He knew from Winter Makepeace that d’Arque had known about Seymour’s involvement in the lassie snatchers, had in fact helped cover up the true nature of Seymour’s death for the sake of his widow.
Makepeace seemed to think that d’Arque had not been involved with the illegal workshop and the lassie snatchers. Godric decided to reserve judgment. After all, if d’Arque had been the other partner in the workshop, it would’ve been smart of him to lie low for a bit, convince Makepeace that he had indeed cleared up the entire lassie snatcher evil.
And then when the coast was clear, he could start up operations again.
“Odd,” Godric said softly, “that two of four friends should be killed in St. Giles.”
D’Arque frowned as if considering. “Don’t think that I hadn’t thought of the matter before now, but that’s just it. There was no link between the killings.” He turned to meet Godric’s eyes. “None at all.”
The audience roared and rose to their feet, clapping. Godric’s gaze jerked to his wife, her head together with Lady Hero’s, whispering some feminine secret. The play was obviously over.
The viscount caught his arm.
Godric looked down at the hand on his sleeve.
D’Arque let go of his arm, his face darkening with something that might’ve been embarrassment. “I wish to continue this discussion.”
“Don’t worry.” Godric stood, watching as Megs turned and beamed at him, all glorious, vibrant life. Everything he was not. Everything worth protecting. “We will.”
Chapter Ten
“Hold on tight,” the Hellequin grunted as he guided the great black horse toward the far shore.
“Do you care for my welfare, then?” Faith leaned forward and asked in the Hellequin’s ear.
His eyes slid sideways as he gave her a sardonic glance. “’Twould not do for you to fall in the River of Sorrows.”
“Why not?”
He shrugged his massive shoulders. “The waters would think you a suicide and then you, too, would spend the rest of eternity drowning.”
The great black horse lurched as it climbed out of the inky waters, and as it did so, Faith pushed Despair into the river. …
—From The Legend of the Hellequin
Megs plucked nervously at the ties to her wrapper. She stood alone in her room—well, alone save for Her Grace and her three puppies, sleeping under her bed. She and Godric had returned home in near silence from Harte’s Folly. If she didn’t know better, she might think her husband as filled with trepidation over their belated wedding night as she.
But that was silly, wasn’t it? He was a man. Even if he’d initially turned her down because of the memory of his late wife, he still must, by his very nature as a male, take the marriage act more cavalierly than a woman. Why else would he suddenly change his mind over the matter?
Megs bit her lip, fearing that she might be lying to herself. She hadn’t seen Godric act cavalierly about anything since her arrival in London. He must have a reason—a deliberate reason—to acquiesce to her. Damnation! She should’ve questioned him more in the garden this afternoon instead of being so overwhelmed with excitement and joy that she’d all but lost the power of thought. She had the feeling that whatever his reasons, it was important that she understand them—understand him. After tonight he would be her husband in fact as well as in name. She owed him the courtesy of at least caring about his motives. She was determined not to feel guilt, though. He was her husband and this was the legal—and natural—consequence of marriage.
Even if he’d been coerced into the marriage in the first place.
She heaved a sigh and glanced again at the pink china clock on her dressing table. It was well past midnight—and nearly an hour since they’d returned home. Had he forgotten?
Had he fallen asleep?
Megs tiptoed toward the door that connected her room to Godric’s. If he’d fallen asleep, she’d just have to wake him up again, damn it.
The door opened abruptly and Megs stopped in her tracks, blinking.
For a moment Godric looked equally startled at finding her just inside the door. He wore a banyan, beneath which she could see his nightshirt and those ridiculous embroidered slippers.
Megs stifled a horrible, overwhelming urge to giggle.
Godric shut the door behind him. “I thought …” He stopped and his brow wrinkled before he began again. “That is, I’d like to talk to you prior to …” He cleared his throat, a nearly subaudible sound like the distant rumble of thunder. “Come.”