“Please, Needham.” Her tone turned pleading. “I want to speak to Tom without an audience. It is the least you can do.”
His response was instant. “No.”
Anger and jealousy warred for supremacy within him.
“Needham, be reasonable,” she prodded, her voice softening. “Grant me this courtesy. It is all I ask. An hour’s time, nothing more.”
Her stubborn chin was tipped up, and he knew instinctively this was not a battle he would win.
“Half an hour’s time. That is all I will give you.” With great reluctance, he turned to Sidmouth. “If you touch her, I will break the rest of your face.”
“I will be ready for you this time,” Sidmouth dared to say.
Jack’s fists were already clenched at his sides. He was similarly prepared. But it had occurred to him that if he was willing to compromise, Nell may be equally amenable.
So he held his tongue, offered the two of them a mocking bow, and stalked from the library. Because he would win this siege, if not the battle.
Chapter Seven
NELL WAITED FORJack to leave, and it was not until his broad back had disappeared over the threshold that she realized she had been holding her breath. He left the door ajar, of course, and she would not be surprised if he lingered in the hall to eavesdrop, taking his rendition of a matron even further.
“Come and sit with me,” she invited Tom, settling herself back on the divan she had so recently vacated.
Her feet yet ached, and she had grown weary of standing.
Tom was at her side in a trice, and she could not help but to notice the difference between his presence and Needham’s. Tom made her feel at ease. He made her feel comforted, treasured.
But there was no desire.
None.
He reached for her hand and brought it to his lips for a reverent kiss. “How are you, my dear? Needham has not pestered you, has he?”
She looked at the bruising and swelling on his poor nose. “I am well, and he has not. But what of you, Tom? Your nose…”
“Shall heal,” he finished. “Do not fret over me. You know I am made of stern stuff.”
Yes, he was. Strong, good, true.
She knew a fierce stab of guilt then as she thought of how she had kissed Needham the day before. Of how he had made her feel.
“I am so very sorry,” she told him, giving his fingers a squeeze. “Had I any notion Needham would come charging back here like this, I never would have asked you here. Indeed, I never would have written to him at all.”
Tom gave her a sad smile. “If you had not written to him, you could not have asked him for a divorce.”
A divorce which her husband seemed increasingly disinclined to give her.
“It was better the way it was before, though, was it not?” She sighed, attempting to muddle through her heavy feelings. “I was free to live my life as I wished.”
“Was it how you wished?” Tom frowned. “All these house parties, drowning yourself in wine. You did not drink too much at the house party without me there to temper your indulgence, did you?”
She tugged her hand from his. “Of course not. And you are hardly my keeper, Tom. I am a woman grown, quite responsible.”
What a wretch she was. All she seemed to do was fib.
“I saw Hilburton at the rail station,” Tom said gently. “He told me you were dancing on the tables again.”
Drat Hilburton and his wagging tongue. Tom had asked her to stop acting recklessly. To drink less. To host fewer house parties.
