Lord of Darkness (Maiden Lane #5)(65)
Author: Elizabeth Hoyt

Or even partially.

Her Grace trotted purposely back into the room, a different puppy held in her jaws. This one was a glossy chocolate, and Godric wondered exactly who her paramour was. He could’ve sworn that Great-Aunt Elvina had said Her Grace had been bred to another fawn pug.

The bitch disappeared into his dressing room and Megs appeared in his doorway. She wore a rather frivolous pink and yellow confection that he’d not noticed on her before.

“There are puppies in my dressing room,” Godric said, lowering the pamphlet to his desktop.

Megs sighed gustily but seemed unsurprised. “I was afraid of that. We keep putting Her Grace and her puppies in Great-Aunt Elvina’s room, but she insists on moving them elsewhere. Last week Mrs. Crumb found them in the linen cupboard and was not at all pleased.”

Her Grace emerged from the dressing room, detoured around Megs, and vanished into the outer hallway.

“I can understand Mrs. Crumb’s consternation,” Godric said gravely. “She seems a very orderly woman, and puppies in the clean linens is the antithesis of orderly.”

“Mmm,” Megs murmured distractedly, glancing into the hallway again. Was she looking for the pug?

Godric felt a pang at the thought of her leaving him again. “Is that a new frock?”

“Yes.” Megs’s cheeks warmed prettily. She looked down at her skirts, smoothing one hand over them. “We’ve received our order of new gowns from the modiste. Do you like it? I wasn’t sure about the yellow. It so often makes one look jaundiced.”

“Not you,” he replied truthfully.

The spring colors made the peach of her cheeks glow against the dark mass of her hair. A lock was working itself free of her coiffure, slowly tumbling down her elegant neck, and oddly the sight made him want to pull the pins from her hair, tug the mass down, spread it with his fingers, and bury his face in the glossy waves.

He casually flipped the skirt of his coat over his lap. “You’re beautiful.”

“Oh,” she said softly, glancing up and catching his intent gaze. “Oh, thank you.”

Her Grace came into the room with her last puppy and headed directly to the dressing room.

Godric smiled. “You should shut the door to my bedroom so that she doesn’t move them again.”

Megs looked uncertainly at the bedroom door. “I suppose I should leave you to rest.”

“I’ve rested quite enough these last weeks,” he said smoothly. “I could use the company. That is”—he made himself look bravely forlorn—“if you don’t mind sitting with an invalid.”

He may’ve been laying it on too thick. She gave him an odd glance before shutting the outer door. “I’ll get a chair from my room.”

“No need. You can sit on my bed.”

She looked at the bed, her brows drawn together with dawning suspicion.

“In fact,” he said, rising from the chair, “I might join you for a nap.”

She transferred her suspicious look to him. “A nap?”

“Hmm.” He sauntered toward her, careful not to make any sudden moves. “When one lies abed in the middle of the day and sleeps. Surely you’ve heard of it?”

“I’m not sure you’re interested in sleep,” she muttered.

“Perhaps not.” He reached up with his good hand and gently worked loose a hairpin. The escaping lock of hair immediately slithered down her back. “Do you have any other ideas?”

“Godric,” she whispered.

“Hmm?” Two more pins fell to the floor.

“You haven’t recovered sufficiently.” Her brows were knit in worry.

His gaze darted to hers and he smiled gently. “Then you’ll have to do most of the work, won’t you?”

Her sweet lips parted soundlessly, her eyes rounding.

He couldn’t help but bend his head to hers, covering her mouth with his, tasting again the wild strawberry sweetness of her tongue. Something seemed to settle in his chest, relaxing from an anxiety he hadn’t even known he’d felt.

Her hands rose, fluttering by his shoulders, but before they could alight, he broke away, circling to her back, drawing the rest of her pins from her hair. The entire dark mass came tumbling down, a glorious tangle, and he stroked his fingers through it, leaning down to inhale the scent of orange blossoms.

“Godric?” She stood stock-still, save for a fine tremble running through her shoulders.

“My love?” He lifted her hair in his hand, watching as the sunlight from the bedroom windows filtered through the locks.

“What …” There was an odd catch in her voice. “What kind of work do you want me to do?”

He smiled as he brought her hair to his lips. “You can help me undress, for one.”

“Oh! Of course.”

She turned and he let the locks slide through his fingers. He still wore the boards on his left wrist, which had necessitated both his shirt and coat being slit up the left sleeves. He stood still as Megs held the coat so he could slip his right hand from it before she eased the garment over his burdened left arm. She had an adorable frown between her brows and her lips were parted as she concentrated, the tip of her tongue curled up and touching her upper teeth.

The sight was too tempting and as she began unbuttoning his waistcoat, he bent and caught her lower lip in a teasing bite.

She blinked, her eyes widening as he straightened. “That’s … that’s very distracting.”

“I apologize.”

She snorted under her breath, her cheeks brightening again as she took his waistcoat off. His neck cloth was next, easily tossed to a chair, and then he watched as she worked at the buttons of his shirt. The room was silent, the only sound the faint snuffling of the puppies in the other room and their own breaths. He was aware that he was breathing deeply, that he was already hard and pulsing, but he was in no hurry. He could spend hours thus, simply watching the constant flicker of changing emotions across her face. She was so vibrant, his Megs, so alive with hope and love and happiness. If she left him—when she left him—he didn’t know how he would return to his old life.

It would be like living without sunlight.

He pushed the thought aside because he wanted to concentrate on this moment, remember it when he dwelt only in darkness again.

Godric lifted his arms, letting her draw off his shirt over his head, feeling the brush of fine linen against his abdomen, the finer brush of her curious fingers. The shirt fell forgotten to the floor and then both of her hands were on him, stroking up over his ribs, brushing through the hair on his chest.