Then why could he not look at her? Nor she him? She had everything to tell him and nothing to tell him. Every encounter was strained. Was she so very changed? He so very reclusive he could not speak to her?
Forks scraped on chinaware. Tom’s knee must have been bouncing, because an annoying squeak repeated over and over under the table.
Lady Walpoole was the first to rise. She requested Lord Cunningham’s presence, and with a grim nod, he followed her from the table. He paused before exiting. His mouth tightened as if he were reluctant to leave Meg alone.
What did he think she was going to do? Throw herself into Tom McGwen’s arms?
Her stomach flipped.
Ridiculous.
“Will you please stop?” she said to Tom once they were alone.
“This place unnerves me.”
“Then eat your breakfast standing up.”
He came to his feet, very little of his plate touched, and threaded both hands through his hair. He paced the room. “Ye’re not going to Juleshead.”
“Neither is my uncle.”
“He does as he likes.”
“So do I.”
Tom circled around to her, leaned on the table with one arm until his face was mere inches from hers. “I’ll tie ye to a chair and stand guard over ye myself, lass, and dinnae think I won’t.”
“Oh, I am quite confident you would try.” Meg refused to shrink away. Her blood rushed at his proximity—the smell of his shirt, the fire in his eyes, the wry curve of his lips. “It is high time both you and Lord Cunningham cease behaving as if I were some witless bird in need of someone to orchestrate my every step.”
“Ye’re not marrying him.”
“Pardon?”
“I said ye’re not marrying the lordy.”
“Why should I not?”
“Because.”
“Because why?”
“Because this.” His hand moved behind her head, pulling her in. He claimed her mouth. Hard and quick and wild and earnest. Frenzy ruptured inside her. She wasn’t certain if she were yanking back her head or falling into him, because the room spun, spun, spun.
No.But the sweetness sucked her deeper. He tasted like the kiss. The first one. The one that had haunted her, trudging through layers of defiance like gold refined in the heat—and her fingers slipped up to his cheek.
His beard was soft, rich, and she couldn’t breathe. She didn’t need to breathe.
Tom.
He looked away. Then kissed her again. Then retreated and walked backward toward the door, never taking his eyes off her. His gaze was stunned. Glassy. Irrevocably changed.
A change she was not ready for.
But, heaven help her, had no power to stop.
CHAPTER 19
The kiss followed him like a whip lashing his soul and flesh to shreds. He rode faster. Air beat at his face, watering his eyes, and the muddy countryside became a blur to him.
