“Oh no. So you’re telling me that you raised your brothers?”
“Oh yes, at least until my father married Mary Rose. I was ten and a good-sized girl, lots bigger and stronger than they were. I could pound them whenever they needed it, which was quite often, being that they were boys, and had no sense at all. Yes, they required a great deal of discipline, and a vigilant eye. Leo was the prankster. I’ll never forget the time he cut a strip out of the back of my gown. I threw him in the bushes for that stunt.”
He laughed. He realized he’d laughed more since he’d met her than in a very long time.
They led their horses out of the barn. Pen whinnied, delighted to have escaped, hide intact. Leaves dripped water, the ground was spongy. He gave her a leg up, saying as she smoothed her skirts over her legs, “I hear from Dr. Dreyfus that Rory will be up to all sorts of mischief by the end of the week.”
“Oh yes. Let me thank you again, my lord.”
“You can thank me by calling me Thomas.”
“If you put it that way. All right. Thomas. It is a good name, a solid name. I will use it. Since you’ve kissed me, using your tongue, I suppose I know you well enough.”
“Yes, I believe you do, at last. Dr. Dreyfus also wants to analyze all the medicines my partner in Italy sent me. He has asked me to have that maringo root sent here to see if it can be grown in England. He is very excited about it.”
Meggie wasn’t really listening. Thomas Malcombe wasn’t a cousin. She’d known him such a short time, and he’d opened his mouth when he’d kissed her that second time.
He wasn’t Jeremy.
She managed to bring herself back to the point. “There was another case of the virulent fever, and Dr. Dreyfus immediately administered your drug. Little Melissa perked up very quickly.”
“Yes, everyone in the village told me about it.”
“Everyone in the village is also singing your praises. The men are toasting you in the taproom. The ladies are so fulsome in their praise that your ears should be burning. You are rapidly working up to local hero.”
“I like that,” he said, and lightly laid his hands over hers. “I would like to see the Channel.”
Meggie raised her face to the watery sun, and smiled. “I should like that as well,” she said.
She wondered if perhaps she should kiss him again. Was the female supposed to open her mouth as well? Perhaps touch his mouth with her tongue?
She shivered. This was new ground, probably unsafe ground. She wasn’t at all certain that she wanted to walk here. She thought of Jeremy kissing her, knowing it would spin her off her feet, and felt a deep shaft of pain. He said, “Perhaps you could be specific about what the ladies are saying about me and my magnificence. I would like my ears to burn a bit. They never have before.”
“I’m not sure that is such a good idea,” Meggie said. “I think you could grow far too used to being worshipped,” and nudged her boot heels into Survivor’s sides.
* * *
Chapter 9
THAT IS QUITE the longest leap Cleo has ever made,” Meggie said, reading the distance stick again. “Yes, that’s right—three feet and about four inches. Just excellent, my sweet girl.”
“It’s that new training method, Meggie,” Alec said, humming under his breath. He stroked the cat’s back, long light strokes. Cleo began to purr and arch her back.
Like what Thomas Malcombe did to me. At least I had the sense not to purr and squirm.
Oh dear, better concentrate on training methods. She wrapped the long length of pale yellow ribbon around her hand. A good foot of it was shredded by Cleo catching it, her claws seaming it, so that it was now five skinny strings of ribbon.
Alec said, “She might just beat Mr. Cork on Saturday.”
“I have worked with Mr. Cork as well, and you know he has more endurance. He is very taken with smells, as you know. I tried a new one on him—mackerel. I chopped it up, added a dash of garlic, and dried it. Then I wrapped it in a netted bag. He nearly ran his legs off trying to get close enough to get a really strong whiff of it. It must replace the dead trout.”