“Somethinglike that,” she mumbled, “but with less damage done...to everythingbutthe invitation itself.”
“I see.” He hooked one strong, bare arm behind his head and leaned back against his pillow, looking thoughtful but reassuringly un-disappointed by the news. “Who was it from?”
“Some baroness or other.” Shrugging, Margaret returned to her meal. “I didn’t recognize her title.”
“Ah, well.” He left it at that, but when she glanced in his direction a moment later, she found his brows furrowed in a frown.
“Are you unhappy to have missed tonight’s soiree after all?” She set down her open sandwich, grimacing. “Iamsorry. Perhaps?—”
“No, no. That isn’t it.” He gave her closest arm a reassuring stroke. “I was only wondering how exactly this mysterious baroness could have come across our address in the first place. I gave Atkins explicit instructionsnotto pass on the details of our stay to anyone else when he arranged it—and both of our staff members here have promised not to give out our names or titles during any visits they may make to local taverns or shops, for the sake of our privacy.”
“I don’t believe either of them would break our trust,” said Margaret. “Our host doesn’t seem the type to go out in the world and spread gossip about his guests, either.”
“True enough—but on that note, I forgot to tellyousomething,as well.” As Lord Riven shifted into an upright seated position, the covers fell to his waist todisplay a pleasing amount of his wide, gold-dusted chest. Margaret gazed upon it with proprietary pleasure...until his next words acted like a splash of cold water.
“There is averysmall and manageable social event taking place tonight in this very inn—in fact, in less than an hour, now—and we’ve both been honored with an invitation.”
“Oh, no, really?” Margaret tipped her head back against her headboard with a groan. “But surely they don’t really wish for my presence. I could simply?—”
“Think of it as your penance for destroying our other invitation,” said her husband drolly. “And, far more importantly, for insulting me with the implication that I wouldeverbe anything but proud to stand by your side in any circumstances.”
“Oh, very well.” She sighed heavily. “If this truly matters to you...”
“Thank you, my dear.” He leaned over for one final kiss before rising from the bed and beginning to regather his scattered attire. “As we are planning to stay at least a month, I would prefer the other residents of our inn to meet you for themselves rather than relying on any distorted stories. However, I promise...” His voice was muffled behind the cotton shirt he was pulling over his head. “Once you endure this evening’s torment, I won’t ask you to speak to another soul for at least a week.”
“If only!” Margaret couldn’t hold back a sigh of yearning.
Still, she was fully clothed in plenty of time, with her husband’s assistance for the excessive number of tiny buttons and hooks that lined the backs of all her new, fashionably bustled Parisian evening gowns. When she glanced into the mirror, her usual plain chignon—which she’d perfected over years of living alone in her scholarly quarters—looked satisfyingly neat. Even the reflected image of the room, looking horribly empty behind her, couldn’t throw her off kilter after the evening’s revelations.
Tonight, she didn’t need any mirror to reassure her that her husband was still safely by her side. She was in no danger of losing him after all. So she lifted one lip in a sneer at her own irrational fears as she turned away from the dusty glass...
And a sudden piercing flash of light speared the corner of her vision, making her jerk to a halt with a gasp, clapping one hand to her eye.
“My dear?” Lord Riven was already waiting at the door, but he frowned and started forward as her vision cleared. “Are you unwell?”
Still blinking as she lowered her hand, Margaret turned slowly back to the mirror. Pitch darkness pressed at the room’s un-shuttered windows; in the soft glow of the gas lamp, that dusty oval of glass above the vanity looked as ordinary as ever, with no hint as to what could have caused that momentary, blinding effect.
Had she imagined it? No, she couldn’t have; her eye was still smarting. Had something about theangle of her vision caused the reflected light from the gas lamp to simply strike her in the wrong way?
If she’d ever turned her studies to the science of light, she might know...but as it was, the rest of the inn’s residents were waiting, and the last thing she needed now was to offend them even further by being late.
“I am perfectly well,” she assured her husband, and she managed a smile as she took his outstretched arm, the discomfort already fading. “Truly, it was nothing worth worrying about.”
She would never be so heartless as to ask him to look into a mirror for her sake. He might be larger and stronger, but that would never stop her from protecting him from harm.
Luckily, there were no other mirrors to be found on their dark path along the hallway, down the stairs, and through the unlit, interconnected rooms of the ground floor. The first two sitting rooms were empty, as was the shabby library, but the eerie sound of an unusually deep and resonant flute, playing a yearning tune in a minor key, trailed through the air like a summons to tug them forward towards the second large dining room.
Light at long last flickered from the crack beneath that closed door. Instinctively, Margaret’s hand tightened around her husband’s arm as they approached it.
Coming to a halt, he dropped a kiss on her hair. “We can leave after the firsthour,” he whispered too softly for even the keenest of supernatural senses to overhear from the next room.
Only an hour. Taking a deep breath, Margaret lifted her chin and pushed the door open.
The flute cut off with a squeak, and in the sudden silence that followed, Margaret found seven pairs of eyes all fixed on her with varying degrees of wariness, fear, and horror.
It wasn’t the first time she had found herself the center of such hostile attention. Years of being the only female student in most of her courses had taught her how to keep her expression unwaveringly fierce and full of disdain, no matter which insults might be whispered—or called out without shame, to gusts of laughter and table-rapping approval from her classmates—whenever she entered a classroom.
However, it had been years since she’d entered a room full of strangers with the hope of somehow, miraculously making herselfliked...so she had no idea how to arrange her features now as she stood, frozen under their silent regard, the fire- and candle-lit room blurring around her.
