Lord of Darkness (Maiden Lane #5)(30)

Godric closed his eyes. “I’m sorry—”

“You mistake me, man.”

Godric opened his eyes to see Caire grinning at him. Caire, grinning! “Good God, St. John. I’d nearly given you up for dead.”

“I’m not dead,” Godric muttered.

“The whole of London knows that now,” Caire said. “Come. I’ve an idea where our host keeps his brandy.”

And Godric followed his old friend gratefully, because if this was life, it was much more complicated than he remembered.

Chapter Six

The Hellequin opened his mouth and paused. How long had it been since he’d spoken? Years? Decades? Millenniums? When at last his voice emerged, it was a creaky croak.

“It matters not how good the lad was in life. He died unshriven.”

Was the Hellequin’s heart moved by Faith’s sad face? Even if it were so, he could do nothing, for the rules were clear. So he turned the horse’s head to go. And as he did, Faith jumped upon his back. …

—From The Legend of the Hellequin

Megs stormed from the ballroom, uncaring of the scene she was making. How dare he? How dare he think her a loose woman when all she’d been doing was laughing with Lord d’Arque? Trying to find out if the man had heard any news about Roger’s death.

She swiped at a hot tear coursing down her cheek and ran down the stairs. She hadn’t even been able to get as far as questioning the viscount about the Ghost before Godric had shown up and started insulting the man—and her.

“Megs!”

She stopped and turned on the landing.

Sarah was panting behind her and Megs realized that this wasn’t the first time the other woman had called her name.

“Are you all right?” Sarah paused, looking worriedly into her face.

“I …” Megs tried for a calm, ladylike tone but in the end burst out, “Oh, Sarah, I just want to hit him sometimes!”

“Well, and I don’t blame you,” Sarah said loyally—or rather disloyally since she was taking Megs’s side over her own brother’s.

But Megs couldn’t be anything but happy that Sarah was such a good friend. “I can’t go back in there—not right now.”

Sarah frowned. “Where will you go?”

“I need …” She needed to speak to Griffin. The thought bloomed in her mind fully formed, and she knew at once that it was the right thing to do. She had to ask Griffin several long-overdue questions.

Megs focused on Sarah. “I have to leave. Actually, there’s something important I need to talk to my brother Griffin about. Can you make my apologies to the earl and countess?”

“Of course.” Sarah’s eyes softened in sympathy—and a touch of curiosity. “But we only brought the one carriage.”

“Oh.” Megs felt her face fall.

But Sarah had already rallied. “Your great-aunt Elvina has been gossiping with Lady Bingham all evening. I’m sure she’ll be amenable to giving us a ride home.”

“You’re an angel.” Megs just took the time to press an affectionate kiss to her sister-in-law’s cheek and then she was down the stairs.

Fifteen minutes later, she was the sole occupant of the carriage and on her way to Griffin and Hero’s town house. Only now did it occur to her that her brother might not be home at this hour. But considering the matter as her carriage clattered through the dark streets of London, she decided there was a good chance that he’d be in tonight. She knew from Hero’s letters that her brother, once one of the wildest rakes in society, now spent most of his evenings at home with his wife and small son.

Megs decided that she wouldn’t be jealous of her brother.

Twenty minutes later, her carriage was pulling up in front of a neat town house. On marriage, her brother had given up the house he’d spent his bachelor days in and moved here to a much better neighborhood.

Megs mounted the front steps, her heart dipping as she realized that although there were two bright lamps burning out front, the house itself was dark. For a moment she hesitated, but the matter really couldn’t wait: she wouldn’t face her husband again without clearing up this mystery.

She raised the knocker and let it fall twice.

There was a long pause and then a butler answered the door. It took a bit of wrangling to convince the manservant that she really was Lord Griffin’s sister come to visit him at a terribly inconvenient hour, but soon she’d been ushered into a pretty little sitting room. A sleepy maid had just got done stirring the dying fire and left when Griffin burst into the room.

Her brother strode across the sitting room and took her by the shoulders, examining her with piercing green eyes. “What is it, Megs? Are you all right?”

Oh, dear, she hadn’t meant to alarm him. “Yes, yes, I’m fine. I just wanted to … uh … talk to you.”

Griffin blinked and stepped back. “Talk to me? At”—his gaze went to a brass clock on the mantelpiece—“half past midnight? Megs, you’ve been avoiding me for years.”

She gulped. “You noticed.”

He rolled his eyes. “That my favorite sister corresponds more often with my wife than with me? That she’s declined half a dozen invitations to come visit? That when you came after William’s birth you hardly spoke two words to me? I’m not stupid, Megs.”