Page 17 of A Tempest of Desire
“How is it?” she prompted.
Another brusque shake of his head. “It’s none of my business.”
“Isn’t that a determination I should make? Ask your question.”
“You’re certainly not shy, are you?”
“There is no advantage to my being so. I’m not a young debutante who must act the innocent to gain a husband. Ask your question.”
He studied her, took another sip of scotch. She enjoyed watching the way his throat worked as he swallowed. Men really should do away with wearing neckcloths. She liked the casualness hinted at by that small V of skin. “How is it that Hollingsworth became your benefactor?”
She’d expected the question to be of that nature. Still, it bothered her that he might care about the answer. “I’ll answer if you’ll first tell me why you accepted his offer that night... and then swapped your cards so you’d lose. And don’t worry about hurting my feelings, because no matter what you say, I can promise you that I’ve had worse said to my face. I’ve erected armor over the years.”
The intensity with which he scrutinized her made her feel as though he were mining her soul for the answer, but not to the question he’d asked. To what might have slowly built up her fortification. She couldn’t help but think it was as strong as this castle-like structure that thus far had withstood the storm. “I know Hollingsworth well enough to understand that once he gets a notion in his head, he’s like a dog with a bone. It was the quickest way to get us past a situation that was making you uncomfortable.”
And just how in God’s name had he discerned her discomfiture? Her intention had been to send a message of being haughtily put out with the notion of being something with which Hollie could barter—like a piece of furniture. Or his signet ring, which on numerous occasions she had seen him toss onto a pile of coins to cover his wager. On the rare times when he’d lost it, he’d made arrangements to purchase it back. She supposed the lessons he’d learned with the ring were the reason he had added the stipulation that she came for a limited amount of time. “You could have accepted his offer without swapping out your cards.”
“It was the most expedient and gracious way toleave no hard feelings. As I said that night, I don’t take unwilling women.”
“And if I’d been willing?”
“But you weren’t.”
“But if I had been?”
“You’re beautiful, Marlowe. You know that. I suspect you have a thousand mirrors in your residence to confirm it. You’re confident, flirtatious. But your power comes from your loyalty to Hollingsworth. Without that, you lose your appeal.”
Her power didn’t come from Hollie, and she was of a mind to teach him a lesson on that aspect of herself. But the earl had taught her not to care what people thought—a strange lesson from a man who cared very much what people thought. “Hence you still would have swapped out your cards even if it had been obvious that time alone with you was what I wanted?”
His grin was dark and filled with mystery. “We’ll never know.”
Oh, she suspected he did know, the scapegrace. He just wasn’t going to tell her, preferring to leave her in a quandary, wondering which way he might have gone. Still, she was bothered by all that had transpired that night, more his reaction than Hollie’s. “I can’t make sense of your actions. You must have wagered at least a hundred pounds on that one hand. And you deliberately lost.”
“Years ago, my father was a partner in that gaming hell, when it was Dodger’s Drawing Room. As he always told us, there is wealth to be found in vice. Since we were old enough to understand the purpose of money, he has been incredibly generous with our allowance because he never wanted us to be put in the position of being so hungry we’d risk prison for a bit of cheese, as he once was. What I lost that night was pittance compared to what I hold in my coffers.” He bowed his head slightly. “Excuse my vulgarity in discussing my wealth.”
“How was it that your father, a child of the nobility, came to be so hungry?”
“Are you not familiar with the legend of the Devil Earl?”
“Your father is the Devil Earl?” She’d heard the moniker but hadn’t known with whom it was associated.
He gave a slow nod. “As for how he came to be so hungry... when he was a wee lad, his parents were murdered in a London alleyway. He was with them but managed to escape their fate. He spent a good many years on the street, part of a gang of child pickpockets, before he was returned to his rightful place among the aristocracy.”
“I’ve heard he killed a man.”
“He never speaks about that part of his story, but knowing my father, I suspect the action was justified.”
Setting aside his empty plate, taking another swallow of his scotch, he leaned back, his gaze on her focused as intensely as it had been that night. She felt completely unclothed as though, with his eyes, he had the power to burn away the blanket and his shirt. “Now, by your terms, I think I’ve earned the right to have my question answered.”
Langdon was surprised by how strongly he wanted to unravel the mystery of her. He should notbe intrigued by her and yet he was. It was the boredom that had settled in with the rain. While this place offered peace, it offered few entertainments. And he was, regretfully, finding her entertaining.
She offered him an overly bright smile, winced, and touched her tongue to the cut. It was a losing battle not to think of all the things she could possibly do with that tongue.
With a sigh, she shook her head. “It’s a long story. To do it justice, I should probably wait for another time. I’m terribly weary.”
Coquettish words, he suspected, would have accompanied the smile she’d misjudged. She’d planned to tease him, to use his curiosity against him. Flirting and tormenting seemed to come naturally to her. But with the injury to her lip, her full arsenal was not available, and he suspected she depended on it to make the most of her story. Although it was possible she was truly tired. She’d been through an ordeal. After the railway accident, for a while, he’d often felt he was wading through a quagmire when he was doing little more than lying in bed or sitting in a chair. He’d seemed to have lost the ability to concentrate, to focus on any one thing for more than a few minutes.
She placed her empty plate on the table. “That was quite good, possibly the most delicious meal I’ve ever had.”
