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A childish retort, but also deeply annoying, as she managed to get it off just before they were forced to separate.
Which, naturally, gave her the last word.
He didn’t even bother hiding his scowl as he followed her movements broodingly. A slightly plump matron took one look at his face and tripped over herself, bumping into the next couple.
His scowl deepened.
o;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.
The thought made her frown.
“I’m sorry,” Lord Caire said. “I didn’t mean to cause you pain.”
“No, it’s nothing.” Megs tried to smile and failed. She burst out, “I just wish …”
He waited and when she didn’t—couldn’t—finish the thought, he tilted his head down toward her. “Just because he felt love for Clara doesn’t mean he can’t feel it with you as well. Courage, my lady. Godric is a hard nut to crack, but I assure you, the man inside is worth it. And I feel that if any lady can do it, you are the one.”
Megs watched as Godric glanced up at that moment and met her gaze. His eyes were dark, angry, and sad, and she wished—desperately—that she could believe Lord Caire’s words.
ARTEMIS GREAVES WATCHED anxiously as Lord d’Arque smiled sweetly and said something truly atrocious to Mr. St. John. Lady Margaret’s husband had always struck her as a staid, if very sad, gentleman, but even the most staid man could be provoked into—
“A duel!” Lady Penelope hissed delightedly and much too loudly. “Oh, I do hope this ends in a duel.”
Artemis stared at her cousin in horror. She was very fond of Penelope most of the time—well, sometimes, at any rate—but really, she could be a ninny.
“I thought you liked Viscount d’Arque?” she asked with muted exasperation.
Penelope tossed her head in a gesture she must’ve been practicing in front of her vanity mirror, for it made the jeweled combs in her hair catch the light. There were three of them, and each had tiny ruby and pearl flowers on thin wires that shivered whenever Penelope moved. They probably cost more than Artemis’s entire wardrobe, but they did perfectly complement her cousin’s inky locks.
“I do like Lord d’Arque,” Penelope drawled, “but he isn’t a duke, is he?”
Artemis blinked, unable to follow her cousin’s thought process, which was rather a recurring problem. “What does—”
