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Even if it meant risking his soul.
The door opened to reveal the concerned face of Isabel Makepeace. She took one look at Megs and then her eyes flickered over Megs’s shoulder. Immediately a serene social smile was pasted on her face. “Oh, do come inside, my lady,” Mrs. Makepeace said loudly as if Megs were making an unremarkable predawn visit to the home. “Captain Trevillion? Is that you? Oh, sir, your sense of duty is to be commended, but I do feel that you may rest well at your own home now that the day is upon us. Besides”—Isabel’s smile widened until her white teeth shone—“I don’t think a single man, even one so brave as yourself, is much good against the many ruffians of St. Giles.”
Megs turned inside the hall as Mrs. St. John and the footmen crowded beside her and Isabel shut the door. “Did he go?”
“No.” Isabel shook her head, her social smile slipping now they were all out of sight of the dragoon captain. “Captain Trevillion has the most inconvenient stubborn streak. But please don’t let it worry you. He’s been hunting the Ghost of St. Giles for over two years and has yet to lay hands on the man. It’s enough to make even the most serene of gentlemen become bullheaded.”
Isabel’s tone was light, but Megs wasn’t reassured. The dragoon captain knew who Godric was—and as Isabel had noted, he was bullheaded. She shivered. He didn’t seem the type to give up his hunt.
“Where is Godric?” Mrs. St. John interrupted her gloomy thoughts.
“Upstairs.” Isabel immediately turned to lead the way.
Megs followed, afraid to look at her mother-in-law. What must the other woman think? There was no way she could’ve missed the captain’s accusations.
But that worry fled when Isabel tapped at a door at the end of the upstairs corridor. She opened it and Megs saw Godric sitting on the side of the bed, in shirtsleeves and his Ghost leggings. His face was pale and he held his left arm cradled in his lap, but otherwise he seemed alert and unharmed.
Megs felt relief sweep through her.
he was nude. Megs tucked the covers around herself as she sat up. “What is it? Where is Godric?”
“He’s …” The butler looked honestly distressed, nearly panicked. “I don’t know. He’s hurt. Mr. Makepeace sent word from the home. They need you to go there an’ fetch him home.”
“Turn your back.” Megs was already scrambling from the bed, searching for her chemise, thinking about what she could put on by herself. “Have you called the carriage?”
“Yes, m’lady.” Moulder had turned his back as requested, but she could tell he was shifting from one foot to the other. “Shall I call a doctor? He doesn’t like doctors, says they talk too much, but if he’s truly hurt, it may be beyond my abilities.”
Megs didn’t even have to think. “Yes, please, send for a physician.”
She was searching on hands and knees now, looking for the slippers she’d worn earlier. Her eyes were blurring with stupid tears and something awful was beating at her chest, trying to get in. The slippers had fallen under Godric’s bed. She was still in his room and needed to go to her own to find a wrap. Which made her think of something else.
“Make sure to put his cloak and a change of clothing in the carriage. And I’ll need at least two footmen to accompany me.”
“Yes, m’lady.”
“What is it?”
Megs looked up and met Mrs. St. John’s wide eyes. Moulder slipped from the room without the older woman even glancing at him.
Her mother-in-law stood in the doorway, her graying hair loose about her shoulders, a purple silk wrapper clutched at her throat. “Megs? Where’s Godric?”
“He’s …” Her mind went entirely blank. She couldn’t think of a lie, something to put the older woman at ease and make her go back to bed.
Suddenly it was too much. Her eyes overflowed, the tears coursing down her cheeks.
“Megs?” Mrs. St. John stepped forward, pulling Megs close and framing her face with her palms. “What has happened? You must tell me.”
“Godric is in St. Giles. I’ve been sent word to go to him. He’s hurt.”
For a moment her mother-in-law simply looked at her, and Megs saw each and every line that had folded itself into the older woman’s face. All the sorrows she’d borne. All the disappointments.
Then Mrs. St. John nodded decisively and turned quickly to the door. “I’ll just be three minutes. Nothing more. Wait for me.”
Megs blinked, bewildered. “What are you doing?”
Mrs. St. John glanced over her shoulder, her face firm and strong. “I’m his mother. I’m coming with you.”
And she was gone.
