he’s the murderer.”
He shook his head and began walking. “Why?”
“They don’t know. There’s speculation that he’s seeking revenge of some sort, that he’s been sent to punish the sinful or that he simply enjoys killing.” She shivered again. “It doesn’t make any sense, does it? If he was the murderer, if he wanted us dead, he wouldn’t have joined you in defeating those attackers.”
“No,” he murmured, “it doesn’t make sense.”
It was another ten minutes before they were at her door again, and Lazarus was never so happy to see the home. When she unlocked the door, he followed her into the kitchen.
He watched as she filled her little kettle and hung it over the hearth before stirring up the banked fire. “What evidence is there that the Ghost is the murderer? Did the barmaid say?”
She shot him a perplexed look as she set out her tea things. “She didn’t seem to know. She was just repeating what everyone else said.”
“Hmm.” He tapped his fingers on the kitchen table. “I wonder, then, if someone is spreading this rumor.”
“But who?”
He shook his head. “In any case, I can no longer take you into St. Giles. Not while this murderer is at large.”
She nodded silently, her brows knit at his pronouncement. Was she that docile to his command, or would she disobey him later? The thought made him restless—that he had no real power over this woman. She could do as she pleased no matter what he thought or how he worried.
The kettle came to a boil after a bit and she filled her teapot. He followed her into her little sitting room, squatting to make up the fire there as she sat on her stool. Then he lounged in the chair and watched, ridiculously content, as she poured herself a cup of tea and added sugar. It occurred to him that he wouldn’t mind spending every evening for the rest of his life thus, watching her take her first sip of hot tea, considering the way she half closed her eyes in relaxation.
“How is your sister?” he asked after a bit.
She looked up quickly, perhaps surprised, and that irritated him.
He raised his eyebrows. “Silence, I think? Has she recovered from her confrontation with O’Connor?”
“I don’t know,” she sighed. “I haven’t heard from her at all. Winter won’t talk to me; he simply goes about his work without discussing anything. Concord is quite angry—or perhaps disapproving is a better word.”
“And the children?” he asked. “How fare they?”
She cradled her cup between her hands. “Mostly they seem the same as usual. Mary Whitsun follows me about the house like a shadow, though, as if she fears I’ll disappear if she loses sight of me.”
He nodded, unsure of what to say to all this. His experience with families—indeed, with feelings—was woefully inadequate.
She inhaled. “And you? How is your shoulder?”
“Almost as good as new.”
She was silent for several seconds, and then she asked quietly, “Why do you think Marie never told you about her brother?”
“Perhaps because I never asked her about her family.” He shrugged. “The fact of the matter is that we hardly talked at all. There wasn’t a need to in our relationship.”
“So, when you saw her, you’d simply…”
“Fuck. Yes.” He watched her, waiting for her revulsion. “I didn’t want or need anything else from her.”
“And me?” she whispered.
He inhaled. “From you I want much, much more.”
Chapter Fifteen
Now Meg sat all alone in her tiny dungeon cell that day, for no one came to visit her. She busied herself tidying the cell and then washed herself in the bucket of water and combed out her long golden hair. She’d almost resigned herself to going to bed when there was a tap at the door to her cell. In came three lady’s maids and one very elegant hairdresser, and before she knew it, Meg was arrayed in a sparkling blue gown, her hair dressed with pearls, and fine heeled slippers on her feet.
“Why, what is the meaning of this?” she cried in astonishment.
The hairdresser bowed and replied, “Tonight you are to dine with the king himself.”…
—from King Lockedheart
Temperance watched him, this exotic creature, this man from a foreign world, saying that he wanted more from her. How much more? She wanted to ask but feared the answer.
So instead she set down her teacup. “Very well.”
He nodded, staring into the flames of the fire. He seemed content with their pact, whatever it was, but she felt heat unfurling in her belly. She wanted more as well.
“You