“Tomorrow we will be.”
And once there, she’d be in another man’s keeping. An unfortunate realization struck him: he wished she were in his.
Chapter 20
“How did you ever find the courage to go up in a balloon?” Poppy asked, from her place beside Marlowe at the dining table.
“My father was an aeronaut and, when I was a little girl, he would often take me with him on short tours around the countryside. Hence I was traveling through the sky before I was old enough to realize the dangers of leaving the ground. Once my balloon is repaired, I could take you up sometime if you like.”
Poppy’s eyes widened slightly, and Marlowe realized too late the inappropriateness of her words. They might be welcoming her tonight, but the earl and countess certainly weren’t going to allow their impressionable daughter to spend time with a lord’s mistress.
Stuart laughed. “Poppy can’t even stand at the top of the stairs and look down without swooning.”
His sister blushed. “’Tis true, I’m afraid. I get dizzy.”
It was the girl’s excuse not to spend time inMarlowe’s presence, and she should let her have it. But she didn’t want Langdon’s sister to never experience the wonder of flight if another opportunity came her way. “Look across, not down,” she said kindly. “You’ll trick yourself into believing you’re only inches, not yards, from the ground.”
“Truly?” Poppy asked. “Is that what you do?”
“I think if I looked straight down, I’d be in danger of growing lightheaded and tumbling right out of the gondola.”
“Perhaps I will give it a go sometime.”
“You won’t regret it. Up there”—she looked toward the ceiling—“you’re remarkably... free, unencumbered by any of Society’s rules.”
“I so hate Society’s rules. Especially the one where I must have a chaperone.”
Since she’d never had one, Marlowe had no desire to get into a conversation about chaperones. She’d always gone where she wanted when she wanted. She supposed once her mother learned the truth regarding her husband, she’d given up on any notion that her daughter might marry a respectable man who would want a respectable wife.
“Only because you’d like to visit Aiden Trewlove’s club for ladies,” Stuart said, teasingly.
“Or the Fair and Spare,” Poppy added. “Have you ever gone to either of those, Marlowe?”
“No, I’ve not.” She went to the sort of clubs in which a lady like Poppy would never set foot.
The conversation drifted to plays, operas, concerts, and books. She was included, what she might have seen or read, but no inquiries that were particularly personal. She was tempted toask if they—especially the ladies—had readMy Secret Desires, a scandalous memoir that had recently taken London by storm as it revealed the wicked exploits of one of their own, a certain Lord Knightly. She wondered if they considered it obscene and were in favor of it being banned. She hadn’t and wasn’t. But she’d had a heated discussion with Hollie concerning it, and she wasn’t really in favor of ruining the pleasant mood that no doubt kept everyone’s digestion on an even keel.
She liked when the focus wasn’t on her and she was able to more closely observe the dynamics of the family. Especially Langdon. He was very much like his father, serious and reserved, his smiles rare.
She’d assumed he’d seldom given her a smile because of a dislike for her, but he was giving her more than he’d given his family thus far, and she was beginning to realize each he’d bestowed upon her was precious and to be treasured.
Rarely did his gaze stray from her, but when it did, it quickly returned as though he needed to be assured she was still there. She’d thought with others about he’d have an excuse not to give her any attention, and yet it was almost as if they were alone.
Dressed in dining finery, freshly shaved, his hair trimmed, he’d stolen her breath when she’d first walked into the library. Having grown accustomed to him in his shirtsleeves, she’d forgotten how gorgeous he was when outfitted for the evening. It was wholly unfair that without any effort at all, he could cause her heart to beat erratically, herbody to warm, and the sensitive spot between her thighs to thrum.
Whenever he took a sip of wine and touched his tongue to his lips to ensure he enjoyed every last drop, she would recall him touching his tongue to her, and she would feel as if she were in danger of going up in flames.
And she wondered if she had any effect on him at all.
“I have a bit of news to share,” Lady Poppy declared, a touch of giddiness in her voice. “If courtship is on your agenda for the upcoming Season, as Mother believes, I think you’ll find what I have to say of particular interest, Oliver.”
He looked at his sister, his patient smile telling Marlowe that he always indulged her. What must it be like to be so loved by him?
“Oh?” he asked.
“I received a letter today from my dear friend, Lady Euphemia. She’s to marry Lord Hollingsworth.”
Standing at the edge of the cliff, Langdon stared out over the moon-glistening water. If Poppy knew that Marlowe served as a mistress, it was evident she didn’t know whose mistress she was. Otherwise, she’d have never made that announcement during dinner, because she wasn’t in the habit of making people uncomfortable.
