Lord of Darkness

They were descending the stairs now to the dining room and Megs lowered her voice. Great-Aunt Elvina had proved on more than one occasion that her hearing could sometimes miraculously return. “She’s a bit starchy, but underneath she’s as soft as pudding, really.”

He only looked down at her and arched a disbelieving eyebrow.

Megs sighed. “She does get very lonely. I didn’t want to leave her by herself at Laurelwood.”

“She lives with you?”

“Yes.” Megs bit her lip. “Actually, Great-Aunt Elvina has made the rounds of all my relatives.”

His mouth quirked. “Ah. And you’re the last resort, I’m guessing.”

“Well, yes. It’s just that she has a tendency to speak her mind rather bluntly, I’m afraid.” She winced. “She told my second cousin Arabella that her baby daughter had the nose of a pig, which she does, unfortunately, but really it was too bad of Great-Aunt Elvina to mention it.”

Godric snorted. “And yet you take this harridan into your bosom.”

“Someone has to.” Megs took a deep breath and peeked up at his face. It had lightened … a bit. She decided to grasp what encouragement she could. “I had hoped to use this trip to get to know you better, G-Godric.”

Try as she might, the first use of his Christian name still stuttered on her lips.

His glance was sardonic. “An admirable goal, Margaret, but I think we’ve muddled along together well enough until now.”

“We haven’t done anything together,” Megs muttered as they made the main floor. She caught herself and remembered what she was trying to do. She began stroking his forearm with one finger. “We’ve lived entirely separate lives. And please. Call me Megs.”

He stared down at her finger, now drawing circles on the sleeve of his coat. “I was under the impression that you were happy.”

He hadn’t used her name.

“I was happy. Or at least content.” Megs wrinkled her nose. Why was he making this so hard? “But that doesn’t mean that we can’t change things, even make them better. I’m sure if we tried, we could find something … enjoyable to do together.”

His dark brows drew together over his eyes, and she had the distinct impression that he didn’t at all agree with her.

But they’d reached the small receiving room adjacent to the dining room now, and Sarah and Great-Aunt Elvina were already waiting for them.

“We’ve received word that we’ll have a real dinner tonight,” Sarah said at the sight of them.

Godric raised his brows, glancing at Megs as they joined the others. “Then you succeeded in hiring a new cook?”

“No, actually, we have someone much better.” Megs smiled up at him, despite his solemn expression. “Apparently, I’ve hired London’s most accomplished housekeeper, Mrs. Crumb.”

Behind them came a snort. Megs turned to see a transformed Moulder. His wig was freshly powdered, his shoes were shined, and his coat looked sponged and pressed. “That woman is a termagant, she is.”

“Moulder.” Was that a flash of amusement on Godric’s face? “You’re looking quite … butlerly.”

Moulder grunted and held open the door to the dining room. They entered and Megs was glad to note the transformation from last night. Gone were the spiderwebs overhead. The hearth had been swept and a fire crackled there now. The big table in the center of the room had been polished with beeswax until it gleamed.

Godric stopped short, his eyebrows raised. “Your housekeeper is indeed a gem to have changed this room in such little time.”

“Let’s hope her promise of dinner is equally as impressive,” Great-Aunt Elvina boomed.

As it turned out, Mrs. Crumb was simply a paragon of housekeeperly virtue. A beaming Oliver and Johnny soon laid the dinner before them, and Megs was eagerly cutting her portion of goose.

She sighed with contentment over the mouthful of juicy meat and glanced up just in time to meet her husband’s enigmatic gaze.

Hastily she swallowed and tried to appear more ladylike and less like a starving urchin. “It’s quite good, isn’t it?”

He peered down at his plate dispassionately. “Yes, if you like goose.”

“I do.” Her heart sank. “Don’t you?”

He shrugged. “I find goose greasy.”

“Grisly?” Great-Aunt Elvina asked, her brow wrinkled in confusion.

“Greasy,” Godric repeated, louder. “The goose is greasy.”

“Goose is supposed to be greasy,” Great-Aunt Elvina boomed. “Keeps it from being dry.” She picked up a piece from her plate and fed it to Her Grace without bothering to hide the motion.

Megs smiled. “If you don’t like goose, what do you like?”

Her husband shrugged. “Whatever you see fit to serve will do well enough.”

Megs tried very, very hard to keep her smile in place. “But I want to know what you like to eat.”

“And I have told you that it does not matter.”

Her cheeks were beginning to ache. “Gammon? Beef? Fish?”

“Margaret—”

“Eel?” Her eyes narrowed. “Tripe? Brains?”

“Not brains,” he snapped, his voice so low it sounded as if it were scraping gravel.

She beamed. “Not brains! I shall make a note of it.”

Sarah coughed into her napkin.

Great-Aunt Elvina fed Her Grace another scrap as she murmured, “I like brains fried in butter.”

Godric cleared his throat and took a sip of wine before setting the wineglass down precisely. “I have a fondness for pigeon pie.”

“Do you?” Megs leaned forward eagerly. She felt as excited as if she’d won a prize at a fair. “I’ll be sure and ask Mrs. Crumb to tell the new cook.”

He inclined his head, the corner of his mouth tilting up. “Thank you.”

She caught a fond smile on Sarah’s face as her sister-in-law looked between the two of them. Megs felt the heat rise in her face. “What did you do today while we worked on the house?”

Godric’s gaze slid away as he took a sip of wine—almost as if he were avoiding her question. “I usually frequent Basham’s Coffeehouse.”

Great-Aunt Elvina frowned and Megs had an awful premonition—her aunt held quite strong opinions. “Nasty things, coffeehouses. Full of scandal sheets, women of low repute, and tobacco.”

“As well as coffee, of course,” Godric said with an entirely straight face.

“Well, naturally coffee, but—” Great-Aunt Elvina began.

“How is Her Grace feeling this evening?” Megs cut in hastily. From across the table, her husband shot her an ironic look that she chose to ignore. “I notice she seems to be eating well.”

“Her Grace spent the entire day abed, panting quite dreadfully. That child overexerted her, chasing Her Grace about.” Great-Aunt Elvina stabbed her fork meditatively into a carrot. “Babies are adorable, naturally, but so messy. Perhaps if there was a way of containing them, especially around sensitive creatures such as Her Grace …”

“Like a small cage, you mean?” Sarah asked innocently.

“Or a tether, set into the ground,” Godric said.

Everyone looked at him.

Sarah’s lips were trembling. “But what about indoors?”

He raised his brows, his expression grave. “Ill-advised, I’m afraid. Best to keep them outside in the fresh air. But if one did bring a baby indoors, I think a hook set into the wall with ties made to fit under the child’s arms would suit.”

Great-Aunt Elvina’s brows had snapped together. She wasn’t known for her sense of humor. “Mr. St. John!”

He turned to her attentively. “Ma’am?”

“I cannot believe you would suggest tying a child to the wall.”

“Oh, no, ma’am,” Godric said as he poured himself more wine. “You have me entirely wrong.”

“Well, that’s a relief—”

“I meant the child should hang on the wall.” He looked kindly at the elderly woman. “Like a picture, as it were.”

Megs had to cover her mouth with one hand to still the giggles bubbling up from inside. Who would’ve guessed that her somberly dry husband could say such outrageous things?

She glanced up and caught her breath. Godric was watching her, his lips slightly curved as he sipped from his wineglass, and she had the oddest notion: that he’d teased Great-Aunt Elvina solely to amuse her.

“Godric,” Sarah chided.

He turned toward his sister, and Megs blinked. She was reading too much into what was merely play between Godric and his sister.

Still.

It would’ve been nice to have some kind of connection to him. She was drawing closer to the point—the time when she would lie with this man. Perform a very intimate act, which she’d only done before with one man—a man she’d loved. To somehow seduce a near stranger into, well, tupping her was a daunting task. If there were any other way of accomplishing her mission, she’d take it and gladly. But there wasn’t, of course. Bedding her husband was the only way to have her child.

Megs picked through the rest of the meal, her nervousness compounding as the hour grew later.

After supper, the four of them retired to the newly dusted library, where Sarah persuaded Godric to read aloud from a history of the monarchs of England while Great-Aunt Elvina nodded off in a wing chair. Sarah brought her needlework bag and was soon contentedly intent on her embroidery, but Megs had never been very adept at fine sewing. For several minutes she wandered the room, her husband’s deep, husky voice making her nerves jangle, until Sarah complained that her “pacing” was distracting.

Megs sat and could only watch Godric as he read. The candle beside him sent a flickering light across his face, catching on high cheekbones and the hint of a dark beard along his jaw and upper lip. His eyes were downturned as he read, his eyelashes casting long shadows across his face. He seemed younger somehow, despite his habitual gray wig and the half-moon spectacles he used to read. While the thought should’ve reassured her, it only added to Megs’s internal agitation.

He glanced up then, his eyes dark and hidden. She tried to smile, tried to look back at him alluringly, but her lips trembled imperceptibly. His gaze dropped to her mouth and stayed there, his face brooding. She caught her breath. She did not know this man. Not really.

At last the party adjourned for the night and Megs nearly fled up the stairs. Daniels was waiting in her room and helped her to undress and don her usual chemise for bed. Megs gazed at herself in the mirror as Daniels brushed out her hair and wished belatedly that she’d thought to buy a new chemise. Something in silk, perhaps. Something she could seduce a husband in. The one she wore wasn’t old, but it was rather ordinary white lawn with only a bit of embroidery about the yoke.

“Thank you, Daniels,” she said when Daniels had already brushed her hair for twice as long as she normally did.

The maid curtsied and retired.

Megs stood and faced the communal door to her husband’s room. No more nerves, she chided herself. No more prevarications, no excuses, no dawdling. She clutched the doorknob and opened the door wide.

Only to find the room empty.

“AFTER HIM, MEN!”

The deep growl of the dragoon captain echoed off the buildings as Godric swore and darted into a narrow alley, running flat out. This wasn’t how he’d planned to spend the night in St. Giles. He’d hoped to question an old acquaintance about the lassie snatchers. Instead, almost the moment he’d stepped foot in St. Giles, he’d had the misfortune to run into the dragoons—and their near-maniacal commander.

The alley let out into a series of courtyards, but he didn’t doubt the dragoons were circling to cut him off. Godric ducked into a well in the side of a building made by steps giving access to a basement.