"Theo, stop!" he ordered, his eyes on the bed where an open portmanteau lay. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
"What does it look like?" She pulled a nightgown from a drawer and tossed it into the bag. "I'm going to the dower house. The one part of the estate you didn't manage to get your thieving hands on!" Her voice was thick, and angrily she dashed tears from her eyes with her forearm before hurling her ivory-backed hairbrushes and combs on top of the nightgown.
She didn't look at him and didn't see his expression as she continued, blind in her rage and hurt. "The dower house was left free and clear to my mother, and not even a deceitful, treacherous liar would be cowardly enough to storm into the house of an unprotected woman."
The repeated insults finally unloosed the crimson tide of rage, and Sylvester fought to hold on to his anger even as he determined to compel her retreat. "By God, you're going to take that back," he stated. "That and every other insult you've thrown at me in the last hour."
"Never!" she retorted, shifting her stance imperceptibly, her eyes sharply focused, calculating his next move.
Sylvester came toward her, his eyes blazing in his drawn countenance. Theo snatched her hairbrush from the portmanteau and hurled it at him. It caught him a glancing blow on the shoulder. He swore and ducked as a shoe followed the brush and he found himself in the midst of a veritable tempest of flying objects as Theo grabbed whatever was to hand – cushions, books, shoes, ornaments – and flung them at his head.
"You goddamned termagant!" he bellowed as a glass figurine flew past his ear and crashed in a shiver of crystal against the wall. He lunged for her, coming in low, catching her around the waist, lifting her off her feet before she could counterattack.
Theo cursed him with the vigor and fluency of a stable hand, and he realized that until now he'd only heard the tip of the iceberg when it came to his wife's vocabulary. In other circumstances the realization might have amused him.
Theo found herself in the corner of the room, her face pressed to the wall, her hands gripped at the wrists and pushed up her back, not far enough to hurt, but coercive, nevertheless. Sylvester's body was against hers, holding her into the corner so she had no space, no possibility of independent movement.
"Now," he said, breathing heavily in the aftermath of that struggle, his voice hard with determination. "Take it back, Theo. Every damn word."
She threw another savage oath at him. Tensing her muscles, she tested her strength against the physical wall at her back. She could feel the rigidity of his body, a barrier as hard and invincible as a wall of steel. At her movement he brought one knee up and pushed it into her backside, pressing her even more securely into the corner.
"Take it back, Theo," he repeated, softly now, but his intention still as hard as agate. "We aren't moving from here until you do so."
He could feel her resistance as pulsing waves emanating from the taut body, and he concentrated every fiber of his being on winning this battle of wills. He knew on the most primitive level that he could not tolerate his wife's contempt. He'd endured a lifetime's worth of scorn and opprobrium from men whose opinion he valued, men he'd counted as friends and colleagues, and he didn't think those wounds would ever close.
"Listen to me," he said into the silence. "You have the right to be angry… you have the right to an explanation -"
"You talk of rights, of explanations, when you've taken -"
"Give me a chance!" he interrupted. "You have only half the story, Theo."
"Let me go." She twisted against him, but she knew it was futile.
"When you take back those insults. I'll not tolerate being called a coward by you or anyone."
The intensity in his voice pierced her fury and bewilderment. Vaguely she remembered tossing "cowardly" into the seething cauldron of accusations, but it had been one epithet among many. His hands were warm on her wrists, and she could feel the blood in his thumbs beating against her own pulse. His breath rustled over the top of her head, and the power of his frame seemed to enclose her, to swallow her as it did when they made love, and her confusion grew as her body's memory sprang alive with the knowledge of the hours of pleasure they'd shared.
Sylvester felt the change in her, the confusion tangling now with her anger, the smudging of her hard edges. "Let's be done with this," he said. His thumb moved against her wrist.
His closeness was suddenly more than she could bear. It muddled the clarity of her anger, the absolute knowledge of her betrayal. He'd used her body to betray her, and now it was happening again.
"All right," she said, desperate for release. "All right, I take it back. I've no evidence you're a coward."
Sylvester exhaled slowly and moved them both out of the corner. Theo glanced up at him and saw no satisfaction at this small capitulation. His face was drawn, his eyes strained. He looked like a man on his way to the gallows.
"Let's talk about this now," he said.
Theo shook herself free of his slackened grip. "There's nothing to talk about. I don't even want to be in the same room with you." Pushing past him, she made for the door.
She had her hand on the latch, but Sylvester was on her heels. "No, you don't!" He banged the door closed as she pulled it open. He stood with his shoulders against it and regarded her with near desperate frustration. "Damn it, woman, you're going to listen to me." He closed his eyes wearily for a second, rubbing his temples with his thumb and forefinger. "It's not going to do any good to run away from it."
"Why should I listen to you?" she demanded. "You're a liar and a hypocrite! Why should I ever believe a word you say?"
"Because I've never told you a lie," he said quietly.
"What? You have the unmitigated gall to deny…" She turned from him with an exclamation of disgust. "I loathe you."
A muscle twitched in his drawn cheek, and there was a white shade around the taut mouth, but he fought to keep his voice moderate. "Just consider for a minute. My actions were dictated by your grandfather. It was your grandfather who concocted the terms of the will. I can only guess at his reasons." He explained the details of the codicil.
Theo stared at him as if he were a piece of primeval slime. "You would blame my grandfather for your greed. You agreed to such a despicable trick. You deprived me of my freedom and my sisters of their share in the estate, just so you could have everything. And you set yourself up as a benevolent benefactor, willing to do the right thing… Oh, I can't bear it another minute. Let me out of here." This last was an impassioned demand, and she pushed at his chest as he still stood in front of the door.
It happened with hideous lack of warning. Jagged flashes of white light tore across his vision, and that dreadful creeping sensation crawled up the back of his neck. Why now? he thought on a silent moan of anguish.
"Move out of the way!" Theo shoved at him again, but even through his dread and frustration, he sensed that she'd lost some of her blind certainty.
Why now? The jagged whiteness exploded across his eyes again, and his heart began to beat fast with the panic that he had to hold down. It only made the coming agony even more intolerable.
Theo was staring at him. She'd seen him look like this once before, but she couldn't remember when. He was shrinking before her eyes, becoming a husk emptied of muscle and sinew.
"All right, go," he said, stumbling away from the door.
"What is it?"
"Get out!"
Just like that? One minute be was insisting they resolve this mess, and the next he was throwing her out of the room without so much as an explanation. And now, perversely, she wasn't sure whether she still wanted to walk away from this confrontation. Perhaps there were aspects that she didn't yet understand. Perhaps there was some kind of an explanation, a reason that might make sense. Her grandfather must have had a reason.