Chapter 8

Langley could not remember a worse night. So much for thrilling and shocking Margot Keating, for showing her something out of the ordinary. Well, it certainly had been different.

He had managed to depress her about poverty, discuss in far greater detail than he was comfortable with his role within the beau monde, and then worse than all that, she had been shot at. His abilities at seduction were any of these incidents mentioned to the ton would certainly undermine his status as one of the greatest libertines in high society.

It unnerved him no end to have to launch himself at her, when he'd seen the attacker move his hand within his coat. Somehow, Langley knew what was happening as it happened, and his heart had been in his throat as he'd flung himself on top of Margot. His blood was pumping, and his vision intense, and as for his breathing, it sounded as if he might have been running for miles.

Margot was beginning to draw some interest from the locals, and Langley reached for her again. "Let's be leaving." He was unduly concerned that the attacker might return for another attempt on Margot's life, and he did not want to find himself so useless again. Never had he felt more embarrassed by his own shortcomings as he had when he'd searched for Margot's pulse. This would not be happening again.

"I would just like?—"

"Now." Langley's command was sharper than he indented, and he saw Margot's eyes widen either from surprise or displeasure, but she nodded and the two of them proceeded into the carriage.

Langley sank into the squab seat next to her. When the carriage took off, he drew from his pocket a flask of whisky, which he placed firmly in her grasp. "It will help with the shock."

"Shock?"

He was certainly feeling some himself, but her annoyed confusion at least brought a faint smile to his face. "Are you normally shot at in the East End of London every evening?"

"At this point—" She unscrewed the stopper, "—it is twice in a row. Perhaps I will reach a point when it is the norm."

Not if I have anything to say about it, Langley thought.

Margot paused with the flask halfway to her mouth. "This isn't some sordid attempt to render me inebriated and take advantage?"

Her question Langley supposed was a fair one, but he realised as he looked at her that all thoughts of sexual congress had fled from his thoughts. He had been preoccupied, distracted, and fearful… Langley had long ago accepted that he had a greater lustful urge than other men, but it seemed now that there was something different occurring between them. What a hideously unnerving thought, almost on par with Margot being shot at. Almost but not quite. Nothing would ever compete with that.

Deciding none of those thoughts could be shared with Margot, he said, "Since I have never had to resort to such underhanded methods with women, why would I begin now?"

"It would be the only way you would ever have any success with me." Margot lifted the flask the rest of the way to her lips and took a large gulp. She shuddered in reaction to the strength of the alcohol.

"So, there is a hypothetical world where you have envisioned it happening?" Langley put out his hand, demanding the flask back.

"That is not what I said," Margot replied. She pivoted a little in her seat, her ferocity returning, Langley was pleased to note. For some reason it struck him as a bad thing if they were to both be rendered mute and inclined to dwell.

"You are the one who made it inappropriate." Langley's voice took on a lightly teasing note, mocking her with the guise of innocence. "I had said nothing in poor taste, or been at all ungentlemanly." It was probably wiser not to make mention that prior to their attacker emerging from the inn, Langley had removed Margot's mask with the full intention of kissing her. Not all his sexual feelings towards her were gone, it seemed that they were now mixed in with a range of other disturbing emotions. Ones he had no desire to describe or acknowledge. Probably nothing more than pique at the novelty. "Are you going to tell me what my servant told you that made you smile, or will I have to interrogate my own man?"

"You are at liberty to ask him anything, but since I have relied on you so far, I have no reservations in telling it to you." She was smiling as she pulled out her torn map. "He told me that the attacker was spotted by them previously. That the man was playing with the inn's clock."

"So?" Langley stifled a yawn. He could see, he supposed, a link between time and a clock that was not difficult to piece together, but without the actual clock itself, it would not be much use to them. Was that why she had wanted to linger by the inn? No wonder she had been annoyed when he'd ordered her into the carriage.

"Your man said he saw our attacker open the clock face and extract a key. Like he was expecting it to be there. He took out this key from the clock, so that is what we're looking for. Peter could not make it out very clearly, but we now know what the map wants us to find: keys hidden in clocks." Margot lifted her map, holding it up to the faint light from outside the window trying to see what was missing on the page. "We must have more of the locations, and the attacker must have more of a descriptor of what we are look for. But now we know. So next time?—"

Langley reached out and pulled the map from her hands. "Next time?"

"We cannot stop now."

His eyes swept the map. The light was poor, although they raced through London. A lot of the dots were locations throughout the haunts of the beau monde, fashionable and desirable places to be seen and to see. How on earth Ashmore had managed to hide anything in such locations confused Langley to no end. They were the sort of places that Langley was all too familiar with—it was his habitat. There was a small comfort in knowing that surely a shooting would be a lot less likely in such vaulted locations. But then again, Langley had no idea of what might be included on the other side of the map, or where the murderer might go next. Especially now their attacker had seen both of their faces, it would not be hard to follow them. It would be about convincing Margot to be careful and on her guard.

With a graceful flick of his wrist, he passed her the map back, and Margot pocketed it.

"Miss Keating," Langley began. He was annoyed at how on edge he felt about discussing such matters in case she did not take him seriously. Normally he had no problem with being dismissed or not considered by spinsters like Miss Keating, but these were not typical circumstances. "You will be able to attend these events, these locations, with Mrs. Bowley. She will be your escort and I imagine she wouldn't be the hardest to sneak away from."

"Not with you, my lord? Have you no desire to attend such functions? Do you consider them beneath you?"

"I will be present, if we can prearrange a date to coincide, so much the better…"

"But…"

"Unless you wish to be labelled as my mistress I cannot escort you to a ball, to the theatre, or any such event, love." He wondered whether she might be amendable to the idea of becoming his mistress. It was a strange and silly idea, because he didn't really have mistresses, but more what he considered affairs. Intense, wondrous, and brief, and then one or both of them would depart. That was always the pattern. Langley had grown so used to this sequence of events he did not even question it. No woman in her right mind would expect anything more from him. Matrimonially minded mamas had long since given up the ghost of a hope for him, and that was the way he liked it, Langley reassured himself.

Miss Keating sniffed, pulling his attention back to her.

With a charming smile, Langley added, "Presumably you would much rather conduct your own affairs. After all, I have simply managed to have you shot at. Hardly a lofty claim."

"I am relying on you. No one else, and certainly not Mrs. Bowley, can know the truth. For goodness' sake, she still believes Ashmore is alive."

A dozen ideas of men better suited to the business flashed through Langley's mind. Certainly, none of his friends would he remotely trust with Miss Keating's virtue. And then the gentlemen of his acquaintance, who he knew in society were supposed to be righteous and honourable, well, he didn't want them solving this particular puzzle. Whether that was Margot herself, or the diamonds, Langley wasn't sure.

"Besides, I do not blame you for the actions of the attacker. You saved me." Margot reached over and squeezed his hand. It was a sisterly action, or one you might bestow on an elderly relative, and Langley could not help feeling resentful at that. Where was his ability to turn everything back into a game of seduction? He was famous for this, and instead Miss Keating was reducing him down to either a sibling or the infirm.

Removing his hand from her grasp, Langley turned in his seat and gazed across the dim carriage at Miss Keating. Her mask was gone now. Visible occasionally in the passing streetlights was a flash of her pale skin between the clasp of her cloak and the tops of her dark gown. He was hardly going to be reduced to staring at her décolletage as if he were some doddering old lech. So instead, Langley fixed on the shady area of her face and forced himself to imagine what her reaction would be, despite not fully being able to see it. The focus would have to be on reminding her why they could not spend time together in public at least.

"Madam," he said, trying his best to sound as lordly as he could, although it was not a trait he practised a great deal, as it was not as much fun. "Give me the liberty of knowing the beau monde a great deal better then you."

"Of course. I would never claim otherwise."

Her being accommodating was far from ideal. Why could she not stay as his difficult Amazon?

"With that in mind, you will need to play at being the duly impressed debutante, as you make your way through the ton."

"No one is going to believe me as a debutante."

"That is what your godfather wanted for you. Clearly Ashmore hoped you might make a match." His opinion on Ashmore was more divided than ever before, but if she were hell bent on this decision, at least they should be practical about it.

When Miss Keating spoke, there was a surprising level of hesitancy to her tone, as she tried to formulate her words. "You think I am capable of playing that part? Ashmore didn't know me well enough to… to… to ask that of me. If he had lived long enough, I would have been happy to inform him that I am not best suited to the role."

"Then why did you come to Town?"

"My sister longed to visit London," she said, but there was such hesitancy to this Langley was sure she was lying.

"Really, that does not sound like the whole of it," Langley pressed, wondering if Margot wanted to keep everything to herself, despite all that she had already revealed. How far could he push her to tell him the truth, before she would close up again, and he would be left to wonder?

Into the tense silence, Margot said, "It is not relevant to the investigation."

"I rather think if we are going to risk life and limb, you had better tell me the truth," Langley said. "I'm not one to judge anyone for a sin, if that is what you're afraid of."

Margot's countenance appeared briefly as they passed a lit-up house, and he noticed the crease of worry between her fine brows, and a teardrop on one of her lashes. Then the carriage continued, and her face was hidden once more. "It is not my secret to tell."

"We could agree for me to tell you a string of my own sins if you like, until you feel comfortable enough to share whatever it might be. I suspect we might not even cover off the last month, but you tell me."

There was a sniff from her, which Langley strongly suspected was her way of hiding a laugh.

"That will not be necessary," Margot said primly.

"No, but the offer stands if you ever feel the need?—"

"He is—That is, the duke offered me an annuity. That is why I came. I am a mercenary woman." Her voice echoed in the carriage, and Langley could tell she had forced herself to say it, desiring to clear the air, to have done with it. Once it was out though, it didn't seem as if Miss Keating could stop. "I didn't know him, not at all. It was only the first night of our acquaintance. The money is not guaranteed, though. I need the new duke to agree, and to get him on side, if I can present him with the diamonds and Ashmore's killer, he can hardly refuse…"

Langley wanted more than anything to pull her into his arms, but he felt sure she would feel as if this was an improper or inappropriate course of action on his part. So he stayed listening to her uneven stream of words. The strangeness of Miss Keating's rash actions, her desire for justice combining with her confusion twisted together, and once more Langley felt his resentment towards the dead man grow for putting Margot in such a position.

"High society would never accept one such as me—a woman not raised for anything high and mighty. I never knew before the duke wrote to me that he was my godfather."

Into the weighty silence Langley asked, "Do you wish to know a great secret, Miss Keating?"

"Is it as great a sin, as greed?" she asked.

"Well, mine is this—I owe all my considerable success amongst the beau monde to one simple fact."

"Your wealth, title, and good looks?"

"Those are three blessed things, and thank you for the compliment," Langley said. This time he leant over and held her hand in a consoling manner. "No, I meant something that is truly the greatest gift amongst the ton."

"Tell me then, and do not keep me on tenterhooks." He felt sure there was a ghost of a smile to her voice, which he hoped was the case.

"Do not give a damn what they make of you. I do not judge for seeking material goods. As for the ton, they are not worth it. By and large," he said it simply, because to him it was obvious.

He saw her smile, and then Miss Keating said, "That is easy for you to say, but?—"

"But much harder to carry out in practice?"

"Yes," she replied.

"True, but you should take comfort from the fact that you are an exceptional case. You are not seeking matrimony, which immediately marks you out as quite different from the other ladies in society."

"And the fact that I'm not a lady."

"Half of the ton is ill bred, and the rest may be bastards too," Langley said convivially, to which he noticed a strange response from her, so he hastily added, "Although I probably wouldn't go making mention of it to any of the gathered guests we will meet."

"So, you will help me survive the beau monde? You agree?"

With a sigh, Langley realised he had been neatly trapped. "Very well, on one condition."

"What is that?" Her tone implied she did not trust him, although they were still hand clasped.

"Why, to have fun, of course."