What the devil had happened? He opened the door wide.
“Mistress Sherbrooke,” he said formally, giving her a small bow, “do come into my humble estate room. I didn’t realize that small private gate still opened.”
“I forced it,” Meggie said. “Good afternoon, Thomas. It isn’t raining. Have you finally allowed Mr. Hengis some potato sticks?”
“No. Morgana informed me that Mr. Hengis—Benjie—was a poltroon, that you, little sweetling that you are, got a soaking because he misread his nose and you could have easily succumbed to an inflammation of the lungs.”
He watched her calm, even smile at his jest, regain her bearings. He said then, “Come in and sit down.”
She did, saying nothing more. She eased down in the leather chair across from the big mahogany desk.
He sat on the edge of his desk and swung his leg, content to watch her for a few moments. She was really quite upset.
“All right, tell me what happened before you spit nails on my carpet.”
“Nothing, dammit.”
He very nearly laughed. “You, the vicar’s daughter, shouldn’t tell lies, Meggie. You probably shouldn’t curse either. Something bad is bound to happen, like your tongue might rot off.”
“Why would you care? What is my tongue to you?” The instant the words were out of her mouth, she remembered all too well that kiss in Martins’ barn. “Never mind, don’t you dare say anything. All that tongue business was very improper. I am so angry, Thomas, I could kick something.”
“That moldering old hassock is at your disposal.”
Meggie leapt to her feet, gave the hassock a hard kick, so hard she nearly knocked herself backward. She turned and smiled at him. “Thank you.”
“A person should never allow ire to build to high levels. It clogs the body’s pathways and leads many times to bad things, such as cursing.”
“Blessed hell, surely that is nonsense.”
“Oh no. I once knew a man who worried all the time, even worried when he discovered that his watch was several minutes slow and how many people he’d offended by being late. He never said much, just walked about with a frown on his face and bucketfuls of worry in his heart. Finally, one day when he was worrying about how his hog would ever find enough mud to wallow in since there hadn’t been much rain, he just fell over dead, his pathways all clogged. So the moral to this tale is to spit it out when you’re upset about something and kick something. Now, would you like a bit of brandy?”
“Brandy? Goodness, I haven’t tasted brandy since Leo, Max, and I once stole Papa’s bottle, hid behind one of the big tombstones in the cemetery, and drank it empty. All three of us were vilely sick. Papa, as I remember, didn’t give us a hiding, just said that we now knew firsthand what stupidity tasted like.”
Thomas laughed. “A taste does not stupidity make.”
“Who said that?”
“Some long ago brilliant fellow.”
“You’re lying, but all right, I will try my first taste of brandy as a grown-up person.”
He poured her a bit and himself a bit more. He clicked his snifter to hers. “Here’s to the demise of the obnoxious person who made you angry enough to spit.”
She choked, spewing the mouthful of brandy all over the front of his white shirt. She dropped the snifter, and stared at the darkening stain on that pristine white shirt. “Oh no, I don’t believe I did that. This is awful, just look at that stain. It’s such a beautiful shirt and I’ve ruined it. I spit on you. I’ve never done that before. I’m so sorry, Thomas.”
He set down his own snifter and took her hands between his. “It’s all right. It’s just a shirt. No, Meggie, please don’t try to suck it clean like little Rory tried to do to your skirt that morning at the church.” She looked as if she would burst into tears and laughter, both at the same time.
He didn’t think, just leaned down and kissed her. He tasted brandy and that sweet scent of her that had tantalized him when he’d kissed her before, a scent he’d never before tasted on another woman.