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“Punch,” murmured Godric at her elbow, making her start ungracefully.
“Oh.” Megs blinked, turning to see that her placid husband seemed to have acquired daggers for eyes—and they were aimed at Lord d’Arque. If looks could kill, Lord d’Arque would be a writhing, bloody mess on the earl’s pink marble floor.
Well, this is interesting. She really ought to be contrite. Poor, darling Lord d’Arque hadn’t done a thing besides act the rake he’d apparently been born. It wasn’t his fault that she’d flirted outrageously with him, triggering his rakish instincts. But there was something terribly satisfying at seeing her husband mentally slaughter another man on her behalf.
She beamed at Godric as she accepted the cup of punch.
Godric narrowed his eyes at her before focusing his gaze on the viscount. “D’Arque.”
The viscount’s lips twitched, though it could hardly be called a smile. “St. John. I’ve just been … chatting with your exquisite wife. I must tell you that you have far more fortitude than I.”
“Indeed? Why?”
Lord d’Arque widened his eyes innocently. “Oh, because I’d never be able to banish such a lovely lady so far away in the country. I’d want to keep her by my side—day and, especially, night.”
Does he practice his silly words in front of a mirror? It was really too bad—both what d’Arque was implying and how much Megs was enjoying Godric’s reaction. But she should stop this. She really should.
Megs opened her mouth.
Her husband was already speaking. “I’m surprised, sir. I would’ve thought that there’d be no room by your side at any time—but especially at night.”
A deep chuckle came from beside Megs. She turned and saw a striking gentleman with silver hair clubbed back by a black bow.
He caught her eye and bowed even as Lord d’Arque made some retort to her husband involving celibacy. “Lady Margaret. I hope you don’t think me bold to introduce myself. I am Caire.”
Of course, Lord Caire. He’d once been almost as notorious as Lord d’Arque.
Megs sank into a curtsy. “It’s an honor, Lord Caire. I count your wife as one of my very good friends.”
“Hmm.” A smile still played about Lord Caire’s wide mouth as Godric made a comment about the pox to Lord d’Arque. “Temperance and I regretted not attending your wedding, but we understood it to be a small, family affair. St. John and I have known each other for years.”
“Have you?” Megs darted a worried glance at Godric and the viscount. At least they hadn’t come to blows yet. Although if they did, and over her, that would certainly make this ball very interesting.
Oh, she was wicked! “You must think me a terrible flirt.”
“Not at all,” Lord Caire murmured gently. “In fact, this is the most animated I’ve seen St. John in years.” His eyes were a little sad, but then he caught her gaze and his lips quirked. “High choler is good for a man once in a while. I do hope you plan to stay in London.”
Megs bit her lip at that, for she hadn’t planned to stay past getting herself pregnant. The fact was that she loved Laurelwood. Country life suited her, she’d found, and the estate would be a perfect place to raise her child.
Lord Caire apparently read her face, his own becoming expressionless. “I see. A pity, but I am grateful for what time you can spend with my friend.”
“I’d spend more time with him if there wasn’t a ghost between us,” Megs said, trying not to sound defensive. It was Godric who wanted her gone.
“Ah.” Lord Caire nodded. “Clara.”
Megs winced. “I don’t mean to sound jealous. I know they truly had a wonderful love and were happy together.”
“They loved each other deeply,” Lord Caire agreed, looking thoughtful, “but whoever told you they were happy has lied, I’m afraid.”
She blinked, sidling closer to him. “What do you mean?”
“She took ill very soon after they married. Within a year or so, at any rate, and after bringing in every doctor, both here and on the Continent, Godric realized that there was nothing he could do.” Without turning his head, Lord Caire glanced to where Temperance was chatting with Sarah. “I can’t begin to imagine what it would do to a man to watch the woman he loved die slowly and in pain.”
Megs drew in a breath because while Lord Caire might put on a mask of world-weariness, she suddenly knew: He loved his wife deeply and without any reservations. She’d had that once—or at least the beginnings of it. She’d known Roger for only a little over three months, and while the flames of their passion had burned bright and hot, she acknowledged now that they’d only just begun. Love grown rich and golden over the years was what she really wanted.
What she’d never had.
She bit her lip. She hadn’t had that with Roger, and she wasn’t going to have that with Godric. He might be still trading jabs with Lord d’Arque, but that was a matter of pride, not care for her.
