How to Marry a Marble Marquis(38)

A bounce in his step all the way back to his chambers, shedding his robe and flinging open the armoire. He always dressed well and was a preening peacock, according to his conservative brother, but he had the desire to look exceptionally handsome for her that night.

Last night was merely a misstep for them both. They would get back to that place of softness, he would make love to her every night she was here, and by the time he would send her off to her ball, she would be out of his system entirely. It was a perfect plan, and it was going to be a good night.





“Does your brother have plans to retire from his commission? Surely he has fulfilled his rank duty by now? Unless, of course, he has chosen this as his career?”

His brows drew together. He had no bloody idea what she was talking about. “Pardon, my dear, but . . . who’s retiring from what, exactly?”

She rolled her eyes as she smiled, shaking her head as if he were absolutely incorrigible, which he was. That, too, had become a familiar gesture. “For pity’s sake, you told me your brother was in the Navy! I was just wondering if —“

“Oh, he’s not in the Navy. Hasn’t been in years. Left as soon as our father died. As a matter of fact, I don’t actually know if he completed his commission or not. Not that it matters.”

Beside him, Eleanor blinked. They were strolling through the rose garden that evening, tight buds just beginning to show a hint of color behind their greenery. In another month or two would be a sweet-smelling oasis, and it saddened him to think that she would not see it in such a state.

“I-I don’t think I understand. When you said you haven’t seen him in years, you made it sound like . . . what is it that he does then?”

It was his turn to blink owlishly down at her. She raised an eyebrow, cocking her head expectantly, the corner of her mouth tugging into a grin. Whoever married Eleanor Eastwick would need to be prepared for her spark, for she did not back down easily, and although she was gracefully mannered, her tongue possessed a wicked barb. She’s going to wind up with some dour old curmudgeon who doesn’t deserve her sparkle. Silas chuckled uncomfortably, rubbing at the back of his neck.

“Well, that’s. . . that’s a bit hard to describe, actually. Do you know of — you familiar with privateers, Miss Eastwick?”

She gasped beside him, hand raising her mouth, eyes as wide as saucers. “He’s a privateer?! Isn’t that horridly dangerous?”

“Well, no, see, he’s not actually a privateer. He is . . . keeping privateers gainfully employed, one might say?”

Silence reigned as she attempted to work out the puzzle of his words, stopping suddenly with another gasp, this time both hands rising to cover her mouth in horror. “A pirate?!” she squealed in disbelief. “But-but how?! He’s the son of the lord!”

“Bastard son,” Silas corrected with a shrug. “Tragic that it makes a difference, I suppose, but it does. At least in the peerage. I loved my mother deeply, but she was instrumental in ensuring that my brother had no birthright to speak of.”

“But how could your father allow that?”

He shrugged again, taking up her arm so that they could resume their walk. “Men do all manner of mad things under the influence of love, Miss Eastwick. Particularly if the future of your house rests upon her shoulders.”

She was quiet for a moment before another question occurred to her. “Forgive me, my lord, if this sounds terribly ignorant, but wouldn’t he be very heavy for a ship to carry? What if something happened in the day, if they took on water or were attacked? He would sink to the bottom of the sea!”

His laughter bounced off the stone arches surrounding the rose garden, echoing across the topiaries. “That is a fantastically troubling thought, Miss Eastwick. I shall have to ponder over that. In any case, it’s not an issue for Cadmus. His mother was human. He does not turn to stone.”

Her head raised sharply, meeting his eye. “So it is possible, then, for human and gargoyle to —“

“So it is, Miss Eastwick. So it is.”

“So if you were to have a child with a human” — her teeth trapped her lip for the space of a heartbeat as she gazed up at him — “they would not turn to stone? Would they inherit your title?”

Silas was concerned he was going to get a crick in his neck for the amount of shrugging he was doing that night. “Any child of mine born to my legal wife would inherit my title, regardless of the mother’s species. And no, they would not turn to stone if the mother were human.” He felt trapped in her gaze, a liquid, glossy prison he might normally be happy to live in, but at that moment, it felt particularly oppressive. “A true stone gargoyle requires two gargoyle parents and a very long birthing process. My sister will be hatching her egg any month now. She’s as big as the moon.”

Her laughter, unlike his, tinkled like a crystal bell around the open garden, golden and bright, swatting his arm with her reticule. “Oh, she is not, you wretched man! She’s beautiful. I can scarcely believe that you’re not twins. She said you both favor your mother . . . Wait, so she’s not going to give birth to a live baby? You hatched from an egg?“ She began to laugh again, attempting to disguise it with her gloved hand and doing a poor job. “Like a lizard?”

Silas scowled down. “No, not like a lizard. It is a very large egg, granted. I’m told the birthing process is horribly painful. Our mother died in childbirth from a bleed that could not be stopped. And it’s less of an egg and more of . . . a membrane, I suppose. It’s placed in a warm, sunny spot until it hardens to stone. Marble, in our case, obviously. My best friend, when we were children, was made of jade, a stunning green color. I was always jealous. But that is essentially our infanthood. Once we hatch, we are self-sufficient, unlike human infants.”