Finally Meg said, “Are you proud of yourself? Acting like a bully?”
“I wouldn’t have acted like a bully if you hadn’t been holding court with all those men.”
Her mouth fell open. “You dare to questionmyactions? The last time I saw you, you were flirting with your mistress!”
“Ex-mistress,” he ground out.
“A minor detail,” she retorted.
They sat in charged silence the rest of the way home. Hart stared out one window into the darkness. Meg stared out the other. When the coach pulled to stop in front of their house, Meg allowed the groomsmen to help her down. Without stopping, she lifted her skirts and strode up the front steps into the house and up the inside staircase to her bedchamber. She didn’t give a damn if her husband followed her or not. As she climbed the stairs, Hart said, “I’m going to have a drink first, and then I’ll be up.”
“Of course you are,” she tossed over her shoulder, not breaking her stride.
Hart stomped into the study and slammed the door.Of course you are?What the bloody hell did she mean by that? Did she think he drank too much? It was none of her bloody business. He strode to the sideboard and grabbed the bottle of brandy. The nearlyemptybottle of brandy. By God, did he drink too much? He ripped open the credenza and grabbed a snifter from the sideboard. He pulled the stopper off the bottle and splashed what was left into the glass.
He lifted it to his mouth but stopped before tipping it back. Taking that drink would make him feel… what? Better? Worse? He didn’t know anymore. He’d been drinking to excess for more years that he cared to admit but these last several days while Meg had been gone, he’d felt… different. He wanted her back. He wanted to see her, even being angry with her andknowing she was angry with him. It was as if life was incomplete without her. Which was an entirely mad thought because he’d lived years, most of his life, without her. Certainly without thinking about her all the bloody time like he seemed to now. What the hell was wrong with him?
Seeing her tonight in the middle of those men, including Sir Winford, had made Hart’s blood boil. She was his.His.Those other men had no right to her. God he wanted this drink. When the hell had he become jealous? Was this how his father felt? No, couldn’t be. Meg hadn’t cheated on him but he was jealous all the same.
Hart set the glass on the desk and glared at it. He’d wanted a drink to clear his head, to gather his thoughts. Now it only made him sick of himself. In that moment, he realized. He’d been just like his bloody father. Drinking and keeping his heart guarded. All these years he’d thought he was being the opposite of the old man. Instead, he’d become just like him. Hart pushed the drink away. He didn’t need a bloody drink to talk to his wife. He strode out of the study and up the stairs. He’d talk to her now. Sober.
He shoved open the door to his bedchamber, and it cracked against the wall. He strode straight to the door that separated his bedchamber from Meg’s as he ripped off his cravat. He slammed open the door to her room.
“Done drinking so soon?” Meg sat at her dressing table, pulling off the emerald earbobs. She was already wearing her blue dressing gown. Her maid had obviously helped her remove the ball gown and hurried away with it.
“I told you,” he barked. “We need to talk.” He knew he was being an ass but couldn’t seem to help himself.
She looked up at him in the mirror, not at all affected by his raised voice and anger. Was she mentally comparing him to her mother again?
“Talk, then,” she said.
He began unbuttoning his shirt. “Why did you leave town?”
Her green eyes sparkled in the looking glass. “Wasn’t it obvious?”
He clenched his jaw. She wasn’t going to make this conversation easy. “Because you saw me with Maria?”
She swiveled on the tufted stool. “Among other things.”
He pulled his shirt out of his breeches, his bare chest visible beneath the flaps. “I didn’t touch Maria.”
Meg arched a brow at him. “Do you think that makes me feel better? Do you want praise for that?” She swiveled back around.
He slammed the side of his fist against the wall, making a nearby painting bounce. “Damn it, Meg, I haven’t touched another woman since…”
She turned her head to the side as if she’d been slapped. “Spare me.”
“Since before the Hodges’ ball. The night I saw you and wanted you so badly.”
Her gaze met his in the mirror. “What?”
“You heard me. I wanted you that night. I wanted you before that. I want to make love to you right now. Desperately.”
Her gaze held his in the mirror. Tears rushed to her eyes. She swiveled on her seat once more. “Don’t lie to me, Hart.”
“I would never lie about this. I saw you with those other men tonight and I wanted to kill them. I’ve never been jealous before. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to do this.”
She stood and took two steps toward him. “Do what?”
