Lord of Darkness (Maiden Lane #5)(81)
Author: Elizabeth Hoyt

He pulled back, staring at her in the dim carriage, his brows still knit. “Megs?”

Oh, right. She still hadn’t told him. Well, it was his own fault; his mouth was simply delicious.

“I love you,” she said, speaking clearly so that there might be no confusion. “I love you utterly and completely. I love your elegant hands and the way you smile with only one side of your mouth—when you smile at all—and I love how grave your eyes are. I love that you let me invade your house with nearly my entire family and yours, and never even turned a hair. I love that you made love to me when I asked you, purely for politeness’ sake, and I love that you got mad at me later and made me make love to you. I love that you let Her Grace and her puppies construct a nest out of your shirts in your dressing room. I love that you’ve spent years selflessly saving people in St. Giles—although I want you to stop right now. I love that you killed a man for me, even if I’m still mad at you about it. I love that you saved my letters before we even knew each other well, and I love the curt, overly serious letters you wrote to me in return.”

She looked at him very seriously.

“I love you, Godric St. John, and now I’m breaking my word. I will not leave you. You may either come with me to Laurelwood or I’ll stay here with you in your musty old house in London and drive you mad with all my talking and relatives and … and exotic sexual positions until you break down and love me back, for I’m warning you that I’m not giving up until you love me and we’re a happy family with dozens of children.”

She paused at that point because she’d run out of breath and looked at him.

His face had gone still and for a moment her heart sank and she had to fortify herself for a battle.

But then his mouth quirked like that and he said, “Exotic sexual positions?”

And she knew even before he said anything else that it was all going to be fine—more than fine. It was going to be wonderful.

Still she listened attentively when he said, “Much as I’d like you to convince me to fall in love with you by the use of exotic sexual positions, you don’t need to. I’ve loved you, Meggie mine, since you sent that second letter.”

He might’ve said more, but she had to interrupt him at that point to kiss him again.

Long moments later she drew back to frown as sternly as she could at him. “No more Ghost.”

“No more Ghost,” he agreed docilely, his hands busily shoving the velvet cloak off her shoulders. He laid his open mouth against her bare shoulder and she shivered, gasping.

“I have a confession to make,” he whispered in her ear.

She just barely managed to open her eyes. “Yes?”

His eyes were dark and laughing. “I didn’t agree to bed you for politeness’ sake.”

He bent back to her shoulder, and after that there was no more conversation, which was just as well.

She had other matters to concentrate on.

FOUR WEEKS LATER …

Godric watched as a small bird with a bright orange breast hopped along a branch and disappeared into a hole in the apple tree. In all his years of living at Saint House, he’d never seen a robin here … but that was before his Meggie came to live with him.

“I told you that apple tree wasn’t dead.”

He turned at the sound of her voice. She was wearing bright pink and apple green this morning and looked like the very embodiment of spring as she picked her way down the gravel path.

“Are you feeling better?”

An hour ago, she’d sat down to breakfast, picked up a piece of toast, and then hurriedly dropped it and rushed from the room. He’d gone to see what was the matter, of course, and had found her draped over a chamber pot.

She wrinkled her nose at him. “I can’t believe you stayed and helped me whilst I was gruesomely sick. I’ve never been so mortified in my life.”

“I love you, sick or not.” He raised his brows, searching her face for any signs of lingering nausea, but her cheeks were their regular healthy pink now. “Are you better?”

“It’s the oddest thing,” she said, coming up to him and slipping her hand through his elbow. The scent of orange blossoms drifted to his nostrils, welcome and warm. “Now I’m so hungry I could eat an entire fish pie. In fact, I would very much like a fish pie … and perhaps some scones with gooseberry jam. Wouldn’t that be lovely?”

“Lovely,” he agreed, although privately he thought the combination of fish and sweet gooseberries might be … odd. “Have you told Cook?”

She shot him a look that privately he’d classified as “wifely”—he rather liked that look. “Godric, we can’t just ask Cook to make fish pies and go in search of gooseberry jam on a whim.”

“Why not?” he asked. “I pay her wages. If you want fish pie, you ought to have fish pie. And gooseberry jam.”

“Silly.” She shook her head and gazed at the apple tree again, softly murmuring, “Not dead at all.”

He smiled wryly because she pointed out the old apple tree every time they walked in the garden—at least once a day and more often twice—as an example of her gardening acumen.

It was a rather spectacular sight.

The tree had covered itself in an embarrassment of pink and white blossoms, a fragrant, joyous cloud that drew the eye as soon as one stepped into the garden. He was never, ever going to hear the end of this from Meggie.

Not that he was complaining.

“Oh, look,” Megs exclaimed. “A robin’s nest. And I saw baby bunnies hopping about yesterday evening. I didn’t know there was so much wildlife in the heart of London.”

“There never was before a goddess came to live here,” Godric muttered.

She glanced at him. “What?”

“Never mind.”

He wrapped his arms about her, watching with her as the robin took flight. No doubt his garden would be infested with squirrels and badgers and baby hedgehogs soon. Her magic was quite potent, it seemed.

Thank God.

He leaned down to murmur in her ear, “Have I told you how glad I am you invaded my house and turned my life upside down?”

She turned her head so that her cheek brushed his lips. “Every day”.

“Ah.” He smiled against her soft skin. “You saved me, you know.”

She shook her head again. “Silly.”

“It’s true,” he said, because it was. “And now I’m going to save you by demanding Cook make you a fish pie.”