Chapter 1 #3
Margaret’s teeth set together. “I’m afraid it may not last quite so long, Mrs. Haworth.
But while I am living here, of course we will both welcome and appreciate your service.
” Taking another long, invigorating sip of tea, she straightened her shoulders.
“To begin with, perhaps you could direct me to the local town.” Food, she apparently no longer required, but information—whether about her new husband or her location itself —would always be of use.
Now that she was nourished, she was ready to gather it.
Mrs. Haworth’s head tilted. “If there’s anything you require, my husband will happily acquire it for you, Your Ladyship. Only let me know, and we’ll see to it.”
Margaret’s eyes narrowed as she gazed upon the housekeeper’s perfectly innocent expression.
“Fresh air would do me a world of good,” she said firmly.
“After all, I’ve been cooped up in a library so long”—she almost gagged on the falsity of that description—“I’m sure I would most enjoy a long, hearty walk in the countryside and a good”—or at least, useful—“chat with my new neighbors.”
Mrs. Haworth let out a regretful t’sk. “I’m afraid it’s been raining all night, Your Ladyship. The mud is something terrible around here. Perhaps you might ask Your Lordship tonight about holding a dinner party soon? I’m sure all the local gentlefolk would be glad of an invitation.”
...And Margaret, in any such situation, would remain safely inside the house.
No wonder Lord Riven had hurried to make all the arrangements for her food and keeping while she slept, rather than waiting to allow her to take on that wifely duty herself.
If he’d thought her a willing party to their marriage, he wouldn’t have seen any harm in leaving such domestic matters to her.
But if he was afraid that she would run away, ignoring all practicalities of funds and survival, only to leave them both homeless and desperate. ..
How much of a fool did he think she was?
Margaret’s teeth ground together in preparation to say something extraordinarily rude about the manor’s beloved lord and master.
Mrs. Haworth spoke first. “Would you care to see the library here, Your Ladyship? His Lordship did ask me to show you the way if you’d any interest in such matters...”
Damnation. A library was the one temptation Margaret could never possibly refuse. From the telling curve of the housekeeper’s lips, both she and Lord Riven knew it.
Margaret’s new husband, though, truly was a fool if he imagined that his family’s library was a safer option when it came to occupying his reluctant new wife.
Smiling with steely determination, Margaret set down her empty first cup of tea and nodded for Mrs. Haworth to take the pot with them. “Show me the way, if you please.”
Information and research were always the keys to success.
She knew exactly what her next step should be.
Lord Riven had at least enough wits to look distinctly wary as he stepped into the dining room that night. Under Margaret’s direction, the two enormous chandeliers had been dusted, and every candle had been lit to illuminate the lavish meal laid out across the long table.
His gaze flicked across that enormous spread of offerings, from ham to chicken to roast potatoes and candied walnuts. For a moment, a wave of red sheened across his eyes, and his lips parted. Then they slammed shut, and he turned his burning gaze upon her.
Margaret smiled back at him with perfect satisfaction from her seat at the foot of the table. “Welcome, husband. I thought you’d be pleased to see all of your old favorites.”
She’d found centuries of household records and accounts along with all the other dusty texts. For a woman accustomed to research, it had been no great challenge to work out the obvious implications.
Holding Lord Riven’s gaze, she reached out and deliberately stabbed a piece of chicken, raising it to her mouth.
He didn’t respond in words...but he swallowed convulsively.
She took her time chewing the chicken before swallowing it with relish. Then she gave a little shiver of delight. “Mmm. Delicious! I only wish you could share it with me.”
“Quite.” He sank into his seat at the head of the table and sprawled across it, regarding her under lowered lashes. “Is that why you summoned me, madam wife? To watch you feast?”
She batted her eyelashes at him. “Sharing a meal is the bare minimum expected of any married couple, is it not? And don’t worry...” She nodded to the single clay mug set at his place, filled with a dark, unappetizing liquid supplied by the local butcher. “Your own sustenance is here as well.”
“How thoughtful.” The words were a snarl.
Margaret poured fragrant gravy over her roast potatoes, watching his hot gaze follow each decadent swirl.
“You’ve taken such care to keep me safe within these walls.
How could I not return the favor? From the state of the house when I arrived, I could tell just what a social nature you must have.
Apparently, you wish us to be each other’s only company—so from now on, we shall simply share every waking hour.
Never a moment apart nor any pause for breath!
That is what you were hoping for, is it not? ”
“Enough, madam. You’ve made your point!” Scowling, Lord Riven snatched up the clay mug and took a long swig.
He grimaced as he swallowed, but he didn’t set the mug down.
Instead, he held it close to his chest as he regarded her broodingly.
“I take it you weren’t satisfied by my arrangements for your comfort. ”
“Would you be satisfied by imprisonment, no matter how comfortable your environs?” She’d meant her words as a challenge, but she was startled by the visible hunching of his broad shoulders in response, as if he were absorbing a physical blow.
His voice, when it finally emerged, was a low and bitter rumble. “Unlike you, I’ve had plenty of practice.”
“Now, whatever can you mean by that?” Margaret frowned and lowered her fork.
The supernatural creatures of the world had never been her area of academic focus.
While her primary academic rival at Morningford College had put most of his attention into those commonplace, salacious details, she had kept her own focus on the remarkable gem itself—but studying the legends of the Rose of Normandy meant some supernatural knowledge was inescapable.
“There’s no element of a physical cage in vampirism.
Despite some of the more gruesome myths, no grave dirt is involved or needed.
So long as you’re not caught out by direct sunlight—”
“I am, in fact, aware of the rules of my own condition,” he said tightly, “but there’s a good deal of my history that you don’t know, despite your sharp wits.”
“Then tell me—or at the very least, grant me the means to find it out!” Abandoning her meal, Margaret sat forward, resting her elbows on the table like the bloody-minded scholar she was, not the ladylike puppet her family had tried so hard to mold her into.
“There’s not a single mention of the Rose of Normandy in your library, so you must keep those records hidden elsewhere.
Don’t tell me you handed them all over to your man of business along with the gem. ”
The silent curl of his upper lip was all the answer that she needed.
She nodded firmly, her thesis confirmed. “Of course, the next question we ought to answer is how your man of business even knew you had the gem—and he must have known in order to agree that transaction with my family. You didn’t mention it to him or any of his predecessors, did you?”
“Believe it or not,” her husband drawled, “I’m not in the habit of spilling my family’s secrets over wine like a drunken fool.”
“No, really? And yet you seem so talkative and prone to idle chatter.” Margaret rolled her eyes. “Well, we’ll simply have to solve that mystery before we get it back.”
“‘Get it back?’” Lord Riven repeated, his voice rising.
“Madam, are you perchance hard of hearing? I am quite certain I already told you that the gem was handed irrevocably to your family in exchange for our marriage. The contractual terms are clear. Even should we dissolve our own connection, thus giving up my home and land and—”
“Yes, yes, yes, I understand. They won’t be legally required to give it back even in that case.
..if they do have it themselves, which I doubt.
” Margaret tapped one finger on the table, her brows lowering with concentration.
“I cannot imagine my aunt and uncle, of all people, having any interest in a supernatural relic—but we’ll sort that mystery out along the way. ”
“We...will?” Her husband’s tawny eyebrows rose.
“Well, naturally,” said Margaret impatiently. “Firstly, there is no chance in the world that I would ever come so close to the actual Rose of Normandy without even seeing it for myself—and secondly, without regaining the Rose, how am I meant to reverse your curse?”
Lord Riven stilled, his massive figure suddenly a frozen sculpture. Only his light brown eyes flared with uncontrollable emotion.
Attentive research always led to success—and Margaret had made careful note of the way he’d spoken of his own condition in their battle last night.
“Come now,” she said, “you were listening, weren’t you, when I told you how many years I’ve spent studying the tales and legends of that gem?
Your family may not have understood how to reverse the transformation once it was cast, but I promise you, I do—and I’m more than willing to help you solve that little problem in exchange for my own freedom. ”