Read War Chest: Even Gods Fall in Love, Book 5 for Free Online Page A

night through, rarely managed more than two hours at a stretch. Even gods needed sleep, at least this one did. Although he told himself the lack of sleep was killing him, the reason went much deeper, right down to something he couldn’t control, which infuriated him. He would defeat this, as he conquered all the challenges in his life.
    “Amidei may go to hell.” Mercury was currently residing in the elegant form of Amidei, Comte d’Argento.
    “Actually, he’s coming here on his way back to London. He sent word this morning and asked me to tell you.”
    Marcus grunted. “I’d hardly call Castle Lyndhurst a direct stop on the way from Lancaster to London.”
    Henstall shrugged. “He wants to speak to you. Don’t forget he’s the physician to immortals.”
    Marcus was hardly likely to forget it. D’Argento made himself busy with more than messages. Communication would be a better description for the task he’d taken on himself.
    Moodily, Marcus sipped his brandy. “So the busybody is coming here? Does he plan to stay long?”
    “It’s not my place to say.”
    Marcus snorted at Henstall’s frankly disingenuous response. The man reared him after his parents’ death. As a faun, Henstall was a minor immortal, but he’d made himself more important by rearing one of the gods—the god of war.
    Marcus owed Henstall a great debt. Clever man, Henstall. Just as well one of them was. Marcus had never questioned his world or his place in it before recent disasters forced a reassessment, but he must conquer this worm burrowing deep inside him or die in the attempt.
    Maybe dying was easier.
    Henstall bade him goodnight and left, but both men knew Marcus would not be taking to his bed for a while yet. Nevertheless Marcus made his way to his bedchamber and allowed his valet to help him undress and get ready, as if he was climbing into the big bed and sleeping the slumbers of the just. Or the unjust, he was no longer sure. Once Vallery—a French immortal, and more importantly, a superb valet—left the room, Marcus sprang out of bed and strode around his room for a while. Anything to tire himself out long enough to sleep.
    As usual, sleep did not come.
    * * * * *
    Ruth spent the next few days accustoming herself to her new position and the nursery routine. The duke took himself off to York the day after she dined with him, and when he returned two days later, he’d not sent for her. She heard him sometimes, but he never came up to see the babies, and she rarely left the nursery wing.
    She was not disappointed. Of course she was not. His absence freed her from his dangerous presence, and his questions. What madness had made her promise to play that game?
    Instead of worrying about things she could not have, she made herself busy acquainting herself with her nephews,
    She had vaguely expected two helpless babies, swaddled and sleeping most of the time, but when she enquired of the nursery maid, Andrea, the other woman dismissed her concerns with a snort. “They have never been swaddled. The duke did not hold with the practice, and I agree with him.”
    “But their limbs might not grow straight,” Ruth protested, concerned for the boys.
    “Pooh, that is nonsense. Swaddling is unnatural for children as lively as these. They have never been still, and I hold that exercising their limbs is far more likely to have a beneficial result. They need to build their strength, not be unnaturally constrained.”
    Watching the two babies, in the process of lying on their backs playing with their toes, Ruth thought she might be right.
    Of course, it meant that the boys were not the placid babies she was used to, but lively, with characters already forming. Peter was forward and bright, always the first into mischief, but his brother did not linger behind. Andrew would ever push his brother to new feats, she was sure of it.
    Every day she spent with them drove the boys deeper into her heart, and made Ruth sure she had made the right