He said, his voice cold, withdrawn, “That was very eloquent.”
She said slowly, “Was it?”
“And naive.”
“It is true in my family.”
He merely shrugged, and kept his back against the door, his arms crossed over his chest. He said, “My father and mother—they are none of your concern. I do not need assurances from you to calm my disordered brain. You seem to think I’m suffering from long-ago pain dished out freely by my parents. I am not. About my parents—I only said what I did because you seemed to need to know, and, indeed, your father demanded to know. It really wasn’t his right to know.”
“Yes, it was. He is my father. It is his responsibility to protect me.”
“Your father wanted to refuse me your hand in marriage.”
“Of course he did. He believed you were a lecher. But it was William. I believe my father was very relieved when he learned the truth of the matter. He wants me to be happy, you see.”
Thomas said nothing. He looked as if he wasn’t certain what he should do now, as if he was nervous, undecided about something, and Meggie found it utterly appealing. She skipped to him, wrapped her arms around his back, and pressed her cheek to his shoulder. “Kiss me, Thomas. That is something I like very much.”
She raised her face, came up on her tiptoes, but for a moment, he hesitated, touched his fingertips to her cheek, so soft her skin, flushed now in excitement.
It was, after all, her wedding night.
She’d never done anything to harm him, he was thinking, and she was his wife. Slowly he brought his arms around her, holding her tightly against him. He didn’t kiss her, just held her. Actually, it was he who was holding on to her. She was half his size and he was burrowing onto her.
He lifted his head to look down at her. “You’re a virgin, Meggie.”
She lifted her face and gave him a very small smile, a nervous smile, and he knew it. “Well, yes. I’m supposed to be.”
In an austere voice he said, “Many women are not pure when they come to their husbands.”
“I had never thought of it. Are you certain? No, that’s all right. No one else has anything to do with us. Ah, Thomas, kiss me now.”
He was rubbing his hands up and down her arms. “Do you like your cloak?”
“It’s lovely. Do you like the onyx pen I gave you?”
“Yes.”
“Mary Rose believed it to be very masculine.”
“It is.”
“It is solid, like a man is supposed to be.”
“Yes.”
“Thomas, are you uncertain what to do? No, it’s all right, truly, you don’t have to say anything. I rather like that the two of us can begin everything together. I’m sure that we will be able to figure this business out.”
“You think I’m hesitating because I’m lacking in experience? That I just might also be a virgin?”
“It’s all right, Thomas.” She grabbed his face between her hands and kissed him, a girl’s kiss that made him laugh. Another damned laugh, and he’d even come to like the feel of it, alive and snaking warmth all the way to his gut, and that was alien to him.
“I’ll admit it, I’m nervous, yes, just a bit nervous,” she said between light nipping kisses, “but we are married now, and you belong to me, and I wish to see what all these marital things are about. Oh goodness, does that sound terribly loose?”
“A man doesn’t belong to a woman,” he said slowly, his voice suddenly remote, all laughter dried up. “A man is his own being.”
For an instant, Meggie was blank-brained. Whatever had happened? Had a woman hurt him badly in the past? He wasn’t old enough to have been hurt all that often, surely. “Thomas, how old are you, exactly?”
“I am twenty-five. I will be twenty-six in December. I was born the day after Christmas. I don’t think my mother ever forgave me for ruining her Christmas.”
He was making light of it. Well, no matter. If a woman had hurt him, had made him cynical, someday he would tell her and she would fix it. She kissed him again, this time a line of kisses all along his jaw. She said, all the feeling that was in her vibrant in her voice, “I will make you want to belong to me.”