“I’d enjoy that.” But there was a distance in his voice. He, too, understood what their reality would entail.
Chapter 16
Langdon awoke to a summer blue sky. Not outside. But here in his bed. Resting on her side, one hand beneath her cheek, a contented look on her face, Marlowe was watching him. His hand was curled over her hip, the shirt providing a barrier between their skin. He supposed even in sleep, he recognized that she wasn’t his to take liberties with.
“Did you sleep all right?” he asked.
Her smile was soft, not one broad enough to give him permission to kiss her as he wanted. “Mmm. I woke up well rested.”
Her slender fingers feathered along his throat, slipped beneath the chain around his neck, and skittered down until she was holding the silver medallion his chest had warmed. “Why do you wear this?”
“My mother gave it to me. The image etched on it is of St. Christopher. Patron saint of travelers. She thought it would protect me during my journeys.” He wore it because he loved her and to make herfeel better, not because he attributed any special powers to it.
“Are you Catholic?”
“No, but saints are for everyone.” Her hand was resting against his skin. He wrapped his fingers around it and brought it to his lips. “Even with your bruises, you’re still beautiful. How is your lip?”
“Tender but healing.”
“And your other lips?”
“Hoping I have a nightmare tonight.”
He laughed. “You are—”
“Ollie!”
He released a low groan and a solid curse as he heard the feet stomping up the stairs.
“Ollie?” she repeated.
“Oliver.” He threw back the covers and scrambled out of bed. “Wait here.”
“Who is it?”
“My brother.”
He’d just snatched up his shirt from where he’d tossed it the night before when the scoundrel dashed in, his gaze going directly to the bed, and he staggered to an abrupt stop like he’d slammed into a stone wall. His jaw dropped and his eyes widened. Of the three children his mother had delivered, Stuart was the one who most resembled her, with his blond hair and fairer features. But his eyes were the Claybourne eyes, pewter gray.
“Mother sent me to check on you now that the waters have calmed. She was worried about you being in the storm, but it appears you survived exceptionally well.”
“Get out.”
“Not going to introduce me to your lady fair?”
“No. This is hardly the appropriate setting for introductions. We’re not properly attired for God’s sake.” As soon as the words were out, he wished he’d stilled his tongue before they were uttered.
His brother bowed, his gaze focused on Marlowe. “I’m Stuart. Unfortunate younger brother of Ollie here. I daresay it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
“Get. The. Hell. Out.”
Stuart had the audacity to wink at her before spinning on his heel and heading from the room.
Langdon turned to look at her. She was sitting up, her back against the headboard, her gaze aimed at her hands folded primly in her lap. Her cheeks were pink, and he couldn’t recall if he’d ever seen her blush. “I apologize for bringing attention to our disheveled state.”
She gave her head a slight shake before glancing up. The sadness in those blue eyes was like a punch to the gut. “It’s all right. I’m accustomed to not being introduced.”
He took a step toward her and noticed the tiniest of flinches. His back being flayed wouldn’t have hurt more. “I was striving to protect you, your reputation.”
