“I should think you would have more allegiance. I am disappointed, Mr. McGwen.” Her chin quivered, but her words hurled out faster. “Not only do I refuse to stay away from him, but I am determined to prove to you the error of your suspicions.”
“Then ye leave me no choice.”
“What are you—”
He brushed past her, irritated, and made it to the door before she swung herself in front of him.
She grasped his arms with a resolute grip. “Tom, please. He is the only family I have. I cannot lose him. I cannot be alone.”
She wasn’t.
She had Tom.
But that seemed to mean less and less to her, and that reality vibrated deep inside him. “He needs to be locked up and kept as far away from ye as possible until we figure this out.”
“No.”
“I’m sorry. I’ve nae choice.”
“Yes. You do.” Her shoulders stiffened. “All this time, you have begged me to trust you. For once, I am asking it back.”
Seconds rushed by.
Patience disappeared, and her lips formed a hard, pinched line. “I am beginning to understand why it was my uncle did not wish us to marry—”
“That’s enough.”
“You have no right to—”
“Meg, enough.” The strain, the bands of resistance, snapped so quickly he was engulfed in flames. “Dinnae raise yer voice at me. I’ve done nothing but try to help ye. From the beginning. But ye’ve lashed me with yer ferocious tongue, and ye’ve kicked me away, and ye’ve treated me like a dog ye can whip around on a rope.” He hovered over her, tearing out of her grip. “I’ve a mind to do what the old goat should’ve done years ago.”
Her chin notched higher, unwavering. “And what is that?”
“Turn ye over my knee and whack some sense into ye.”
“Thank you, sir, for enlightening me as to what sort of gentleman you are.” Her eyes blazed. “And as for sense, I am just this moment attaining it. I trust you can see yourself out?”
“I’m staying.”
“I would think you would be too busy launching your personal manhunt against my uncle than to attend anything so trifling as a dinner party.”
He glowered, bit his tongue before he said something he would regret. Before he told her everything. The guilt on Mr. Foxcroft’s face. Elisabeth, locked in her wretched chamber, murdered. Mrs. Musgrave alone because they’d trusted the wrong man.
“You are no longer welcome in this house.” Meg marched through the doorway and glared back at him one last time. “If you were our friend before, you certainly are not now.”
He was willful, terrible, and a headstrong pig.
Meg balled her gloved fists under the white satin tablecloth, a breeze slanting the steam from various dishes. Lord Cunningham had endeavored to make the dinner party memorable, and since the weather was pleasant, had persuaded Lady Walpoole it would be ingenious to set up a table in the courtyard.
All the guests had gathered first in the drawing room, where awkward introductions were made. Tom had smiled at each new acquaintance, no trace of the earlier aggravation in his movements.
Meg was not so docile.
Chin raised, mouth tight, she unfolded her napkin. Conversation buzzed around her. Mr. Rushworth spoke to Lord Cunningham about a new remedial book he’d discovered in Hatchards Bookshop, while Captain Godfrey recited a droll conundrum to his sister and Lady Walpoole.
With deliberateness, Meg spoke to everyone.
She solved the captain’s challenge while finishing off her beef olives and sweetbread.
