Every time she thought perhaps she could be his mistress, she considered how much it would hurt when a night such as this came, when they spoke so politely to each other, without any fire or passion, when—
The knock interrupted her thoughts.
“That will be water for my bath,” she told Hollie, hoping he could hear in her voice that he would soon be dismissed. There had been a time when he’d enjoyed watching her bathe and she’d enjoyed him watching, but not tonight. Tonight she wouldno doubt be thinking of pewter eyes watching her. “Come,” she called out to the servant.
Her butler walked in, holding something white and folded on his outstretched hands, like someone presenting a crown on a pillow to a queen. “The maids were unrolling the balloon as you requested when one ran across this shirt, madam. We weren’t quite sure what you would have us do with it.”
He arrived at her side, and she took his offering as though it was made of handblown glass and might shatter if not treated with the utmost care. It was wrinkled from its journey. Still, she held it to her nose and inhaled. It wasn’t the one she’d been wearing. It smelled not of her, but of him. When had he placed it in the folds of the balloon? How had he managed—
Why was she even questioning its placement? A man who had mastered sleight of hand when it came to cards could surely manipulate other things without being detected. Just as he’d manipulated her heart.
She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at his absurd gift, but her eyes took the choice from her as tears began to well. She pressed the shirt to her face in order to capture the tears and stifle the sob.
“Marlowe?” She was aware of Hollie’s nearness, his hand on her knee. “Darling, whatever’s wrong?”
Vigorously shaking her head, she knew he would think her mad if she explained that she’d be wearing this shirt to bed for the remainder of her life.
Chapter 25
“Sophie, do you ever think about giving up this way of living?”
Marlowe was sitting in her own parlor, sipping tea—even mistresses could appear civilized—with one of her dear friends who was also a mistress and lived on Mistress Row.
“It is the only life in which I have Sheridan.” She and the earl had been together for several years now. “Why are you, of a sudden, discontent with what we have achieved?”
“It’s not that I’m discontent with it. It’s just that I wonder if I might find more satisfaction elsewhere. Hollie is getting married, so if I am ever going to begin anew, now is the time.”
Sophie wasn’t much older than Marlowe, and yet she had a tendency to look at the world through a vast array of experiences. “Who is it you want?”
Marlowe knew she shouldn’t have been surprised that Sophie had managed to discern someone else occupied Marlowe’s thoughts these days.She shook her head. “It’s moot. I couldn’t be happy with only part of his life and it’s all he’d offer.”
Sophie gave her a melancholy smile. “I have found part to be better than none at all.”
During the week that had passed since she’d seen Langdon, she’d debated that very question—was a portion better than nothing? She’d even written up a list outlining all the advantages and disadvantages to both part and nothing. Nothing always won.
Yesterday morning she’d almost decided she could be content with a little. Until she’d sat down to breakfast, opened the newspaper that her butler dutifully ironed and placed beside her plate each morning, and been greeted with gossip concerning Lord Langdon waltzing with one of this year’s new crop of debutantes. She’d felt ill, feared she was going to cast up her accounts then and there. How could she possibly invite him into her bed, knowing a time would come when after he left her, he’d invite his wife into his bed. Or perhaps he’d go to hers. Marlowe knew jealousy would eat her alive.
But she had also come to the conclusion that she was entitled, deserving, of the whole of a man’s heart, not merely a section of it. Although, truth be told, she didn’t know if she held any of his.
“Can you afford to leave behind all that your hard-earned status as a man’s fantasy has gained you?” Sophie asked. “You could have anyone you wanted, demand more of him.”
Ah, there was the rub. She had yet to pay back all of her father’s debts. Those who were owed would harass her mother if Marlowe didn’t make monthlypayments. With her scandalous reputation, who in London would hire her? She’d earn less than a pittance if she went elsewhere. And anyone who knew of her behavior was certain to take liberties.
She had followed this path because it solved so many of her problems. To walk away from what she had managed to accomplish would be foolish indeed.
Two weeks. It had been two weeks since Langdon had enjoyed a peaceful sleep, since he’d dropped Marlowe off at her residence.
Sitting in a plush leather chair in the library of the Twin Dragons, he slowly sipped his scotch and wondered if she’d yet discovered the shirt he’d left for her hidden within the folds of the balloon. He didn’t know why he’d done it.
Like an idiot, that night at the family estate, after she’d taken her bath and changed into a gown for dinner, he hadn’t thought to ask a servant to bring him the shirt she’d been wearing. The next morning it would have been laundered and placed in his room, waiting for a future visit. He had nothing of hers to serve as a reminder of the time they’d been together. As though he needed any token when he could recall every minute.
With things truly over between her and Hollingsworth, she’d need a consort. While she had rejected his offers, now that some days—and nights—had passed, perhaps she’d reconsider.
He scoffed, louder than he’d intended, catching the attention of a gent who was sitting nearby reading a newspaper. Langdon gave him an apologetic nod before sipping more of his scotch.
Since his return to London, before tonight, he hadn’t even stepped foot in the more respectable areas of the club because he’d recognized there was always a chance that he might pass Marlowe on a nearby street. Or that she could emerge out of the alleyway and cross his path as he bounded up the steps for the front door.
It was even possible she might be seen within the respectable portion of the establishment. Hollingsworth had spared no expense when it came to his mistress’s wardrobe and Marlowe was clothed as finely as a queen. The gossip columnists had recently commented on her attire, noting that this Season’s gown didn’t seem quite as risqué as those of the past. But most of the ink devoted to her had revealed that London’s most notorious courtesan was not in fact a brunette as everyone had been led to believe but was a blonde. Oh, the scandal of it all.
