Page 62 of A Tempest of Desire
“You should have told her you were on the verge of becoming betrothed.”
“I know. I have chastised myself repeatedly for any hurt I caused her. Tell her you will handle the matter better when the time comes. It might make a difference if you reassure her that you won’t be a scapegrace like me.” He slapped his thighs. “Well, I’d best get back to her,” Hollingsworth said, coming to his feet. “Until she’s replaced me, I’m still her protector. If you find yourself interested in a game of cards, come find me. I’ll make the same wager as before. If you win, you’ll have an opportunity to make your case. Only a fool would turn down such an offer. You’ve never struck me as a fool.”
“As long as I have a face, you shall always have a place upon which to perch.”
Marlowe fought to keep her features neutral and to swallow back the guffaw that desperatelywanted to escape. She’d had far worse words—meant to entice—thrown her way this evening, but for some reason these suddenly seemed the most ridiculous.
The young man, who couldn’t have been much older than her own twenty-two years, leaned forward expectantly. “You do know to what I am referring.”
“What I know, my lord, is that we would not suit.”
“But... but... shouldn’t you at least invite me into your bed to be sure? I have a most impressive cock.”
“I’ve no doubt. It seems to be the only kind present here tonight. Nevertheless, since I recommend you continue your search for a suitable bedmate elsewhere”—she wasn’t the only woman in attendance tonight searching for a less fleeting arrangement that would be beneficial to two parties; she was however the most popular and well-known—“allow me to offer you a bit of advice. While bedding is a large part of having a mistress, it is not the most important part. Consider how you would get along when you’re not in bed.”
He blinked. Blinked. Blinked. Narrowed his eyes. Furrowed his brow. Tilted his head like a dog suddenly alert. “You like being taken against the wall, then?”
Oh, dear Lord. Hopeless. This one was utterly hopeless. She patted his cheek like he was an errant schoolboy. “Continue your search.”
She whipped around and nearly ran into another prospective lover. It was so easy to tell because their eyes held such expectation. His wereglittering with merriment. He was on the other side of thirty if he was a day.
“Your beauty is beyond compare
“Whether black or blond be your hair.
“I invite you into my lair
“Where I shall spoil you with utmost care.”
Well, that was unexpected and almost lovely.
He flashed a broad, cocky grin, took her hand, and pressed his lips to her gloved knuckles. “Marlowe, I should like very much to replace Hollingsworth in your esteem.”
At least he was a bit less flagrant and full of sexual innuendos than many of the scallywags who’d approached her tonight. “Lord Chadbourne. I should think your wife wouldn’t be particularly pleased with that arrangement.”
When it came to gathering information on men, the gossip sheets were her friend.
His smile faltered a bit. “Ours was not a love match.”
“Regardless, it gives me pause to consider an intimate relationship with someone who has not yet mastered the art of keeping a vow. Nor do I fancy causing a wife distress when she reads her husband’s name associated with mine in the gossip columns. As I’m sure you’re aware, I’m quite often a favorite subject of the gossipmongers.”
He leaned nearer. “I have found that keeping a relationship secret adds a thrill to the entire association. Sneaking about can be jolly good fun.”
It was moments like this when she wished there were a universal law of mistresses that they all had to adhere to. She truly didn’t believe that a marriagelicense should be required for a woman to engage in sexual relations but that didn’t mean she lacked a moral code. She decided with this gent she needed to be blunt. “I don’t take married men as lovers.”
“Why limit yourself?”
Hadn’t she already explained? Therefore, he was either a man who didn’t listen or he believed a woman’s words were of no consequence.
She felt a hand come to rest against her lower back. Hollingsworth. Strange how she’d never noticed before that his touch had a ghostlike quality to it. Barely there. A whisper. Gossamer.
Whereas Langdon could touch her with no more than a tip of his finger and it was as substantial as a branding. It left an invisible mark on her soul, her heart. A mark that ached anytime she thought of him. Since their parting, he’d sent her two gifts. She’d not written him an acknowledgment because she knew she shouldn’t encourage him. She had to let him go. Their time together had been wondrous, but it was all she could allow without opening herself up to hurt. He had the power to break her heart, bring her to her knees, and cause her to caterwaul.
“Chadbourne,” Hollie acknowledged with a bit of ire. “You’re wasting your time, old chap. I believe I mentioned my mistress has no interest in married men.”
“There is always a first time for everything.”
“For you, to be rejected apparently.”
