He touched his tongue to her mouth, urging hers to open, and she did, just a bit. When he eased his tongue into her mouth, she jumped, pushed away from him, backed up three fast steps, tripped over the hassock she’d kicked and landed on her bottom not on the soft Axminster carpet, but onto the oak floor.
“Meggie! Are you all right?”
She blinked up at him. “I think I’ve jarred my innards,” she said, “but nothing that will kill me.”
“Your bottom is well padded. Your innards should be safe.”
She shook her head, came up to her knees, and stayed there a moment, looking fixedly into the comer of the estate room.
“Why did you jump away from me?”
“This time I just happened to leave my mouth open and you slid in your tongue. It’s very strange, well—very personal—you know what I mean?”
“If you will just hold still and give it a chance, just maybe you will like it. Meggie, why are you staring off across the room?”
“There’s a dead mouse in the corner.”
He laughed, the latest laugh in the long line of laughs that had come from deep within him since he’d come here and met this woman. He said, “That must mean that Tansie was making another quilt rather than cleaning properly. I will tell Morgana and she will either forbid Tansie potato sticks or have her go eat mushrooms in the forest.”
Meggie laughed. She just couldn’t help it. “I do wish you would stop that.”
“Stop what? Making you forget that you want to be angry and miserable and that your bottom hurts?”
“Yes, all of that” She sighed and pulled herself up. He watched her rub her bottom, even as she chewed on her bottom lip and stared at one of his shirt buttons.
“The brandy has already stained your lovely shirt. I am so sorry. If anyone sees you they will believe you a drunkard. I will have to defend you, but alas, here is your shirt as a silent witness, and thus no one will believe me. So, may I take it back to Mrs. Priddle? She can remove any stain in Christendom.”
“If it means that much to you, and to save my reputation,” he said, and begun to unfasten his shirt.
Meggie grabbed his hands. “You can’t do that! What is wrong with you? You can’t take off your clothes in your estate room, particularly since I’m standing right in front of you. My father is the damned vicar!”
And he doubled over with laughter, and the feel of that laughter was deep and full and he was growing quite used to it. He said, knowing he shouldn’t, knew it was too soon, but unable to prevent the words from bursting out of his mouth, “Meggie, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
Meggie gaped at him. He wanted her to marry him? This was quite the strangest day—kicking a hassock, falling on her rump, and a marriage proposal. And then Meggie thought of Jeremy, thought of kicking him off the back of his prized Arabian stud, perhaps even kicking him off the edge of the earth. At least Jeremy had taught her a very important lesson. Ignorance of a man’s opinions could bring a woman low. She said, “I’m sorry, Thomas, but before I give this consideration I must question you first.”
“Question me? Oh, I see. No, Meggie, I’m not a wife beater. I would never strike a woman.”
“Neither is Jeremy and neither would he.”
Naturally he knew exactly who this Jeremy was, and he felt cold all the way to his toes as he said mildly, “This is your almost dratted cousin?”
“Yes, he is visiting. I wanted to smack him silly last night.”
“Ah, so he’s the one who caused your ire to rise to dangerous levels. He’s the one responsible for making you boot the stuffing in my hassock?”
“He’s the one. He’s also a man. I couldn’t believe what came out of his mouth, Thomas, and he’s only been married six months or so. I know my father isn’t at all like that, but I just don’t know about you, and so I must ask you. You see, if I married you and you turned into Jeremy, then I would have to shoot you. A vicar’s daughter isn’t allowed to do things like that.”