"No," said Octavia. "What you hoped for was that I would be soft and intimidated by you. Regrettably for you, I am not that woman. If Lucy wanted you, I would have tolerated you. Now I have no reason whatsoever to welcome you in my home."

  Atreus opened his mouth, then snapped his jaw shut. "We both know where matters stand. Good day to you."

  "My man will show you out." Octavia rang a small bell on the desk, and McAllistair, as aloof as the heights of Mount Olympus, escorted Atreus out of the room.

  "Do your worst," said Octavia to the closed door. "There is nothing you can do to me or my family."

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Gretna Green, April, 1842

  The English believed Scotland was beyond civilization. Since the English also believed this of Venice, Carlo was inclined to like the Scots. He and Lucy had ridden solidly for two days in jostling carriages, and they were married in a blacksmith's shop over a symbolic anvil of union at the junction of five roads, the Headlesscross, where young couples in a hurry could marry as soon as they were able. The newly minted Signor and Signora Borgia wandered across the yard to the coaching inn, hoping for a room where they could find some much needed rest.

  This coaching inn was not like The George. There were several ladies in residence, which made sense, given the history of Gretna Green and how people raced off here for inappropriate and unsuitable marriages. Lucy stood by patiently while Carlo negotiated for a room. He noted people staring at her, not sure if they were seeing a woman or a girl. Eventually, they were shown upstairs to a small but tidy space with one bed, a mattress stuffed with clean straw, a table and two chairs, a slightly upscale version of Carlo's room in Berlin. They would be comfortable enough.

  Carlo locked the door. "Our first married night together. Here. You cannot say I do not have the soul of a poet."

  Lucy sat down on the bed. "I'm sorry. Not exactly how I dreamed this would be."

  "Fantasies are always grander," Carlo said, gratified she had thought of marrying him. "The best fantasy is the one that actually happens." He sat by her, took her hand. "You haven't slept this entire trip."

  "I do not need to sleep. Emotions have found me again, but sleep…" She leaned her head on his shoulder. "I'd ask you if you wanted to have a proper wedding night…morning…" Lucy shrugged, "but I know you are exhausted."

  "Not exhausted enough, Tesoro."

  Lucy kissed him, lips soft like the petals of a lily. "Tesoro?"

  "Treasure. You are my treasure, Lucy."

  They kissed again. Lucy sat back and removed pins from her hair. It fell, straight and black to her shoulders. Carlo ran his fingers through it, smelling it. He sighed. He wasn't too tired at all.

  Lucy swept her hair over one shoulder and stood. "I will need your help with these buttons."

  Carlo sat on the bed and removed the loops from the tiny buttons, nuzzling the nape of her neck as soon as it was bare.

  "You are tickling me." Her voice was low, timid.

  "My mustache?"

  "No. I'm not sure if tickle is the best way to describe what it does." He helped her pull the dress over her shoulders and draped it over the back of one chair. Her arms were small, soft, and pink. A swell of breast showed slightly above her corset. She was the most beautiful sight Carlo could imagine. He swallowed and removed his jacket. "Corsets look uncomfortable."

  "I am more practical than fashionable. I don't lace mine too tightly. Again, I will need your help."

  He was all thumbs, but he helped her with hooks and the strings on her shoes, on her corset, with her stockings, until finally she was before him in her chemise. Then he felt the flare of his demon nature, and he stopped short.

  "What is it?" She appraised him. "Did I do something?"

  Lovers could see emotions shift on each other's faces. Carlo delighted at that thought. "No. I should have thought of this, but I didn't. What if I…if the part of me that's something else…during…I worry…"

  "Oh." Lucy nodded. "I understand." She stepped toward him, and his body energized. "Why would I care about that? I can change my body at will. If you're willing, I most certainly am. I am your wife. I accept every part of you." She smoothed his hair.

  Carlo's mouth was dry. The corner shadows whispered to him. "Do you hear that?"

  "Not anymore," Lucy said. "What are they saying?"

  "I can't make it out."

  "Carlo," she said as she traced the outline of his cheek. She loosened his tie, leaving his shirt open at the neck, and traced his collarbone with a small finger. Heat rushed to his cheeks, and he felt himself changing.

  "I'm not certain…"

  She climbed into his lap and nibbled his ear. "Do you want me to stop?"

  "It tickles," Carlo said, smiling. He took a handful of her hair and let it flow over his palms. One of his hands glowed, and she nibbled it at the wrist.

  "You are beautiful," she said. "I love you."

  Carlo had dreamed about Lucy this way. Pleasure flashed through him and he pulled her close. He shifted into his other form, and he lowered her to the bed. His hand reached under her shift, and felt breasts, skin, nothing but Lucy. His hands shook. He pulled away. This was another problem with fantasy versus reality. There were no nerves in fantasy. "I…Lucy, I…"

  Lucy kissed him again. "Don't be afraid of me."

  So, that's what she thought? "No," said Carlo. "I am afraid of me."

  Lucy laughed. To Carlo, the sound was the water bubbling in a beautiful fountain in Venice on a sunny day. "We both worry too much. I am not afraid of you, Carlo." She snuggled her body close to his. "I have thought of being with you often, even if that isn't what young women are supposed to do."

  Carlo leaned on an elbow and looked at her body, the swell of it under the white cotton of her shift. "There is a lot of evidence that young woman are no different than young men in that regard."

  "So, we are married."

  "We are."

  "And we have both dreamed about this?"

  "Yes." Carlo smoothed a stray hair away from her forehead.

  "Then why are we hesitating?"

  Carlo lowered his head to hers on the pillow. "When you say it like that, it makes no sense at all." Carlo stopped thinking, and when they were both ready, he slipped inside of her. Lucy gasped and laughed, and Carlo lost himself.

  They spent the day together in bed. Carlo woke and found the space next to him empty. Lucy stood by the window, silhouetted by the afternoon sun, a sheet draped over her front, curved over her back, her long hair dangling. Carlo stiffened. No, they had to get something to eat.

  Lucy turned to him, smiling shyly. She held out a letter. "I’m writing to Octavia," she said by way of explanation.

  "We did leave her in a lurch," said Carlo, stretching. "I feel bad about that. Put it in the corner. I expect she'd get it faster that way."

  "We should go home. First thing tomorrow morning." Lucy glanced at him. "Are you…do you want…?"

  Carlo laughed. "Even you need to eat, even if you don't have the same limits I do."

  She glanced coyly over one shoulder. "For you, Tesoro, I could live the rest of my life, surviving only by looking at you."

  Pragmatic as he tried to be, Carlo had only one response to honeyed words such as those.

  Hathersage, December, 1838

  Drusus rested his hands on Octavia's shoulders as she brushed out her hair in front of her night table, preparing for bed. "What did the council mean when they said you had to control and contain members of your family?"

  "They are concerned about rogue elements causing danger."

  "They are concerned about Khun and Ra."

  Octavia swooped her hair over one shoulder and fought with ringlets. "Any of the Egyptians. Thoth, Horus, all of them. They expect the Klaereon behavior to continue to be one of mastery over supernatural forces."

  "Did they say anything in particular about Lucy? About me?"

  "Why would they? They don't know about you. They know Lucy has imprisoned Ra. All appears as it should."

  Drusus stepped away as Octavia stood up. "You know Lucy's situation is tenuous at best."

  "Lucy says she is not influenced by Ra. I believe her."

  Behind them, the fire crackled warm in the white fireplace, making the mantle glow. Outside, rain pattered against glass panes. "The implication was we are responsible for the Egyptians." She stood, glanced, found her robe draped across a chair. Drusus was faster than she was, and held it for her. "You and Lucy are holding your own." She slipped it on.

  "I'm not sure if we can say that," he said. "You have managed to overcome your distaste with me. I am not certain I can of myself."

  This could not continue. Octavia had to try. "It is natural you would be concerned, have misgivings. I did too, but I am…"

  "What are you?"

  "I'd like to…if you would. That is, I'd like you to stay with me tonight."

  "I don't think we're ready for that." Drusus kissed her on the cheek. "Good night."

  Octavia grabbed his sleeve as he retreated. "We are never going to conquer this if we don't try."

  Drusus stopped. "I appreciate your efforts, but you do not have to pretend on my account."

  "I love you. I know you are not so certain about me, after everything, and you've promised me nothing."

  He kept his distance. "I am very certain about you. You are the mother of my child, and the person you are now, I find her admirable."

  "Honestly?" Octavia remembered their nights in Venice, how tender and gentle he was, and how wonderful it was to be together in the warm evening. Her mind moved back and forth like a restless bird, full of regret one moment, full of hope the next. "You don't hate me because of Khun?"

  "Honestly. After the events of the day, you must be tired."

  "We need to talk about this."

  "I would rather we did not."

  "I'm not afraid of you," she blurted out, "of what you are now."

  Drusus' eyes narrowed. "Then you haven't got sense. If Khun should surface in the middle of…things."

  "He won't," said Octavia. "You and he are the same—"

  "We are not the same. What he did to you was reprehensible."

  "No. I wanted him, and I encouraged him. It's as much my fault as it was his."

  Drusus' eyes dropped. "You want to be reunited with your old lover, is that it?"

  Pinpricks of anger made Octavia's skin heat. "You know I don't want that."

  Drusus ran his hands through his hair, tousling it. "Do I? You keep pressing for us to be together. What else could you want?"

  "I want you to be my husband. I want to have more children. I want us to be happy, like we were in Venice."

  "That is impossible." Drusus brushed her hand off his arm.

  "You do hate me." Octavia glared at him. "You're a fool. You still believe I prefer Khun, after all we have been through?"

  "The thought has crossed my mind."

  "You don't understand me at all."

  Drusus grabbed her shoulders. His nearness was magnetic. "You don't understand," he said, breathing deeply, his voice low. "I'm trying to protect you. I am not the same man. The things I want…" Drusus' kiss devoured her. Octavia's eyes widened. He pulled her to him, crushed her body against his, and she was drowning in him. "This is what you want?" Drusus growled in her ear. "Do you want me to force myself on you, with no regard for how you feel? Like he would have done?" Drusus pushed her away. "Is that what you want?"

  Octavia's heart was staccato and she could barely breathe, barely swallow. "It wouldn't be like that."

  Drusus panted, his chest rising and falling. "Yes," he said, his voice husky, "it would." He slammed the door on his way out.

  Drusus edged his way into The George. The outside cold and wet gave way to bodies crowded around tables, lining the bar. A fire crackled across the room. A few of the workingmen looked at him askance. It wasn't usual for a gentleman to come to The George; it was less usual for a gentleman of one of the families to come in. Still, he needed to clear his head somewhere other than Mistraldol.

  Drusus stamped his feet to warm them, working his way toward the bar.

  Broad Martin Hamwich did not bat an eye. "How can I serve your lordship?"

  "Anything to drink will be fine."

  "As you say. Is your lordship fond of beer?"

  Drusus nodded and Martin pulled him a pint. Drusus stacked coins on the bar and turned to watch the room. He was killing the mood for many of the men. Others were so far into their cups they didn't notice him at all. Drusus drank deeply. Not half bad. His hands shook.

  Marriage wasn't a sport for the weak. Octavia clearly did love him, because she hadn't left him yet. He finished the glass. "Mr. Hamwich, have you anything stronger?"

  "Yes, your lordship."

  "Now, Mr. Hamwich, none of that. Just think of me as one of the lads. Let me ask again: have you anything stronger?"

  Hamwich shifted his wig. "I do, Mr. Claudian." Martin walked to another keg and pulled an amber drink. It smelled of fresh fruit and strong alcohol. Drusus tossed half of the glass back.

  "I can't drive her away," he said to no one, "but I can protect her from him."

  Martin studiously gathered other mugs off the bar and wiped them. One of his sons walked by with a tray full and stopped to add them.

  "You'll be wanting another one?" said Martin.

  "Yes." He finished the drink. "Lucy should have left me dead. Damn her." He picked up the next glass. Whatever this was, it killed the ache inside him.

  The man standing next to Drusus clapped him on the shoulder. His nose was lined with red veins, his breath smelled heavily of hops. "Here now, your lordship, what's got you soaking your sorrows?"

  "The same as men everywhere. A woman."

  The man laughed. "Mr. Titus says the same thing. I say the same thing. They are the cause of original sin and all our sufferings."

  "Amen," said the burly man next to him. "Sam's wife, she's likely to beat him if he comes home late again. That's some suffering." The two men laughed and clinked tankards.

  Drusus did not laugh. "Mr. Titus? Do you mean the youngest Mr. Galt?"

  "He's got his lady problems sure enough." Sam sipped his drink. "We all do."

  Drusus drained his glass. Martin had moved down the bar. Pity. His head felt woolly, but he was warm and comfortable. "What I don't understand is why she wants him."

  "Women are harsh, that's a fact," said the burly man. "My Nell, she doesn't trust me. I mean, a man wants to stop off after a hard day and she says I spend all the money."

  Drusus waved his empty glass. One of the Hamwich sons took it.

  "Another, please," Drusus said.

  The boy filled it up and placed it in front of him. Drusus rooted in his pocket for some more coins. The bar blurred, but he managed to toss the coins onto the bar.

  "You might want to slow up, Mr. Claudian. Your good lady will not be happy with you if you stumble in."

  "I can't get drunk," said Drusus, his speech slurred. "Gods can't get drunk."

  Sam and the burly man laughed again.

  "She wants Khun," said Drusus to the red-nosed man.

  "Whatever that means, it doesn't matter," said the burly man. "She gets out of line, you just give her a clout."

  "It matters," said Drusus. "The way she is, it's all her father's fault." He started laughing. "She should kill me, just like she killed him. Rip my heart right out."

  "Did you mean what you said about her killing her dad?" asked the burly man.

  "She killed him. She hated him. She hates me." Drusus shook.

  "Now, Mr. Claudian, that's all been settled," said Hamwich. "You know that."

  "Believe what you want." What had he been saying? Drusus stared at the glass he was holding. Why was he here?

  The two men studied their drinks. Several men stared at him. Drusus wasn't certain why.

  Martin Hamwich spoke and Drusus heard him down a long tunnel. "George will take you home, Mr. Claudian."

  "You're right, Mr. Hamwich," said Drusus. He gripped the bar to steady himself. "I want a ride home."

  The light annoyed Drusus. His head was splitting, and the bitter smell of vomit made him retch again. Someone collected it in a bowl, and he squinted at his footman. He rolled onto his back and covered his eyes with his arm.

  "You may go, Robert," said Octavia from off to the side. There was some more conversation and then a door closed, the whole process sounding like the grinding of stone being pushed against the entrance of a cave. He opened one eye, closed it, and covered his eyes again. What had happened to reduce him to this state? Oh yes. Despondent, Drusus had walked to the pub, drank strong cider and now was re-discovering the dangers of drinking when one was not used to it. Stupid, foolish. Now would come the dressing down from his wife that he so richly deserved.

  "Octavia," Drusus said. "Do you mind very much?"

  "Mind?"

  "Moving, breathing, that sort of thing? Could you stop it?"

  He heard her skirts rustle. He opened his eyes and she was standing right over him. "I mind very much. George Hamwich brought you home in the back of a wagon. I am sure you've done a great deal to help our reputation."

  He had some choice words for her, but he checked them in mid-temper, and he was in too much pain to argue again. "The only advantage is you are a Klaereon and I can do little to ruin your reputation."

  Octavia set her mouth in a grim line. "Have you not noticed how very hard I have been working to right our reputation? For our son? And you do something as foolish as this."

  "If it is any comfort to you, I will be suffering for a great deal of time to come."

  "I derive no pleasure from this. If you think I do—"

  "Octavia, please."

  "I am so angry at you."

  Drusus propped himself up and his stomach protested. He lay back down. "Forgive me. Sitting is not the best choice. Can you please leave?"

  Octavia sat on the edge of his bed. "No. I will not leave things as they were, as they are. If I don't say this now, I might not say it at all, and I strongly believe leaving these things unsaid will be the death of our marriage. Will you hear me?"

 

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