Page 47 of A Tempest of Desire
His father nodded. “How are the headaches you were having?”
Debilitating. “Not as bad as they were.”
“I used to have massive pains in my head, whenever my past—which I couldn’t remember—tried to intrude on the present.”
“Dr. Graves told me that headaches are common following a collision such as the one I endured. Something about being knocked about.”
“He’s one of the best physicians in all of England. You go see him again if those pains don’t improve.”
“I will.”
“Your mother worries that you’re spending too much time alone of late.”
“She always worries. In this case, she worries for naught.”
His father didn’t move, merely studied him, and Langdon knew that when utter stillness overtook his father, the lord was at his most dangerous—uncovering secrets, divining the truth.
“I am fine,” Langdon stated succinctly, pouring every bit of deception he could muster into the words.
“Your mother will be relieved to know that.”
But he heard in his father’s tone that he had failed to convince him fully. However, he wasn’t yet ready to reveal his struggles. He was the firstborn, the heir, and as such he needed to be stronger than most. He needed to deserve what would be handed down to him. Felt a yearning to prove hewould be a good guardian of his heritage for future generations.
Feminine laughter wafted into the library only a few seconds before his mother, sister, and Marlowe strolled in. He’d forgotten how utterly elegant Marlowe appeared when wearing an evening gown, how gracefully she moved when not clomping about in his boots. When her hair, upswept and artfully arranged, brought attention to the graceful slope of her neck and her enticing shoulders.
Although he realized he’d only ever seen it arranged when it was black. The blond strands suited her so much better. Hollingsworth was a fool to want anything at all about her altered. Even with the healing injuries, no one matched her beauty.
Staring at her, he found it difficult to breathe, while his gut clenched.
She gave him a quick glance, her smile small, as if she was embarrassed to be caught wearing so much clothing. He imagined the joy to be found in divesting her of every layer, stitch, and bit of lace.
His father was handing each lady a small glass of port when Stuart ambled in and greeted their guest by taking her hand and pressing a kiss to her knuckles. Langdon was hit with an overwhelming urge to shout,Mine!
Only she wasn’t his. She belonged to Hollingsworth.
Belonged. As though she were a piece of property. She was her own woman. She wouldn’t be with Hollingsworth if she didn’t want to be. He wondered what it might take for her to leave the earl.
He wandered over to be nearer to the group congregating around her, butterflies to a bright colorful petal. It amused him that she had the same impact here as she did at a soiree in London; people naturally migrated to her. When he’d seen it happening before, he’d assumed it was her beauty, but he was beginning to suspect she possessed a natural, welcoming mien. Seeing her encouraging his sister, who usually needed no encouragement, he realized she possessed a kindness that put people at ease. Thinking back on it, he recalled noticing shy gents who were prone to stammering around women speaking to her without issuing a single stutter.
He wanted to pull her aside, ask how she’d enjoyed her bath, being pampered, looked after. He wanted to ask her to cross back over to his island for the night and they’d leave in the morning. He wanted her to himself. He wanted to speak with her alone to ensure she was feeling comfortable, although he couldn’t envision any member of his family saying anything that would make her feel uncomfortable.
The butler strode in, came to a stop. “Dinner is served.”
Before Stuart could, Langdon offered Marlowe his arm. “May I escort you in?”
She seemed surprised by his action. Even though it was only family, still the ladies were escorted. His father was already leading his mother out of the room by the time Marlowe nodded.
“Looks like you’re stuck with me,” Stuart said, presenting his arm to his sister.
“I suppose in a few years, you’ll be saying that to the woman you marry.”
He chuckled darkly. “I’m never going to marry.”
“The famous last words of many a bachelor,” Poppy said, before slipping her arm through his and urging him to head for the door.
Langdon waited until they were no longer within hearing distance to begin escorting Marlowe. “Has everything gone to your satisfaction?” He kept his voice low, intimate.
“As kind as your family is, I very much wish we were on our way to London.”
