She literally held her breath as she waited for his reply, not wanting to have this conversation. Not now. Not here. Not ever, if she could possibly avoid it.
And it seemed, as Jed’s features finally relaxed into a smile, that this time she was going to escape unscathed.
‘I’ve been wondering about that,’ he drawled. ‘After the venison for dinner last night, what are we actually having for Christmas lunch?’
Meg laughed at his expression, the tension slowly starting to ease out of her at this change of subject. ‘Turkey, of course,’ she reassured teasingly. ‘It’s traditional, after all.’
‘Oh, of course, and this family is big on tradition,’ he said dryly.
‘Some of the time we are.’ She nodded.
‘And does everyone fall asleep this afternoon, full of Christmas cheer?’
‘We’re usually full of white wine, actually,’ she drawled. ‘But yes, it’s tra—’
‘Traditional,’ Jed finished lightly, his own features relaxing into a smile as Jeremy limped over to join them.
Much to Meg’s relief, the conversation focused less on her as Jeremy began talking to Jed about some of the business trips he had made to America over the years, his property developing business taking him all over the world.
Nevertheless, Meg was still rather relieved when lunch was announced, sitting between Scott and her father this time, with Jed on Scott’s other side, giving him no opportunity to engage her in personal conversation again.
But two hours later, all of them stuffed with turkey and Christmas pudding as well as white wine, as everyone else began to doze in armchairs, even Scott fast asleep on his grandfather’s knee, Jed having disappeared upstairs as soon as the meal was finished. Meg took the opportunity to leave them all for a while. Too restless to sleep, she went down to the kitchen instead to share a cup of coffee with Bessie Sykes, the familiar warmth of the kitchen reminding her of the times she used to do this as a child.
Maybe because of that, it seemed perfectly natural, once she left the kitchen some time later, for her to go up to what had been her old bedroom, curious as to what her mother had done with it. She wanted to see whether it had been turned into yet another guest room, or maybe just a junk-room to store unused pieces of furniture until they were needed again.
She was wrong, it was neither of those things.
It was exactly the same as she had left it the last time she had stayed here over three years ago.
Nothing had been moved, nothing had been changed, the rosettes still pinned to the wall, her drawings on another, her books still on the shelves along one wall, her canopied bed, with its antique lace drapes and cover, was made up too, as if she might sleep in it that very night.
Meg was white with shock as she stepped dazedly into the room, her hand trembling slightly as she touched the music box on her lace-covered dressing table, lifting the lid to watch the golden unicorn as it circled in time to the music.
There was no dust in here, no spider’s webs, no air of neglect, the room seeming somehow to have been waiting for her return.
She closed the lid on the music box absently, moving to the side of the bed, the pot-pourri on the bedside table smelling of fresh roses when she touched them.
Her knees felt weak as she sat down abruptly on the side of the bed to look around her.
She didn’t understand.
What did all this mean? Who kept her room like this? Not Bessie, surely; she had enough to do in the rest of the house without cleaning a room that wasn’t used any more. Besides, the cook/housekeeper would never have done all this without being instructed to do so. And that instruction, surely, had to have come from Lydia.
Meg really didn’t understand.
Why would her mother, so cold and remote, although not quite so much today, have bothered not only to leave Meg’s room as it had always been, but to keep it so…
‘Is this your bedroom?’
Meg was too bemused by her discovery to do more than turn her head slowly in Jed’s direction, feeling slightly numbed even as she nodded.
He strolled into the room, much as she had a few minutes ago, pausing when he reached the display of cups and rosettes she had won so many years ago.
He turned to look at her, his expression unreadable. ‘Do you still ride?’
She shook her head. ‘Not for the last few years; there isn’t much opportunity in London.’
He shrugged. ‘Maybe you should take it up again; you were obviously good. I’m sure Scott would enjoy learning to ride.’
‘Maybe,’ she agreed distractedly, some of the shock starting to wear off now.
What was Jed doing up here? This bedroom was on the other side of the house from the adjoining bedrooms they had been allocated yesterday, so what was he doing here.
He turned fully, leaning back against the bookcase. ‘I was just going downstairs to see if I could get a cup of coffee from Mrs Sykes,’ he explained as if reading her thoughts, ‘when I saw you crossing the upper gallery.’
Meg frowned. ‘You followed me.’
‘I followed you.’ He nodded, his tone gentle. ‘I thought you could maybe use some company—was I wrong?’ he asked huskily.
She swallowed hard, one of her hands tightly clenched in the lace cover on her bed. ‘No, you weren’t wrong. I thought—I thought all this—’ she looked around at the beautiful feminine room ‘—I thought it would all be gone.’ She blinked back sudden tears. ‘And instead, instead I found…’ She broke off, her emotions too fragile for her to continue.
‘Instead you found that it’s been kept exactly as you left it, yes?’
Jed moved to sit on the side of the bed beside her.
‘What does it mean, Jed?’ she choked, fighting to hold back the tears, knowing she hadn’t succeeded as they fell hotly down her cheeks.
He reached up to gently smooth the tears from her cheeks. ‘I think what it means,’ he said huskily, ‘is that your mother is a very complex and emotional woman that only your father truly understands.’
Her father…That conversation she had had with him last night, when he had told her that her mother loved her. This bedroom, the way it had been kept exactly as it was, surely had to mean that was true. But then why didn’t her mother show that love. Why did she hold herself so aloof.
‘Your mother isn’t like you, Meg,’ Jed soothed at her silence. ‘Her emotions, whatever they might be, are kept firmly under control.’
Sonia claimed she wasn’t like her, either. And yet this last couple of days Meg had discovered an emotion in both of them that she hadn’t thought either was capable of. That emotion was love. Maybe they didn’t in the open, giving way that Meg did, but they did love.
As she loved Jed, she suddenly saw with startling clarity. Not could. Not would. But did.
She loved the way he looked, his sense of humour, the fun he had with Scott but at the same time gentle with him, the understanding he showed her parents, the warm way he talked of his own family. But most of all, she loved him, his forcefulness when necessary, the way he had of making problems seem trivial by making her laugh at them, his intelligence.
The way he kissed her. She groaned low in her throat as he began to do exactly that.
He felt so good, tasted so good, that at that moment nothing else seemed to matter but him.
They were hungry for each other, lips and hands seeking, receiving a response that neither of them tried to deny, Meg’s body turning to liquid fire as Jed touched her, and she knew he felt the same as she caressed the hardness of his back.
‘You’re so beautiful, Meg,’ Jed rasped as he pushed her jumper aside. ‘So small, perfect, and beautiful.’ He groaned before lowering his head to capture one roused nipple between his lips, his hands caressing her waist and thighs.
She was on fire, needing him, all of him, wanting him so much.
A need he felt too if the heat of his body was anything to go by, his body hard with wanting her, that hardness demanding against her as he moved to lie above her.
She could feel his desire, felt her own response, her fingers feverishly entangled in the darkness of his hair as her neck arched in pleasure at the feel of his lips and tongue against her sensitized flesh, a pleasure that was building inside her, crying out for release.
A release she knew impossible as she opened her eyes to look up and see the lace canopy of her bed.
Not here, this couldn’t happen here, amongst the memories of her childhood. She couldn’t.
‘Not here, Meg,’ Jed raggedly echoed her thoughts as he began to kiss her lightly, soothingly, her neck, her cheek, her eyes, her nose, and finally her lips, his hands cupping each side of her face as he looked down at her. ‘It isn’t that I don’t want you—I can hardly claim that at this moment, can I?’ he added self-derisively, his body hard with need of her. ‘I do want you, Meg, more than I would have believed possible.’ He gave a pained frown. ‘But this—this room…’ He looked around at the trophies of her childhood.
‘I feel the same way, Jed.’ She reached up to touch the heat of his cheek, her smile rueful. ‘It isn’t right for me either. Perhaps—perhaps we should just go back downstairs and forget this ever happened?’
Forget?
He very much doubted he would ever forget the feel and taste of this woman.