“In his cottage. He has no chairs with which to offer me a seat, his only furniture being a small table and two makeshift pallets. Thus, I do not think it fair to accuse him on that account.” She shrugged. “As to your second concern, we had a chaperone.”
“His sister.”
“Yes.”
“I specifiedproper, you must remember.”
“Which she is, to the utmost.” Meg sighed, liveliness coursing through her body as strongly as the hunger—and the aches. Had her muscles truly grown this lax in so few months?
“What manner of excuse do you have for his mastery over you?”
“It was my choice.”
“Oh?”
“I petitioned him to teach me everything he knows of Meg Foxcroft. His methods, it seems, includeshowingrather than telling.”
At her bedchamber door, Lord Cunningham cupped her shoulder. His eyes sobered. “I cannot tell if I am wise or foolish for allowing you these liberties.”
Allowingher? Meg frowned but forgave him, all in the same heartbeat. He was afraid. As was she. “I cannot marry you until I do this.”
“I hope you shall still marry me when you do.”
“You doubt me.”
“I doubt him.” Lord Cunningham guided her back into the wall, face dipping to hers. “I doubt his scruples, his involvement in your danger, and even this.” He flicked paint off her cheekbone with a gloved finger. “You must not allow him to beguile you, my dear. I cannot bear for him to ruin you twice.”
“You assume much.” She pulled his hand back down, just as his fingers ascended into her hair. “About Tom and … who we were before.”
“It is not my wish to distress you.”
“How much do you know?”
“Dear.”
“Please.”
His sigh spread over her face, warm but oddly disagreeable, like a fruit left unattended a day too long. “It is no secret among residences of Juleshead that your courtship with McGwen was anything but respectable. He enticed you into the night, as if you were a common trollop, and for all his years of courtship—could you call it that—he failed in his one chance to make it right. He did not marry you.”
Disappointment throttled her, but the words felt unreal. She had many offenses against Tom. He had acted untoward so many times and made her livid more than that.
But beneath the beard and brashness, she had a recurring sense she could … well … trust him.
Maybe it was the way he had rushed into Joanie’s chamber and rubbed the girl’s face the night his sister had been injured. Or maybe it was just the way Joanie looked at him. As if he were the sun and moon. As if he could do anything.
Meg didn’t know. She didn’t know himwellenough to know.
“I am sorry.” She lifted her head. “You only mean to protect me, for which my gratitude knows no bounds. But tales grow larger sometimes in the hands of little people.”
“You do not believe me.”
“I believe you do not know the truth any more than I do.” Meg ducked under his arm and pulled open her chamber door. “Goodnight, my lord. Tomorrow, I promise I shall give myself fully to Lady Walpoole and her lessons.”
He nodded, bowed, and forced a smile she detected was not sincere. How long would he stand by and permit her to hunt down the truth? What would she do when he stopped?
She was restless.
Meg had imagined the warm bath and the japanned tray of food would have induced sleep after so long a day. It didn’t. She lifted her eyes to the mirror across the room, almost proud that her cheeks glowed a soft, sun-burnt pink.
