Lord of Darkness (Maiden Lane #5)(62)
Author: Elizabeth Hoyt

“You are mistaken,” she said with commendable levelness.

He arched a brow. “Am I?”

Megs started forward, sweeping past the awful man, but then suddenly rage, pure and blinding, overtook good sense. This man had no right to say such things about Godric!

She whirled, marching right up to the dragoon captain and stabbing her forefinger into his chest. “I would never desert my husband, Captain Trevillion, and if you think I’d ever feel shame for being married to Godric St. John, you understand neither him nor me. My husband is the most honorable man I know. He’s a good man—the best man I’ve ever known in my life—and if you don’t understand that, well, then you’re an addlepated ass.”

She thought she saw a fleeting look of surprise on the dragoon captain’s face as she whirled to stalk away, but she was too agitated to spare a second glance.

“My lady,” he called behind her.

She ignored the horrible man, climbing the home’s steps and lifting the knocker. A fine tremor was making her hands shake. She wanted only to get inside, to find Godric and make sure he was safe and well.

The best man she’d ever known. She’d said it in the heat of anger, but it was true. She might’ve loved Roger with all her heart, but Godric was the one who risked his life to save complete strangers. He might deal in violence, but he also dealt in deliverance.

Even if it meant risking his soul.

The door opened to reveal the concerned face of Isabel Makepeace. She took one look at Megs and then her eyes flickered over Megs’s shoulder. Immediately a serene social smile was pasted on her face. “Oh, do come inside, my lady,” Mrs. Makepeace said loudly as if Megs were making an unremarkable predawn visit to the home. “Captain Trevillion? Is that you? Oh, sir, your sense of duty is to be commended, but I do feel that you may rest well at your own home now that the day is upon us. Besides”—Isabel’s smile widened until her white teeth shone—“I don’t think a single man, even one so brave as yourself, is much good against the many ruffians of St. Giles.”

Megs turned inside the hall as Mrs. St. John and the footmen crowded beside her and Isabel shut the door. “Did he go?”

“No.” Isabel shook her head, her social smile slipping now they were all out of sight of the dragoon captain. “Captain Trevillion has the most inconvenient stubborn streak. But please don’t let it worry you. He’s been hunting the Ghost of St. Giles for over two years and has yet to lay hands on the man. It’s enough to make even the most serene of gentlemen become bullheaded.”

Isabel’s tone was light, but Megs wasn’t reassured. The dragoon captain knew who Godric was—and as Isabel had noted, he was bullheaded. She shivered. He didn’t seem the type to give up his hunt.

“Where is Godric?” Mrs. St. John interrupted her gloomy thoughts.

“Upstairs.” Isabel immediately turned to lead the way.

Megs followed, afraid to look at her mother-in-law. What must the other woman think? There was no way she could’ve missed the captain’s accusations.

But that worry fled when Isabel tapped at a door at the end of the upstairs corridor. She opened it and Megs saw Godric sitting on the side of the bed, in shirtsleeves and his Ghost leggings. His face was pale and he held his left arm cradled in his lap, but otherwise he seemed alert and unharmed.

Megs felt relief sweep through her.

An elderly woman rose from where she’d been sitting on a nearby chair.

“Thank you, Mistress Medina,” Isabel said as she followed the elderly woman from the room.

The door shut gently behind them.

Megs started toward Godric but was stopped by the harshness of his voice.

“Why,” Godric rasped, “did you bring her here?”

THE PAIN FROM his wrist was nearly overwhelming—sharp, jabbing, even now making the bile back up into his throat. Still, Godric knew his words had been overly harsh. Megs flinched, withdrawing the hand she’d stretched out to him, her beautiful mouth crimping with hurt.

But it was his stepmother who replied. “Please don’t chastise Megs. I insisted on coming here, Godric. You’re hurt and I care for you very much.”

He opened his mouth, pain and irritation driving hot words to his lips, but then he looked at her. She stood before him, this little plump woman, as bravely as a martyr before Roman lions, her chin raised, her warm brown eyes steady but sad at the same time. He couldn’t do it. Couldn’t crush the flicker of hope he saw in her face.

Perhaps he simply was too weary.

She took advantage of his weakness, pressing forward. “Let us help you, Godric.”

He pressed his lips together, but the pain flared again in his forearm and he suddenly cared less for argument. He wasn’t sure he could recover from this injury. He’d known men made crippled by breaks in their bones that never healed properly. What, in that context, did any of this matter?

“Very well,” he said warily, rising. His eyes met Megs’s gaze and he thought he saw relief there.

“We’ll need a bonesetter,” she murmured. “I’ll consult Isabel to see if she knows anyone discreet. In the meantime I’ve brought you a change of clothes in case we run into Captain Trevillion again.”

Megs set a bag on the bed and then bustled from the room, leaving him with his stepmother.

“Do you need help to dress?” she asked.

“Makepeace will assist me if I need it,” he said and stood, ready to go find the home’s manager.

She moved next to him, putting her shoulder under his good arm. “Lean on me.”

“That’s unnecessary,” he said stiffly.

She glanced up at him, her eyes sharp. “Then do it for me. Let me care for you, Godric.”

So he did because it was easier than arguing further. She was stronger than she looked, his stepmother, and he stared down at her, puzzled. Why was she doing this?

Her gaze met his, and for a moment she seemed to read his thoughts, rolling her eyes. “Don’t worry yourself over it. You always were such a sensitive boy, reading too much into every little thing and making yourself sick over all possible ramifications. For now just accept that I’m helping you to make your way to the hallway.”

He laughed at that, a soft puff of air. “Very well.”

Outside the home’s sickroom, they found Winter Makepeace leaning against the wall. His dark eyes flicked to Godric’s stepmother. “There are … matters we should discuss before you leave.”