Pendragon (Sherbrooke Brides 7)

Her hair was mussed, as if she’d been fretting about something and had yanked on it, her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes, so expressive, bright and vivid, so filled with what she felt—oh God, something was wrong. It was like a punch to the gut.

He was around his desk in an instant, his hands around her arms but a moment later, and he was actually shaking her. “What the devil is wrong? What happened? Did someone hurt you?”

She looked up at him and said, without preamble, “My father told me about Melissa Winters.”

A dark eyebrow went up, making him look like a satyr, emphasizing the arrogant tilt of his head, the go-to-the-devil look. His hands dropped away, his voice was suddenly colder than the Channel waters in February. “Your father, my dear, shouldn’t meddle.”

Meggie sent her fist as hard as she could into his belly. He’d had an instant to tighten his stomach muscles before her fist landed hard and his breath whooshed out. At least the punch didn’t bowl him over. He grabbed her wrist before she could hit him again.

“That hurt,” he said.

Meggie tried to pull away, but he held her wrist tightly. She was panting even as she shouted at him, “I’m glad it hurt. Let me go and I’ll do it again!”

He grabbed her other wrist and shook her. “Dammit, Meggie, what the devil is wrong with you?”

“Thomas Malcombe, don’t you dare pretend that you’re bored by all this, that you’re indifferent to it, that you have no idea what I’m talking about, what I’m enraged about. Lower that supercilious eyebrow. Listen to me, Thomas, my father is the vicar. It is my father’s duty to meddle, particularly since you wish to be his son-in-law. He wants to protect me.”

“All right, now it’s my turn to be angry. No, don’t try to get away from me. I’m going to hold you awhile longer, there’s still too much blood in your eyes. Now, your damned father should not have sullied your ears with this. It has nothing at all to do with you, Meggie, nothing at all. Melissa was a mistake, a very bad one, admittedly, but your father should not have told you about it.”

“The mistake, as you so indifferently call it, has cost Melissa dearly. Now there will be a child to live with the consequences of that mistake.”

He released her, walked over to the sideboard, and poured himself some brandy. She’d seen his indifferent act, then seen the anger gushing out, and now he was the controlled gentleman again. She watched him sip the brandy before he turned back to her. “I am sorry for it,” he said, all calm and smooth, “but it happened and I couldn’t prevent it from happening. If I’d known, I would have stopped it, but I didn’t know.”

All his male beauty disappeared in that instant, all his charm with it. Jeremy was an insufferable moron, but Thomas was worse by far. He was treacherous. She was appalled both at herself for her lack of wisdom, and at him, for his indifference, his utter lack of remorse for what he’d done. Her own anger, her outrage at what he’d done, was fast drowning out her pain at his betrayal. “You couldn’t prevent it from happening? If you had known what? Are you mad?”

“No, I’m not in the least mad. Won’t you sit down, Meggie?” His hand was shaking. He hated that. Even as he waved her toward a chair, he moved quickly behind his desk.

“I don’t want to sit down,” she said, strode to his desk, leaned toward him, splaying her hands flat. “I want you to tell me why you couldn’t prevent this mess from occurring. Surely you aren’t going to blame Melissa for all of it? She seduced you? She, woman of the world that she is, forced you to be intimate with her? Blessed hell, Thomas, please don’t tell me that.”

He remained standing behind his desk, leaned forward as well, his own palms flat on the desktop, his face not six inches from hers. He said slowly, “No, I won’t tell you that. You haven’t known me long, Meggie, but I had believed that you’d come to trust me. I gather your father told you that I am paying for the upbringing of Melissa’s child.”

“Yes.”

“I told you I had no control. I meant it. You see, I didn’t know what William had done until it was far too late. Hell, I didn’t even know he was in town.”

Meggie drew back, now standing ramrod straight. “William? Who the devil is William?”

“My younger brother, my half brother, actually. He is at Oxford. However, four months ago, he was in London, as I said, unbeknownst to me at the time. He and several of his friends decided to experiment with sin—whores and gaming hells. He did, unfortunately, attend one party, met Melissa, and things progressed rapidly from there.” He frowned at her, then the frown deepened as he stared beyond her to the enclosed garden. “You believed I was the one to impregnate Melissa Winters.”

“Yes, I did. That is what my father told me.”

“I did not. She is a child, a silly foolish girl.”

“We are the same age.”

“Only in years, Meggie, only in years. William didn’t admit it to me until Melissa’s father arrived here at Bowden Close to call me a philandering bastard. Of course, then I managed to figure out what must have happened.”

William. It was William, his half brother, and she hadn’t even known he’d existed.

It wasn’t Thomas.

Meggie felt the sun break over her head. The explanation—it had burst forth and it was clean and pure with no murky gray to muck things up. She felt such relief, such profound joy, she wanted to shout. She said, “How old is William?”

“He’s twenty-one, much younger for a male than it is for a female. Using myself as a measuring stick, I have determined that youth tends to encourage stupid behavior. Haven’t you done foolish things, Meggie?”

“Yes,” she said without hesitation, “but I have never searched out a boy to seduce him.”

This effortless charm of hers. It washed over him, whether he wanted it to or no. “No,” he said, “you wouldn’t.”