Page 43 of A Tempest of Desire
He didn’t know why he suddenly felt lighter, like he could float on air. Did she feel this way when she was in her balloon? It had been so very long since he hadn’t felt weighted down. Perhaps that night of the railway accident was finally leaving him.
With wicker basket in hand, the quilt draped over his arm, he returned to the front room, crossed over to where she sat, and held out his hand to her. “Come on.”
She studied the items he was holding. “What’s that?”
“My mother sent food. We’re going on a picnic.”
They didn’t go far from the dwelling, just to the edge of the cliff, where he’d spread out the quilt and she’d lowered herself to it. She’d stuffed her feet back into his boots that she’d borrowed the daybefore. His coat was draped over her shoulders. Wearing only his trousers, shirtsleeves, and boots, he didn’t seem at all bothered by the chill in the air as he spread out the fare: Scotch eggs, ham, scones. His mother had even included clotted cream and jam. The last thing he pulled out was a crock and two earthenware mugs. “My contribution,” he announced and poured her some tea.
Still a trifle hurt by the entire introduction fiasco—even though it had been obvious his brother knew who she was—she refused to be charmed, even when he stretched out on his side, rose up on an elbow, and snatched up a piece of ham with his fingers.
“We’re to eat like barbarians?” she asked.
He grinned. “I suspect most of my ancestors who lived here did. Besides, I find it refreshing from time to time not to have to follow all of Society’s strictures.” He waved the hand holding the ham over the food. “Help yourself.”
She took a sip of tea instead. He must have put half the sugar in England in it. She didn’t know if she’d ever had anything quite so delicious. Setting the mug aside, she went for a scone.
“You like sweet things,” he murmured.
“I do. Although I’m sweet enough without them.”
“You’ve no idea.” He looked out over the narrow strip of water separating his island from the mainland, leaving her with the impression he was referring tohertaste.
If she stayed any longer, she might discover the taste of him. She wasn’t quite certain that would bea wise thing to do. “While you were seeing your brother off, I took an inventory of the tears. I estimate I’ll be able to finish my task in only a few hours.” He was staring out over the water, but she was left with the impression that he was bracing himself for an onslaught of words he didn’t want to hear. “We should go back to the mainland today.”
Without looking at her, he nodded. “I agree.”
She didn’t know why his answer disappointed her. It was the correct answer. It assured they didn’t quarrel. “I think you should know, in case you should ever cross paths with Hollie, that I’m not going to tell him about my little adventure.”
He did look at her then, his face set in a somber mask. “That’s probably for the best.”
“He wouldn’t be jealous. But he would be upset by my dunderheadedness.”
He rolled a little more onto his side so he was more squarely facing her. “And which dunderheadedness would that be?”
“Placing myself in a position to fall from the sky.”To fall for you.“I never tell him when I’ve gone up because he worries so.”
His brow furrowed. “But it’s a part of you. Not to share it with him... how can he fully appreciate you?”
“That’s the way of mistresses. You don’t give your benefactor the whole of you. You have to keep a portion just for yourself, something to which you can remain true.” She shook her head. “Or perhaps it’s necessary for survival for everyone, not just mistresses. Like you, with your room of crumpledpaper. Other than you, who knows about the reasons behind it?”
He chuckled darkly. “It’s not an aspect of me that I want or intend to keep. But if I was going to share it with anyone, I might share the reason behind it with you.” He grinned. “But I’m not.”
Chapter 18
The last time Marlowe had felt any sadness at all at leaving someplace was the day she left Vexham without her mother and began her solitary journey to London.
For some strange, preposterous reason, she was experiencing some of the same sadness now as Langdon rowed them toward the mainland. His small stone keep was not home, and yet she didn’t know if she’d ever felt safer anywhere else. She’d been rescued, warmed, and pleasured.
In a way, she was sorry to be headed back to London, although she knew she needed to go. Hollie would be calling on her as soon as he returned, and they had some things between them to settle.
She didn’t want to admit that part of her melancholy was a result of leaving Langdon. Which was utterly ridiculous. They didn’t mean anything to each other really. The only reason she couldn’t take her eyes off him at the moment was because he was wearing only shirtsleeves, trousers, and boots, andhis lack of jacket or coat made it easier to see the strain of his muscles as he rowed. His actions were so smooth, so damned masculine.
He’d rolled his sleeves up past his elbows and she could see his muscles bunching, his veins bulging, and she imagined them doing the same as he levered himself above her.
Hollie was slender, his pallor that of a man who seldom frequented the outdoors. She found no fault with his build, but it didn’t make her mouth water. As a matter of fact, no gentleman’s ever had until she met Langdon.
And then he became all she could think about.
