Number two detailed her position as a married lady of the peerage. The next items included things that he had bought her, the servants who waited upon her, and the biggest lie of all, the family she was now surrounded by. Not her own, but his viperous children who sneered as they called her stepmama because they were older than she. And who had made her life into hell for the last twelve years such that her only true gratitude came from the knowledge of birdcalls and that her husband had shaved his mustache.
Oscar stirred, and she looked up from where she was pretending to read in the indifferent light. Her husband snorted, grunted, and slowly roused himself. She waited, mentally taking a bet on whether he would settle back into sleep or push himself upright and demand tea.
She bet on tea but hoped for sleep.
She was right, and she counted that a win as he snorted a couple more times and cracked his eyes open.
“Diana.”
“Yes, Oscar, I’m here.” She stood and tugged on the bellpull. “I’ve rung for tea.”
“Get me tea.”
“An excellent idea, Oscar. Would you like me to help you sit up?”
“Don’t need your help.” He coughed a little, and she handed him a handkerchief. Then she supported his arm as he maneuvered himself upright before she adjusted the pillows to how he liked them.
“Ring for tea,” he ordered once he was settled.
“Right away,” she responded as she tugged again on the bellpull.
And just like clockwork, there was a scratch at the bedroom door. She opened it quietly, and tea was brought in. Diana sniffed, recognizing her husband’s favorite blend, then watched calmly as the tray was set down by the bed. As was their custom, Diana waited until the maid had left the room before sitting down beside her husband’s bed.
“Tea, Oscar?”
“Yes, thank you.” His voice was stronger this morning, having less wheeze and more breath. That was a good thing, she supposed, but she had been fooled too many times by a strong morning to expect a good afternoon. She simply took it for the gift it was and poured his lordship’s tea.
She did not drink. She did not like his blend, and she had broken her fast more than two hours before. But she smiled as he sipped with shaky, arthritic hands and searched for a conversation topic.
“There’s a house sparrow outside the window,” she said. “Can you hear it? Is it a male or female, do you think?”
“What? No, I can’t hear it, but it’s female, I should think. They make the most noise in any species, right?” Then he chuckled in his phlegmy way at his joke. He forgot that his first wife had been the chatty one. Diana only spoke when she felt it necessary, which happened less and less these days. At least within this bedroom.
He continued to chuckle while she waited for his valet to appear. She was rewarded after exactly four minutes—she watched the clock specifically—and was surprised because his valet normally appeared after two. What exciting thing had happened to cause the delay?
The man knocked more brusquely than usual. And when her husband bid the man enter, they were both surprised to see not one servant, but two. His lordship’s valet Reynolds entered behind a burly footman she did not recognize. The large man kept his head down, but that did not disguise his muscles or the scars along the back of his hands as he carried in the implements used for his lordship’s morning toilette. He wore the livery of the house—shabby though it appeared—and he hunched slightly as if he were trying to hide his size.
She arched a brow at Reynolds, but the valet kept his gaze carefully canted away as he smiled too fully at her husband. “Good morning, my lord,” he said heartily.
Oscar wasn’t fooled. “Who is this?” His eyes cut to Diana. “Are you spending more of my money?”
“Never, my lord,” she lied. Since Oscar’s illness, she’d had to manage all the bills, including the payments for the staff. She stepped such that she stood directly in front of the new footman. “I’m afraid I’ve forgotten your name.”
“Egeus, my lady,” the man said, his voice surprisingly high for such a large man. “But most call me Gus.”
“Mr. Egeus, how do you come to help us today?” She guessed that one of their regular footmen had become ill and sent his brother or cousin or something to fill in. That sometimes happened as servants tried to gain employment for their family members. But in this, she was completely wrong as he ticked his head to the hallway.
“Mr. Lucifer hired me on, my lady.”
“Lucifer!” she gasped. “What a name!”
“I believe it’s meant to frighten those who displease him.”
It was ridiculous, and so she meant to tell him. She would not have anyone with such a name in her household. But before she could say such a thing, her husband began to laugh. It was a wheezy sound, but she recognized the fuller notes beneath it. Since being bedridden, Oscar had developed a macabre sense of humor.
“That must be him, then,” Oscar said as he waved at the doorway. “Come on in, man. Tell us how you came to be the devil himself.”
Diana had been looking at the new footman, so when Oscar gestured behind them, she spun around with a nervous kind of speed. She did not like people sneaking up behind her. And when she saw the man standing in the doorway, she liked it even less. For a brief moment, she considered the truth that it was Lucifer himself come to destroy her life.
The man had dark hair, dark eyes, and dressed to match the sinister name. Though his clothes were worn, they were dark as sin, and he made no attempt to hide the scar that cut through his hair as if a heavenly warrior had cleaved his head a few inches above his right ear. She didn’t recognize him, and yet she felt a jolt inside. A shock that cut off her breath and made her heart squeeze tight.
She must have made a sound because his gaze cut to hers. Such weight there in his simple regard. As if living shadows loomed behind his eyes to reach out and grab the unaware. But then she remembered other eyes. A boy tumbling at her feet through her bedroom window and promising to return in the morning with enough money so they could wed.
Lucas.
The memory was so strong that her jaw went slack in shock. But then she blinked and refocused. This man was hard. He stood lightly on his feet, and his eyes caught every movement in the room. And though he bowed to Oscar, she felt as if he tracked her movements as an owl did a mouse. And if she had to imagine him as a boy, he would be nothing like the earnest young Lucas she remembered.
“Do you come to spirit me away to hell?” her husband asked with good cheer.
“Oscar, please!” she gasped. “Don’t say such things.”
“Oh, come here, my dear.” He held out his hand, and she crossed the room to grasp it. His thin skin cool, and the knuckles thick, but it was also familiar, and she found reassurance in his feeble grip. “A man dressed in black cannot scare me,” he said. “Tell me your tale.”
It sounded as if he were ordering a bard to play for him. And as she expected, Mr. Lucifer did not oblige beyond the most cursory response. “I fought against Napoleon and learned that names had power against the superstitious.” He waggled his brows. “And the Frogs were a superstitious lot.”
Oscar chortled. “I wager they are. Did they run like babies crying for their mamas?”