Lady Letitia was horrified to hear what had happened and vowed to tell all her friends and acquaintances what a lecherous monster Sir Erebus really was. However, Anthea persuaded her from such a course, pointing out that Sir Erebus could ruin her reputation by claiming his advances had been invited. Better by far to confine the story to those present, a suggestion with which all eventually agreed, even Corinna,
At first that young lady had been desperately upset to discover her idol’s feet of clay. Her evening had simply gone from bad to worse because of Sir Erebus, and she dissolved into tears but was soon restored to smiles by Lord Henley, who told her that she was too much of an ornament to society to remain alone for long. He also swore he had heard Viscount Heversham declare his unrequited love for her, which certainly gave her food for thought. It was to be hoped her reflective expression signified renewed interest in the lovelorn viscount, Lady Letitia thought.
Anthea tossed and turned in her bed that night as she tried unsuccessfully to banish Sir Erebus and his mysteries from her mind. The window had been left slightly raised, and the lightest of soothing drafts took away the stuffiness from the room. When the curtains moved gently, it seemed the moonlight was still perceptibly blue. The hall clock chimed, and as the last note died away she heard low voices in the passage.
Puzzled, she sat up. A door closed, and she thought it was Corinna’s. Was something wrong? She got out of bed to see. A night candle cast a lonely light over the passage, and all seemed quiet now, except— She strained to listen. Yes, there were voices in Corinna’s room, and one belonged to a man!
Shocked, she hurried along to her stepsister’s door and knocked urgently. “Corinna?”
Silence.
“Corinna?”
A drowsy voice stirred. “Mm? Yes? What is it?”
“Are you all right? I heard voices.”
“Voices?” Corinna came to the door and looked sleepily at her. “I must have been talking in my sleep.”
“True, but I hardly think you would sound like a man.”
Corinna’s jaw dropped. “What are you saying, Anthea? That I have a sweetheart in my room?” Her green eyes flashed defensively. “Well, if that’s what you think, please feel free to search for him!”
Anthea was embarrassed. “If you must know, I was afraid there was an intruder, and that you were trying to reason with him.”
“I—I didn’t think. I’m so sorry.” Shamefaced, Corinna tried to make excuses. “Maybe you heard a maid with one of the footmen, or maybe someone else has mumps and needs attention. Oh, I don’t know anything, except that it wasn’t me.”
She smiled and gave Anthea a peck on the cheek. “Go back to bed, now. We have a long journey tomorrow and need to be fresh for it.”
Lady Letitia’s door opened, and she peered out. Her gray hair hung in plaits from beneath her night bonnet, and she was ghostly in her voluminous robe. She held up a lighted candle and peered shortsightedly at them. “Why is everyone up and chattering at this hour? Is everything all right?”
Her voice was slightly nasal, and her eyes were red, and Anthea was concerned to realize she had been crying. “All is well, Aunt Letty. I heard a noise, but think I was asleep and dreamed it.”
“Very well, my dears. Good night to you both.”
As Lady Letitia began to draw back into her room, Anthea hastened to her. “All may be well with us, Aunt Letty, but clearly the same cannot be said of you,” she said quietly, so her voice would not carry to Corinna.
Lady Letitia hesitated. “It is nothing, my dear, just an old maid’s foolishness.”
Anthea put a gentle hand on her aunt’s sleeve. “It’s Cathness, isn’t it? Something happened there.”
Lady Letitia looked at her in surprise. “You are sometimes too perceptive for your own good, miss. Well, I will never divulge the sorry tale, so please do not press me. It is something that must be left to lie.”
“Aunt Letty—”
“Good night, Anthea,” Lady Letitia said firmly, and went into her room.
As the door closed behind her, Anthea went back to Corinna, who looked curiously at her. “What was all that about?”
“Oh, nothing important.”
Corinna smiled. “I’m not entirely empty-headed, Anthea. I’ve already guessed that Lady Letitia was once very much in love, and that Cathness has something to do with it. Do you think it was the previous duke?”
Anthea pursed her lips. “To be honest, that’s what I wondered too, but as she does not intend to speak of it, I doubt if we will ever know.”
They said goodnight, and Anthea returned to her room, but before getting into bed, she looked out at the curious blue moon. There was an unaccountable atmosphere tonight, as if something momentous but not very benevolent were imminent. She flung the curtains back and raised the sash fully. Cool air swept over her, bringing with it the fresh, bewitching scent of lavender—although where it came from she couldn’t imagine, for the plants in the garden were no longer in bloom. She breathed the fragrance.
“Anthea?” Jovian spoke quietly in her head. “I’m over here on the stables.”
She was shocked to see him on the ridge of a roof by the mews lane. He was dressed in evening clothes, his blond hair was silvery in the faintly blue moonlight, and he lounged against the wall of a tall adjacent building as if it were quite natural to be where he was.
“To me it is,” he said then.
He could not only speak to her but knew what she was thinking too!
“Yes, Anthea, I can do both.”
She fixed him with a glare, thinking that if he spoke the truth then he would know how many questions she wished to put to him.
“And I will answer what is necessary, but if you expect a complete explanation about everything, I fear you will be disappointed. “
You always disappoint me, she thought.
“I know, my darling, but I love you and I always will.” He straightened and walked casually down the sloping roof to the boundary wall between Daneway House and the neighboring property, then along the wall until he was as close as he could get to her window. He smiled up at her. “How lovely you are in the moonlight,” he said, speaking naturally.
“This is not real moonlight, but something very different,” she replied, glancing up at the sky. “Why is the moon that color?”
“Because the time has almost come.”
“What time?” she asked quickly.
How it happened she didn’t know, but suddenly he was sitting casually on the outer ledge of her window, one leg drawn up, the other swinging idly, as if he were on the ground floor, not the third. It was too far from the garden wall to the window ledge for him to have jumped or climbed, and besides, she’d barely had time to blink. She drew back uncertainly. “How ... did you do that?”
He smiled. “Come now, Anthea, surely you aren’t surprised? Not after Carlton House and St. James’s Park.”
“I know I should be used to it, but I don’t think I ever will be.” She looked at him. “You still haven’t explained what time you were referring to.”
“The time that Lethe and his cohorts have been anticipating for nineteen years, when the lavender blooms out of season, the harvest is ready, and there are two full moons in August,” he said softly.
Her skin turned to gooseflesh. “I don’t want riddles, Jovian; I want answers I can understand.”
“Believe me, Anthea, if you knew those answers you would wish you did not.”
“Why?”
“Trust me where this is concerned.”
“Trust you? That is too much to ask, for you cannot exist without strong drink and become cruel and heartless when you have it inside you. I would as soon trust a rat.”
“I suppose I deserved that, but if you imagine I have willingly drunk myself into oblivion these past months, you could not be more wrong. Every glass I have downed has been a torture to me. I want none of it but have no choice.”
“No choice? Did someone hold the poisoned goblet to your lips and force you to sip? I think not. You drank because you wanted to, and I despise you for pretending otherwise.”
He breathed out slowly. “You are entitled to your opinion, wrong as it may be. But speaking as a relatively harmless rat, I sincerely hope you realize that Lethe is of the plague-carrying variety and thus very dangerous indeed.”
She searched his face. “From which remark I suppose you witnessed what happened in the garden after dinner?”
“I did not need to, for I know him. He showed his true vile colors tonight—well, some of them.” He swung his leg over the ledge and stood in the room with her. “Never place faith in him, Anthea.”
“How unflatteringly you speak of him; yet I thought he was your good friend.”
“He is no friend of mine. Believe me, it is for good reason that he is called Erebus Lethe.”
“The son of Chaos and the River of Forgetfulness?” Unwillingly she recalled how earlier that evening she had associated Sir Erebus with the clammy darkness beneath the earth.
Jovian put the back of his fingers to her cheek and drew them gently upward in a caress that aroused joyous memories. “Anthea, I wish none of all this had happened, and that we were as before, but it has happened ... or at least has begun to happen.... The truth is more fantastic and sinister than anything you can conceive, and I am desperate to prevent it from proceeding. To that end I have come to you tonight to tell you not on any account to go to Gloucestershire in the morning. Stay away from the town of Cathness, and be sure that your stepsister does as well. Remain safely in London until this moon is over.”
She stared at him. “What on earth are you talking about, Jovian?”
“On earth? Oh, how droll, to be sure,” he murmured.
Suddenly she was angry. “You and Sir Erebus are both quite mad. Tonight he was ridiculously angry when he learned you had given me fresh lavender.”
“Had he tried to give you a flower?”
She was confused. “Yes, an aster, except that it was really mistletoe.”
He seemed unutterably relieved. “So at least I can be sure you are protected,” he murmured.
“Protected? From him?”
“Yes.”
A rumble of thunder spread across the sky, again from clear heavens. Would she now see the hare? That was what had happened before. Jovian glanced at the window, a look of bitter frustration on his incomparable face. “Is it real thunder, Jovian, or more akin to blue moonlight?”
The faintest of smiles played upon his lips. “It is not real thunder, but merely the way she—” He didn’t finish.
“She? Who do you mean? Is it something to do with the hare?”
Their eyes met again. “It doesn’t matter,” he replied. “But what does matter is I love you above all others, Anthea, and will protect you in whatever way I can. You must trust me, my darling, for I am all that stands between you and wickedness itself.”
He crushed her to him in a kiss that seemed wrenched from his very soul. His parted lips moved richly over hers, and he stroked her through her nightgown. Her senses reeled into that ecstasy from which she could never escape, the ecstasy she shared only with him, no matter how he sinned against her. Her lips softened beneath his, and her body melted into a luxurious warmth that would have denied her the will to resist had he laid her on the bed and made love to her. But instead he released her.
“Anthea, I do not intend to explain any of this unless there is no choice, but one thing I must know now. Did Lady Letitia and Corinna touch the lavender I gave you?”
She blinked. “Did they what? I... well, no. When I returned to the house, I gave it to a maid to put in a vase; then it was taken up to my bedroom.”
The ghost of a smile raised the corner of his lips. “I’m honored,” he said softly, “but we are wandering from the path, I fear. Lethe now knows that you are protected, which will not have pleased him at all, but he can be equally sure that Lady Letitia and Corinna are still at his mercy. Well, it is not important where your aunt is concerned, but your stepsister is in the utmost jeopardy. There will be danger if you go to Cathness, so I beg you not to leave London.”
The last sentence sounded in her head, for she was suddenly alone in the room, with just the night air moving the curtains. And outside it seemed she heard the hare’s mocking cry.