Page 64 of Mated to the Mad Marquess

Malcolm sat up in bed, certain he’d finally solved the problem. Solis approved. His soul joined with him, filling his body with air and sunlight. He was too eager to share his plan to wait for Hrafn to rouse on her own. Grinning, he grabbed his pillow and hit her in the face with it—she deserved no less than violent Vanir affection.

Hrafn groaned awake.

As Malcolm explained himself, she stretched and moaned, arms overhead, curving her back like a cat, drawing attention to all her bronze curves and lean muscles. He rolled her onto her stomach. Her wings flittered, as excited and eager for more play as he was.

While he told her the steps of his scheme, he claimed her body slowly and deeply.

* * *

Malcolm sent a messenger ahead of him to Dagrun’s country estate. He had to use a coach to visit it in the middle of the day. A horse would have been faster but the shadowy remains of the phantom in their tiny baby forms wouldn’t be separated from him. They cried and demanded attention and acted miserably when he tried to leave them, even with Solis and Hrafn for company.

Solis stayed behind, not wanting to be separated from their mate a moment more. When he tried to bring his soul along, he acted as badly as the little shadows had about being separated from their new master. Malcolm decided he preferred his soul stay too, wanting a piece of himself with Hrafn since she’d only recently returned home. She’d been gone, and he had missed her so, though the trip wouldn’t last long.

He arrived just before the midday meal. As he entered the aged manor at the bottom of a muddy hill, located in view of the most northern portion of the River Eventide, he and his train of duckling-like shadows drew eyes from the domestics. The nuggets of darkness bobbed after him in a long line, pouring out of the coach one at a time.

A footman held the front door for them, staring with a furrowed brow as they rolled inside. The butler greeted Malcolm, and his tone turned puzzled, gaze dropping to the escort of shadow babies.

“Lady Elspeth is expecting me,” Malcolm said.

It took the aged butler a moment to gather himself. Spluttering, he led Malcolm into the drawing room to await an audience with the oldest of Dagrun’s daughters. A footman was sent to fetch her.

“Lumpy,” Malcolm grumbled at a clump of smog which had rolled up the wall and now sat perched atop the gas lamp, licking the glass with a soot-colored tongue, leaving behind inky patches that quickly evaporated. He plucked the little one off the lamp and set the puff down on the rug.

When Malcolm righted himself, another bit of shadow had found its way onto the lamp. “Damnit, Ember!” He shooed it off. He’d learned his lesson at Reedholm. Left to their own devices, eventually they’d break through the glass to get at the glow inside.

Elspeth entered the drawing room, plucking riding gloves off her fingers one at a time, her smile broad, her midnight blue hair wind-swept. The butler pulled the sliding doors shut behind her, granting them their privacy.

“Hello, old man . . . andbabies,” Elspeth said fondly, stepping carefully around the little balls of shadowy fluff. She paused. “Oh, aren’t you looking especially fancy, Malcolm. What’s the occasion?”

He straightened the lapel of his formal jacket and smoothed the front of his silk cravat. “This is one of the last times I plan to behave like a proper marquess—I thought I should look the part.”

Her brow furrowed. “What are you going on about?”

Malcolm gestured for her to sit. They crossed together to the sofa centered in the room. As she lowered onto the cushion, he sat beside her. “There was a time, not so long ago—not to an immortal anyway—when your father offered me your hand.”

A ball of fluff rolled over the tops of his boots, followed closely by another, then another. He ignored them.

“Ha. I remember. Although we are not blood, you found the idea a little too incestuous.” Studying his face, a line formed between her dark brows. “Youstillfeel that way, don’t you?”

“You are, without a doubt, the closest thing I have to living family,” he said.

“I feel the same way about you, since we’re being frank.” Lumpy bleated up at her. She patted his head before continuing. “You’re like a perpetually grumpy big brother, but what are you hinting at here? You’re starting to make me nervous.”

“I’d like to revisit the discussion of us marrying.” Lumpy yelped at him for pats. He ignored the demanding thing, crossing his arms over his chest, determined to teach it manners.

“To what end?” She blinked at him. “And what about your mate? I have no desire to wake up with a Vanir warrior standing over me with a spear aimed at my heart! If a Vanir warrior is going to show up in my bedroom, I’d rather we were—”

“Don’t finish that thought,” he grumped.

Elspeth chuckled darkly.

“Hrafn is fully in favor of my plan, or I wouldn’t be here,” Malcolm reassured her. “The Vanir didn’t have legal marriages the way we do now. The only thing that united two people was true mating.”

“You want a marriage in name alone, then.” She sat back in her seat, crossing one long leg over the other in padded riding trousers. “To what end?”

“I wish to travel.”

“Lords travel sometimes . . .”

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