Her gaze lingered, against her will, on those well-shaped lips, but her spoken response was pragmatic. “If youdidwish to travel more, you ought to do it soon. There’s too much political tension simmering on the continent to put off adventure for much longer.”
“Ha! No, I gave up on that particular dream long ago.” He shook his head, as if for added reinforcement. “Keeping the Rose safe from any more thefts from now on will be adventure enough.”
“Hmm,” said Margaret, studying his expression.
She wasn’ttrulyhis wife, regardless of temporary legalities, so she kept her own thoughts on the matter to herself.
Still, she found herself sharing a surprising number of her thoughts on other, more vulnerable matters as the hours and nights passed in the quiet rocking of the carriage and the darkness outside drew them closer and closer into a startlingly pleasurable sense of intimacy. Ever since she had first been trapped in the cage of her uncle’s house as a child, Margaret had learned through necessity to divide everyone she met into either a challenge to surmount along her way or a rival to defeat. The notion of a companion who could be a partner to betrusted—even if only for the limited time of this shared quest—was so outlandish, so viscerally terrifying, and so dangerously exhilarating that she could scarcely bear to allow her thoughts to brush against it...much less admit to any of the even more dangerous and previously unheard-of yearnings that had begun to simmer far below at a safely unexamined level.
So, it was both a relief and, irrationally, a disappointment to finally arrive at the quiet, willow-lined campus of Morningford College on their fourth night of travel. As their carriage rolled past the first of the familiar, ivy-draped stone buildings, Margaret instinctively relaxed in her seat, comforted by familiarity, but Lord Riven tensed with anticipation.
He sat forward in his seat, frowning out the window at the darkened buildings. “Will the library be open at this hour?”
“Oh, Morningford won’t use the library for his gloating.” Margaret grimaced at the mere thought of her rival. “Beforehelets anyone else catch a glimpse the Rose, he’ll have to prove himself the master of it. He’d never admit any uncertainty in such a public place. He’ll be studying it for days in the privacy of his own quarters before he astonishes the world with the announcement of his miraculous ‘discovery.’”
“You mean, his theft?”
Her nostrils flared with distaste. “Trust me, he couldn’t care less for the morality involved. The man is obsessed with winning.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong, my dear, but...” Her husband cocked one tawny eyebrow. “I’m fairly certain you enjoy winning too. You’re certainly one of the most determined people I’ve met in centuries.”
“It is not atallthe same!” Margaret gaped at him. “Yes, of course I love winning, but Iworkfor it.I have never once resorted to dirty tricks to get ahead!” From the first day of her long-postponed arrival at university, she’d had to fight every single hour to prove herself the best, so thatno oneelse could ever again have an excuse to deny her entrance. “And unlikehim, I haven’t had any family support or connections along the way. He started ten steps ahead of everyone else and still thinks himself hard-done-by!”
“Naturally. That kind of villain always loves playing the victim.” Lord Riven shrugged, his easy acceptance slightly dampening her outrage. “So, where shall we find this worm, then? In one of the halls of residence? Or?—”
“Where else?” Margaret sighed. “The original Morningford Cottage, his by right, as decreed by his founding ancestors. Their descendants are theonlystudents not required to stay in the halls of residence.”
She herself had never so much as stepped inside Morningford Cottage for any of the raucous parties that had become famous—or infamous—as regular campus bacchanalias full of both rowdy drunkenness and invaluable professional connections. No doubt, if she ever had attended any of those events, she would have met her husband’s own former man-of-business there, Shaw’s proud college education leading to his acquaintanceship with Morningford in the first place. However, even if Margaret had had any time to spare from her all-important studies, its current occupant had pointedly excluded her from the invitations he issued to every one of their male colleagues and older college alumni.
Even so, she knew the elegant, round-roofed stone building all too well. She’d had to walk past it every day for years, and she’d seethed over the perfection of it every time. The elegant, twice-pillared, and round-roofed stone house sat conveniently located between the college library and the tall classroom building where most professors kept their offices...and, unlike either of those two edifices now, its windows glowed brightly through the darkness as she and Lord Riven alighted from his traveling carriage. As directed by Margaret, they’d drawn up behind a tall hedge, safely out of sight.
It was impossible for her not to feel the contrast.
After all the years she’d spent gritting her teeth, enduring his taunts, and refusing to give in to his loud-mouthed bullying, Gerald Morningford now sat, smug in victory, with the Rose of Normandy in his hands at the very heart of the ancient college and traditions that he’d always taken as his due. As ever, all the moneyhe’dinherited was freely at his disposal for all sorts of criminal bribery and mischief. Meanwhile, where was Margaret? Robbed of even the limited access she’d once had to her own funds and patheticallylurking—there was no other phrase for it—behind a shadowy hedge like a thief in the night, with no right to be here atall.
A branch of the hedge snapped off in her clenched hand and made her startle. She dropped it swiftly to the grass as mud squished even higher up the tall and solid heels of her traveling boots.
“Careful.” Lord Riven set one big hand lightly against her back.
A week ago, that movement would have made her startle once again; now, she drew strength from its steadying reminder and the pleasantly prickling sensation of his closeness, which shortened her breath in a terribly addictive way.
She was not alone or lost here, after all. For the first time in her life, she had a true partner by her side, and once they reclaimed what had been stolen from them, she would be able to resume her rightful place here with her head held high.
Some odd discomfort niggled at the back of her mind at that reassurance, but this was no time to give in to doubts. Chin up, she strode across the damp grass to Morningford Cottage, ignoring the longer official pathway, and took confident hold of the front doorhandle.
Naturally, it refused to turn. Growling, Margaret turned to her much larger husband. “Are you strong enough to break this door down?”
He shrugged. “Perhaps, but I wouldn’t be able to enter the house afterwards. If you recall, I am held under a code.”
“Ugh.”Of course. As per the Bosworth Accords, vampires were not allowed to enter any mortal residence without an invitation. “Icould invite you once I was inside,” Margaret pointed out.
Lord Riven looked pained. “Thatmightsuffice—with an extraordinarily lenient judge—but have you considered trying a tediously obvious strategy first?” As she gazed back at him in confusion, his lips quirked. “Here.” Stepping up to her side, he rapped on the door, producing two loud, authoritative knocks.
Footsteps sounded from within a moment later, and Lord Riven smiled down at her with disconcerting tenderness. “You see? I do havesomeuses after all.”
Before she had the chance to recover from that smile—much less summon the retort that he deserved—the door of the cottage was yanked wide open.
Gerald Morningford stood revealed in the doorway, glaring out at her with bloodshot eyes. His brown hair looked shockingly greasy and disheveled in the low light of the entryway, his face was covered by unexpected stubble, and the combined stinks of alcohol and sweat rose from his rumpled clothing to make her nose wrinkle. “You!” he spat. “I should have known. Have you come to lord it over me?”
