Call Down the Moon (7 page)

Life was going to be hell with him on the same premises, she could see that now.

“I don’t think you understand,” he said, his voice so low it was barely audible. “I don’t want you to panic or scream, but there’s a—never mind. Just stay calm and I’ll try to get us out of here in one piece.”

Meggie gazed down at him, her hands still resting on his broad shoulders. He was the most handsome man she’d ever seen. Really, it was a shame that his interior wasn’t as well put together as his exterior. “There, now,” she said in soothing tones. “That’s just my dog. If you put me down he’ll stop.”

Hugo nearly dropped her in his haste to release her. “Your
dog?’’
he repeated. “My dear girl, I hate to disenchant you, but that’s no dog. That’s a bloody wolf! He’s liable to attack us at any moment.”

“Don’t be absurd,” Meggie said. “Hadrian is perfectly harmless.”

“Funny—Hadrian doesn’t
look
harmless,” Hugo replied tightly, carefully backing away from her, his gaze glued to the wolf the entire time. “Does your dog usually behave like this?”

“I don’t think he liked your manhandling me.” She went to Hadrian and bent down, stroking his head. “It’s all right, darling, Lord Hugo isn’t going to hurt me. He’s just a little … energetic.”

Hadrian’s ears pricked forward and he licked her hand obligingly enough, but he still looked dubious. “That’s a good boy.” She glanced up at Hugo. “You see? Harmless.”

“Meggie … please,” he said, his face white as a sheet. “Get away from him. You may think he can be trusted, but he’s a wild creature. He could turn on you at any moment.”

“Nonsense. I’m his closest friend. He’d never harm a hair on my head.” She nuzzled her face in the warm, sweet-smelling fur on Hadrian’s neck to prove her point.

“Oh, God. I think I’m going to be sick,” Hugo said, slipping one hand over his eyes.

“You are being very silly,” Meggie said sternly, but then an interesting thought crossed her mind and she softened her tone. “Is it just Hadrian who frightens you, my lord, or are you afraid of all animals?”

“No, I am not afraid of all animals,” he said, glaring at her. “I’m just afraid of the wild ones with sharp fangs who threaten to attack me.”

“Hadrian has no intention of attacking anyone,” she replied indignantly. “He is a most sensitive and understanding creature. You’ll get to be friends soon enough.”

“No,” he said, putting both hands out in front of him. “No, no, and no. If you think you’re dragging a savage animal along with you, you’re ma—er, you’ll have to think again. Hadrian can go right back into the forest from whence he skulked.”

Meggie turned and glared at Hugo over her shoulder. “He most certainly will not, and he doesn’t skulk. He is my faithful companion, and you will simply have to become accustomed to him, just as everyone else has done.”

“Are you trying to tell me that beast wanders freely about the grounds?” Hugo said, looking appalled. “My God, does Sister Agnes know about this?”

“Sister Agnes knows everything that goes on here. I really can’t see why you’re kicking up such a fuss. All he did was warn you away from me, which he has every right to do.”

Meggie frowned. So far no patient had objected to Hadrian’s presence. But Sister Agnes had made it very clear that if anyone did, steps would have to be taken because their first obligation was to the patients’ peace of mind. If Hugo raised enough of a fuss, Hadrian would be banished.

“You’re not
really
afraid of him, are you?” she asked, nervously.

“Are you suggesting that I put my hand in his mouth to show you what a brave man I am? I value the use of my limbs—all of them.”

Meggie had to smile. Hugo Montagu might be demented, but despite that, she couldn’t help truly liking him. Even if he was afraid of animals.

She walked over to him and slipped her hand through the crook of his elbow. “Come along,” she said with a little tug. “We’ve tarried long enough. However, as a favor to you, my lord, I will leave Hadrian in the garden. He won’t mind, and I’m sure you’ll feel more comfortable.”

“You’re so thoughtful,” he said dryly.

“I do try to be,” Meggie said, relishing the feel of his well-muscled arm through the fine fabric of his coat.

Really, having Hugo Montagu around might not be so bad after all, she thought, suddenly feeling happier than she had in a long while.

Hugo allowed Meggie to pull him along, not that he wasn’t in a damned hurry himself. The sooner he got Meggie Bloom out of Woodbridge Sanitarium and installed under his own roof, the better he’d feel. Then it was only a matter of putting a ring on her finger. They could be married as early as tomorrow and would be, if he had anything to say about it.

He was pleased that she now seemed enthusiastic about the idea of marriage. For a time there he’d been sincerely worried that he was going to leave empty-handed. Logic hadn’t worked with her—but he’d been an idiot to assume that it would. Nor had flowery language, although she’d seemed more responsive to that than logic.

However, coaxing her with promises of trinkets and sweets as if she were a child of five had worked like a charm. He would file that piece of useful information away in the back of his head for future reference on how to manage Meggie.

Glancing down at the top of her flaxen head, he decided that she wasn’t really insane, just a little … confused. Fey. Off with the fairies. Perfectly harmless, really. He just had to remember that she didn’t occupy the same world as everyone else and they’d get along famously.

She looked up at him and smiled sweetly, her gray eyes calm and clear, completely trusting. He felt like a man stealing candy from a baby and knew he should be ashamed of himself. On the other hand, he was giving her a far better life than the one she had, he reminded himself. She ought to be grateful to him.

“Here we are, my lord,” she said as they approached the house.

He nodded, suddenly feeling oppressed at the thought of having to enter the asylum. “Why don’t I wait for you out here?” he suggested. “You can tell Sister Agnes your decision and gather your things.”

“No, I’m afraid that won’t do. I need for you to come inside with me.”

“Why, Meggie? I’ll only be in the way.” He knew he sounded ridiculous, but he couldn’t help himself. He loathed the place. “Anyway, it seems a pity to waste a beautiful afternoon sitting inside with nothing to do.”

“Oh, but there is lots to do,” she said, practically dragging him to the door and pushing him inside. “There is nothing to be afraid of, really there isn’t.”

“Did I say I was afraid?” Hugo retorted sharply. “I said I preferred to sit in the sunshine.”

“Then the place I have in mind is perfect. You can wait in the solarium while I sort everything out,” she said cheerfully. “There are books to read and games to play.”

Hugo rolled his eyes. He was just wasting time arguing with her. “Very well. Take me to the solarium, but don’t be long.”

“Not long at all,” she promised, leading him down an unfamiliar hallway in the opposite direction of Sister Agnes’s office.

She opened another door and took him into a room that was large and comfortable enough, filled with sofas and chairs and bookshelves. Sun did indeed stream through the long windows. The only problem with the picture was that every single window was covered with steel bars.

Hugo shuddered involuntarily and turned his back on them.

Meggie gave him a look he couldn’t decipher, then took his hand and squeezed it lightly. “Everything is going to be all right,” she said solemnly. “You will see. It’s only a matter of getting used to a new situation.”

Hugo couldn’t think what the hell she was talking about, but that came as no surprise. “Just get on with it, Meggie,” he said curtly, already longing for escape.

“I’ll be back in no time,” she said, softly closing the door behind her.

The next thing Hugo heard was the scrape of a key in the lock and a loud click. And then another scrape, slightly below the first and a second click.

His heart froze in his chest.

He strode across the room and turned the brass handle, jerking it toward him. The thick mahogany door didn’t budge. He turned the handle the other way and jerked again. It still didn’t budge.

He bent down and examined the door. Two separate keyholes. Both made of heavy brass. Both tumblers turned.

He couldn’t believe it. Meggie had locked him in.

“Meggie? Meggie Bloody Bloom, let me out of here at once!” he shouted, banging on the door with his fists. Nothing happened. He pressed his ear against the door and listened, but he couldn’t hear a thing. Which meant no one could hear him either.

Hugo unleashed a furious volley of curses.

He was going to kill her. As soon as he got out of his temporary prison, he was definitely going to kill her.

Unfortunately, he was going to have to marry her first.

M
eggie paused a moment to collect herself before tapping lightly on Sister Agnes’s door. She hoped to heaven that she’d done the right thing by leaving Hugo Montagu in the solarium all by himself. There hadn’t been anyone else within calling distance to keep an eye on him, and she had felt that time was of the essence in seeing that he would be taken safely to quarters of his own.

“Meggie!” Sister Agnes said, looking up as Meggie entered. “Here you are at last. Sit down, child,” she said, gesturing to a chair. “I’ve been expecting you.”

“I thought you might be,” Meggie said, perching on the edge of the seat. “You were waiting to hear about Lord Hugo, weren’t you?” She knew that much, since his name was going around and around in Sister Agnes’s head, coupled with anxiety.

“I did hope he had found you…”

“Yes, he found me in the garden. He gave me quite a shock, I can tell you that.”

Sister Agnes nodded sympathetically. “I can imagine he did. I do hope I was not wrong in sending him to you, though.”

“Oh,” Meggie said, her hand slipping to her mouth in dismay. Hugo Montagu had told her Sister Agnes had sent him, but without her talent to guide her, she had not believed him. “Did you intend for me to say something particular to him?”

The two ingrained furrows between Sister Agnes’s eyebrows deepened. “I intended only for you to speak as you saw fit.” She lightly touched a hand to her cross. “Perhaps I should have prepared you first, but I thought that with your ability, you would know better than I how to judge.”

Meggie shifted nervously in the chair, not knowing how to explain the unprecedented failure of that ability. “Oh, Sister. I am so sorry, but I have to be absolutely honest with you.”

“You have always been honest with me, Meggie. Whatever you have decided, you can tell me. There is no need to hide anything.”

Meggie blushed, since there was one thing she did need to hide—the ridiculous havoc Hugo Montagu wreaked on her body. Sister Agnes would be deeply alarmed to hear about that and would probably see to it that Meggie was kept as far away from him as possible. Probably not a bad idea, all things considered.

“Why do you hesitate, child?” Sister Agnes asked. “You are usually more forthcoming than this, sure of your intuition.”

Meggie shook her head in bewilderment. “That’s just it. Lord Hugo was a complete mystery to me. I cannot tell you anything about him that you do not already know for yourself.”

Sister Agnes regarded Meggie with considerable surprise. “You are saying that you could read nothing at
all
of his character, of his thoughts?”

“Nothing.” Meggie bowed her head. “I am sorry if I have disappointed you. I don’t know what to make of it myself—I’ve never been so completely at a loss.”

To Meggie’s astonishment, Sister Agnes chuckled, then chuckled again. “Well, well,” she said. “Miracles never cease, and you haven’t disappointed me in the least.”

“I haven’t? But—but you said you relied on my ability, that it helped you immeasurably in our work here. Why would you now change your mind?”

“I haven’t changed my mind, child. I still have the utmost faith in your gift and its infinite benefits to those in need. However, in this instance I cannot help but feel it is best that you cannot divine Lord Hugo’s every thought.”

“But isn’t that why you sent him? Because you wanted me to assess his state of mind as thoroughly as I could?”

“I sent him because I trusted in your ability to assess your own mind—and your heart. I assumed that you would also be able to see inside his, but that is apparently not the case, and that is why, despite my surprise, I rejoice.” She leaned back in her chair, her hands tucked beneath the folds of her habit. “It is better, I think, that two people living under the same roof have a little distance between each other. Don’t you agree?”

Meggie rubbed her forehead, acutely embarrassed. She might have known that Sister Agnes would somehow manage to perceive the one thing Meggie didn’t want her to know. “Yes,” she murmured, knowing there was no point in prevaricating now. “A little distance. I suppose it is for the best, given the circumstances.”

“Does that mean you have reached a decision then? Will you accept Lord Hugo? It means taking on an enormous responsibility and a challenge, but I believe you are capable of both.”

“I—I don’t understand,” Meggie said, now completely confused. “Why would you want me to take responsibility for Lord Hugo when his thoughts are inaccessible to me?”

“Take responsibility for him? I’m not sure what you mean, my dear. Surely Lord Hugo will be taking responsibility for you. That is usually the case in a marriage.”

Meggie nearly fell off her chair in shock. “M-marriage?” she gasped, gripping the edge of the seat with her fingers. No. Oh, no … she couldn’t have been so badly mistaken. Could she have?

“Yes, of course marriage. What else did you think I was referring to?”

“But he’s insane! He’s here to be admitted, isn’t he? Oh, Sister Agnes, tell me I’m right. Please, please tell me I’m right?” Meggie wanted to curl up into a little ball and die from mortification.

“Insane? Here to be … what on earth? Meggie, surely he did not tell you anything of the sort? Did he not explain why he came?”

“Yes, but—but I didn’t believe him! I mean, only someone who was a full-fledged lunatic would want to marry me. I don’t even know him—he doesn’t know me. Why,
why
would he want to marry me of all people? Don’t you see, he
must
be mad!”

“My dear child,” the nun said, her face wreathed in a broad smile, “he is certainly not mad, I can tell you that. Goodness, your gift really did fail you.” She looked positively gleeful.

“Oh, please do not tease me now, Sister. I truly don’t understand! How can he be anything close to sane if he honestly meant to propose?”

“Do you really think I would have sent him to speak to you on such a serious subject if I thought him even slightly deranged?”

Meggie squeezed her hands together so hard that they turned white. His words echoed in her head in all too vivid detail, only this time with an entirely different significance.

Sister Agnes does know … I spoke to her before coming to you and she gave me her full blessing…

“Then you believe he truly meant it?” she whispered.

“Yes,” Sister Agnes said, her expression sobering. “I did believe he meant everything he said. He pleaded his case eloquently. Did he not do so with you?”

I am in love with you … I have felt this way for weeks now … I had to come, Meggie, I really did…

The words rang silently in her ears, embarrassing her to her very core. How could she have behaved so badly? She buried her face in her hands.

“Oh, Sister, I have made a terrible mess of everything. I thought at first that he only said he wanted to marry me so that he could—” She cut herself off abruptly. “You know,” she mumbled. “Like what happened to my mother.”

“Dear me,” Sister Agnes said, her brow creasing. “I didn’t think you knew anything about your mother’s predicament. I am sorry, child. I had hoped to protect you from the pain of that truth.”

Meggie looked up, feeling weary to the bone. “It doesn’t matter, Sister. Really it doesn’t. I accepted my illegitimacy long ago. What puzzles me is why Lord Hugo Montagu would have any intention of marrying someone of my low birth—or maybe he doesn’t know about that particular part of it.”

“He has made it his business to learn a great deal about you, Meggie, and he made it clear that although he knows about the circumstances of your birth, he doesn’t care in the least. Furthermore, and I don’t know how, he seems to understand about…” She trailed off and was silent for a brief moment before continuing. “He seems to understand that you are different.”

Meggie nearly choked. “That I am
different
? What is that supposed to mean? That I have no named father or that I have two horns and a forked tongue?”

“Actually, he said that he thought of you as an angel, not entirely of this world,” Sister Agnes retorted. “I thought that a remarkable perception, given everything.”

“He actually said that?” That was too much even for Meggie to believe. An angel? He really was deluded.

“He did. He also said some other things that made his meaning clear enough, although those are for him to tell you if and when you are prepared to listen. I have to believe that he spoke the truth.”

Meggie knew Sister Agnes meant every word. She could feel the nun’s sincerity in her heart, but something still didn’t ring true to her. She couldn’t put her finger on what it was, exactly. Sister Agnes was no fool—the exact opposite was true. She had a well-developed ability to judge character. If she said that Hugo Montagu was in his right mind, then he must be, and if she said that Hugo Montagu genuinely wanted to marry her, then he must do.

The question was, why? Unless … Meggie sat up very straight as an astonishing idea occurred to her. Unless he was afflicted by as strong a physical attraction to her as she was to him—and
oh,
how attracted she was.

Meggie shivered at the thought that his attraction to her was strong enough to make him want to marry an ill-bred nobody, and if she was to be honest with herself, she couldn’t deny that the idea of marrying him had appeal. A great deal of appeal. Sleeping in his bed every night, being held in his strong arms, having him make love to her…

Meggie nearly melted in her chair at the wanton images that flooded her brain. She blushed profusely, ashamed of herself for thinking anything of the sort in front of Sister Agnes. In any case, that wasn’t the point. If she was even going to consider the idea of marriage, it had to be for the right reasons—but what were they?

She stared down at her hands, thinking hard.

Marriage would give her freedom, for one. Hugo had said that he would give her everything her heart desired. All she really desired was a simple life with a bit of breathing space and some time to call her own. No bells to rise to, none to tell her it was time to put down her book and turn off her light. Not one bell to call her to a meal or morning prayers or evening vespers. Real freedom.

And she liked Hugo Montagu. She really did, even if she couldn’t see a thing beyond his handsome face.

“Sister,” she said, trying to collect her thoughts into a semblance of order, “I know you are not opposed to the idea of this marriage, but it doesn’t seem right to me to accept Lord Hugo’s offer, as attractive as it is.”

“Does it not, child? Why is that?”

“Don’t you see, I would be taking advantage of him in order to gain the freedom I want so very much.” She clutched her hands together. “Oh, Sister, forgive me, but I
do
want it—I want it so badly that I can almost taste it. Yet surely it would be wrong to accept him simply because he could grant it to me?”

“Meggie, do you really think I do not know that you have longed for your freedom—and longed for it before you stepped inside these walls? You have never stopped pining. This is your opportunity to gain that very thing.”

“That is not taking advantage?” Meggie asked, greatly surprised that Sister Agnes was so pragmatic about holy matrimony.

“Meggie, dearest, do you not believe that God hears our prayers and sends us what we need when the time is right?”

Meggie shook her head helplessly. “Yes, but God also trusts that we act in accordance with His commandments. Would it be right for me to marry Lord Hugo when I do not love him?” Except in my fantasies, she added to herself.

“You might not love Lord Hugo, but that will grow in time. There are other things to consider. In any case, where in God’s commandments, may I ask, does it say that you must be in love with your husband when you marry him?”

“Yes, but you see, Sister, he insists that he loves me, even though I don’t understand why.”

“Perhaps Lord Hugo’s idea of love is not altogether grounded in the spiritual,” Sister Agnes said, her eyes twinkling in what Meggie thought an exceedingly worldly fashion. “Men are often confused on the subject.”

Meggie’s face broke into a smile. She hadn’t expected Sister Agnes’s candor. “So I have gathered,” she said. “I must confess, I thought that might be his motivation.”

“Well, then. Is that so terrible a reason to refuse an offer he seems to mean sincerely? What other chance will you have to make a life for yourself?”

“I am so tempted, Sister. If I did accept him, I would do everything I could to be a good wife, but marriage to a duke’s son … I am not of his world,” she insisted, trying to be brutally honest with herself and the good sister. “He is of such high birth, and I am—I am no one. No one at all.”

“You are your own lovely self, Meggie, and he is a man like every other, with the same hopes, the same fears, the same needs. It is that with which you should concern yourself, not the disparity between your worldly ranks. The point is whether you think you can be happy with him, as he clearly thinks he can be with you.”

Meggie felt as if God had reached down from heaven with her dream cupped in His hands and held it out to her for the taking. All she had to do was to reach out and accept it. Her hands shook with desire to do just that, but she could not until her conscience felt completely clear.

“I—I do want happiness,” she said, “but suppose it comes at Lord Hugo’s expense? Suppose he changes his mind after we’re married, and he realizes what he’s really taken on?”

Sister Agnes leaned across the desk and covered Meggie’s shaking hands with her own. “You mustn’t forget that this is his choice. He came to you, and he came with full knowledge of your situation.”

“What about his family, his friends?” she persisted. “What will
they
think when they meet me? I am not only illegitimate, I don’t even know who my father was! I cannot imagine any family, let alone such an aristocratic one, being pleased about that.”

“You are overly harsh with yourself,” Sister Agnes said sternly. “You are not responsible for your parents’ mistakes. We make of ourselves what we can in this world with the gifts we were born with and the opportunities we are given by God. Is it really for you to question why God has opened this door for you?”