A bright light sparked to life, and Margot raised her head, her gaze following the bloom of a candle carried by a servant. Langley’s footman, who moved around the earl’s terrace, lighting an array of outdoor lanterns illuminating the space. Instinctively, Margot huddled back, although common sense would have told her she was not visible all the way back here. Her eyes followed the footman inside, and she waited, breath caught in her throat, for someone to appear.
When they finally did, it was Langley all at ease, having not yet changed for dinner with a curvaceous blonde lady beside him, Margot recognised her from the previous night. An unpleasant weight crystallised within Margot, but as much as she commanded her feet to lift and carry her indoors, she could not find the right strength to avert her gaze.
Being too far away to hear their conversation, she had to rely entirely on body language, and watch in mounting fascination,horror, and distaste as whoever the blonde was—she was clearly rather emotional. There were tears, even a beating of her chest, and then finally a desperate jump into Langley’s arms. When they kissed, it was the motivation enough for Margot to drop her eyes down to the path and hurry back towards the townhouse. One inadvertent viewing of forbidden acts would be forgivable—spying on a pair of lovers would not be.
Margot reached Ashmore’s terrace and her feet slowed, careful not to be overheard as she tiptoed towards the back door.
“Aah, there you are Miss Keating, I was about to send the maids out to look for you,” Mrs. Bowley waved from the nearby window, clearly having spotted Margot trying to sneak back inside. “Dinner is only an hour away. You must hurry and change.” Then the dratted woman turned back to whatever she was doing, leaving Margot frozen in place.
For a few quiet seconds, she did not move, hoping against hope that the intertwined couple next door had not heard a thing. As she took a tentative step closer towards the door, she overheard a few mumbled words, and then what sounded distinctly like a slap, before finally a door slammed. Before she could escape there was a loud sigh, and a masculine voice full of humour said quite clearly, “Did you plan that, Miss Keating?”
CHAPTER 6
In that minute or so, while Langley waited for Miss Keating to reply to his query, the raised wall hid her from his view. Rather like a poorly arranged Romeo and Juliet, Langley thought with wry amusement. But he could hear her thinking loudly enough to know she had not moved away yet or scarpered into the house. He pondered how much she might have seen of the interlude on his terrace with Lady Herbert. Presumably enough to witness Georgianna throw herself at him… Langley much preferred to pursue his own seductions, rather than being pounced on, but Lady Herbert was proving difficult. It did not bother him that Miss Keating might have seen the kiss, after all, jealousy could be known to initiate the most passionate of affairs…
“I suppose, Langley, that is a normal occurrence for you. Women chasing after you?” Finally, Miss Keating spoke. There was some truth to her question. She moved and he was pleased to see her appear into his line of vision. Once positioned down in the garden, he could see her looking up onto his terrace, the light from the lanterns illuminating her. Highlighting her quizzical brow, pursed lips, and narrowed eyes.
It was the height of childishness, but there was something about her that made Langley want to tease and cajole her until Miss Keating went pink.
“Lady Herbert and I are simply old friends.”
“I do not treat my friends in such a manner.”
“Not a single one?” His question might needle some women, but Miss Keating simply shrugged.
“I was raised as the daughter of a vicar. I doubt my father would approve of such actions.” She fidgeted on the spot. “Besides, I have more important things to be doing. I imagine a great many others have superior ways to pass the time. Perhaps your lady is simply bored?”
There was something rather tragic, Langley felt, to that declaration—as if anything trumped the wonderous feeling of tupping, touch, or delighting in the feel of another person close to you. In his opinion there was no greater sensation known to man. Or woman.
Feeling even more as if he were tempting an innocent into the Garden of Eden, Langley walked closer to the wall. Typically, his seductions were aimed at widows, experienced matrons, and the like. Pure, uptight virgins with strict parents were not his preferred type. Still, there was something uniquely appealing about Miss Keating.
Choosing to ignore Miss Keating’s question, Langley moved closer to the edge of the terrace and made a dramatic sweep with his arm as if he were going to fling himself down onto the ground below or perhaps even throw her some flowers. He hoped she might find his antics amusing.
Miss Keating did not respond. “As my chaperone indicated, I have a limited amount of time. If you wished to come to your point, then I may return inside.”
Knowing all too well she would simply march inside if he did not speak, Langley launched into the idea that had beenbothering him for the last few hours. “I have been thinking about that map of yours. I decided the first place we should visit is where one of the points is torn.”
“Why?” Her question was one of actual interest and she drew closer to him. Her hand reaching out for the wall and her head leaning in to catch his words.
“Well,” he said, “that will be the point that the murderer also has on his map. Or at least he will have half the point, the same as we do. I daresay that it is entirely possible the culprit will try and go there.”
“We should go. Now.” She looked ready to run. Instinctively, Langley reached over the shorter part of the wall, presumably the part the killer and she had climbed over, and grabbed her hand, preventing her from leaving.
“Miss Keating, that area of London as it happens is notoriously dangerous. I will need to know several things before we go on a wild goose chase through the slums of Limehouse.”
“I cannot tell you?—”
“I must know what we are looking for. Whatever Ashmore told you about what we seek.” Langley paused as he considered what else he wanted. “And your Christian name.”
There was a slight hesitation before Miss Keating nodded and then pulled her arm free. “We are looking for something valuable that Ashmore hid. It is not for you, or even for me, but for Ashmore’s heir.”
“I have no interest in money,” Langley said. “You can ask your chaperone, or really any matron of theton—I am as rich as Croesus, so you need not fear that I will steal anything from you. I don’t have the need.” Miss Keating did not look convinced, so Langley continued. “Why would you risk life and limb to secure the fortune of a man you do not know? Are you hoping you might marry the new duke—that he might be a touch nearer to your own age?”
“Must all women be reduced to such a state, keen and desperate for matrimony with no other possible motivations? Are we really such pitiful, listless creatures?”
Langley shrugged. “In my experience, that is what most of you want.”
“That is not what I want.” Her tone and expression were set. “I have sent my sister down to Cornwall to locate him.”
