Page 63 of A Tempest of Desire
“You’re ending your association with her, Hollingsworth. I really don’t see that you have any say in the matter.”
“My association, not my protection. Did you know that I have a pair of dueling pistols I inherited from my father—who was kind enough to teach me how to use them?”
Marlowe was surprised Hollie didn’t die then and there from the daggers Chadbourne was shooting with his eyes. Chadbourne turned his attention to her. “Should you change your mind, send word to the proper gaming area. That’s where you’ll find me.”
He gave a curt bow and strode off.
She blew out a great huff of air.
“He’s an arse, Marlowe. I would be most disappointed if you settled for him. When you trade, dear girl, always trade up.”
She laughed, wrapped her arm around his, and pressed her head to his shoulder. “Oh, I’m going to miss you, Hollie.”
“And I you.”
Straightening she released her hold. “Where did you get off to?”
“Just did a bit of exploring.”
“Why did you spread the word that I was looking for a new protector?”
“It seemed the most expedient way to ensure you no longer needed me. I don’t want Effie hearing that we’re still together, although I’m not sure if she is even aware we were ever a couple to begin with.”
She shook her head. She did hope the young lady knew how fortunate she was to have his love. “Will you take me home?”
“I haven’t had a chance to play cards yet.”
“I’ll hail a hansom cab, then.” Perhaps she’d take out an advert for a lover because she certainly wasn’t coming here again.
“Stay a while longer. Sit with me. For old times’ sake.”
“No wagers like you made before with Langdon.”
He placed his hand over his heart. “On my honor.”
Chapter 26
As Langdon ambled through the secret rooms, he couldn’t help but reflect that they were as they always were. Hazy, thick with smoke. Loud. The din of conversation and the echo of ribald laughter. The clack of dice, the spin of a roulette wheel, the whisper of cards being shuffled. And the heavy odor of too much perfume.
This room was not the sort in which Marlowe belonged. She should never walk through it, much less be allowed into it. Because her fragrance was as light as the clouds through which she sailed.
“Langdon.”
He recognized the voice coming from behind him. Hollingsworth. He was torn between praying that she would be standing beside the earl and that she wouldn’t. Slowly, ever so slowly, he turned. And felt as if he’d taken a kick to the gut.
Because she was there. He detected the smallest scar at the corner of her mouth and another angled across the tip of her brow, near her temple. Wearing a mauve gown that seemed to bring outall the colors of which she was composed. The blue of her eyes. The moon shade of her hair. The pink highlighting her cheeks. And there, entirely out of place with the pearl earbobs and pearl combs, resting just above the part in her cleavage was his St. Christopher medallion.
He’d hoped after their time apart, he’d be immune to the sight of her.
Instead, all he wanted was to toss her over his shoulder as he had that first night of the storm and carry her to his bed.
“Hollingsworth,” he said pointedly. And then a bit softer, gentler. “Marlowe.”
“My lord.” Her smile was small, almost bashful, much as it had appeared when she’d been on his island, when caution had been required so all her cuts and scrapes could heal. How it had been that night when he’d possessed her and she’d possessed him. Fully, completely.
He wanted her again, more powerfully than he had before. But not just the sexual aspect of her. He wanted to sit with her in a quiet corner and simply talk. He wanted to ask after her balloon, if it was repaired, if she had gone up in it again.
“We’re heading off to play cards. Care to join us, Langdon?” Hollingsworth asked.
