Thank God James is so strong and so smart, but still, it was too close. He could have died so easily.”
“He didn’t. He saved himself just as you saved your father.”
Before he could speak again, she leaned down and kissed his mouth lightly, her palm over his heart. The beat was solid, steady, not fast now with need. “Your father,” she said thoughtfully, her brow furrowed, “he must have hated that you, his son, saved him.”
“Yes, he did. He told me he was the father, it was he who should protect his son. He was angry that I leaped in front of him.”
“That surprises you?”
“No. He’s my father. He tried to excuse what I’d allowed Judith to do to me, said if I wanted to apportion blame so badly, then give them all their share.” Jason fell silent, aware of her palm now covering the bullet scar, but beneath her palm the damnable pain was still there, pulsing strong and hot. “He said what I would say had I been the father.”
“Of course. He was also right.”
“You weren’t there, Hallie. You don’t know what really went on.”
“Has your father ever lied to you?”
“Of course not, but this is much different. He wouldn’t see this as a lie, he’d see it-”
“As what?”
“As something he’d fight to believe since I was his son and he loved me.”
“Do you love your father, Jason?”
He grabbed her wrist and pulled her down to an inch from his face. “Why would you ask something so stupid as that?”
She kissed his mouth lightly, then pulled back a little. “Because you obviously didn’t believe him when he told you that you weren’t to blame. How can you love someone when you believe they’re lying to you?”
“It wasn’t like that. He tried to justify it, tried to excuse what I did-”
“This is quite remarkable.”
“What is, damn you?”
“You’ve wallowed in guilt for nearly five long years. You’ve managed to keep that wound raw and bleeding, always there at the edge of your mind so you won’t forget to hate yourself. You’ve nourished this constant companion of yours, kept it strong and in control for so very long. That is great dedication on your part, Jason. I imagine you would probably feel incomplete without it there, poking you, reminding you what an abominable excuse of a man you are.
“Your father must feel that he’s failed you. Actually, I suppose he did fail you. Like I said, it’s obvious you didn’t believe him, did you? Didn’t believe his word that you weren’t to blame? Hmm, all this flailing about over long-ago evil and endless bloody guilt, it’s made me quite thirsty. Would you like some warm milk? I understand it’s Mother’s antidote for depressed spirits. My father always rolls his eyes and says brandy is the only drink to realign the humors. Or would you prefer your spirits to remain depressed?”
“It was you who brought all this up, Hallie, you who demanded to know what happened. My spirits aren’t depressed, dammit.”
“Well, you’ve certainly depressed mine.” She pulled away from him, rose, beautifully naked, only he didn’t notice, since his eyes were focused on her neck, how his hands would fit nicely around her neck, and squeeze. He felt the heavy burn of anger in his throat. “I told you part of me was dead, that I wasn’t whole, that trust had been burned out of me and that’s why I didn’t want to marry, that-”
“Oh yes, you did,” she said, as she pulled on her dressing gown. “It is all very sad. Just imagine-being part dead. Yes, that is indeed sad.” She sighed. “Look at the guilt I shall have to carry around now.”
“Guilt? You? You don’t have any guilt, you were a girl at the time this happened.”
“Oh yes, I do. Don’t you remember? I jumped on your poor dead innocent self. I was very ready to plunge my fingers down the front of your britches-my father was right about that. Attacking you like I did, I sealed your doom. Poor Jason. In addition to all that soul-shattering pain that haunts you, you were forced to take a wife, namely me, the very last thing you wanted. Having a wife must seem to you like the final instrument of torture-the iron maiden-sorry, just a little joke. Poor Jason, trapped now with both the memory of failure and blame-and a wife. Do you think that long-dead evil Judith is hanging about as a spirit, rubbing her hands together because she knows she still controls your life? That would please the damnable bitch, don’t you think? Hmm. I wonder if her spirit ever believes she won. Would you like some warm milk?”
He jumped out of bed, so angry he was nearly rabid with it, so angry he wanted that neck of hers between his big hands, now. He shook his fist at her, yelled at the top of his lungs, “Don’t you try to act all superior and smart with me, Hallie. Don’t you bring up Judith’s smarmy spirit to make me feel ridiculous. Damn you, don’t you dare try to jolly me out of this!”
She saw the pounding pulse in his throat, then stared at his groin. “No, of course not. Sometimes words pop out of my mouth, you know that. I know there’s no way I can make you face up to what happened five years ago. It would be like prying the shingles off a roof with your fingernails. Aren’t you chilly, Jason? Should you like me to give you your dressing gown? I believe it’s over here on the floor, where you threw it about fifteen minutes ago. Ah, but I enjoy looking at you so very much, perhaps-”
He picked up his own dressing gown and shrugged it on. “Damn you, stop staring at me.”
CHAPTER 38
“Why? You have incredible stretches of self that quite delight me. Whenever you have me out of my clothes, you’re either looking at my breasts or at my belly or my legs, or talking about kissing me behind my knees. It’s like you can’t make up your mind.
“Not that it’s any easier with you. Well, I always know where to begin, but then there’s your chest, I can’t forget about your chest, but then, your legs-goodness, I love your legs too. I guess the truth of the matter is every time I look at any part of you-even the dead parts-I feel all sorts of delicious little tingles. Would you like some warm milk now?”
“I don’t want any damned milk. I want a brandy.”
“Hmm. My father would be pleased. Perhaps I’d like a brandy too. Jason?”
“What, dammit?”
“You really don’t like the chair at the end of the bed? Perhaps with enough practice, our clothing would end up on the chair rather than on the floor.”
She was callous and not at all solicitous of him, despite all her bleating to the contrary. He kicked the chair, cursed because it felt like he’d broken one of his toes, and slammed out of the bedchamber. He wished at that moment that Angela was still here. He’d take her a snifter of brandy, pull up a chair beside her bed, and tell her about how he was going to strangle his wife. Then he’d go take care of Lord Grimsby, but Lord Grimsby was a distant second to his crass, unfeeling wife. But Angela had moved to the Dower House three days before, Hollis supervising the four foot-men. He and Hallie were alone in this big house. He’d never believed it was too big before, but he did now. If he strangled her, it would seem even bigger. The entire house would be his. He could do just as he pleased whenever he pleased. Damnation.
Perhaps he’d wake up Petrie, tell him about this bloody uncaring wife of his, listen to him add his own list of female failings to Jason’s list. How long would that last? Knowing Petrie, possibly a week. Besides, with his luck, Martha would overhear, rush in, and smack them both in the head.
“Yoo hoo, Jason! The house is very cold, don’t you think? Can one heat brandy?”
He turned to face his wife, all smiles, trotting toward him down the corridor. She grinned up at him, took his arm. “The house seems too empty without Angela. What do you think is happening at the Dower House?”
“Hopefully they’re sleeping,” he said in a prissy voice.
“Oh dear, this is all my own fault. If only I’d not asked you all those soul-wrenching questions that ended up with you walking out on me, why, right now I’d be lying in the middle of the bed, a silly grin on my face, with you sweating beside me, maybe singing a duet.”
“Be quiet, Hallie.”
