Lord of Darkness
She clasped her hands before her. “I’m glad to see you’ve risen. When I heard you were still abed this morning, I feared you’d suffered a setback.”
His eyes flickered away from hers for a moment, and she had the oddest notion that he was about to tell her a falsehood, but all he said was, “I was tired and thought it best to sleep a little more before I rose.”
She nodded absently, trying to think of something to say. How could this be the same man who had torn the clothes from her breasts and kissed her as if he would die if he couldn’t taste her skin?
“We’ve been invited to attend a pleasure garden tonight,” she said. “My sister-in-law, Lady Hero, is quite fond of Harte’s Folly and wishes to go to the theater there tonight. Will you come?”
His lips thinned. “Your brother Griffin will be there as well?”
“Yes.”
Megs half expected dissent, but Godric’s mouth relaxed into a rueful smile. “I suppose I’ll have to see him sometime—after all, I am married to his sister.”
She shouldn’t feel this excited at the possibility of his attending a play with her, but she did. Just to make sure, she asked, “Then you’ll come?”
He inclined his head gravely. “Yes.”
She nodded absently, turning to run a finger down a crease in one of the old apple tree’s branches. “Godric?”
“Yes?” He’d stepped closer. She had the feeling that if she turned, she might be in his arms.
Megs shivered and concentrated on tracing patterns in the bark. “How did my brother know you were the Ghost of St. Giles?”
He was silent and she could almost hear him thinking. “I was careless. He followed me back from St. Giles one night.”
She knit her brows. “St. Giles? Whyever would Griffin have been in St. Giles at night?”
“You don’t know?”
Well, no one could withstand that kind of line. She turned and found she was nearly in his arms. He was looking down at her with his now-familiar puzzled half-frown.
“Know what?” she asked, breathless. Silly, of course. He wouldn’t tell her, would fob her off with some transparent excuse as gentlemen always did to the ladies in their care.
But he surprised her. “Your brother Griffin used to have a business in St. Giles.”
She blinked, stunned by both his honesty and the information. “But … Griffin has never been in business. He’s never had to …” She trailed off at the expression on Godric’s face. “Has he?”
Her husband shrugged his shoulders uncomfortably. “I don’t know the state of your brother’s finances. I only know that before he married Lady Hero, he ran a business in St. Giles.”
Her brows knit. “What type of business?”
He watched her for what seemed almost a minute, and she waited to see if he’d answer.
Finally, he sighed. “A gin still.”
“What?”
Her mouth fell open. Of all the things for her brother—the son of a marquess—to be doing, running an illegal—and immoral—gin still was the last thing she’d guess. Why would he? Griffin had skirted the edge of impropriety before his marriage, had had rather a terrible reputation as a rake, but she knew him. Deep down he was a good man, a man who wouldn’t be doing such a horrible thing unless he were truly hard up for money, and why would he be? Their family was landed, had plenty of funds—
Her thoughts abruptly ran aground because she realized that she didn’t actually know the state of her family’s finances. She was a lady. Ladies didn’t inquire about such things—it was considered vulgar. When she’d wanted a dress, when she’d come out and needed an entirely new wardrobe, she’d never asked if they could afford it, because they could.
Couldn’t they?
Except now she remembered small things. The time Mama had suggested the less expensive striped silk rather than the embroidered. Megs had liked the color of the stripe better anyway—a lovely rose—so she hadn’t thought much about it at the time. And then there had been the time the modiste had become quite snippy, insisting she hadn’t been paid yet. Mama had said it was a mistake, but what if it hadn’t been?
What if her family had been in financial straits—secret financial straits—and she’d never even known enough to ask?
“Does he still have that business in St. Giles?” she asked Godric in a very small voice.
“No.” He shook his head at once. “He closed it—actually it burned just before he married Lady Hero.”
She nodded, feeling deflated. “I’m glad. But if he needed money, how does he make it now?”
“I don’t know,” Godric said gently. “We haven’t been exactly on speaking terms the last couple of years. However, I’m sure Lady Hero’s dowry was more than adequate to see to their needs.”
A sudden, horrible thought crossed Megs’s mind. “And my dowry? Was it adequate?”
“Your brother didn’t offer one.”
Her eyes widened. “But—”
“It’s all right.” He held out his hands, forestalling her protest. “I have more than enough money. I never needed your dowry, Megs.”
She peeked at him from under her eyelashes.
He shrugged, his face gentle. “I’ve already told you: I was angry at him, yes, but never at you. It wasn’t such a hardship to marry you, after all.”
Faint praise was better than none, she supposed. Or at least she told herself that as she pressed a fingernail into the bark of the tree. “I still don’t understand. Why did he never tell me what straits we were in?”
“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “I expect he was protecting you.”
Megs had rather dark thoughts about gentlemen who believed it best to protect ladies by leaving them in ignorance. At least Godric had told her the truth about her brother and his still.
She sighed and pushed away from the tree. “I suppose I ought to go now and inquire of Daniels if my new gowns will be ready in time for the theater.”
But as she made to walk past him, he forestalled her by the simple expedient of grasping her hand.
His fingers were cool as they wrapped around hers, and she froze, looking at him before he dropped her hand again as if her warmth had burned him.
He licked his lips, and if she didn’t know better, she’d say that Godric was nervous. “I actually came out here to tell you something.”
She tilted her head in inquiry. “Yes?”
“I’ve decided”—he focused those clear gray eyes on her face—“I’d like to consummate our marriage tonight.”
SHE’D GOTTEN WHAT she’d wanted: Godric’s agreement to come to her bed. Why, then, was she so nervous at the prospect?
A wave of laughter rose from the theater audience, and Megs focused on the stage where a pretty actress dressed as a young man was strutting about. The actress turned and threw a mischievous glance over her shoulder as she made some quip, and the audience roared again. Next to Megs, Hero was giggling and even Griffin wore a grin, but Godric wasn’t even smiling.
Perhaps he was as nervous as she about tonight.
The four of them sat in an elegant box over the stage at Harte’s Folly. Swaths of red velvet lined the interior of the box and gilt trimmed the rail. A small table of wine, tiny cakes, fruit, nuts, and cheeses sat to the side, and Megs couldn’t help reflecting how expensive the theater box must be to rent. If Griffin had been in financial straits three years ago, he didn’t appear to be so now.
But then he hadn’t seemed to lack for funds before marrying Hero either.
Megs blew out a restless breath, wishing she could have fifteen minutes alone with her brother. Wishing she could forget that when she and Godric returned home tonight, he intended to bed her.
She glanced down and then sideways at him. He wore a coffee-colored suit tonight, the cuffs and pockets worked in dull gold thread. Underneath, a silvery blue waistcoat hugged his torso, emphasizing the flatness of his belly. She’d seen him—briefly—without a shirt and had been stunned by the image. What would he look like entirely nude?
He seemed to sense her regard. His chin moved infinitesimally and his eyes flicked to her face. She caught her breath. His eyelids were half lowered, nearly but not quite hiding the gleam of those intense clear gray eyes. He looked at her as if he were deciding how, exactly, to eat her. Without thought, her lips parted and his gaze dropped, his eyes brooding as his nostrils flared slightly. Then he raised them slowly again, staring into her eyes, and Megs forgot entirely how to breathe.
The audience broke into applause and Megs jerked at the sudden, thundering sound.
Griffin grunted. “Shall I fetch some ices before the second half begins?”
Hero smiled up at her husband. “Yes, please.”
Griffin nodded before glancing at Godric, his expression wary. “Join me?”
Godric raised his brows but rose willingly.
Beside her, Hero stirred and held out her hand. “I see my brother across the way. Will you accompany me to greet him?”
“Yes, of course.” Megs rose, staring worriedly at the retreating backs of her husband and brother.
“Don’t fret.” Hero drew her hand through her arm as they began strolling companionably toward the opposite side of the theater. The corridor behind the boxes was crowded as everyone took the opportunity during the interval to find acquaintances or to simply parade to show to best advantage their costumes. “Griffin and Godric will come to terms.”
“I wish I were as certain as you.”
Hero squeezed her hand reassuringly. “Griffin loves both you and me, and Godric is very fond of you, I know. They both have incentive to make up this little quarrel.”
Megs slanted a glance at her sister-in-law, strolling serenely in a mist-green frock trimmed in blond lace. “Godric is fond of me? However can you tell?”
Hero looked at her, amused. “By the way he cares for you, silly. He made very sure you had the best seat when you arrived—next to me so we might gossip. He filled a plate for you with cakes and grapes—no walnuts, as he knows you aren’t particularly fond of them—and the very fact he’s come to the opera tonight … well. I half expected him to decline, I must tell you. He’s been a veritable hermit these last couple of years. Hardly anyone has seen him about in society. No, everything he’s done tonight, small matters as they are, has been for you, sister.”
Megs blinked. Was it true? Did Godric have feelings, however small, for her? He had, after all, conceded to her wish to try to make a child. The mere reminder made her body flush with heat, but she felt a pang of disquiet as well. When she’d been back at Laurelwood, dreaming up this plan to come to London and seduce her husband, he had been a mere cardboard figure. She’d known him only from his infrequent, curt letters. Bedding a cardboard man had seemed straightforward enough.
Bedding Godric was an entirely different matter.
He was real, flesh and blood, a man with powerful feelings—though he did his best to hide them from the world. Only now, at this terribly late date, did it occur to her that her emotions might be endangered if she lay with Godric.
Megs bit her lip. Emotional entanglement was not something that she’d accounted for. Roger was the love of her life, his loss a pain she felt every day. She had no other way to make a child for herself but to lie with Godric, but to feel for him as well—that seemed like a betrayal of her love for Roger.
A betrayal of Roger himself.