Lord of Darkness (Maiden Lane #5)(66)

Godric frowned. “Will you be safe?”

Alf cocked his head, smiling cynically. “Worried I won’t be back tomorrow? Nah, no one’s can catch me if’n I don’t want. Ta for the tea.”

And he was gone out the kitchen door.

“Damn it, I should follow him,” Godric muttered.

But Winter shook his head. “We don’t want to scare him off. Besides, I saw the dragoons in the back alley earlier.”

Godric swore. “They followed me.” That would make getting home more difficult than usual. He looked at Winter. “Do you really think the boy’s safe until tomorrow?”

Winter shrugged as he put away the bread. “It’s out of our hands now.”

And Godric supposed he’d have to be content with that knowledge until tomorrow night.

THE SOUND OF male voices outside her window woke Megs from a restless slumber. She blinked sleepily, glancing about her bedroom. It was light, but so early Daniels hadn’t yet come to wake her and help dress her.

Megs rose and wandered to the window, parting the curtains to look down on the courtyard. Godric stood, wrapped in a cloak, talking to a man in a tricorne. Megs stared. There was something about the other man, something about the way Godric stood so stiffly that made her uneasy.

Then the man in the tricorne looked up at the house and Megs gasped.

It was Captain Trevillion.

As she watched, his hand shot out suddenly, wrenching Godric’s cloak open.

She whirled and found her wrapper, pulling it on as she ran from the room and down the stairs, her heart in her throat. Would Godric’s costume be enough for the dragoon captain to arrest him?

But when she tumbled breathlessly into the entry hall, her husband was closing the door behind him as serenely as if he’d just returned from a chat with the king.

“Godric!” she hissed.

He looked up and she froze.

It was subtle, but she could read the signs now—his mouth thin and tense, his eyes a little narrowed. He wasn’t serene, not really. He looked both tired and angry.

She didn’t remember descending the rest of the stairs, only her hands rising toward his face, wanting to give comfort.

His own hands blocked hers.

She blinked, focusing on his eyes, and saw that he stared at her blankly.

He hadn’t forgiven her for the night before, then.

“What happened in St. Giles?” she asked in a small voice. She wanted so badly to touch him, to make sure he was whole and well. “Why did Captain Trevillion let you go?”

“Godric.” Mrs. St. John’s surprised voice came from the stairs and Megs turned to see that both she and all three of Godric’s sisters stood there.

Moulder appeared from somewhere. “Sir?”

“Why is everyone up so early?” Godric muttered.

“Have you been out?” Sarah asked quietly.

“None of your business,” her brother said flatly, walking toward the back of the house.

“But—” his stepmother started.

“Don’t question me,” he growled without looking back, and disappeared down the hall.

Mrs. St. John looked helplessly at Megs, her eyes shining with tears.

“I’ll talk to him,” Megs said with all the reassurance she could muster before hurrying after Godric.

If it weren’t for her mother-in-law and those tears, she would never have dared beard him again this soon after the disaster of last night. She’d hurt him badly, and he’d already made it clear he didn’t want her nearby.

Well, he’d just have to put up with her anyway.

She opened the door to his study without bothering to knock.

Inside, Godric was pouring himself a glass of brandy and talking to Moulder. “The usual place. Make sure you’re not followed.”

“Yes, sir.” Moulder looked relieved to scurry from the room.

Megs closed the door behind him and cleared her throat.

“Go away,” Godric growled at her, tossing back half his glass of liquid.

Megs winced. He truly was a bear bearded in his den.

She took a deep breath. “No. I’m your wife.”

He cocked his head, his beautiful lips curled. “Are you?”

Her face flamed. “Yes.”

Godric looked away then, as if losing interest in her. He shrugged off his cloak and coat, moving stiffly.

Megs blinked. Beneath the cloak Godric was wearing a sedate brown suit, not a trace of harlequin motley anywhere. He pressed his fingers against a panel next to the fireplace. The panel sprang open, revealing a hidden cupboard behind it. She watched as he took his short sword from an inner pocket in his cloak and stowed it in the secret cupboard.

She ventured a little farther into the room. “Did Captain Trevillion follow you?”

“Yes.” He hissed under his breath as he gingerly pulled his shirt over his head and she inhaled. His wound had reopened, a sluggish trail of blood dripping down his broad back. “From St. Giles. He’s very good, actually. Several times I wasn’t sure he was even there behind me.”

She picked up his shirt and started to tear a strip from the tail—it was ruined by the blood anyway. “I’m so glad you didn’t wear your Ghost costume last night.”

“But I did.”

Her hands froze on his shirt, staring at his crystal gray eyes. “What do you mean?”