"I would welcome her even more excessively if she would just get herself pregnant."
"Quite a feat that would be," Thomas said, rising. "Now, Mother, I don't think you should embarrass Meggie's father in exactly this way. You need to learn to pick your moments. Until that happens, why don't you sip your tea until it is time for you to partner Mr. Jeremy Stanton-Greville in whist. I understand all three of our guests are superb players. You are always saying that you would like some competition. You have it. Sir," he added to Tysen, "thank you for coming. Now, I will bid you all good night and see that Meggie is settled in."
Thomas nodded to his three guests and took himself upstairs. He was whistling when he went into the White Room to see Meggie lying on her back, her hair spread on the pillow, lace and satin to her chin, her eyes closed.
He sat quietly in a chair beside her, crossed his legs, and thoughtfully began tapping his fingers as he looked at her face.
"Stop that."
He'd thought she was asleep and jumped at the sound of her voice. "How do you know what I'm doing?" he asked.
"You're watching me."
"It gives me great pleasure to watch you, Meggie." He paused a moment, continued to tap those long fingers of his together slowly, saying thoughtfully after a few moments, "When I arrived in Glenclose-on-Rowan to assume my father's responsibilities, to fit myself into my new title, the last thing on my mind was taking a wife. However, it seems that when I saw you, everything just seemed to fall into place."
Her heart was pounding, slow deep strokes. She didn't say a word.
"The first time I saw you, you were peeling your little brother's sticky fingers off your skirt. Evidently you would give him candy to keep him quiet during your father's service."
"I remember. It was a new gown. Poor Rory, he was so dismayed that he'd upset me. Oh goodness, then he tried to lick the sticky stuff off the skirt."
"Yes, and you laughed and laughed, held him close, and the sun burst upon my head."
Meggie's heart felt suddenly so very full that she wanted to cry. She wanted to leap from the bed and tell him he was a wonderful man, that she would never leave him, that he was hers, forever. But that meant telling him straight in his beautiful dark eyes that she loved him. She wouldn't lie, not about something so utterly important as that. But she knew she wanted him, wanted him to be happy, with her. She knew he was as fine a man as her father was, as her uncles were. He made her wild-no question about that. But the other-that heart-wrenching excitement when she saw Jeremy for that first time so very long ago in London, that soul-wrenching near-pain when he'd smiled at her-no, she'd never felt that with Thomas. She'd never felt it with anyone but Jeremy.
On the other hand, she hadn't felt any of that heart-pounding, near-nausea, light-headed, utterly out-of-control excitement when Jeremy had walked into the drawing room this afternoon. Not a bit of it. Nothing at all. She said to her husband, "Thank you for making me remember that wonderful moment. I also thank you for writing to my father and for telling me that the sun burst upon your head."
"You're welcome on all three counts. I hate this, but I really do think you should return with them, Meggie. Actually, I'm here to talk you into it."
"Very well, I'm not stupid. I don't wish to be shot again; maybe the next time it would be just my luck to be low tide. I agree. I will do as everyone wishes."
"I don't believe you," he said slowly, staring at her. "You would never agree to leave me."
Meggie laughed. "It's about time you believed that down to the soles of your big feet. You're perfectly right. But don't you see? It is very easy to agree. By the time I am well enough to travel, all this will be resolved."
"That is another thing about you-you are an optimist beyond anything I have ever seen."
"No, listen, Thomas. The person responsible for all this misery, he or she must be becoming quite frantic-nothing has worked. I'm alive and three more people are here to watch over me. I have this feeling that something is going to happen very soon simply because this person will burst if he doesn't try to finish it. Now, come to bed, Thomas, if, that is, you can swear to me that there isn't murder being committed in the drawing room."
"Actually, there might be, depending on how competitive your father and mother are when playing whist."
"Oh dear. Your mother is partnering Jeremy?"
"Yes."
"They will win; my parents don't stand a chance. You see, Papa and Mary Rose will keep laughing and comparing hands and gossiping about this and that. It drives serious players quite mad."
"I don't like the sound of that. My mother is very serious about her journals and about whist. What about Jeremy?"
"He's a killer at whist. I do hope that Charlotte plays well."
She sounded like Jeremy was nothing more than an acquaintance, perhaps a distant relation. It made him feel very good indeed. He said, his voice light, easy, "Isn't it nice that we're not involved in any of it?"
"Very nice." She smiled at him.
Thomas eyed her one last time, rose and stripped off his clothes. When he was naked, he walked back toward the bed, in truth, thinking about where they would search tomorrow at dawn for Jenny MacGraff and also trying to come up with some way to draw out the killer and stop the madness.
"Oh my."
Those two very short words brought him back immediately to the fact that he was standing naked and that his wife was staring at his groin. He looked down at himself. Predictably, he was hard as the peach pit he'd seen Barnacle throw across the entrance hall for Miss Crittenden to chase down this afternoon. A training technique her ladyship would surely approve, Barnacle had told him.
Thomas took a step back. He stayed hard, got even harder. He was very pleased that his wife admired his body. He was now so hard he hurt. He wanted to weep as he said, "You're not well, Meggie. Forget all your lustful thoughts. To help you get a grip on your self, remember that your father, who just happens to be a vicar, is seated downstairs in our drawing room."
She smiled at him, a smile he didn't trust for a minute. Well, damnation, who cared?
She said, "You're right. At least you will hold me, will you not?"
Oh yes, he would certainly hold her, dammit.
When she was settled against his side, her breath warm against his flesh, no, her breath was really quite hot now, he felt her hand glide down his belly.
Oh God. "Meggie, you really don't want to do that."
"Do be quiet, my lord," she said, and he nearly wept again at the sound of those wonderful words of hers.
He had to be noble, he had to stop her. It nearly killed him, but he said, "But you're still not well enough, you're not-"
"It's just my hand, Thomas. I won't hurt myself."
"All right."
"I've been thinking quite a bit of taking advantage of you," and she did.
Before he fell asleep, Thomas found himself thinking for the first time that his mother could be the one who wanted Meggie dead. She could be determined and vicious, he'd seen it too many times over the years. Her mind didn't really work like other people's did. She went to extremes, both in her speech and in her actions. But why would she hate Meggie enough to kill her? And if she did have a reason, why then, who would she have hired to shoot Meggie off the cliff?
No answer.
At the end of the next day there was still no sign of Jenny MacGraff. No one believed she had run away to Dublin. Everyone believed she was dead. Everyone believed that someone had killed her. It became clear that everyone believed it was William