Pendragon (21 page)

Meggie poured and distributed the tea.

“It isn't sweet enough,” said Madeleine after taking one tiny sip.

Meggie added another spoonful of sugar to the cup and watched her mother-in-law stir it until surely the tea was cold.

This wasn't at all promising. Meggie sipped her own tea, looking toward her husband, who was standing beside the fireplace, his back against the wall. He'd set his teacup on the mantel and crossed his arms over his chest.

Barnacle tottered into the drawing room, looking to be in agony, and gasped out, “Ennis has delivered yer luggage to yer rooms, my lord. He didn't do it well, even though I instructed him thoroughly all along the way. My lady, I will be ready for yer ministrations in an hour.”

“Her what, Barnacle?” Libby asked, and poured the rest of her sherry down, holding out her empty glass even as she thrust it toward Thomas.

“Her ladyship, the one wot's married to our new lordship here,” said Barnacle, screwing up his face into even more agony, “is going to walk on my back, since both ye and the dowager countess are too heavy and would surely break me in two.”

No one said a word. Meggie was the only one who watched Barnacle totter out of the drawing room. The two women were arguing again, but low now, and Meggie couldn't make out what they were saying.

This was surely the strangest household Meggie had ever visited. No, not visited. She lived here. Blessed hell. Then she remembered Glenda Strapthorpe, who'd gone to great lengths to try to trap Meggie's father into marriage, and knew she'd have to think about this before making a
judgment. Perhaps every household was strange in its own way. She thought of her grandmother Lydia and sighed. She kept her eyes on her teacup.

Not many minutes later Barnacle was standing again in the open doorway to the drawing room. He said in a very formal voice to Thomas, “Lord Kipper is here, my lord. Since ye are now an earl and he is only a baron, he isn't worthy enough to be shown into the drawing room unless ye expressly wish him to.”

“You're right. He is only a baron. What do you think we should do with him?”

“Lock him in a bedchamber with a half dozen maids and see if he emerges alive.”

“Hmmm. A creative idea, but just think of the maids, Barnacle. Bring him in and we will pretend he is worthy enough to be in my presence.”

22

M
ADELEINE AND LIBBY
were laughing even before Barnacle was out of the drawing room, and Barnacle knew it, bowing his shoulders and tottering even more.

When Barnacle and his back were out of sight, Thomas ignored the laughing women and said to his wife, “Lord Kipper is an old smuggler who was knighted by George way back in 1809 when he accidently managed to sink a French warship. He really believed it was a boat of English soldiers bent on taking him to Newgate.”

“You're making that up,” Meggie said.

“Young lady, my son never makes anything up,” Madeleine said. “Lord Kipper is a very brave man, not like that wretched Lord Lancaster, who, thankfully, is finally six feet underground. Had I been there, I would not have worn mourning nor thrown a rose atop his casket. I would have spit.”

“Meggie's father, the vicar of Glenclose-on-Rowan, gave the service. He surely wouldn't have appreciated that, Mother.”

“My lord. Ladies.”

Meggie looked up to see a man stride into the drawing room. He was as tall as Thomas and twice his age. He was very possibly one of the most beautiful men Meggie had ever seen in her life. He looked like a fallen angel, fair and blond, but the compelling strength in his face, the
planes and shadows of the bones, the blueness of his eyes, the way all of him fit together was incredible. She imagined that Uncle Douglas's twin sons, James and Jason, would be as beautiful as Lord Kipper when they were his age, and that was saying something indeed since her dratted cousins had been so beautiful since early boyhood that her uncle Douglas and aunt Alex had been constantly bombarded with gifts from all the girls in the neighborhood, hoping to be noticed by the twins.

It was amazing, this male beauty. Lord Kipper looked toward her and smiled, an absolutely devastating smile, all white teeth and intimacy, and it made her toes curl in appreciation. Six maids with him in a locked bedchamber? Hmmm.

“I am Meggie Sherbrooke—”

“You are now a Malcombe. I am her husband, Niles.”

“And he's an earl now, not just a mangy baron,” Barnacle said from just on the other side of the still-open drawing room doors.

Lord Kipper laughed. “I was always too big to walk Barnacle's back,” he said, “and he's never forgiven me.” In that moment Meggie knew to her toes that he was as outrageous and as charming as both of her uncles. She wondered what her uncle Ryder would have to say about the six maids in a locked bedchamber.

As Lord Kipper walked across the wide expanse of dismal drawing room, Meggie noticed that he limped. When he reached her, he gave her an intimate smile again, devastating it was, took her hand and slowly raised it to his lips, never looking away from her face. “Meggie. What a lovely name, my dear.”

“You will not try to seduce my wife, Niles,” Thomas said, just the barest hint of menace showing through the amusement in his voice. “Drop her hand this instant.”

Lord Kipper didn't drop her hand, rather, he very gently lowered it until it was nearly touching her breast. Then he eased free, pressing her fingers lightly downward until she was touching herself. He smiled. Meggie was so shocked, so utterly mesmerized by what he'd done, that
she just stood there like an idiot, gaping at him.

“You are such a tease,” Libby said, a wealth of knowledge and a touch of coyness in her voice, Meggie wasn't mistaken about that. And a dollop of jealousy perhaps because Lord Kipper hadn't done it to her?

“Do you have a wife, sir?” Meggie asked, pulling herself together by the simple act of taking three steps away from this dangerous man.

“Oh no, my dear. Well, there was Nell. She gave me my heir, then departed to her reward very shortly thereafter, bless her, and she did it quickly, with little fuss. Unfortunately my heir died at the age of six. I admit I worried about an heir for a while, but no longer. No, I decided I didn't want another wife. Far too confining, you know. Since I am English and I have money, why, I much enjoy keeping a mistress now and again. My nephew is my heir, a good boy, at Oxford now, and so he isn't around to sniff after them.”

Meggie knew he was now looking at her bosom, and she was so disconcerted she said, “You are speaking of your mistress, sir, in polite company?”

“Ah, this group isn't at all polite,” Lord Kipper said. “Just ask that husband of yours, one of the wickedest young men I've met in a long time.”

He grinned over at Thomas, who'd taken a step away from the fireplace when he'd threatened to kill Lord Kipper, now moved back, relaxing again against the mantelpiece, his arms crossed over his chest.

“Thomas isn't wicked,” Meggie said, frowned and paused, tilting her head to one side. “At least I don't think he is. We haven't known each other all that long, you see.”

“Yes,” Lord Kipper said, “I see.”

“Niles hasn't ever changed his stripes,” Thomas said to his wife. “He was a terror when he was a boy, sowed more wild oats than an entire class at Oxford, and decided he quite liked it. Meggie, I am not wicked at all. He is the master and he's always wanted a student to follow in
his path, but it isn't me. I doubt not that Niles will go to his grave a terror.”

“Praise the Lord,” Libby said. “Thomas, you are teasing your bride. My dear, he is quite wicked enough. Now, Niles, who is your latest mistress?”

“Well,” said Lord Kipper, “I just dismissed a young lady who returned last week to her home in St. Ives.” He looked down at his hands for a moment, utterly distracted. Was he still thinking about her?

“Ah, yes, Melinda,” he said. “I expect I shall miss her, particularly as the days grow longer and there is so much light to see and to enjoy and—well, perhaps with the addition of your wife, Thomas, the company is polite enough now to forego specificity.”

Meggie looked frankly disappointed. Her husband grinned at her.

“Then why did you let her go?” Madeleine asked.

“Unfortunately my nephew paid me a surprise visit and nearly lost what few wits he possessed when he saw her. He refused to go back to England, read poor Melinda love poetry from below her window, standing in the rain. I was afraid he would catch an inflammation of the lung, so what was I to do?”

“Send the fool packing,” Thomas said. “Not Melinda.”

“Ah, well, such a pity I didn't think of that at the time. What's done is done. Now, I am on the lookout, you could say.” He paused a moment, stroking his long fingers over his jaw. “I think I just might be in the market for an older, more experienced female person. Will you consider it, Libby?”

“Will I have to lose flesh?”

“I have decided that a bit of strategic padding on a woman's body isn't as distasteful as I have always believed. How could a man dislike such a lovely expanse of white flesh? No, my dearest Libby, you may continue eating to your heart's content. I will come back on the morrow and we will discuss how this is to be accomplished.”

Libby nodded and bowed her head, a lovely smile on
her mouth. She was humming under her breath.

Meggie's uncles were outrageous, no doubt about that, even though they did try to keep their hands off their wives and keep all their drawing comments to a whisper when any of the children were near. But since she was the next generation eavesdropper after her aunt Sinjun, she'd heard quite a bit over the years, but never anything like this. She stared at her husband. He had no expression at all on his face. No, that wasn't right. He was looking a bit amused, maybe a touch of irony mirrored in those dark eyes of his. She wanted to go to the stable, find herself a stout horse, and ride back to Cork Harbour. Maybe there would be a boat headed back to England.

Thomas said abruptly, “Niles, you remember Bernard Leach, do you not? He and his wife own the Hangman's Noose near St. Agnes?”

“Oh yes, a tippler is Bernard, tried to cheat me once about ten years ago. I kicked him but good in his ribs, his wife holding him down for me, all the while cursing him from Cornwall to Scotland. Marie's a good woman. Why do you ask?”

“His wife, Marie, was murdered—hanged—and Bernard is missing. Before he disappeared, he told me the Grakers did it.”

“Marie is dead? Murdered? Oh no.” He sighed deeply and everyone in the room knew he was much affected. “How we enjoyed each other whenever I managed to sneak into the inn, usually right under Bernard's nose. Now, what is this about Grakers? Cornish pixies? Why, those little mites wouldn't harm a soul. Whenever I am in England I swear I can hear them singing in the yew bushes. Bernard is lying. He killed her, the bastard.”

Lord Kipper had slept with Mr. Leach's wife? “Evidently Grakers can be vicious,” Meggie said, knowing in that moment that she'd been thrown into Bedlam.

Niles shrugged. “That's a tale. You say that Bernard disappeared? Come now, Thomas, where could he possibly disappear to?”

“I don't know. I didn't join the search for him because
I needed to come home to Pendragon. Stay away from my wife, Niles, or I will break your leg, not your lame one, your very fit one.”

Niles, Lord Kipper, sighed, and toasted Meggie with his teacup when she handed it to him and said, “I shall miss Marie. Lovely woman, although her tongue had grown sharper over the years. I hope they catch old Bernard and stretch his neck.”

 

Alvy Shanahan, Meggie's fifteen-year-old maid, was small, pert, her hair was as black as Thomas's, and she had the most beautiful lilting accent Meggie had ever heard.

And she heard a lot of that lilt because Alvy didn't stop talking, not for a single moment, from handing Meggie her chemise to the final pat on her hair, Alvy talked. And she talked of only one person—Thomas Malcombe, how very handsome he was, and ah, so very big and manly, and all that lovely black hair, and those forearms of his, thick with muscle and brown from the sun with black hair on them, and don't forget those lovely dark eyes of his, that ye could just fall into.

Oh dear, Meggie thought, she didn't want her maid to be in love with her husband.

Just after nine o'clock that evening, Thomas led her into the White Room, dismissed Alvy, ignoring her look of abject adoration, and said, “I have decided to sleep with you, Meggie.”

“Good. Then I can begin improvements on you immediately.”

He laughed even as he unfastened the long march of buttons down her back. “Cook—Mrs. Mullins—came here to Pendragon with my mother. That's why you had English fare.”

Another area needing improvement. “You liked the beef, Thomas?”

“Oh no, but no matter. She has been with us as long as I've been on the earth. When I am really hungry, I ride into Kinsale to visit a friend and beg my dinner. However,
you will have a pleasant surprise at breakfast.”

“Perhaps I can give her some new recipes that will improve upon the meals.”

“Just go easy, that's all I ask, Meggie.” He pulled her sleeves down to her elbows, trapping her arms to her sides. Slowly he turned her to face him. “I like the dark blue against all this white. A splash of color in the snow.”

She raised her face and he kissed her.

“Oh my,” she said when he finally raised his head some time later. “Oh my. That is so very nice, Thomas. Perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps you are wicked, in the very best of ways.”

He was pleased with his wickedness when he brought her to orgasm some fifteen minutes later, had her shuddering with such deep pleasure that she looked ready to expire from it. She lay panting on the beautiful white bed with its white counterpane and white sheets with him still deep inside her, and she loved the feel of him, the sound of his voice as he said love words to her and sex words, many of which she didn't understand, for after all, she was a vicar's daughter. Many of them, however, she did understand because she was, after all, also her uncles' niece.

“Thomas,” she whispered against his shoulder, then lightly bit him and licked his salty flesh.

“Ah, don't,” he said, but it was already too late. He groaned, harsh and low that groan that bespoke his innards were being stomped on as he spilled his seed so wonderfully deep inside her.

When he was breathing again, his eyes focused on her face, she said, “That was very nice, too, Thomas, very nice indeed.”

A vast understatement. He was too far gone to talk. How could she manage to speak coherently?

After some time, Thomas managed to lean over and douse the row of candles in the filthy silver holder. When it was dark, when she was lying on her back, staring up at the white ceiling which she now couldn't see, she said,
“I like children. I remember I was so pleased when Mary Rose birthed Alec and—”

“Go to sleep, Meggie.”

“The ten years—perhaps I can accomplish it in nine years.”

“What ten years? Nine years? What are you talking about?”

“To make you the perfect man.”

He laughed and pulled her against him. He felt her warm breath on his flesh. He was asleep long before she was. He didn't snore.