Chapter 23

Margot struggled to sleep over the next few days—nervous dreams plagued her. She liked to tell herself it was entirely down to the fact that she had not heard back from her sister or the new duke. Or the concern that after showing the numerous sets of keys to the estate's lawyer, Mr. Holt had returned to her and said he had no clue what any of them opened. Mr. Holt had at least left looking apologetic, but this had not improved Margot's mounting fears.

She paced around the library, wishing for the presence of Langley to return to Ashmore's townhouse and soothe her with some ton news, or a light remark that would make her laugh. Even the news of the Philip Caton scandal would be a distraction. Since the household was barred from social events or calls, little news had reached her, and everyone was plunged into a sombre mourning. In part Margot was pleased to mourn the late duke, but she wanted the sweet sound of Langley's voice to cheer her. She would have thrilled if he had swooped in and wrapped her up in his arms, capturing her lips and pulling them both down onto the nearby chaise. The time apart from him had revealed one thing: she was consumed by him, fallen entirely under his spell, and Margot was done denying it. At least to herself.

Throwing herself down into an armchair, Margot sighed dramatically. There was very little she could do whilst she was in official mourning. In a great many ways this did not bother her since the social whirl was not overly appealing given the sudden arrival of the London heat. Still, it might have been nice to sneak out to Gunter's for an ice, or for a pleasant boat ride along the river to Greenwich to escape some of the oppressive weather.

Surely that would be better than simply waiting and waiting for Langley to return, and being driven mad by all the things she could not resolve, being stuck inside with only Mrs. Bowley for company and the sad looking servants.

Drumming her fingers on the top of the desk in front of her, Margot mused that it was a beautiful piece of furniture. Outstanding in its grandness. It was carved from a magnificent piece of wood, ebony perhaps, although she wasn't sure. There was something very old-fashioned about the piece. It was a rich dark brown that was almost sensual in the depth of its colour, warm enough to drown in. There were crevices delicately drawn in amongst its intricate design. Its feet were of an elaborate sort, mimicking carved fruit rounding down into points. Reaching up the legs, the vines grew larger, stretching up to support the mighty desk.

Margot moved her hands over its surface. It was a finer piece than the one in the old duke's study. She wondered why Ashmore had not used this as his main desk—surely it would have been far more suitable for a duke? Yet another question she would never be able to ask her real father, something else he would take with him to the grave, leaving Margot with hundreds of unknowns.

With a sigh, she leant back into the armchair, her hand trailing over the drawers. Before sitting abruptly back upright, her eyes narrowing on the drawer before her. She then shifted nearer to stare closely at the small, almost box-like creation carved into the wood. Now she examined the desk more closely, she thought she could see other drawers, hidden in amongst the wooden carvings. It would be the perfect place for something small—items you wished no one else to see unless they were looking especially closely or already knew the secret.

A flutter beat through her chest, an excitement unrelated to nerves, fears, annoyance, or Langley. This was new, and the reason was simple: the tiny lock she was looking at. It was the same faintly gold colour as the keys, and it was small, slight, requiring only the littlest of keys…

Margot scrambled to her feet and rushed across the room to where she had left the bag that contained the jumble of keys. She grabbed it up and rushed back towards the desk, desperate to know for sure, and have an answer to one of the mysteries.

Why, she gasped at her own stupidity, had she never thought the diamonds might be hidden in the townhouse? After all, there was every reason to suppose that her real father had never known the location. He might have been ignorant of the clues too. And she went on, was that why Francis Nettling had returned to the scene of the crime—far less to do with getting revenge and far more to do with the treasure he had always sought? Nettling knew the truth and that was why he had returned.

She spilled open the bag, emptying it out, letting the keys spread across the carpeted surface in her sheer eagerness. Snatching one up at random, Margot hurried to crouch down by the drawer's lock. A small wave of triumph rose in her throat when she saw the metals matched. With forced slowness, her heart beating uncomfortably in her chest, Margot lifted the key to the lock and slotted it in. For one brief moment, she thought it had worked, but then she tried to turn it, and nothing happened.

Cursing in a very unladylike manner, Margot pulled the key from the lock in sheer annoyance that it was not straightforward. It was then she spotted the tiny, intricate numbering which was on the curvature of the inner lock. Lifting the key up, she stared at it, hoping for some kind of sign. The keys were labelled with lettering from the alphabet, and the desk was inlaid with the tiny, almost unnoticeable numbers. Somehow, these two were linked as the styles were similar, but precisely how would be a challenge without the map. At least in that very moment. But she certainly had the time to simply try one key after another until one of them worked.

Margot shifted on her haunches, her skirts flowing either side of her. She let out an excited squeak rather like Elsie might make when devouring a torrid novel. This desk was certainly going to provide a different sort of distraction to throw herself into.

Night had fallenbefore she was finished. It had been the most bizarre but interesting afternoon, finally pulling her away from the constant thoughts of Langley. Margot felt sure she had not thought of her lover above twice an hour, and when she had it had been chiefly to wish he could be present to bear witness to the discovery of the desk. She had ordered up a plethora of food to the library, and once that was set out on a nearby table, she had declared her intention that she was not to be disturbed, and set to work on trying every key until one worked.

Minutes and then hours drifted by, but finally she started to experience some success, the keys sliding into their locks, turning, and springing open to reveal their hidden treasure. To Margot's eyes, it was tremendous fun, especially after the sheer fright, confusion, and fear that had preoccupied her as she had tried to follow the dying duke's last command. This was what a treasure hunt should be like, with no fear of being murdered.

And of course, the reward of a small but stunning jewel hidden in the dark depths of each tiny drawer. Each in turn more magnificent than the next. Briefly, Margot wondered what only one would be worth, and whether she could in good faith take just one of these beautiful stones.

This was how Langley found her, crouched on the floor by the desk, surrounded by keys and diamonds, her hair and clothes dishevelled from sweat, dust, and breadcrumbs, with the half-eaten remains of several sandwiches dotted around her.

"Hello, love." His voice was surprisingly warm, perhaps even slightly slurred as he leant back against the doorframe, closing it with a click.

Margot flushed as he looked at her and dropped one of the jewels back down to join its siblings on the black silk drawstring bag. She had not really been contemplating stealing one, she knew she could never look herself in the mirror again if she tried to.

Langley was likewise less neat than his normal immaculate fa?ade, but if anything, the ruffled hair, the crooked grin, and the rumpled clothes gave him a decidedly appealing appearance. She doubted her scruffy outfit could be said to be similarly attractive. He seemed to be beautiful in any light, situation, or scenario—curse his luck.

Getting to her feet, she swatted at the crumbs that decorated her black crepe gown and swept her hand through her loose dark hair, hoping both actions would straighten her appearance even if it was a hopeless gesture. "How did you get in here? I expressly told the servants I was not to be disturbed. Besides, I am not supposed to be receiving anyone."

"Don't be angry," he said, and for the first time, he moved over to the fireplace in the centre of the room and set about building it up. Margot realised the heat from the daytime had entirely died away and it was in fact rather chilly. She even saw, streaked through Langley's dark blond hair and on his navy coat, a few raindrops, and from outside she heard the gentle summer drizzle in the garden. "Dear little Charlotte let me inside," Langley said, unaware of Margot's close scrutiny of his locks, "and she gave me some idea of where you might be."

"Yet another conquest charmed by you?" she asked, drawing nearer to the fire, attempting to sound light and amused, but she doubted her query gave that impression.

Langley turned and glanced at her sceptically. "I gave the girl a few pennies. Besides, I suspect everyone in this household is aware of what we have been getting up to."

That idea pulsed through her, nervous aggravation at what their affair might mean beyond the two of them scared her. But when she looked at Langley it seemed far away—rooms, hallways, houses distant from what existed in his face and smile. Margot had to sink into the nearby armchair to break that gaze for fear she would blurt something out. Sternly, she told herself that presumably every other girl he had winked at, kissed, or fucked had felt similarly before the inevitable desertion.

Completely at his ease, Langley did not move from the freshly built fire, but instead settled down on the thick rug and cast off his coat, lifting his hands to warm them in the red-gold blaze. "I can see you found the diamonds. Well done."

"Our quest is now entirely complete," Margot said. It should have been a moment of excitement, but it was a goodbye—now they truly had no reason to see each other again. Disliking herself for this moment of sentiment, she had to hide the sniff that formed at the back of her throat.

"Tempted to steal one?" Langley asked as he looked over at the pile, and it struck Margot that she wasn't anymore. Any earlier desire to take them had faded now she was with him—he was the treasure she had been seeking.

She shook her head and lifted herself off the armchair. Watching him now, only feet from her, so comfortable and content by the fire was lulling her into a false sense of ease. She needed to move, to put some distance between them. "What has happened with the dowager countess and Doctor Caton? Mrs. Bowley will not let me read any of the papers. I am utterly ignorant of anything beyond these walls."

"I am quite certain," Langley said as he drew a flask out from his waistcoat. This gave a clue to the slight slurring of his voice, it had to contain alcohol. "There will be a great scandal. Perhaps it will break tomorrow or the next day. Or so my mother says. Despite my suggestion that we label my father the adulterer, she would not listen. I am to blame so must fall on my sword and provide ample entertainment, whilst my mother takes a long trip abroad on the continent at my expense. Apparently, I must be the biggest distraction of all."

Langley's hand shot out as he spoke, and he grabbed her fingers, closing the distance between the two of them until she stared down at him on the floor. There was a dark heat in his shining eyes which Margot was familiar with—it spoke of passion, lust, and need, and from deep within her, she could feel an answering desire swell up. Fruitlessly she tugged at his hand to free herself, but Langley held on tight.

"Distraction?" she asked.

"Have you never had an offer of marriage before, love?"

All the faint, hopeful butterflies that he inspired in her died at those words. He had consumed alcohol to ask her this question, whisky to make him brave and make the task bearable. It had taken the potential disgrace of his mother to motivate him. No such sweet stirrings towards Margot motivated him, just a desire to keep his family's precious name. He could have no regard for her.

A fury burnt through her as Margot cast his hand off, anger beating through her. "I am to be your distraction?"

"I would say you always have been."

"Don't try and charm your way out of this. You're half cut… that's why you're… And you're only trying to save your family name. This proposal, it has nothing to do with me. I would not even class this as a proposal. It dirties the honour such a question should bestow." Margot was pleased to realise that despite her disgust her words were coming out with real force.

Much to her annoyance, Langley cast aside his flask and then proceeded to clap. "You're glorious when you're angry. It's quite similar to how you look after you've found your climax—all pink cheeked, animated, and bright eyed."

"I wish I had never privileged you with that knowledge."

A flash of hurt danced over Langley's handsome face, and despite her best intentions Margot felt a stab of regret. A moment passed, seconds stretching out before Langley nodded and fixed her with a serious expression. It mixed that languid need from earlier with something far more urgent. He was staring up at her from the rug, still in that pose of a proposal. "Do you want to know why I drank before I came here?"

Mutely, Margot shook her head, but Langley pressed on. "It was to give myself an ounce of Dutch courage, so I would be able to say all the things I should have told you earlier, but I was too much of a fool to give voice to. That I was too pig headed to see. So determined to not be caught, to stay a libertine at all costs, regardless of my own feelings." Here, he laughed, but it was not a pleasant sound. His mouth was twisted in a self-mocking smile. "I wanted to speak to you prior to my mother's command that I wed. Her demand that I wed someone to pull away the attention of the ton, was nothing more than that—a distraction. But she wished for me to make a grand societal match. And not for my sake, only for hers. But I didn't want that, I wanted you. No, wait, let me finish. God, none of this is coming out the way I meant it to. Please, love." His casual use of his favourite nickname altered and then he added, "Please, my love. Let me say my piece all in one go, or else I fear I'll run mad."

He did seem truly desperate. Slowly, cautiously, Margot nodded.

"I might be experienced in bedding women in every imaginable way, but the truth of wanting you, needing you so completely, with a desire that is so all-consuming it eats me up inside, that is entirely new to me. It has been haunting me." He clasped her hand more tightly and that need he spoke of played over his handsome face, so much so that Margot felt her stomach clench, and unbidden, her knees gave way, bringing her down onto the floor in front of him so that their gazes were aligned. Langley smiled and continued, "I have no thought for another woman. I am rendered as a virgin in your presence, fresh, eager, yearning for your touch. Why didn't you tell me that I was in love with you? It is you who have put me in this state and only you can lift me up or leave me here. You are my love, body, mind, and soul. You are my Amazon. Please say you will marry me?"