“Not a soul does enough for those in poverty.” Langley sounded rather grim. She turned and looked at him, hoping suddenly he might have an idea. She feared she was seeing on his face distaste or something else that would allow her to feel like Langley was no better than the others amongst theton. But he too looked sad.
“Didn’t you say you were as rich as Croesus?” she challenged him.
“Aye. Would you have me give it all away? And what about the people on my estates who rely on my protection and investments to look after them and their families for generations to come? Should I simply cast away my money to help these people here, or the ones who I have been assigned to protect? Ihave hundreds of people in my employ who rely on me and my ability to make sensible decisions.” For the first time, Margot felt a growing sense of respect for Langley. Previously she had thought him dangerously attractive and amusing, of course, but she had not seen any logic in the man. She released his arm and walked briskly away from him, ending their conversation.
“Are you crying?” Langley followed her, his question cutting into Margot’s morbid thoughts.
“No.” Her reply was muffled. It struck her then how overwhelming the task before her was. She was performing good work, maybe even divine work—answering the wish of a dying man. Now she realised how silly this assumption was on her part. Naive at best, a fool at worst. She had put them both in danger.
She had no desire to express her overwhelming sense of hopelessness though. Margot closed the gap and walked up the remaining steps to the graveyard. With a shake she found that the gates were locked. Sweeping her gaze through the barred barriers of the site, her eyes went to the tall steeple where in its midst was a large clock. How on earth was she supposed to get up there? Would it be buried at the base or hidden in amongst the actual mechanism? And were she to try, it would be necessary somehow scale the foreboding building in her dress and cape.
Margot did not move. She could not make herself do so. Clearly, her decision to come here tonight had been a mistake. It had seemed so sensible hours ago, and now reality was sinking in.
After a moment of waiting for her, Langley stepped closer, his hand moving out to capture her wrist.
“I would say we might be wise to go and join John, discuss the whole business in the inn, and formulate a new plan.”
Easing herself back, Margot turned and looked at him. “Are you cross with me?”
In the dim light, mainly created by the stars above, Margot saw the earl’s forehead crease with confusion at her question. “No, why would I be?”
“Because I have dragged you out here without knowing?—”
“I would have been tempted to try the same.” He laughed. “Were something similar to happen to me. Come, it is getting cold.”
“I have sent us on a wild goose chase. Halfway across Town. You were right. Searching a graveyard late at night was foolish and short-sighted and—” Margot said, growing angry with herself.
Langley held up his free hand. “If you are to spend any time in theton, I would suggest you grow a lot less critical of stupidity. Or foolishness. After all, that is what makes up a great deal of society.” He bowed lightly and offered her his arm. “Let us think through it logically somewhere warm, with a snug drink in our bellies. I normally find it far more conducive to rational thought.”
Nodding, Margot slipped her arm gratefully through his. They walked back along the street, towards the inn. “Do you think of all thetonin that way?” she asked after a moment. It seemed to her like Langley rather enjoyed being a member of thebeau monde, and all the benefits it brought to him. Which was why it was rather strange that he would be so quick to disparage high society.
“It is an amusing place.” He sounded lighter now. “But what is prized is not always of value. What is celebrated is often of nothing more than fleeting importance.”
“Then why do you stay within thebeau monde? Surely there are better things one could be doing.”
Langley gave her an odd look. The two of them were now in the shallow semi-light from the inn. Margot could notice a rotting smell, one of unwashed flesh, and what she suspected was the scent of someone having cast up their accounts.
“But as a member of it, what is my alternative? Besides, this—” He waved his hand over himself. “—is what everyone aspires to be. It is the goal of everyone throughout England to be prized and welcomed in amongst goodton.”
Unable to resist, Margot grasped hold of his lapels and looked up into his face. It was vital he know this. “Not by everyone. Not by me.”
The two of them stared at each other intensely, and she realised as she looked at him how stupid her gesture had been. How overly familiar. In confused excitement and fear she wondered if he might kiss her. She had moved close enough for it to be a real possibility. She suddenly wondered what his delicious mouth might taste like. He had laughed, discussed matters of the mind with her, listened and challenged her in a way Margot could not remember any man doing. It was exhilarating. It was exciting. It did not hurt that he resembled an angel-Adonis brought to life. All those finely made cheekbones, well-formed eyebrows, and the tempting quirk of his lips made a face that begged a second, third, and fourth look, even for those determined to resist him. Would the touch of his lips be just as elating and nerve racking as debating him was?
His hands moved, lifting to the back of her head, loosening the ties of her mask, and the domino dropped down to land on the small gap of ground between them. Margot let it fall, unable to look away from him. It was rather like having a spell cast on her—she doubted whether a flood or a storm would shift her away. On closer inspection she saw there was a hardness to his jawline she had previously missed, which she fancied implied astrength of character. That, or perhaps she simply knew him a little better than she had beforehand.
Looking up into Langley’s face, she thought she could see him considering her, as if he knew all too well what she was hoping for. Like he too was stimulated and intrigued by the push-pull that burnt between them.
Before either of them could move, however, there was a loud noise that wrenched the air, the sound of a door banging open, and out strode a tall man. On instinct, Langley drew Margot away from the stranger, further into the shield of his arms, and Margot caught the grin of the unknown man, as if he knew what was transpiring between a gentleman and a woman. For a second or two she stayed there, comforted by the protection of Langley’s arm. Then a tug at her memory pulled her away from the earl, out of his grip, and with renewed ferocity towards the departing stranger.
There was something dashed familiar about the way he moved.
A small cry echoed out of her mouth, and the stranger turned back to look more fully at her. Drawing out her knife, Margot levelled it at him. She was pleased to note her hand was steady, despite how terrified she was.
“Get back to your lordling.” There came a gruff voice from the stranger.
“Where were you last night?” Her voice rang out.
“I don’t owe no whore nothing.”
