Lord of Darkness (23 page)

Megs didn’t really mind. She found the St. John sisters’ obvious affection for each other—when they weren’t quarreling—rather refreshing, actually. She’d never been
close to her own older sister, Caro. The St. John dower house was in the village of Upper Hornsfield, so she had the opportunity to observe the St. John sororal dynamics quite often.

“I can’t think where Sarah is,” she said diplomatically. “Or Godric, for that matter.”

“We were told that Godric had already gone out,” Jane informed her. “And no one could find Sarah.”

“That’s because I was out for a walk,” Sarah said from the doorway. The two little maids were behind her, carefully holding trays full of tea things. “I only just returned.”

Charlotte and Jane were up immediately, hugging and exclaiming over their sister as if they hadn’t seen her in months rather than little more than a week.

Mrs. Crumb entered the room with the maids during the flurry and quietly directed setting everything out. She glanced inquiringly at Megs when the maids were done. When Megs thanked her, Mrs. Crumb nodded and ushered the maids out, closing the door behind her.

“Mama,” Sarah said, leaning down to kiss her mother on the cheek. “What a surprise.”

“That was the idea,” Mrs. St. John said.

Sarah sat. “Why?”

“Well, I thought this estrangement had gone on long enough, and since Godric obviously won’t do anything about it, I decided to. Thank you, dear.” Mrs. St. John accepted a dish of tea from Megs, sweetened with several spoons of sugar, just the way Megs knew she liked it. “And,” she added practically after taking a sip, “the girls and I are in need of new frocks, especially Jane since she’ll have her coming-out this autumn. You as well, Sarah, dear.”

“Oh,
good,” Megs murmured. “I’ve been meaning to visit a modiste. We can all go together.”

“What fun!” Jane bounced in her seat. The door to the sitting room opened, but she continued, oblivious. “That sounds much more pleasant than having to visit grumpy old Godric.”

“Jane!” Megs hissed, but it was far too late.

“I wasn’t aware we were expecting visitors,” Godric rasped from the doorway.

Megs bit her lip. He did not look pleased.

Grumpy old Godric.

It was a fair assessment—though Godric doubted that Jane had taken any time thinking the matter over. He
was
grumpy—or at least morose. And as for old, well, he supposed he was that as well—in comparison to his half sisters, anyway. He was seven and thirty. Sarah was a mere dozen years younger than he, but Charlotte was seventeen years younger and Jane nineteen.

He was old enough to be her father.

It was an unspannable gap—always had been, always would be.

“Godric,” his
stepmother said softly. She rose and crossed to him, and then surprised him by taking one of his hands in her own, small soft ones. “It’s so good to see you.”

There it was, the guilt and anxious resentfulness he felt every time he saw this woman. She made him into an awkward schoolboy, and he hated it.

“Madam,” he said, aware that his tone was too stiff, too formal. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”

She looked up at him—the top of her head came only to his midchest—and her eyes seemed to search for something in his face.

“We wanted to see you,” she said at last.

“And we need new frocks,” Jane said from behind her mother. His half sister’s tone was defiant, but her expression was uncertain.

He’d probably looked like that much of the time when he’d been her age.

Godric nodded, leading his stepmother over to where she’d been seated before. “How long do you intend to stay?”

“A fortnight,” his stepmother said.

“Ah,” Godric murmured, and felt Megs’s look. For the first time he glanced at his wife.

His wife, whom he’d bedded just last night.

She wore a smart pink gown with black figures and trimmings, her hair dark and lustrous, and she sat very straight, watching him with a worried frown knit between her gracefully arched brows. He nearly stopped breathing. She was so lovely, Megs, his
wife
. Had his father’s family not been here, he might’ve crossed to her, pulled her from her seat, and led her to their rooms where—

But,
no.

She’d made quite plain that was not the type of arrangement she wanted with him. Even had his stepmother and sisters not been looking on curiously, he would’ve had to wait until tonight.

He was a stud, nothing more.

Godric took a breath, focusing once more on the conversation. “Would you like me to escort you to the shops?”

He saw Megs’s look of surprise out of the corner of his eye.

Jane, predictably, opened her mouth first, but the glance her mother shot her made her close it again very quickly.

His stepmother smiled at him. “Yes, that would be lovely.”

He nodded. Megs gave him a small, grateful grin and handed him a dish of tea—a drink he’d never particularly cared for. But he sipped it and let the women’s chatter flow around him, observing.

It seemed his wife had formed an intimate bond with his father’s family while she’d lived at Laurelwood. That wasn’t so surprising, he supposed, since the dower house was nearby. She made a pretty picture with his sisters, her dark head in contrast with their lighter ones. All three had inherited their mother’s coloring. Charlotte was the fairest, while Jane’s tawny locks were the darkest. Sarah sat next to Megs, laughing at something, and Jane was nearly in Charlotte’s lap, her arm draped companionably over her sister’s neck, the skirts of their dresses frothing over each other. His stepmother looked on benignly and the circle was complete: a feminine sorority perfect and exclusive.

Godric glanced down at his tea.

It
would be awkward with his father’s family in the house. He still had to continue his Ghostly duties, find the lassie snatchers, and now Roger Fraser-Burnsby’s murderer as well. Add to that Captain Trevillion watching him suspiciously, and his job had become
much
more difficult.

Not that obstacles would stop him.

“… if that’s agreeable with you, Godric?” his stepmother inquired.

He looked up to find five pairs of feminine eyes focused on him. Godric cleared his throat. “I beg your pardon?”

Megs sighed, making him aware that he’d missed more than one or two sentences. “We’ve decided to visit the modiste directly after luncheon and then tonight we’re to dine with Griffin and Hero. But”—she turned to his father’s family—“I’m sure Hero will invite you as well, once she hears you’re in town.”

Jane’s eyes rounded in awe. “She’s the daughter of a
duke
, isn’t she?”

Megs smiled. “And the sister of one. In fact, the duke may be there as well tonight.”

For a moment, the girl was frozen in apparent awe. Then she burst into a flurry of excited movement, chattering all the while about dresses and shoes and
what would she wear?

Godric sighed. This was going to be a long day. He caught Megs watching him with a small, approving tilt to her lips.

But perhaps it would be worth it.

T
HAT NIGHT, MEGS
watched as the Duke of Wakefield frowned down at his nephew in ducal disapproval and
said, “I don’t understand why the boy cries every time he sees me.”

“He’s developing good taste,” Griffin replied kindly as he picked up sweet William, who immediately quieted, leaning against his father’s chest as he sucked on his forefinger.

Hero rolled her eyes discreetly—something she would never have done before marrying Griffin.

They were in the family sitting room where William had been brought down by his nurse before being put to bed. Great-Aunt Elvina leaned close to Hero, her hand behind her ear to hear whatever Hero was shouting at her. Jane sat ramrod straight, her eyes wide in awe as she watched every movement the Duke of Wakefield made. Beside her, her sisters and mother were more relaxed, obviously enjoying being in such exalted company. Knowing how the gossip mill worked in Upper Hornsfield, Megs knew they could dine upon this night for months. Godric stood near the mantel, watching. Megs frowned. Why was it that he always seemed so apart, even when in the midst of his own family?

William made a sound, drawing her eyes. A splotch of baby drool darkened Griffin’s waistcoat and Megs couldn’t help smirking. Her brother had been such a notorious rake before meeting Hero.

“May I?” she asked shyly, indicating William.

“Of course.”

Griffin placed sweet William in her arms and then she was being examined by large, green eyes the exact shade of his sire. He was heavier than she’d expected, a solid, warm bundle, smelling faintly of milk and biscuits. William had reddish-brown, curling hair, plump cheeks, and
his lips, pursed around his finger, were so rosy and sweet Megs couldn’t help kissing him on his little forehead.

Soon, oh, please let it be soon.

William withdrew his finger from his mouth and patted her cheek wetly.

“Babies are terribly messy,” Great-Aunt Elvina announced, then ruined her stern words by making clucking noises at William.

“He’s teething again,” Hero said beside Megs. “Do you want me to take him? He’ll think nothing of ruining your dress.”

“No, let me hold him a bit longer,” Megs murmured. “He’s quite beautiful.”

“Yes, isn’t he?” Hero’s mouth curved in maternal love.

A pang of desperate longing went through Megs’s breast.
This. This was what she wanted.

She looked up and met Godric’s watchful eyes. As if he’d heard her thoughts, he inclined his head almost like he was making a promise. Her breath caught. What other man would be so good to her? He was so protective, so
kind
. He’d spent the day escorting her and the St. John women about to shops, never once making a demure or seeming bored by frivolous feminine things. The day had been so enjoyable that she’d remembered only as she’d been dressing for dinner that he’d promised to look for Roger’s murderer. And she knew she ought to ask him what his plans were, to press him on the point and make sure he wasn’t going to conveniently forget his vow, but she simply wanted a small respite from the matter.

From death and grief and loss. If only—

“Ah, Mandeville,” the duke drawled.

Megs turned to see that her other brother, Thomas
Reading, the Marquess of Mandeville, had arrived. Beside him was his vivacious wife, Lavinia, whose hair had grown if anything more brightly red since Megs had last seen her.

“You’ve got a spot on your waistcoat,” Thomas said to Griffin.

“Yes, I know,” Griffin replied through gritted teeth.

Megs sighed. Her brothers weren’t the best of friends, but at least they now
spoke
to each other. For several weeks after Griffin’s marriage, that hadn’t been the case.

The gentlemen converged, speaking in low tones about politics before the butler interrupted with the call for supper.

Hero took sweet William from Megs’s arms, bussing him on the cheek before giving him over to his nurse with a murmured word and a lingering look as they left the sitting room. She caught Megs’s eye and smiled ruefully. “I usually put him to sleep myself. It’s silly of me, I know, but I hate letting someone else do it.”

“You can look in on him later,” Griffin said tenderly, offering Hero his arm.

She took it, wrinkling her nose up at him. “You shouldn’t indulge my sentimental quirks.”

“But I
like
indulging you,” he whispered into the auburn curls at her temple, and Megs blushed, rather thinking she wasn’t meant to hear that last part.

“Shall we?” Godric was at her side.

“Of course.” She laid her fingers on his forearm, realizing that they trembled slightly. There was something about being this close to him, a warmth that transmitted itself from his body to hers, a kind of vibration almost, so that her body seemed to tune itself to his. And she realized
with almost horror that even if he weren’t the means to give her a baby, she
wanted
him.

That isn’t right
, she thought shakily as he led her into the dining room and pulled out her chair. She sank into the seat without thought, her mind full of a confused buzzing. Her body wasn’t supposed to long for his. She’d loved
Roger
, and although she was grateful to Godric and had come to know him a little more, had, perhaps, a kind of
admiration
for him, that wasn’t love.

Her body shouldn’t respond without love; it just shouldn’t.