She turned to their host. “Thank you very much for your hospitality, Squire Billings. Do you wish to accompany my husband and me on our inquiries? There are so many people to speak to who might know about what happened last night at the Hangman’s Noose.”
Squire Billings sputtered his coffee onto his necktie. “Well, as for that, I’m not a young man, you know, my lady, and who’s to say what—”
“If it is not too difficult for you, I would ask that you speak to your staff, sir,” Thomas said as smooth as the butter he’d spread on his toast. “This evening we will all compare what we have learned. Meggie, fetch your cloak and bonnet.”
That evening at eight o’clock, Squire Billings knew nothing more than what he’d known at breakfast. He’d had to hunt, he told Lord and Lady Lancaster, looking not a whit apologetic, aye, a full day of it, and he’d been desperately fatigued upon his return and had to nap before dinner. He had asked Elroy to conduct interviews with the staff, but the butler was still too overcome, and besides, what would his staff know?
Everything, Meggie wanted to say, but wisely kept quiet.
As for Thomas and Meggie, they’d found out two things: the local doctor had told them that Marie Leach was unconscious from a blow to the head before she was hung, maybe even already dead, and Bernard Leach had packed up and left the Hangman’s Noose suddenly, and no one knew where he’d gone. Nothing more. Even the stable lad had gone missing.
“Did Bernard go missing because he murdered his wife or because he was too scared to stay?”
It was an excellent question, the only one Thomas had ever heard from Squire Billing, and there was no answer.
It was late when Thomas came into the bedchamber. Meggie was sitting up in the big heavy bed, three pillows behind her back, a candle burning on a small table at her elbow. She appeared to be reading.
She looked up when he came into the room, watched him close the door quietly behind him, watched him set his candle down on the dressing table, then straighten and turn to face her.
She cocked her head to one side and said, “Hello, my lord. What do you want?”
“What are you reading?”
“John Locke. He isn’t very amusing.”
“No.”
“What do you want?” she asked again.
“You,” he said. “I want you, Meggie. Take off your nightgown.”
“I believe some specifics are in order here, my lord.”
“My name is Thomas.” He said again, his voice cold and remote this time, “I said that I wanted you. That is quite specific enough.”
“Do you mean that you want to maul me again?”
His hands stilled on the top button of his trousers. It was a good question. He had mauled her, rutting bastard that he was, but it wasn’t really his fault. If she hadn’t said those things, hadn’t rubbed his nose in the fact that she didn’t love him—no, that was a lie if he’d ever told himself one, which, of course he had. He’d known she hadn’t loved him and he’d believed it wouldn’t matter, that he would make her love him soon enough.
Damnation.
He stripped off his clothes, knowing she was watching, looking at him, pointedly. Surely that could be seen as a good thing, perhaps.
When he was naked, he walked to the bed and sat beside her. He looked into those Sherbrooke eyes of hers, beautiful light blue eyes, vivid as the summer sky—and said, “I will not hurt you tonight. I will come into you and you will like it. I’m going to teach you pleasure, Meggie.” I will be the teacher, the lover, not that bastard Jeremy, and you’ll learn to love my hands and mouth, and stop your dreams about him.
“That’s very hard to believe that it can actually be nice.”
“I’m going to make you grin like a loon, make your eyes go vague. Eventually I’ll even let you go to sleep.” He said nothing more, just drew her against him. “Kiss me, Meggie.”
“All right.” When his tongue was in her mouth, when she’d eased, when he knew she was becoming interested in what he was doing, he threw the pillows on the floor and came down beside her. “You’re beautiful,” he said into her mouth. “And you’re mine, Meggie. You will never forget that. No one else’s, mine.”
She gave him a clear look and said, “Of course I’m yours, Thomas, and you are mine. I pray you will not forget that either.”
That warmed him to his toes, then made him cold again, on the outside. Meggie might not love him, but she was loyal. He wanted her loyalty true enough, but he wanted her to love him too, it was just that simple. He wanted everything. Well, damnation.
When her nightgown was on the floor and he was on top of her, kissing his way down the length of her, he knew it would be difficult to keep himself in check, but he wouldn’t allow a repeat of their wedding.
Thomas’s heart was racing, the blood was pumping through him, hot and heavy, and he hurt with urgency. Then he kissed her white belly, feeling her muscles tense, knowing she was excited, knowing that she was ignorant as a post, but was beginning to enjoy herself and wanted to yell with it. He would make her love him, make her want him above all men, above that damned Jeremy, make her yield her soul to him, whisper his name in her dreams. He smiled when he came between her legs, wanting her, wanting her, lifted her in his hands, and gave her his mouth.