they belonged to. Or even if they were male or female. There was a soft, glowing warmth from deep within her that made her feel numb to the outside world, and it was hard to focus on very much else. She knew her name was Margot Keating. There was the memory of her parents, but now when she dwelt on them there was the unmistakable feeling of being let down. Disappointed in them, or perhaps in herself, she wasn't sure which. Her siblings… no, she did not wish to think about them, instead her mind filled up entirely with Silvester. And this made her want to smile. Her feelings for him expanded in this pleasant world, and when she called out for him, Margot was rewarded with the feel of her hand being grasped and the rough but familiar voice.

"Love?" It was the nickname he always used chiefly ironically, but perhaps there was a softness to it this time.

It took a great deal of effort to prise open her eyes, but when she did so, Margot was rewarded with the sight of Langley leaning over her. There were dark circles beneath his eyes, and a weariness resting on his face. But then he smiled, a half grin that tugged on the corner of his lips, and everything else seemed to fade away. Even the rest of the room, a space she had no memory of arriving in, seemed very unimportant. Unable to help herself, Margot returned the smile, probably looking extremely silly as she gazed up at him.

"There you are," he said as her eyes tried their best to focus on him.

"Where am I?"

"Doctor Caton's surgery."

"Who?" She had not heard that name before, she could have sworn. Besides, she could see no one else in the room. Everything else around Langley was soft and unfocused, so if there was someone else present, Margot could not see them. It was daunting to think suddenly that was how she saw London now; it was insignificant compared to the importance of Langley.

There was a sigh, and then Langley moved closer and lowered his voice. "My brother, Pip, is Doctor Philip Caton. He sewed you up and gave you some laudanum." When Langley pushed some of her damp hair off her forehead, Margot leant into his touch, enjoying this side to him. A sweeter, softer side to Silvester.

"Wait." Her mind was slower, starved almost of sense. "You don't have any brothers. Or sisters." Her mind was scrambling, surely. She would not have forgotten that. She was certain she knew everything about his lordship, but here was something that was either a lie or…

"Yes." Langley was practically bashful, shy perhaps. He sighed. "I don't know why I'm telling you this. But I do. Have a brother. My mother's bastard lovechild." He shifted and Margot realised he had sunk into a seat next to the bed she lay on. "Pip is six years younger than me, conceived when my father was abroad so there was no chance for her to hide her indiscretion. So, in the end, she had to settle for hiding Pip instead. It destroyed my father."

From somewhere far away there was a voice screaming, a lone call at a great distance was yelling something vital. This secret of his mattered beyond just the facts she realised as she stayed silently watching Langley. She could not quite work out why she was suddenly scared, but it dinted the happiness she felt earlier. Then it came to her in a rush—bastardy had destroyed his parent's marriage. What would he make of her, yet another illegitimate issue?

"Your brother?" Was all she managed to ask.

"I helped him when I found out about him. My mother informed me on my eighteenth birthday. Pip had been placed in Southampton, with an old… well it doesn't matter." He looked around the room and Margot sleepily managed to lift her head, staring at her surroundings. A warm morning light was pouring through the partly drawn curtains, indicating it was a new day. "Paid for his studies and for his dream." Langley waved his hand. "To be a doctor. That was the least I could do for him."

"You did the right thing," Margot said. "If he became a doctor, he must be very smart."

"Much the better man," Langley said. He looked back to her in that moment, and grinned, although it did not entirely reach his eyes. "I was certainly grateful he was present and able to help us last night."

Lifting her hand, Margot moved it to touch the injured point on her skin. A small point of vanity reared its head. "Will it scar?"

"Pip said possibly, but it was a clean cut and not too deep." Langley leant nearer. "It will be a constant reminder of how I failed you."

"Constant?" Margot asked. That implied, she thought sleepily, that whatever existed between the two of them might last longer. But perhaps that was a wishful fancy of hers.

Lightly, Langley's hand touched against hers, where her skin was exposed. He moved his hand to her face before leaning forward and kissing her forehead. It was soft, gentle, and unable to help herself, Margot let out a tiny squeak of longing. Despite the lingering effect of the laudanum, there was within her the tug for affection from him.

For a moment Langley looked as if he meant to say something, but there was a noise behind him, a shifting of movement that broke Langley's intense stare.

"Glad I found you, my lord." It was a softly spoken masculine voice, and with an eye roll, Langley eased back from Margot and walked over to the door. "Continue to rest, Miss Keating," the doctor told her.

With that the door closed, and Margot curled herself into the welcoming darkness, telling herself as sleep claimed her that it was important, she'd remember this conversation, crucially important.

When Margot rousedherself again it was to find the room empty, and her head far clearer. She could vaguely remember the conversation with Langley, chiefly focused on how kind he had seemed. Margot had supposed that like most rakes, once he had his wicked way with her, that his interest might wane, but perhaps this was not to be the case… It was important to hold on to the fact that no matter how much she enjoyed their encounters, how much they meant to her, Silvester was unable to feel the same way.

She sat up in the narrow bed and walked slowly through the room. It was not the surgery she recalled, but a bedchamber. Memories of the night were coming back to her, mixing elements of her making love to Langley, then the painful confrontation with Ashmore's murderer, and finally her going to the doctor's.

The chamber was a simple one, with rudimentary furnishings in a pleasing navy colour and a window onto a garden she did not recognise. She assumed she was simply upstairs in the doctor's surgery, but unless she could find out, Margot would not be satisfied.

Thrown over one chair in the corner of the room was a dark grey gown, not one that belonged to Margot, but she hastily donned it. She was used to dressing on her own and remembered the movements easily enough without the assistance of her lady's maid. It would be important to realise when the new duke arrived in Town, the luxury of having multiple servants might be something that Margot needed to forget quickly.

Once she was dressed, Margot tried the door, and was distressed to find it locked, after knocking on it loudly, the key turned and it opened to reveal a younger man, who looked so like Langley she had to do a double take. On closer inspection she saw the doctor was a touch shorter than Silvester, and his hair a shade darker than the earl's beautiful blond, but still the similarities were striking. No one who saw them would doubt they were related. The blurred conversation on Langley's half-brother flooded back to Margot with alarming clarity—what she could not recall was precisely how Langley felt about it.

"You must be Doctor Caton?" Margot asked as primly as she could.

The man nodded, his gaze impersonal as he examined her. "Lovely to see you up and about, Miss Keating. It has been a few days. How are you feeling?"

Worry washed over Margot, but before she could give this voice, the doctor said, "Langley wished you to be told that Mrs. Bowley has been informed of the truth, but everyone else believes you to be in mourning, since your godfather's death has been announced."

The Runner's contact at the press had acted, Margot thought. She would need to regain her strength before she sallied forth and discovered the consequences. For now, she settled on the action of sinking into the only armchair in the room. "I feel much recovered."

Caton watched her and then turned and rang a bell. When the housekeeper arrived, he gave instructions that a tray of food was to be brought up.

"I assume you are hungry, Miss Keating?"

"Indeed." Margot could feel beneath the starched clothes her stomach clench at the idea of something to eat, and hoped the kitchens might be quick. "Although I would not wish to trespass on your time and hospitality too much."

"No indeed. After all, it is all thanks to Langley I own this place. And he made sure to ask that you were cared for."

She desperately wished to ask the young doctor about his brother, but instead she asked almost at random, "How long have I been here?"

"This will be the third day," Caton said as the housekeeper slipped away. "But from my observations you have greatly improved in the last twenty-four hours."

"Thank you for caring for me. And I must thank Langley too…"

"He has returned to Bolton Street to fetch a few items," Caton said, pausing before asking, "Am I right in thinking he has never mentioned me to you?"

"No, never."

"I fear our mother's affair and my resemblance to him…" Caton looked bashful, boyish almost, and Margot felt a wave of sympathy and desire to tell him her secret too, but she squashed it down hurriedly. That was her own curse. It might comfort Caton to know they had similarities, surely, he was bound to tell Langley the truth of her birth, and where would that leave her? "But you are dear friends?" His tone implied nothing, but Margot was far too aware that Caton must be able to guess that they were lovers—only a fool could witness what he had and remain ignorant of what she felt for the earl.

"Yes," she said. "He has been a friend, a good one, as you say."

"I have never known my brother to bring a woman here, or to the best of my knowledge admit my existence to her."

"He probably panicked," Margot said.

"You must mean a great deal to him, or at least he must trust you, given he has always feared the scandal of me." Caton pulled up a stool to sit close to her, and Margot sensed he was weighing and judging her, trying to figure out what was beneath the surface of her that might have captured the interest of Langley.

"I am sure it is simply convenience. I have no powerful allies, given the duke is dead. He felt he is not at risk. Or you. I hasten to add that I would never tell a soul."

Caton nodded and then smiled, the judgement leaving his face. "Your parents live in the north of England?"

"Yes," Margot said. "And I have two younger siblings. No one of importance. Aside from to me."

"Save for a dead duke for a godfather."

"With his death ends a great deal of the estate's obligations…" Margot trailed off. She did not know if her cousin, the new duke… Another worry whirled through Margot's mind, where was the blasted heir and what had he done with Elsie?

Before Caton could reply, there was a knock at the door, and then it swung open and in stepped Langley, for a moment surprise showed on his face, and then he smiled, and Margot felt her stomach tighten with awareness.

"You're awake," Langley said. He hurried to her side, discarding the basket and cloak he carried, lifting her from the armchair, and spinning her round rather like she was a child.

The movement and his excitement made Margot laugh as she clung to his shoulders, the skirts of her demure dress catching and flying outwards. He made her feel breathless, but when he slowed Margot felt a moment of regret that the giddiness was ending. She stared up into his eyes and smiled with unfettered joy—the fears, the doubts, the rest of the world she knew would come, were blessedly far away in that moment.

Only when she heard the click of the door did Margot realise that Caton had slipped out, leaving them alone.

"I for one have been worried sick," Langley started as his eyes raked her face, studying it for any sign of distress or weakness.

Unable to help herself, Margot leant forward, lifting her hands from his shoulders to his face, holding it in place. She envisioned doing so whilst tossing and turning in the bed, fantasying, and imaging this moment—thinking it more likely it would stay there forever, as a dream and nothing more. So, she kissed him, sealing her lips to his and tasting him. Darting her tongue into his mouth until she heard him groan and felt his strong arms coming around her. He smelt of fresh spring air, the rich aroma of coffee, and a scent that was uniquely Silvester: a masculine fragrance that set her blood alight.

Margot had always assumed that by giving in to Silvester, giving in to her temptations, she would be lost. But as their kissing intensified, she was realising something entirely different—this discovery, this releasing and embracing of sensation and sensuality was not a loss, but a momentous gain. She was becoming her true self, and it was glorious. For those reasons, she could never regret this. She would never regret him.

Silvester's right arm had encircled her waist, pulling her flush against his chest, giving her little room to breathe until she had to pull back gasping, her body bright and alive for him. All the memories of the last time they'd made love were playing through her skin and senses, and she knew she wanted him again. That waiting for a respectable moment was beyond the pair of them. It would have to be here, and now, and nothing else would do.

"Tell me how much you want me." Silvester's growl was silk in her ear, rough and keen as he leant close. Margot nodded, not entirely trusting her own voice not to wobble. "I need to hear you say it." He pulled back slightly as he looked her up and down. "This gown won't do…" It was more of a murmur. "Far too cumbersome to try and remove it completely."

Finding the ribbon at the back of the dress, Silvester loosened it, but his hands did not leave her rear, choosing to drift his fingers down and cup her rump between his two hands, pressing her against his erection. His clever fingers gripped and then trailed up her back as Margot attacked the material at his throat, eager to see his body again. The last time it had been dark, and the enormity of the event had overwhelmed her, however now she could luxuriate in it. "Lud, I won't have any shirts left by the time you're done." There was a laugh to his voice, a familiar teasing note that warmed Margot and made her bolder.

When she raised her eyes to Langley's face, she whispered, "I want you in every way known to man. I dream about it. I want to remember it when we're apart, and know that you are thinking of it too. I want?—"

Whatever she had been about to say was cut off when, with a ferocity that Margot adored, Silvester grabbed her, his mouth descending mercilessly, both tender and all-consuming. Stumbling and interlocked, the two of them staggered over to the nearest available flat surface, which happened to be a small desk, and Margot felt her bottom nudge against the ridge as she was lifted up and onto the smooth top. Silvester's hands rummaged beneath her heavy skirts, parting her trembling limbs, running his fingers up her legs until he stroked a deft finger against her sex. The probing touch caused Margot to cry out. It would not be enough—she wanted him inside her.

Silvester seemed to sense this, because he loosened the folds of his breeches, and his manhood sprang free. Immediately he leant closer, the feel of his desire against the damp curls at the apex of her thighs.

"I should be writing you poetry, God, reciting you something?—"

"Don't you dare," Margot said, grabbing hold of his face to pull him once more into a passionate kiss. As their mouths met, Silvester plunged inside her.