Page 35 of The Rake
“Far too interested in who isn’t eligible. And leaves the suitably dull for the rest of us,” said one of the gentlemen next to Langley, who he vaguely knew as a fellow earl. Preston, he thought. Either way, the man’s large jowls and beady brown eyes showed a person not likely to appeal to any rational woman. This lord slapped Langley on the arm, and normally it would not have mattered—he was used to such sporting and teasing innuendoes, and would often crack the same ribald jokes himself. But there was a lewdness apparent in the earl’s eyes, or perhaps it was a carelessness that Langley had never bothered to notice before, but it troubled him now with an ill-definable air.
“Come, my dear.” Langley offered his hand out to Lady Herbert, suddenly eager to be away from this particular circle. “Can I secure you a glass of ratafia or perhaps whisk you away onto the dancefloor?”
Graciously, Lady Herbert accepted his offer and allowed him to march her away from the group. As she talked, they moved past the dancefloor, Langley still watching Margot. She had chosen to wear a simple green dress, the shape clinging to her lean frame, and he recalled all too well how her fingers had dug into his hair as he’d plundered her body with his mouth.
“And then I think I shall throw off my clothes and dive naked into the serpentine,” Lady Herbert said, causing Langley to start and realise he had not been paying the slightest heed to her.
Turning he looked down apologetically at her. She gave him an exasperated look. “Who is it now? Which poor lady has caught your attention this month?”
“Why would she be poor? I do believe that all my favourite amours have been pleased by our… encounters?” he asked, confident in his own abilities to satisfy a woman in bed.
“Oh yes, on that side of things.” Lady Herbert reached for the ratafia herself and took a gulp. “I doubt any woman living would complain. You are awfully good.”
“Good?”
“I won’t stroke your ego anymore,” Lady Herbert said, almost primly. “What I meant was, you never reached a point of being vulnerable. Not that I could see.”
“I hardly think that aids in the act.”
A slight look of sadness passed over her face, and Lady Herbert then shrugged as if dismissing the memory. “No, but what it means, dearest Silvester, is that you have fucked half of London, but you have never made love to one of them.”
“That is merely a clever play on words,” Langley said, although the only incident of making love he could think of, the only act of passion he wished to dwell on was the taste of Margot, the feel of her strong thighs as she lifted and held on to his face, the tickle of her dark curls… He did not wish to sully the memory of it by comparing it to the other numerous acts he’d indulged in.
Lady Herbert shook her head. “You know, I never took you for a fool, Langley.” With that she straightened and gave a wave to a passing widower. “Chalford, darling, there you are. I have been looking for you all evening.”
With that, Lady Herbert left him standing by the milling servants and their trays of drinks, feeling as if he had beenconsidered, evaluated, and on final judgement, seen for all the failures Langley had tried his best to hide. Added to that he had the distinct impression that Lady Herbert thought he was missing a decided trick in bed. He had considered himself to be a good rake, one who was not uncaring, just uninterested in anything deeper. Now he saw his own failure laid bare…
But what he couldn’t see was Margot.
His gaze had moved to the dancefloor and back again, but the waltz had finished, and the partnered couples were departing, and when Langley moved back to the swirling ballroom, he could not make out Margot’s moss coloured gown in the crowd, or even the top of her tall, dark-haired figure.
Would she have been foolish enough to slip away now at the height of the celebrations to retrieve that blasted clock? It would be busy, and she might be unnoticed, but what was her plan if she were missed? Was it to take the clock with her, hidden away under her skirts…
Another thought occurred to him as he hurried through the ballroom: Margot sneaking off and being caught in her search…
On reaching the foot of the staircase, Langley darted up the stairs, hopeful that as there was an announcement occurring in the middle of the ballroom floor, he would be unnoticed by thebeau monde. Besides, if he was seen most would assume he was merely going to sate his lust, and not attempt to find a bloody clock.
The landing was unoccupied, and Langley made his way briskly down the corridor. Third along, he’d told Margot, and when he reached and pushed the door open, it was to see her poised next to the fireplace, one hand on the clock. The chamber was a guest one, its furniture a handsome oak, its wallpaper a glossy hand-painted blue, but the large bed against the wall to the left of them drew most of the attention.
Margot looked up from her task of shifting the clock forward, a guiltily coloured blush flaming on her cheeks as her eyes fixed on his. She swallowed. “You didn’t mention it was a bedroom.”
“I thought we’d agreed I would fetch the clock. After all, I have a much better excuse for being up here on my own.”
“I was not simply going to stand there and watch you continue your affair with Lady Herbert. I have heard the rumours. Everybody in London has, I should not wonder. Just because thetonare used to your behaviour does not mean I am. Or as your invited guest, that I should tolerate it. Are you going to deny that you are lovers?”
“No.” Langley leant back against the door. He rather hoped that this outburst from Margot could be attributed to jealousy. That would at least indicate she was not indifferent towards him. It wasn’t an honourable emotion, but he wanted to see the raw, ugly side to her—to know her completely and find why they were not compatible, as he had always done. “We were lovers, Georgianna and me. But if you must know, we are not anymore. I cannot recall the last time I was—” He did not say ‘fuck’, figuring it would not amuse Margot. “—was with her. It was before I met you. I am not interested in resuming an affair with her. Rest assured on that point.” He did not add that the only woman he wished to bed was the fiery, bad-tempered brunette before him.
“Hmm.” Margot’s nose wrinkled, her brows creased, and she seemed less than convinced. For all the world she looked like an angry librarian readily searching for the next argument. Langley should have found it infuriating but he thought it rather endearing. “I have my sincere doubts on that front.” With a sigh, she turned back to the clock. “I had assumed that this was merely a chamber you had previously met one of your lovers in. If it is not Lady Herbert, I am sure it must be one of the other numerous?—”
“You wish to know why I was in this chamber? It was not because of any lovers.”
Margot’s eyebrow rose doubtfully. He wondered if she would believe him if he told her he’d spotted it when half cut and staggering from the ill effects of whisky.
“I can hardly be blamed for my past,” Langley said. He sauntered away from the doorway, crossing closer to her with the aim of helping lift down and examine the heavy clock. On reaching it, he eased it from her hands and placed it on the more accessible side table. “I would not hold any past sins or errors of judgement against you…”
“You refer to my moment of utter foolishness at Madam Sandrine’s?”
That stung, and Langley wished it didn’t. “If that is all you considered it to be, madam, that is your choice.”
