“After all the secrets that have been exposed today, you still think my name and blood are something you should be proud to possess?” Matthew asked Marcus.
“Rather you than Baldwin,” Marcus said, meeting his father’s gaze.
“I don’t know how you can bear to have me in your presence,” Matthew said softly, turning away, “never mind forgive me.”
“I haven’t forgiven you,” Marcus said evenly. “Find the cure for blood rage. Fight to have the covenant repealed, and refuse to support a Congregation that upholds such unjust laws. Form a scion, so that we can live without Baldwin breathing down our necks.”
“And then?” Matthew said, a sardonic lift to his eyebrow.
“Then not only will I forgive you, I’ll be the first to offer you my allegiance,” Marcus said, “not only as my father but as my sire.”
Most evenings at Sept-Tours, dinner was a slapdash affair. All of us ate when—and what—we liked. But tonight was our last at the château, and Baldwin had commanded the entire family’s presence to give thanks that all of the other creatures were gone and to bid Sarah, Matthew, and me adieu.
I had been given the dubious honor of making the arrangements. If Baldwin expected to cow me, he was going to be disappointed. Having provided meals for the inhabitants of Sept-Tours in 1590, I could surely manage it in modern times. I’d sent out invitations to every vampire, witch, and warmblood still in residence and hoped for the best.
At the moment I was regretting my request that everyone dress formally for dinner. I looped Philippe’s pearls around my neck to accompany the golden arrow that I’d taken to wearing, but they skimmed the tops of my thighs and were too long to suit trousers. I returned the pearls to the velvet-lined jewelry box that arrived from Ysabeau, along with a sparkling pair of earrings that brushed my jawline and caught the light. I stabbed the posts through the holes in my ears.
“I’ve never known you to fuss so much over your jewelry.” Matthew came out of the bathroom and studied my reflection in the mirror as he slid a pair of gold cuff links through the buttonholes at his wrists. They were emblazoned with the New College crest, a gesture of fealty to me and to one of his many alma maters.
“Matthew! You’ve shaved.” It had been some time since I’d seen him without his Elizabethan beard and mustache. Though Matthew’s appearance would be striking no matter the era or its fashions, this was the clean-cut, elegant man I’d fallen in love with last year.
“Since we’re going back to Oxford, I thought I might as well look the part of the university don,” he said, his fingers moving over his smooth chin. “It’s a relief, actually. Beards really do itch like the devil.”
“I love having my handsome professor back, in place of my dangerous prince,” I said softly.
Matthew shrugged a charcoal-colored jacket made of fine wool over his shoulders and pulled at his pearl gray cuffs, looking adorably self-conscious. His smile was shy but became more appreciative when I stood up.
“You look beautiful,” he said with an admiring whistle. “With or without the pearls.”
“Victoire is a miracle worker,” I said. Victoire, my vampire seamstress and Alain’s wife, had made me a midnight blue pair of trousers and a matching silk blouse with an open neckline that skimmed the edges of my shoulders and fell in soft pleats around my hips. The full shirt hid my swelling midriff without making me look like I was wearing a maternity smock.
“You are especially irresistible in blue,” Matthew said.
“What a sweet talker you are.” I smoothed his lapels and adjusted his collar. It was completely unnecessary—the jacket fit perfectly, and not a stitch was out of place—but the gestures satisfied my proprietary feelings. I lifted onto my toes to kiss him.
Matthew returned my embrace with enthusiasm, threading his fingers through the coppery strands that fell down my back. My answering sigh was soft and satisfied.
“Oh, I like that sound.” Matthew deepened the kiss, and when I made a low, throaty hum, he grinned. “I like that one even more.”
“After a kiss like that, a woman should be excused if she’s late to dinner,” I said, my hands sliding between the waistband of his trousers and his neatly tucked shirt.
“Temptress.” Matthew nipped softly at my lip before pulling away.
I took a final look in the mirror. Given Matthew’s recent attentions, it was a good thing Victoire hadn’t curled and twisted my hair into a more elaborate arrangement, since I’d never have been able to set it to rights again. Happily, I was able to tighten the low ponytail and brush a few hairs back into place.
Finally I wove a disguising spell around me. The effect was like pulling sheer curtains over a sunny window. The spell dulled my coloring and softened my features. I had resorted to wearing it in London and had kept doing so when we returned to the present. No one would look at me twice now—except Matthew, who was scowling at the transformation.
“After we get to Oxford, I want you to stop wearing your disguising spell.” Matthew crossed his arms. “I hate that thing.”
“I can’t go around the university shimmering.”
“And I can’t go around killing people, even though I have blood rage,” Matthew said. “We all have our crosses to bear.”
“I thought you didn’t want anyone to know how much stronger my power is.” At this point I was worried that even casual observers would be drawn to me because of it. In another time, when there were more weavers about, I might not have been so conspicuous.
“I still don’t want Baldwin to know, or the rest of the de Clermonts. But please tell Sarah as soon as possible,” he said. “You shouldn’t have to hide your magic at home.”
“It’s annoying to weave a disguising spell in the morning and then take it off at night only to weave it again the next day. It’s easier to just keep it on.” That way I’d never be caught off guard by unexpected visitors or eruptions of undisciplined power.
“Our children are going to know who their mother truly is. They are not going to be brought up in the dark as you were.” Matthew’s tone brooked no argument.
“And is that sauce good for the gander as well as the goose?” I shot back. “Will the twins know their father has blood rage, or will you keep them in the dark like Marcus?”
“It’s not the same. Your magic is a gift. Blood rage is a curse.”
“It’s exactly the same, and you know it.” I took his hands in mine. “We’ve grown used to hiding what we’re ashamed of, you and I. It has to end now, before the children are born. And after this latest crisis with the Congregation is resolved, we are going to sit down—as a family—and discuss the scion business.” Marcus was right: If forming a scion meant we wouldn’t have to obey Baldwin, it was worth considering.