With a shake of her head, Margot replied, “You may well feel differently were I not the penniless daughter of a?—”
“Given I never have previously given any consideration to other female members of theton, I doubt your status or lack thereof would impact me, love.”
“Were my father a man of position or wealth, he might?—”
“Others have tried,” Langley said. It had been years ago, but Viscount Marsilio had attempted to entrap Langley at a country party on the older man’s estate. Thankfully, Langley had been too drunk to notice the blatant seduction attempt by the viscount’s widowed daughter, and he had been rescued by Lord Bridgemore before anything too compromising had occurred. “But the reason I ask is because tomorrow we are going to Madam Sandrine’s, and if you are discovered there, no one would ever accept you again, anywhere.”
“I had forgotten the last trip.” She forced a fake smile onto her lips that did not meet her eyes. “Very well. That will be ourlast encounter. At that point we will have visited every site left on my half of the map.”
“What do you intend to do next?” Langley asked, unable to resist.
“As to that, it is not your concern.”
“It will be for the next day or two,” Langley corrected her.
With a twisting of her hand, Margot shook him loose from her wrist. “If this is merely about me paying my dues to you, and that bribed kiss I promised you, you need not fear. I am a woman of my word.”
The promise of the kiss she had made when he had agreed to help her had stayed with him, burning brightly through all their interactions. Dancing out of reach, haunting him with how he might draw it out, make the experience of tasting her for the first and only time last a lifetime.
At least, he thought as he watched Margot walk away from him, whatever happened next, there would always be that kiss to look forward to.
CHAPTER 13
Margot was grateful for a respite from Langley’s presence. The blasted man was so changeable—in one moment kind, humorous, and the wittiest of company, all this wrapped up in the most handsome exterior that Margot had ever seen. His ability to put her entirely at ease, and yet at the same time make her entirely conscious of her own body and his was remarkable and confusing. Yet in another moment, his arrogant sneer could emerge, desperate to not be tied or entrapped into anything—scared that his life would be over should he feel anything more deeply than a passing flirtation. The occasional hints at his family upbringing gave Margot no real insight into what had caused him to be so reluctant and hesitant, and when she had once pressed him for an answer, Langley’s reply had been one of flippancy, and the statement that it was easier to follow the fashion of a libertine than the alternative, was not a real answer.
For all her self-given lectures and stern internal talks, she could not shake the feeling that were Langley simply to cast away those fears, he would be a happier man. Why she cared that he do this was beyond her, after all, she would be leaving London society soon, and would never be likely to see him again.
Although there was still that kiss she had promised him. She was not entirely dreading the idea of kissing him. In fact, she was holding on to the thought as a way of meaning that one day years from now, in her lonely dotage, she could look back and remember him. It was not much, but it was better than the overwhelming desire to give in to her more wanton urges…
She would not end up like her mother. Never. If learning the truth of what Ashmore had done to Julia had taught her anything, Margot would ensure she would never find herself in such a position. This thought she would cling to with increasing ferocity as the hours crept closer to her agreed-upon rendezvous with Langley.
Their plan was a simple one. Langley knew when the busiest night would be at Madam Sandrine’s. How he would know this information, Margot did not care to ask. Or why Ashmore would have been willing for her to go there—yet another thing she would forever be left to wonder about her father and his choices. Giving Mrs. Bowley the slip by pleading a headache, which allowed her companion to head off earlier in the evening to enjoy a card night with some of her friends, Margot was ready for one of the final searches for the keys.
As the hours slipped closer to the eleven o’clock outing, Margot took care to ready herself without the help of Jessop. It was important that no one know where she was going. Langley had given her a suitable gown for the night. This, of course, meant it was not remotely what any lady of Margot’s acquaintance would ever think of as appropriate for anything other than a woman of the night, which she was in fact posing as.
Looking at herself before she donned the black cloak, Margot tried to consider the dress as an outsider might. It was form-fitting and made of the softest scarlet silk, which caught and almost seemed to rub between her legs. It was hard to don her undergarments so in the end Margot had chosen to go without.Quite how Langley had known her measurements baffled her, but that presumably was going to be yet another question she would never raise.
She stared at the look she presented in the rich red gown patterned with roses of various sizes. It was lower cut than she normally would have worn, and it pressed her breasts together in a way that made her look almost generously endowed. It was a dress designed for someone bold, and it made Margot feel not quite herself, as if she wanted to live up to the impression it created.
Despite it all, when she ran her hands down herself, there was a feeling of excitement, desire, danger, and empowerment, and she knew she was thrilled at what Langley would think when he saw her in this creation. In pink-cheeked embarrassment at her bodily reaction—the rush of warmth between her legs, and the heightened breath in her lungs—Margot flung on her cloak and hurried from her chamber, down the stairs, and through the townhouse.
Langley’s carriage, an unmarked one perhaps hired for the evening, was already waiting at the rear of the townhouses, and Margot tapped their now familiar knock on the door, awaiting a response before she entered. When the rap tap sounded, she secured the cloak around her and climbed inside. Across from her, she saw Langley sat fully at his leisure in one seat. Margot sank into the opposite squab and neither spoke a word when Langley tapped on the ceiling of the carriage and off it set.
“To Covent Garden?” she murmured after a few moments, ill at ease with the quiet.
“Indeed,” Langley said. “Here, as required for any of the attendees, your mask.” He passed it across, and Margot accepted the present. It reminded her, of course, of their first meeting, and how masks were the shield to be someone else… a dangerous idea for her to cling to for too long.
Lifting it up, Margot secured the mask in place. “I find I am always playing a part in Town.”
“Then you really are part of theton.” Langley sounded bored. He was not even looking at her, but staring out of the window with a determination that somewhat surprised Margot because of its coldness. Langley was many things, but distant and icy was not something she associated with him.
“Yes,” Margot said. “I see it now for its falseness. How everyone must play everything they have for their advantage.” Langley made no comment, and it was then that Margot realised something else, the emotion she had been playing with since she donned her risqué dress. “But I also see how it can be fun.”
To this Langley looked back at her, and she thought she saw a look of surprise pass over his face, but before he could reply, the carriage started to slow, the noise of the outside world intruded in on them, and Margot felt that familiar flutter in her stomach at what she would likely witness tonight. Like a bride on her wedding day, after this night, nothing would ever be the same again.
For all her initial anticipation,the house they were ushered into did not look too dissimilar to a great many other of thetonbuildings Margot had visited in the last few weeks. At least based on the handsome salon they stood in. All the drapes, furnishings, and furniture were of the first-rate kind, the only difference was the fact that the curtains were all drawn and made up of a heavy black fabric. The place was beautifully lit, almost more so than theton-ish houses Margot had visited. The candles created an otherworldly air, as if this house was more a fantasy thananything else. Heavy perfume scented the air, saffron and musk colouring the rooms.
There were servants outside in their livery, men whose crisp wear and neat white wigs gave little away. The difference, she thought, was that it was only the women who wore masks, especially the madam who greeted them, whose dyed red hair was piled high on her head and whose blue eyes shone out with catlike calculation behind her domino.
