“You can’t help them, mate. They’re already dead.”
“No! No! Release me! I’ve got to get to them. I’ve got to save them. I’ve got—”
“Shh, shh. It’s all right. Shh.”
He jerked awake to find himself being held again, but not by the two bruisers he’d eventuallybucked off, but by someone so remarkably soft that he felt as if he were in the clouds. Straddling his hips, she’d pressed his face to her linen-covered bosom and was holding him there. A blanket draped around her shoulders offered a shield from the biting drafts. His breaths were coming harsh and heavy, his chest nearly aching with the effort to draw in air.
He must have drifted off to sleep. And his horrifying memories had worked their way to the surface, as they so often did when slumber claimed him. But usually no one was about to hear his cries.
“Where were you?” she asked tenderly in the voice of an angel. He had the ridiculous thought that, having fallen from the heavens, maybe she’d been sent down to save him.
He barely shook his head. His arms were wound tightly around her. He had to be crushing her ribs, needed to release her. But the images were still there, so real he could almost touch them. He certainly felt them, deep inside him, wreaking their havoc. He’d managed to pull a few people from the railway car closest to the blaze, the one in which he’d been riding—or what was left of it. He’d dragged out the young woman who’d been reading. She would read more stories, but he suspected the wounds she’d endured that would eventually scar would make her even more shy. He’d held the animated gent as he whispered,Tell Winnie I love her. When his last breath came, it carried her name.
Eventually beneath rubble, he’d found the ladwho’d had his nose pressed to the window, his body completely broken. Something inside Langdon had broken then as well.
He’d not been with a woman since because he feared the lethargy after making love might cause him to fall asleep, where he was no longer in complete command of his faculties. Sometimes when he was locked in the throes of that horrendous night, he’d weep. And only the weak among men shed tears.
He was relatively certain Marlowe had gotten to him before that embarrassing happenstance. Still, she’d no doubt heard his keening, witnessed his mortifying display of losing control. This courageous woman who went up in a balloon when a storm was on the horizon. Madness.
Mad, the both of them.
“I was reminiscing about all the harsh challenges I dealt with before Hollie came into my life,” she said softly. “Earlier, when you’d asked where I’d gone. This place, a world unto itself, so far from the maddening crowd, allows memories to slip in, especially those we fight to hold at bay. I wonder if they might die here and forever leave us in peace.”
As he was escaping the remnants of the nightmare and was becoming more aware of his surroundings, he realized the blanket wasn’t enough to prevent him from noticing that once again she woreonlyhis shirt. He became acutely cognizant that it was her bare legs hugging his trouser-clad thighs. And the paradise he’d mentioned earlier was pressed intimately against his cloth-coveredcock. And that particular appendage had not been in a stupor but was reacting to her nearness. She had to be aware of his body’s response; however, she seemed unconcerned by it. But then she wasn’t a virginal miss who had no idea what transpired between couples.
Loosening his hold on her, he eased back slightly, grateful no wet splotches marred the shirt she wore. Through the linen, he could see the dark circles of her nipples. Unfortunate that. Yet she’d come to him and offered comfort. She deserved better than his replacing the remnants of his nightmare with images of running his tongue over the taut peaks and taking the whole of the shadow into his mouth. He lifted his gaze to hers.
Before, in the past and tonight, the light surrounding them had always been dim, and he hadn’t really noticed the exact shade of her eyes. A light blue, like when the sun was on full display and the day was at its brightest, when one could look up and know that no rain clouds would dare intrude. “I’d welcome the peace, but I don’t know that I want to lose the memories completely.” It seemed unfair to those who inhabited them. They should be remembered, even if only by a stranger.
“Who was holding you? Had you been attacked or kidnapped—”
“No. Railway accident. I was thrown clear. I don’t know how. I have no specific memory of it. Just snatches of what happened. Horrendous noise as though the entire world had exploded. Seeing part of the railway car crumpling and flying apart at the same time. My body being grabbed andshaken by the hand of an invisible giant. Soaring.” He shook his head. “Two trains collided.”
“When did it happen?”
“June. Last.” Only a couple of weeks after he’d walked away from the card table where he could havewonher.
“There are so many railway accidents that they all seem to muddle together. I may have read about it in the newspapers, although I strive not to dwell on the particulars of unpleasant occurrences.”
She’d moved her hands up and was kneading his shoulders. He wondered if she was even aware of what she was doing. While he’d loosened his hold and had intended to stop touching her completely, he realized that his hands had gotten only as far as her waist. They’d settled there, bracketing either side of her.
Even with all the damage done to her face, he couldn’t take his eyes off her. At that moment, he didn’t know if he’d ever seen anyone more beautiful. It was the true concern, the caring—the way she looked willing to slay his dragons, or at least serve at his side to assist him in doing it.
He imagined the courage it must have taken for her to appear in public with Hollingsworth and to risk censure. Most mistresses were kept in secret, to spare them Society’s condemnation or to prevent the revelation regarding the man’s unfaithfulness. However, Hollingsworth had no wife and, therefore, no qualms about parading his mistress about town. He suspected the lord was overly proud of landing such a beauty.
One of their outings to the theater had earneda mention in the gossip section of theIllustrated London News. Had included an etching of her. The reporter had commented on her “legendary beauty,” and Langdon had always suspected the man had been a bit smitten. Not that he blamed the journalist. Shewasstriking, but it was her poise and confidence that enhanced nature’s artwork. He wasn’t certain most men took the time to analyze her appeal. He’d only ever heard them wax on about her features, as though she was little more than a sculpture, with no soul or heart.
But in the short time she’d been in his company, he was coming to the realization that she was far more complicated, and what rested below the surface was of much greater interest. Not that she was his to explore. He’d do well to remember that and to ensure they kept their distance from each other as much as possible within these small confines.
“Careful, Marlowe. Wearing so little, you risk getting more than you bargained for.”
“I haven’t bargained for anything. Besides you’ve already seen everything. After that, what’s the point in hiding it all away or acting demure? You’d only lust for what is concealed. It’s the way of men.” She gave him an impish tilt of her head. “Women, too, if I’m honest. We want most that which we cannot have... and if we ever do acquire it, we’re often disappointed.”
“Based on your words, you lust for what I have concealed. Trust me, Marlowe, you wouldn’t be disappointed.”
Her lips twitched. “I assume you’ve moved beyond the remnants of your nightmare.” Expertly,sinuously, she slid off him, managing to provocatively wrap the blanket around her so he saw nothing intimate. She curled into the corner of the sofa, her torso and every limb hidden from his sight. “Do you have them often?”
The memories never completely left him, but he was usually better at controlling them. Tonight’s storm, however, had been playing havoc with him since its arrival. He shrugged. “Are you hungry?”
