The Lost Soul of Lord Badewyn (Order of the M.U.S.E. Book 3)

by Mia Marlowe

  Samuel nodded. “Her name was Atara. Grigori says he didn’t think twice about giving up heaven for her. She was his wife and his only love.”

  “That’s so sad.” Meg’s chest constricted with sympathy for the fallen angel. “And more than a little romantic.”

  “Don’t be fooled by his self-serving version of the events. Grigori never does anything solely for someone else. He thought he’d picked the winning side in the War in Heaven, that’s all. Finding a woman on earth whom he wanted to wed was just an extra strawberry in his new situation. Turns out, he was wrong about the War,” Samuel said. “And Atara paid the price.”

  “How so?”

  “When a daughter of men joins with a son of God, they may create a child together, but the woman never survives the birth.”

  That squared with what Cadwallader had told Meg about all the Lady Badewyn’s dying in childbed.

  “After he lost Atara, Grigori wandered for millennia. Then he came to Wales. As a fallen angel, he’s a formidable warrior. It was easy for him to carve out the Badewyn fiefdom for himself, but since he’s immortal, he couldn’t hold it indefinitely without drawing unwanted attention. So he hit upon a plan to perpetuate the barony’s lineage without having to marry again.”

  “Why didn’t he wish to remarry?” Meg asked.

  “He claims he lost his heart to Atara and had nothing to offer another wife, but I doubt the blighter ever had a heart to begin with.”

  “He did raise you, didn’t he?” Meg pointed out. “He must care about you. That means he has a heart.”

  Samuel’s jaw was set like granite, but Meg read pain in his eyes. “Grigori only cares about holding Faencaern ‘in the family.’ My existence helps him do that. It’s the only reason I’m still breathing. Why are you defending him?”

  “I’m not. I’m just trying to understand.” This time Meg’s heart ached for Samuel. Uncle Rowney had been no picnic, but she wouldn’t trade her past for Samuel’s if someone tied it up with a bow. Obviously Grigori Templeton wasn’t the charming fellow he pretended to be. “How does it all work, this plan of your unc—I mean, your father’s?”

  “To understand you need a bit more of his history. After he claimed Badewyn for himself, he ventured into the Scottish Highlands, stole a chieftain’s daughter, and got her with child. After she died bringing a son into the world, Grigori hired a wet nurse, threatened her into silence, and returned to Faencaern Castle with them, claiming he’d been widowed. Once his son came of age, the young man married. But”—his tone turned bitter—“a Naphil cannot father a child.”

  Meg felt as if someone had punched her in the gut. Was he unable to—no, it didn’t bear thinking of. The idea that someone as wonderfully made as Samuel couldn’t…well, just couldn’t…

  “Wipe that sorry expression from your face. You’ve no reason to pity me. Nephilim are fully capable of the act of love.” He stood and pretended to warm his hands by the fire, but Meg sensed he was only trying to avoid meeting her gaze. “But we are unnatural beings. Like mules, we were never intended to exist. And like them, we are sterile.” Resentment etched in every line of him, he swung around to face her. “Are you going to take all night back there?”

  She quickly stripped out of her pantalets and stockings, draping her wet things over the top of the screen. When she glanced back at Samuel, his gaze was fixed on her but he no longer seemed sullen and angry. He was just as intense, but now the way he looked at her seemed hungry. Possessive.

  “Now you see why I’m determined never to marry,” he said softly. Somehow he managed to sound more seductive the softer he spoke. His voice touched a deep place inside her. Alarm bells jangled over her skin, but she had to fight the urge to come around the screen and give herself to him. Even if he couldn’t marry her, was there a chance he might love her?

  Stow that, Meg. He’s never said a word about love and even if he had, what you’re thinking is decidedly unladylike.

  In a rush, she wiggled into her dry pantalets and chemise. Now that she was partially covered she expected to feel more in control of herself, but he still gazed at her as if he could see through the screen. Perhaps if she kept him talking, he’d stop looking at her as if she were the last biscuit on the plate.

  “If you’re concerned about not being able to father a child, you shouldn’t be,” she said, bending to roll up a stocking, which had the benefit of allowing her to avoid his gaze. “If a lady loves you, she won’t care about that.”

  I wouldn’t care about that. Meg was grateful that Samuel couldn’t hear her thoughts. She’d come perilously close to thinking she loved him. If he were to snatch the last biscuit and gobble it up, would that be so bad?

  Yes. In the eyes of the ton, it’s the Queen Mum of bad.

  “Not being able to sire children is not the problem,” Samuel said. “Not all women are fixated on motherhood. I understand that. The problem is that once I wed, my wife won’t have the option of remaining childless. When Grigori thinks my bride and I have enjoyed enough wedded bliss and a child needs to be added to the mix, he’ll step in to do the honors by visiting his daughter-in-law by night.”

  Meg’s eyes widened. “But surely your wife would object.”

  “She might not. Grigori can be very persuasive when he sets himself to charm, but in truth, she likely wouldn’t know the difference. All his sons favor him strongly. He stamps us with his likeness. But in case that wasn’t enough, he can assume any shape he wishes. Should I ever marry, it wouldn’t be hard for him to alter himself to pose as me.”

  “That’s horrible.”

  “It is. I won’t have it,” Samuel growled. “I’ll be damned before I share a woman with him.”

  “But he would only try to take your wife?”

  He nodded. “Grigori needs a legitimate heir to inherit and perpetuate the cycle. The child must seem to be mine, born within the bond of wedlock and fit to be the next puppet Lord Badewyn.” Samuel ground a fist into his other palm. “That’s why you are in danger. He wants me to marry you.”

  Her chest constricted over the pain on his features.

  He’d only be in that much anguish if…if he actually did want to marry me.

  The realization crackled over Meg’s skin like heat lightning. The zinging heat went straight to her core. She and Samuel were very different, common and wellborn, human and Naphil. Maybe that was why something inside them clicked like magnets. She couldn’t deny the force that pulled her toward him. Samuel must feel it, too.

  Almost without her conscious volition, one stocking on, one off, Meg’s feet took her around the screen. She stopped between his spread knees. Since he was still seated in the rocker, they were nearly the same height. She placed her hands on his shoulders and leaned toward him. Parading before him while she was so scantily clad wasn’t a very ladylike thing to do, but she decided it was a womanly thing to do. She was meant for him. She felt it, blood, bones, and womb. If she could take upon her body even the tenth part of his cares, she’d be content.

  “What do you want, Samuel?”

  There be three things which are too wonderful for me, yea, four which I know not:

  The way of an eagle in the air; the way of a serpent upon a rock; the way of a ship in the midst of the sea; and the way of a man with a maid.

  ~ Proverbs 30:18-19, King James Bible

  Chapter Twelve

  His lips formed the word, but he wouldn’t let himself voice it. Still, his unspoken You seemed to reverberate in the air around them. The fire had banished the chill from the room, but her nipples stood out in hard points beneath the fabric of her chemise. The linen was so sheer; he could see the dark shadow of her areolas. Samuel ground his teeth together.

  He wanted her, God help him. He’d never wanted anything so much in his whole life.

  “If you want me, take me,” Meg whispered. She leaned forward to rest her forehead against his.

  Samuel would bet any amount of money she had no idea he could see down
the front of her chemise, through the sweet hollow between her breasts clear to the soft indentation of her navel.

  It wouldn’t be fair, his light side argued. You can’t marry her.

  She wants you to do it, his dark side reminded him.

  He reached up and drew a slow circle around one of her nipples. It tightened even more at his touch and she drew in a shuddering breath.

  “I’ve never had a woman,” he admitted.

  Grigori had taken him to a brothel when he was fourteen, to try and “make a man” of him. To spite his father, Samuel had resisted. He’d spent the hour talking to a girl not much older than he. She only wanted to find a way to go home to her family, but was afraid they’d reject her if they learned the desperate path she’d taken to keep body and soul together.

  I just knows they’d see it on me, the girl had explained. A body can’t live like I’ve been living without it leavin’ a mark.

  During the Season he’d spent in London, Samuel wouldn’t allow himself to meddle with any of the debutantes who’d flung themselves at him. It would only lead to a forced marriage and that would be as good as signing the young lady’s death warrant.

  His father’s plans kept him from women.

  Call it having a soul. Call it yearning to have one, for Samuel wasn’t sure he did. But there was something within him that longed for a shining moment of honesty. His whole existence was one lie after another. He ached for one true thing.

  He met Meg’s clear-eyed gaze. Maybe she was his one true thing.

  “I guess if you’ve never been with a woman that would make us even,” she said softly, “because I’ve never been with a man.”

  Even if they came together, she still wouldn’t be. Samuel wasn’t a man. He was a deviation, a misbegotten creature. He’d tried to convince her of this. But when she looked at him with her heart reflecting steadfastly in those changeable eyes of hers, he didn’t feel like such a monster.

  Though he ached to stop all the words and let their bodies do the talking, his light side demanded he speak one more truth.

  “I won’t marry you. I can’t.” He didn’t have to elaborate. She knew why.

  “Can you give yourself to me without reservation, for however long our time together shall last? Because if you can, it will be enough.”

  Samuel could do that. He stood and gathered her into his arms, trying to control the urge to charge ahead and ravish her in a heated rush. She deserved as much tenderness as he could muster. So he palmed her cheeks and covered her mouth with his, pouring himself into the kiss. She accepted him without question, parting her lips softly.

  He’d give her all of him she could bear.

  In her more wicked moments, Meg had imagined what it would be like to give herself to a man. None of those imaginings included a desperate flight and a humble inn in the hinterlands. Though Meg had always considered a match that led to the altar unlikely for a girl of her background, Lady Easton had fed her the fantasy of a storybook wedding. It was every well-bred lady’s dream.

  That dream could never happen with Samuel. Not with Grigori plotting to continue his “Grand Cycle.” But regardless of their rustic surroundings or their need for flight from the wicked plans of a fallen angel, Samuel was here with her now.

  And now was all that mattered.

  His mouth was firm and gently demanding. His hands set her skin tingling as he untied the ribbon that held her chemise closed. She arched her back reflexively, straining toward him, aching for his touch. He thrummed her nipples and she softly chanted his name. After half a minute of his teasing, she practically sang it.

  No matter how stolen these moments, she wouldn’t change this time together.

  It might not come again.

  “Meg…love…” he murmured, stroking her hair as she unbuttoned his shirt. His fingertips grazed her collarbone, setting little pleasure faeries tripping over her skin. “I don’t deserve you.”

  “No, you don’t deserve me.” He deserved so much more. Meg smiled up at him, determined not to cry. If only Grigori weren’t…what he was, their life together might have been so fine. Then that bubble burst. Even without the threat of Samuel’s father, she could hardly expect him to wed a commoner like her. She was as low-born as they came. “And I don’t deserve you.” But for the moment, she had him. She’d never have dreamed in a million years that she’d be with someone as wondrous as Samuel. “But that’s what grace is, you know. A bit of heaven we don’t deserve.”

  Meg had been schooled by her uncle never to pass up “the main chance.” She was determined to grab this unexpected joy with both hands. She wondered for a blink what the duke of Camden, the other man who’d influenced her life, would make of her choice. Likely, he’d banish her from the Order of the M.U.S.E for good this time.

  No matter.

  Samuel was worth losing everything for. She blinked hard. That was what Grigori must have felt about his Atara. She’d never expected to find any common ground with that Fallen One. After all, Grigori was the reason Meg’s relationship with Samuel was doomed, as doomed as Grigori’s had been with his wife. She could have wept for the happy days that would never come.

  But when Samuel kissed his way down her neck, she stopped thinking of what might have been so she could savor what was. Her world spun down to his lips on her skin. The rough burr of a day’s growth of beard on his cheeks and jaw set her shivering in a tingly, Lord-it’s-good-to-be-alive sort of way.

  He’d touched her breasts earlier. She thought she knew what to expect. But when he bared one of them, bent his head, and took a tight peak between his lips, she was totally surprised by the powerful longing he unleashed. The arcing zing of desire, the urgency of his mouth threatened to buckle her knees.

  “How did you know to do that?” she gasped once he released her.

  “I may be a virgin, but I’m a well-read virgin,” he said with a grin that was pure wickedness. “You’d be surprised at what Mr. Ingfeldt has stashed away in the secret corners of my library.”

  He’d been careful undressing her up till now, taking his time with the ribbons and tiny buttons. Now he tugged her chemise down past her shoulders till it dropped to pool on the floor at her feet. He made short work of her pantalets as she worked on divesting him of his rough shirt and trousers. Articles of clothing were scattered across the room until finally, they stood before each other in nothing but their skin.

  Meg drank in the sight of him. His muscles rippled under flawless skin, the perfect balance of strength and masculine grace. Her gaze flicked to his maleness, checking for the star-shaped birthmark he was supposed to bear. That would certainly qualify as an unmentionable spot. She didn’t spy the mark, but she did find a thick rod and bulging scrotum in a nest of dark hair. The sight made her forget all about searching for birthmarks.

  “Meg, you’re so beautiful.”

  The man must be bewitched. She almost contradicted him, but his face was so full of wonder as he gazed at her, she couldn’t bear to break the spell. Or maybe it wasn’t a spell. Maybe it was a miracle. There he was, with his angelic heritage shouting in every perfect line of him, and somehow he found plain little Meg Anthony beautiful. If that didn’t qualify as miraculous, she didn’t know what did.

  Samuel closed the short distance between them and gathered her into his arms.

  His skin was warm on hers, almost feverish, but she wouldn’t have pulled away for worlds. They fit together, her softness and his hardness. Then he kissed her again.

  Their first stolen kiss on the rooftop had stood Meg’s world on its head. It had been furtive, sweet, and light by comparison to this one. This kiss took a decidedly darker turn as heat flared between Meg’s thighs. An unrelenting ache began low in her belly, a drumbeat that made her want to move against him in slow undulations.

  “You’re so sweet,” he murmured as he kissed along her cheekbone to her temple and back down to her lips again.

  I love you, Samuel Templeton. My own beautiful, wi
cked, almost angel man.

  Still kissing him, her heart sang as he scooped her up and carried her to the waiting bed. She couldn’t speak her feelings, but she thought her love for him so hard, surely he must hear it.

  He laid her out on the string bed and then climbed in beside her. Meg was deliciously warm next to him. Her whole body was on high alert as he caressed every bit of her with tenderness. When his hand delved between her legs, she bit the inside of her cheek. She’d never imagined him touching her there, of all places. He made her body weep for him. No doubt it was desperately wicked.

  But it felt so very right.

  And it made her want him something terrible.

  “Please,” she whispered. The ache was fast becoming unbearable.

  He raised himself and settled between her legs, still kissing her as he moved closer to his goal. Meg squirmed under him and, wonder of wonders, their bodies found each other when she spread her knees to welcome him. She lifted her arms, a mute call to heaven, and then wrapped them around Samuel, encouraging him to enter.

  Come to me, love. Stay with me. Never leave me ever.

  She wouldn’t say the words even if she thought her voice would work. They were only a beautiful dream. No matter what, she and Samuel couldn’t be together forever. It wouldn’t be safe. She could only have him now.

  What will happen on the morrow? her heart demanded.

  Samuel took her innocence in one strong thrust. In the rightness of their joining, she decided tomorrow didn’t matter.

  Meg lost herself in the heat and friction and the wonder of holding him inside her. She could scarcely think beyond her next breath.

  As they moved together, her soul set off on a journey. It wasn’t like when she went Finding. She was still thoroughly connected to her body and its myriad pleasures. Perhaps she’d lost the power of free will, the ability to think independently because she was feeling so much. But she was achingly aware that she sought something with desperation. Something for which she had no words.