“Still hate me?” he asked.
“I may have misspoken earlier.”
“I thought perhaps that was the case. There is a room for dancing, a room for dinner. A library if you want to sit and talk. Perhaps we’ll explore those later. For now, shall we get some tokens and play a little roulette?”
Langdon decided he wanted to experience with Marlowe everything there was to experience in the world. He’d seen her at the card table with Hollie where she’d only watched.
But when she was engaged in play—good Lord, but her excitement was intoxicating. She was so animated: giving a little hop, clapping, and issuing the tiniest of squeals when she won. Even when she lost, she continued to smile, and he could see in her eyes her determination and belief that the next spin of the wheel would be hers to own.
If she played cards with the same enthusiasm, his family would have had no trouble at all determining when she was holding something of worth, when to best her. If he could convince her to become his mistress, he’d teach her how to manipulate the cards so she could hold her own against his family.
Although he suspected she’d done that anyway. Held her own against them.
While she wore a gown of striking crimson that caught the eye, made her more visible than theother ladies, none could hold a candle to her when it came to beauty or elegance.
While their time together was coming to a close, he didn’t want to let her go. He’d already begun compiling a list of all he’d offer her if she would but stay with him. Mistress, lover, friend. Why she parsed words when applying any of them to their relationship was beyond him. Why define what they had together? He possessed the means to provide for her. He just had to convince her to allow him to do it, to reassure her that his doing so would change nothing between them.
She looked up at him, her smile so bright, the sort of smile that demanded a kiss. “I think I should quit while I’m ahead.”
“Always a wise move.” He slid her tokens into his hat. “Let’s exchange these.”
“And then?”
“You decide.”
With his hand on the small of her back, he began guiding her toward the corner where a man behind a cage would handle the transaction.
“I say, Langdon—”
He turned to face the Earl of Chadbourne.
“—I don’t believe whores are allowed in this part of the building.”
Unfortunately, the crowd was thick tonight, and he was aware of a few gasps as others heard the vile words uttered. He’d never much liked the earl, a man who had broken off his engagement to the daughter of a duke when the duke had been convicted of treason. “Apologize or name your second.”
This time the gasp came from Marlowe. She placed her hand on his arm. “It’s not important. Let’s just leave.”
“Not until I have satisfaction.” He held Chadbourne’s gaze. “Apologize to the lady.”
“She’s not a lady. She spreads her legs—”
He struck quick and hard, his fist slamming into Chadbourne’s jaw, closing his vile mouth and sending him sprawling to the floor. Glaring, Langdon stood over him. “Name. Your. Second.”
He felt Marlowe’s hand on his arm again, noted the trembling of her fingers, and his anger went up several notches because she had been exposed to this.
“You’re not going to engage in a duel,” she said. “It’s against the law.”
“Not for the nobility. Exceptions are made for us all the time.” He didn’t take his gaze from Chadbourne.
“Please, Langdon. Let’s just—”
“What’s this, then?”
He recognized the voice of Drake Darling, owner of the establishment. Chadbourne scrambled to his feet, obviously of the belief that help had arrived.
“Chadbourne insulted Marlowe. I can’t let it stand. I demand he apologize to her or face me at dawn.”
“I suppose I’ll serve as your second, then.”
