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The four of them sat in an elegant box over the stage at Harte’s Folly. Swaths of red velvet lined the interior of the box and gilt trimmed the rail. A small table of wine, tiny cakes, fruit, nuts, and cheeses sat to the side, and Megs couldn’t help reflecting how expensive the theater box must be to rent. If Griffin had been in financial straits three years ago, he didn’t appear to be so now.
But then he hadn’t seemed to lack for funds before marrying Hero either.
Megs blew out a restless breath, wishing she could have fifteen minutes alone with her brother. Wishing she could forget that when she and Godric returned home tonight, he intended to bed her.
She glanced down and then sideways at him. He wore a coffee-colored suit tonight, the cuffs and pockets worked in dull gold thread. Underneath, a silvery blue waistcoat hugged his torso, emphasizing the flatness of his belly. She’d seen him—briefly—without a shirt and had been stunned by the image. What would he look like entirely nude?
He seemed to sense her regard. His chin moved infinitesimally and his eyes flicked to her face. She caught her breath. His eyelids were half lowered, nearly but not quite hiding the gleam of those intense clear gray eyes. He looked at her as if he were deciding how, exactly, to eat her. Without thought, her lips parted and his gaze dropped, his eyes brooding as his nostrils flared slightly. Then he raised them slowly again, staring into her eyes, and Megs forgot entirely how to breathe.
The audience broke into applause and Megs jerked at the sudden, thundering sound.
Griffin grunted. “Shall I fetch some ices before the second half begins?”
Hero smiled up at her husband. “Yes, please.”
Griffin nodded before glancing at Godric, his expression wary. “Join me?”
Godric raised his brows but rose willingly.
Beside her, Hero stirred and held out her hand. “I see my brother across the way. Will you accompany me to greet him?”
“Yes, of course.” Megs rose, staring worriedly at the retreating backs of her husband and brother.
“Don’t fret.” Hero drew her hand through her arm as they began strolling companionably toward the opposite side of the theater. The corridor behind the boxes was crowded as everyone took the opportunity during the interval to find acquaintances or to simply parade to show to best advantage their costumes. “Griffin and Godric will come to terms.”
“I wish I were as certain as you.”
Hero squeezed her hand reassuringly. “Griffin loves both you and me, and Godric is very fond of you, I know. They both have incentive to make up this little quarrel.”
Megs slanted a glance at her sister-in-law, strolling serenely in a mist-green frock trimmed in blond lace. “Godric is fond of me? However can you tell?”
Hero looked at her, amused. “By the way he cares for you, silly. He made very sure you had the best seat when you arrived—next to me so we might gossip. He filled a plate for you with cakes and grapes—no walnuts, as he knows you aren’t particularly fond of them—and the very fact he’s come to the opera tonight … well. I half expected him to decline, I must tell you. He’s been a veritable hermit these last couple of years. Hardly anyone has seen him about in society. No, everything he’s done tonight, small matters as they are, has been for you, sister.”
Megs blinked. Was it true? Did Godric have feelings, however small, for her? He had, after all, conceded to her wish to try to make a child. The mere reminder made her body flush with heat, but she felt a pang of disquiet as well. When she’d been back at Laurelwood, dreaming up this plan to come to London and seduce her husband, he had been a mere cardboard figure. She’d known him only from his infrequent, curt letters. Bedding a cardboard man had seemed straightforward enough.
Bedding Godric was an entirely different matter.
He was real, flesh and blood, a man with powerful feelings—though he did his best to hide them from the world. Only now, at this terribly late date, did it occur to her that her emotions might be endangered if she lay with Godric.
Megs bit her lip. Emotional entanglement was not something that she’d accounted for. Roger was the love of her life, his loss a pain she felt every day. She had no other way to make a child for herself but to lie with Godric, but to feel for him as well—that seemed like a betrayal of her love for Roger.
A betrayal of Roger himself.
lasped her hands before her. “I’m glad to see you’ve risen. When I heard you were still abed this morning, I feared you’d suffered a setback.”
His eyes flickered away from hers for a moment, and she had the oddest notion that he was about to tell her a falsehood, but all he said was, “I was tired and thought it best to sleep a little more before I rose.”
She nodded absently, trying to think of something to say. How could this be the same man who had torn the clothes from her breasts and kissed her as if he would die if he couldn’t taste her skin?
“We’ve been invited to attend a pleasure garden tonight,” she said. “My sister-in-law, Lady Hero, is quite fond of Harte’s Folly and wishes to go to the theater there tonight. Will you come?”
His lips thinned. “Your brother Griffin will be there as well?”
“Yes.”
Megs half expected dissent, but Godric’s mouth relaxed into a rueful smile. “I suppose I’ll have to see him sometime—after all, I am married to his sister.”
She shouldn’t feel this excited at the possibility of his attending a play with her, but she did. Just to make sure, she asked, “Then you’ll come?”
