Lord of Darkness (Maiden Lane #5)(95)

In the end, he simply left his bedroom without touching her again.

He called Moulder and dressed swiftly in his Ghost costume, answering the manservant’s questions curtly. He took both swords because he would need them, and further injury would be a moot point after tonight anyway. And then he stole into his element.

The darkness.

The night was chill, but not overly so, the hint of spring’s awakening whispering on the soft breeze. Overhead, the moon veiled herself seductively with wispy clouds. Godric looked carefully but caught no sight of anyone lurking. Perhaps Captain Trevillion had finally conceded the need for sleep.

He loped west, toward the more fashionable parts of London where the aristocracy built their new houses. Toward the Earl of Kershaw’s house.

He’d made his promise to Megs and he intended to keep it. Had he the time, he might’ve researched his enemy, found his weaknesses and flaws and brought him down more subtly. But that plan had changed perforce with the scene in the garden. Kershaw was a threat to Megs now. He’d not missed the look of hatred the other man had shot his Meggie when she’d lunged at him. She wouldn’t be quiet, wouldn’t do the safe thing and leave him alone. A man such as Kershaw didn’t leave such potential dangers living. Fraser-Burnsby was an obvious example.

Godric shuddered and stopped at a corner, leaning into the rough brick building over a chandler’s shop. The mere thought of Megs in danger, of Kershaw somehow finding a way to hurt her, made crimson flood his vision. He would not—could not—let the other man live while he was a threat to Megs and their child.

That thought—that she was carrying his babe—steadied him enough to start off again. It was a strange but not unwelcome feeling to know that she carried his child. That someday she would hold a babe against her pretty white breast and that the child would be part of him as well.

For the first time in a very long while, he yearned to see tomorrow. Tomorrow and the day after that and the year after that. There was a possibility that with Megs he might have a life to look forward to. And because of that, tonight he was going to hunt down a man and assassinate him in cold blood. This act would damn his very soul, but for Megs it was worth it.

For his Meggie he would walk the fires of Hell.

It took another half hour to reach Kershaw’s London town house. It stood in a modern square, white stone town houses on all sides, elegant and reserved. The moon was waning now, coyly hiding behind her cloudy veils. Godric approached Kershaw’s residence cautiously, sliding in and out of the shadows, searching for any sign of movement from the house.

He was surprised when the front door opened.

Godric stilled, half hidden in the shadows by the stairs leading to the front door of a house across the way. He watched as Kershaw appeared on his step. The earl stood there, looking around impatiently, and Godric felt his hands fist. A carriage rolled around the corner and Kershaw got in.

Godric frowned, considering his options. No matter what else happened, he had to kill Kershaw and fast, before the man had a chance to hurt Megs.

He decided to follow the carriage, trailing it as it moved east. The roads in London were narrow and sometimes crowded, even at night, so he hauled himself up the corner of a building, grunting at the twinge from his left wrist, and followed by rooftop. Still Godric lost the carriage twice and had to scramble over sliding tiles to keep up, cursing under his breath until he caught sight of the thing again. He considered the destination of his prey as he panted along. Was Kershaw going to a ball or the theater? If so, Godric would have to cool his heels waiting for the man. On the other hand, such events were often crowded with carriages jockeying to either deposit or pick up their occupants. Perhaps he could catch the man unawares in a crowd. This wouldn’t be a noble duel.

If need be, Godric would stab the earl in the back.

But it soon became apparent that the carriage was making for St. Giles, which meant this certainly wasn’t a social outing. Was the earl scouting new locations for his workshops? Godric shook his head. The man was engorged with hubris if he thought he could simply set up shop again in St. Giles.

Twenty minutes later, the carriage stopped outside a dingy building that was all but leaning against its neighbor. There was no sign to indicate a shop, but a single lantern lit the low doorway, almost as if Kershaw had been expected. Godric lowered himself carefully to the ground and paused in the jut of a low wall, watching as a woman emerged from the building. She was tall and bony, and when she turned, the lantern light fell upon her face and he recognized the slattern who’d been at the third workshop. She stood, arms akimbo, and said something to Kershaw, still in the carriage. There was a pause and she threw up her hands, turning as if angered. At that, the carriage door flew open and Kershaw emerged to hit her across the face, nearly knocking her down. She steadied herself, though, and went back into the shop.

There were two footmen on the back of the carriage and they descended as well, spreading out on either side of Kershaw. He’d brought guards. For himself or something—or someone—else?

The door to the crumbling building opened again and the slattern came back out, grasping a little girl in each hand. But they weren’t who the guards were there for. Behind her was a third tough, both hands gripping tightly a much smaller figure in front of him. She was slim and held herself defiantly, but her face was bruised and she’d lost her old hat.

Alf. They had Alf.