Page 18 of The Rake
“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 theinn? 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 thebeau 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 beingdismissed 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 weresupposed 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 thebeau mondea 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 theton.”
“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 onAshmore 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.
