“Imagine calling me a tart. I never slept with any man other than your father and Lord Kipper, and who wouldn’t bed him if they had a chance? He was beautiful twenty years ago and he’s beautiful today, and ever so talented. I’ll wager that little wife of yours would take him to her bed in an instant if he crooked his finger at her.”
“Niles enjoys life too much to try that, Mother.”
“You would shoot him if your wife here were unfaithful to you?”
“In an instant.”
“And what, may I ask, would be her punishment?”
“Since this will never happen, then I really don’t have to think of one, do I?”
“I saw her looking at Lord Kipper, Thomas, just like Miss Crittenden looked at that bit of sea bass Cook served for dinner before you arrived.”
Thomas just smiled, but there was something in his eyes, something dark and hidden from her. Meggie frowned.
“I didn’t realize Libby knew such a deadly word as pernicious,” he said.
Madeleine said, “I didn’t either. Pernicious. I am here to look it up in that dictionary on your desk. I hope I have the spelling right. I ask you, what good is a dictionary if you don’t already now how to spell the word? Stand aside.”
Thomas took Meggie’s hand and led her from the estate room. They were half a dozen steps beyond the room when they heard his mother squawk.
“Let’s hurry,” Thomas said.
“Thank you, Thomas.”
He turned to smile down at her. “For what? Dragging you out of the room before she found pernicious?”
“For telling your mother that I wouldn’t ever betray you.”
“Yes,” he said slowly, turning away from her to look out over the Irish Sea, “I did say that, didn’t I?”
That night a storm blew in, rain slammed hard against the windows, and the black of the night was absolute.
“Oh God, Meggie,” he said against her mouth, felt the world tilt and every muscle in his body scream, and managed to pull out of her just in time. He hung over her, panting, so beyond himself, that for many moments it was very close.
“Thomas? What’s wrong?”
“You weren’t with me,” he said, low and harsh, and gave her his mouth.
When she arched her back and yelled to the ceiling, he came into her again, hard, deep and deeper still, and harder than he should have, but he just couldn’t help himself.
Some time later Thomas was lying on his back, his breathing slow and calm now, his wife’s breath warm against his bare chest. Suddenly he felt her jerk, and tightened his arm around her.
“Meggie,” he said against her hair, kissing her. “You’re dreaming. Come, wake up.”
She moaned quietly, pressing closer to him, and her breath was hot against his flesh, wheezing in and out. Something bad was happening. She sucked in a deep breath, shuddered. He started to shake her awake when she moaned, “Jeremy, no, no. Blessed Hell, no. Jeremy.”
He didn’t shake her. He didn’t do anything for a very long time, just let her thrash about and moan, deep in her throat.
When finally she was calm again, when she hadn’t moaned his name again for at least five minutes, Thomas eased away from his wife, and rolled off the side of the bed. He came up to stand over her. He couldn’t see her well because of the storm, the blanket of rain that obscured any outside light, the blackness of the room. But yet again he heard her moan his name; it wouldn’t leave his brain. Over and over he heard her say that bastard’s name: Jeremy. He wished he had the sod right here, right now. He wanted to choke the life out of him. He knew he wouldn’t hesitate a minute to kill him.
And she’d said his name, damn her. Said it again and yet again. Just as she’d spoken of Jeremy to her father, and she’d been married to him not more than two hours.
It was as he’d told his mother—Meggie would never betray him. He knew it all the way to his gut. No, Meggie would never make an assignation with another man and break her marriage vows.
But the fact was he also knew that she already had—in her mind, in her heart, and he believed to his soul that betrayal in the heart was the worse. She’d married him under false pretenses. He’d forgiven her, knowing she liked him, perhaps admired him, knowing he could make her love him, want him as he’d wanted her since the first time he ever saw her. She certainly liked bedding him. He’d let himself grow complacent, secure in her. He’d let it all fade from his mind. Until now. She’d dreamed about the bloody sod. He didn’t think he could bear it.
He didn’t leave her, although he wanted to. He couldn’t. There was a madman out there who wanted her dead. He couldn’t leave her alone.