Knowing how the gossip mill worked in Upper Hornsfield, Megs knew they could dine upon this night for months. Godric stood near the mantel, watching. Megs frowned. Why was it that he always seemed so apart, even when in the midst of his own family?
William made a sound, drawing her eyes. A splotch of baby drool darkened Griffin’s waistcoat and Megs couldn’t help smirking. Her brother had been such a notorious rake before meeting Hero.
“May I?” she asked shyly, indicating William.
“Of course.”
Griffin placed sweet William in her arms and then she was being examined by large, green eyes the exact shade of his sire. He was heavier than she’d expected, a solid, warm bundle, smelling faintly of milk and biscuits. William had reddish-brown, curling hair, plump cheeks, and his lips, pursed around his finger, were so rosy and sweet Megs couldn’t help kissing him on his little forehead.
Soon, oh, please let it be soon.
William withdrew his finger from his mouth and patted her cheek wetly.
“Babies are terribly messy,” Great-Aunt Elvina announced, then ruined her stern words by making clucking noises at William.
“He’s teething again,” Hero said beside Megs. “Do you want me to take him? He’ll think nothing of ruining your dress.”
“No, let me hold him a bit longer,” Megs murmured. “He’s quite beautiful.”
“Yes, isn’t he?” Hero’s mouth curved in maternal love.
A pang of desperate longing went through Megs’s breast. This. This was what she wanted.
She looked up and met Godric’s watchful eyes. As if he’d heard her thoughts, he inclined his head almost like he was making a promise. Her breath caught. What other man would be so good to her? He was so protective, so kind. He’d spent the day escorting her and the St. John women about to shops, never once making a demure or seeming bored by frivolous feminine things. The day had been so enjoyable that she’d remembered only as she’d been dressing for dinner that he’d promised to look for Roger’s murderer. And she knew she ought to ask him what his plans were, to press him on the point and make sure he wasn’t going to conveniently forget his vow, but she simply wanted a small respite from the matter.
From death and grief and loss. If only—
“Ah, Mandeville,” the duke drawled.
Megs turned to see that her other brother, Thomas Reading, the Marquess of Mandeville, had arrived. Beside him was his vivacious wife, Lavinia, whose hair had grown if anything more brightly red since Megs had last seen her.
“You’ve got a spot on your waistcoat,” Thomas said to Griffin.
“Yes, I know,” Griffin replied through gritted teeth.
Megs sighed. Her brothers weren’t the best of friends, but at least they now spoke to each other. For several weeks after Griffin’s marriage, that hadn’t been the case.
The gentlemen converged, speaking in low tones about politics before the butler interrupted with the call for supper.
Hero took sweet William from Megs’s arms, bussing him on the cheek before giving him over to his nurse with a murmured word and a lingering look as they left the sitting room. She caught Megs’s eye and smiled ruefully. “I usually put him to sleep myself. It’s silly of me, I know, but I hate letting someone else do it.”
“You can look in on him later,” Griffin said tenderly, offering Hero his arm.
She took it, wrinkling her nose up at him. “You shouldn’t indulge my sentimental quirks.”
“But I like indulging you,” he whispered into the auburn curls at her temple, and Megs blushed, rather thinking she wasn’t meant to hear that last part.
“Shall we?” Godric was at her side.
“Of course.” She laid her fingers on his forearm, realizing that they trembled slightly. There was something about being this close to him, a warmth that transmitted itself from his body to hers, a kind of vibration almost, so that her body seemed to tune itself to his. And she realized with almost horror that even if he weren’t the means to give her a baby, she wanted him.
That isn’t right, she thought shakily as he led her into the dining room and pulled out her chair. She sank into the seat without thought, her mind full of a confused buzzing. Her body wasn’t supposed to long for his. She’d loved Roger, and although she was grateful to Godric and had come to know him a little more, had, perhaps, a kind of admiration for him, that wasn’t love.
Her body shouldn’t respond without love; it just shouldn’t.
She realized that Charlotte sat to her left—the gentlemen