become his weakness. His Achilles’ heel, the one person who had reached deep down inside him and grasped his heart, squeezing until it started beating again.
She’d brought him back to life.
And in return it was only fair that he gift her with a death.
By the time he finally moved, it was after dusk, which was just as well since it was his element. He huffed out a breath, nearly but not quite a laugh. Godric St. John: Lord of Darkness. He looked down at her as he eased from the bed. Why such a creature of light and love and life should have come to him, he could not fathom. But he was grateful.
Very grateful.
He wanted to kiss her one last time, to impress her beauty upon his mind and carry it with him on whatever journey this night brought him, but he feared to wake her.
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