Page 3 of The Rake
Feeling as if she were half her age, Margot turned and exited the room with Elsie. The two of them walked back through the house, neither, for the first time in their lives, knowing what to say. This was not what they had expected.
Dinner itself was a stilted affair,Ashmore quizzed them but only in the lightest and most superficial of ways—about their accomplishments, chiefly. Mrs. Bowley had still not arrived, and it was agreed that even she would only know them as Ashmore’s goddaughters, nothing more. It was clear that the duke trusted very few people.
After the meal, Ashmore declared he would retire to his study, but that Elsie and she were at liberty to make use of the library, stables, and anything in the house.
He walked them towards the stairs. Through the walls there carried an uproarious noise of next door’s party. Elsie’s eyes were alight with curiosity, and her query was answered when Ashmore said dismissively, “Oh, that is Langley. He’s an earl. You had best avoid him when you’re out and about. He’s got a frightful reputation as one of the fastest young men in Town. Just another one of his parties.”
With that, Ashmore waved them upstairs.
The two of them linked arms and went to their bedrooms, parting when Elsie said she felt tired. Finding sleep beyond her, Margot moved around her new bedroom, stretching her legs, her white nightdress billowing around her. Finally, she settled on going downstairs to fetch a book, and hoping that this would help her sleep.
The library was heaven. It was lined in heavy oak bookcases, which had leather-bound classics from novels to poetry to plays, and Margot happily lost herself in the contemplation of a delicious French romance. It was only when there was a loud noise from Ashmore’s study that she realised a whole hour had passed. Hurriedly, she roused herself from the armchair andwalked out into the hallway. The noise was louder now, and it sounded distinctly like a struggle.
On entering Ashmore’s study, Margot was met with a scene that shocked her. Ashmore had drawn a short sword, but the masked man who had clearly entered through the rear door of the study was carrying a pistol and a knife. The door to the garden was fluttering open in the breeze.
They had been engaged in an almighty fight, and Margot, who had never seen the like before, wondered if she should faint. Then she saw Ashmore’s injured arm and that there was a streak of blood on the intruder’s neck. Instinctively she rushed to the fireplace, putting aside her fear, and grabbed up the poker. Whoever the attacker was, he was clearly not afraid.
It seemed that this move of hers brought a threat to the intruder, because he levelled the pistol at her, his cold dark eyes visible through the domino mask he wore. There was a bang that ricocheted out, loud enough Margot thought to wake the whole household. When the smoke cleared, Margot was surprised to see that Ashmore had thrust himself between her and the bullet.
Around Margot, there was the sound of screaming. It took her far too long to realise that the noise was coming from her.
The attacker was moving closer to the staggering Ashmore, and so hurrying forward, Margot hit the assailant with her poker, keeping him away from the duke. From outside the room, the sounds of the household moving became apparent.
“We’re in here,” Margot yelled, her voice breaking.
With one last desperate swipe at Ashmore, there was a strange ripping noise and then the intruder darted outside through the back door and out of sight.
Margot turned and looked down at the man who had taken a bullet for her. It must have hit the duke in his chest, as it was creating a blooming red crest on his white shirtfront. In his hand there was a sheet of paper, torn in half.
Ashmore folded to the floor. He was coughing, and there was pink froth at his mouth. With a jagged breath he offered her the paper. “It’s a map.”
The wheels in Margot’s head were moving slower than she liked, but she managed to take the paper. “What is it, what’s it a map for?”
“The wealth of my family. The Ashmoreton Diamonds, they aren’t a rumour, they’re real.”
Margot looked down at the map, but she could barely take it in, none of the sites or markings made any sense to her through her swimming eyes.
“Go after him.” Ashmore grabbed her free hand. “He’s been hunting me for months. That’s why I sent for you. Bastard has stolen the other half of the map.”
Unevenly moving, Margot made it to the open doorway. She edged forward, enough to see the attacker slipping from the duke’s garden and over the wall into the noisy, bohemian household that belonged to Langley. He made his way into the earl’s house.
Ashmore was on the carpet when Hathaway entered and hurried to his side. There was blood pouring from the duke’s lips and he was ashen, but the duke ordered Margot on. “Go after my killer, girl. It is the only way to get the map back.”
His voice echoing in her ears, unthinkingly Margot followed the attacker, tears and blood and fury beating through her as she scrambled over the wall and into the next-door garden. Up the similarly designed steps, and into what in Ashmore’s house was his study. But the room laid out before her was certainly not ever going to be used for anything studious.
A sprawling mass of bodies, male and female forms were draped over every surface. Cluttering up sofas, and chairs, and even one balanced on a desk. Their limbs straining and pumping into one another with a ferocity that shocked Margot. Theywere copulating in angles and locations she, raised as a vicar’s daughter, would never have imagined. She might have been naive, but she knew all too well what these people were doing—they were fornicating. En masse, clearly pleased and titillated by the sight of each other.
Deep, rich colour stained her cheeks, but Margot desperately eyed the couples, trying to see where Ashmore’s assailant had vanished to. But they were all wearing masks, a strange attempt to hide themselves when they were all so very naked.
Margot’s gaze ran into a man, stood stock still amongst the others, a charming blonde pulling on his arm—but he was staring at Margot, his face agog. He was at least partly dressed, a long white shirt hiding his nether regions but revealing toned, muscular thighs and long, chiselled legs. The sleeves of his shirt had been rolled up to the elbow, revealing forearms that made Margot’s breath catch. Their eyes locked, and for a moment it dawned on Margot that this man, this half-clothed Adonis, was the most beautiful person she’d ever seen.
Then the door shifted ajar behind him, and she saw the intruder. He was the only one clothed, and there was blood on him. He was escaping. Margot raised her poker over her head, and pointed at the door. “Murderer!”
CHAPTER 2
If he was honest with himself, Silvester Beresford, the seventh Earl of Langley, probably didn’t need to have organised the orgy for tonight. He was just too good-natured and susceptible to his various friends pleading suggestions that it had been an age since he’d hosted one. Which was true. It had been at least six weeks since his last one.
His reputation did demand some upkeep, he had reasoned with himself. This urge did battle against his previous resolution to not indulge during the Season, or at least to avoid his prior flame Lady Georgianna Herbert, but she had arrived here tonight uninvited. And Langley would never be so mean as to throw her out.
