'You're welcome on all three counts. I hate this, but I really do think you should return with them, Meggie. Actually, I'm here to talk you into it.'
'Very well, I'm not stupid. I don't wish to be shot again; maybe the next time it would be just my luck to be low tide. I agree. I will do as everyone wishes.'
'I don't believe you,' he said slowly, staring at her. 'You would never agree to leave me.'
Meggie laughed. 'It's about time you believed that down to the soles of your big feet. You're perfectly right. But don't you see? It is very easy to agree. By the time I am well enough to travel, all this will be resolved.'
'That is another thing about you-you are an optimist beyond anything I have ever seen.'
'No, listen, Thomas. The person responsible for all this misery, he or she must be becoming quite frantic- nothing has worked. I'm alive and three more people are here to watch over me. I have this feeling that something is going to happen very soon simply because this person will burst if he doesn't try to finish it. Now, come to bed, Thomas, if, that is, you can swear to me that there isn't murder being committed in the drawing room.'
'Actually, there might be, depending on how competitive your father and mother are when playing whist.'
'Oh dear. Your mother is partnering Jeremy?'
'Yes.'
'They will win; my parents don't stand a chance. You see, Papa and Mary Rose will keep laughing and comparing hands and gossiping about this and that. It drives serious players quite mad.'
'I don't like the sound of that. My mother is very serious about her journals and about whist. What about Jeremy?'
'He's a killer at whist. I do hope that Charlotte plays well.'
She sounded like Jeremy was nothing more than an acquaintance, perhaps a distant relation. It made him feel very good indeed. He said, his voice light, easy, 'Isn't it nice that we're not involved in any of it?'
'Very nice.' She smiled at him.
Thomas eyed her one last time, rose and stripped off his clothes. When he was naked, he walked back toward the bed, in truth, thinking about where they would search tomorrow at dawn for Jenny MacGraff and also trying to come up with some way to draw out the killer and stop the madness.
'Oh my.'
Those two very short words brought him back immediately to the fact that he was standing naked and that his wife was staring at his groin. He looked down at himself. Predictably, he was hard as the peach pit he'd seen Barnacle throw across the entrance hall for Miss Crittenden to chase down this afternoon. A training technique her ladyship would surely approve, Barnacle had told him.
Thomas took a step back. He stayed hard, got even harder. He was very pleased that his wife admired his body. He was now so hard he hurt. He wanted to weep as he said, 'You're not well, Meggie. Forget all your lustful thoughts. To help you get a grip on your self, remember that your father, who just happens to be a vicar, is seated downstairs in our drawing room.'
She smiled at him, a smile he didn't trust for a minute. Well, damnation, who cared?
She said, 'You're right. At least you will hold me, will you not?'
Oh yes, he would certainly hold her, dammit.
When she was settled against his side, her breath warm against his flesh, no, her breath was really quite hot now, he felt her hand glide down his belly.
'Do be quiet, my lord,' she said, and he nearly wept again at the sound of those wonderful words of hers.
He had to be noble, he had to stop her. It nearly killed him, but he said, 'But you're still not well enough, you're not-'
'It's just my hand, Thomas. I won't hurt myself.'
'All right.'
'I've been thinking quite a bit of taking advantage of you,' and she did.
Before he fell asleep, Thomas found himself thinking for the first time that his mother could be the one who wanted Meggie dead. She could be determined and vicious, he'd seen it too many times over the years. Her mind didn't really work like other people's did. She went to extremes, both in her speech and in her actions. But why would she hate Meggie enough to kill her? And if she did have a reason, why then, who would she have hired to shoot Meggie off the cliff?
No answer.
At the end of the next day there was still no sign of Jenny MacGraff. No one believed she had run away to Dublin. Everyone believed she was dead. Everyone believed that someone had killed her. It became clear that everyone believed it was William
Malcombe who had lured Jenny from the MacGraff cottage and killed her.
Since Meggie was still weak, Thomas carried her to the drawing room, where his mother served everyone afternoon tea.
It was a quiet group. Every few minutes Madeleine said, 'I had rotten cards last night. You, Vicar, never should have won.'
'That is indeed true,' Tysen agreed pleasantly for the third time, giving his hostess his best social smile.
Mary Rose, her beautiful red hair corking out about her head, was pacing, something Thomas did with great regularity, more now since all the bad things had started happening. Every once in a while Mary Rose paused, looked at Meggie, who was, in truth, still on the pale side, still suffering some pain in her shoulder, and still refusing to take more laudanum. Mary Rose looked nearly desperate. Thomas knew the feeling well.
He also had finally come up with an idea.
Mary Rose turned toward Lord Kipper when he came into the drawing room. He said, standing on the threshold, 'Barnacle seems to have taken a brief conge from his post at the front door, Thomas, so I allowed myself to come in.'
'Welcome, Niles,' Thomas said. 'You are just in time for tea.'
Lord Kipper opened his mouth, doubtless to say something amusing, when he stopped cold. He stared at Mary Rose, who was standing with her back to the window. The afternoon sun was pouring in, making her hair look like fire.
'By God you are beautiful,' he said slowly, and strode toward her. 'Who are you? Where have you been? I-'
Tysen rose and stepped in front of his wife. 'Excuse me, sir, she is my wife. I am Lord Barthwaite, Meggie's father.'
Lord Kipper came to a complete and very chagrinned halt in the middle of the drawing room.
'Ah, your wife. I see.'
Meggie, who had never before heard her father introduce himself by his Scottish title, gaped. Here was her father, facing down another man who very much wanted to poach on his preserves. Every bit of Sherbrooke arrogance sounded in his voice, every ounce of Sherbrooke blood in him was ready to boil. Her father, she realized, was ready to take Lord Kipper apart. It was an amazing thing.
Mary Rose suddenly leapt into action. She held out her hand. 'I am Lady Barthwaite, sir. And you are?'
Thomas said, 'This is Lord Kipper, everyone. Niles, you will doubtless meet Meggie's almost cousin a bit later. He is right now at the stables, eyeing my stock.'
It was then that Lord Kipper noticed Libby was there, seated quietly some twelve feet away. She didn't look at all happy with him. Actually she looked ready to shoot him. Lord Kipper was a man of great experience, a particularly fine thing when, upon rare occasion, he made a sterling gaff, such as now. He didn't pause a moment, didn't appear the least embarrassed. He swept down upon Libby, took her hand, caressed her fingers, lightly touched his fingertips to her lips.
'He is amazing,' Meggie said to the room at large.
'Of course,' Madeleine said. 'What would you expect?'
When finally everyone was drinking their tea, Thomas cleared his throat and said, 'Mother, why do you think someone wants Meggie dead?'
The sound of sudden silence was deafening. Everyone froze in place and stared blankly at Thomas.
Thomas didn't look away from his mother. She slowly set her cup back onto its saucer. 'I have thought about it,' she said at last, the look in her eyes very sharp, very cold, 'as I'm sure everyone else has as well. I think it must
