Page 19

But I have to.

He took a sip of coffee too scalding to be enjoyable, but it felt like a punishment he deserved. He shouldn’t have been so careless. He’d risk stirring up old feelings again if he wasn’t more vigilant, and for what? It was only he who would be hurt if he opened that door again, just as had happened the last time he’d allowed Meg into his heart. She’d expressed no wish to rekindle the relationship he’d once thought they had and he absolutely wouldn’t bring it up, although to his alarm he caught himself wondering… Did it mean anything that she’d kissed him back?

Thankfully—or perhaps not—their hostess called down the table again before he could pursue his train of thought. ‘I hear you’ve been ill, Mrs Fernley. Are you recovered now? You’ve yet to meet my daughter, Celia, but I can’t allow it if you’re still unwell.’

The Viscountess’s eyes sharpened suddenly. She was a small woman with pointed features, which when combined with her abrupt curiosity made her look like a cat waiting to pounce. ‘You are her aunt after all, apparently, although it all seemed to happen very quickly. One moment Jacob was unmarried and the next he has a wife, and none of us know very much about it. My husband has given no detail. Perhaps you could enlighten us further as to how it occurred?’

Jacob sensed Meg grow rigid. The assorted ladies and gentlemen arranged around the table leaned forward imperceptibly while pretending not to listen, and he had to stop himself from swearing under his breath.

Why had Isabella had to ask such a question in front of all the other guests? He’d met her only a handful of times previously, the poor relationship between the Fernley brothers making contact scarce, and yet evidently she felt entitled not only to know all of his business but also to embarrass Meg before an audience. He had no desire to satisfy her nosiness, especially while the soft ghost of that kiss still lingered on his mouth, but he’d sworn to protect Meg while she was in his care, and it seemed his job had already begun.

‘There’s no mystery,’ he explained firmly. ‘We’ve known each other for some years and it was on crossing paths again recently that I asked Margaret to be my wife. There’s really little else to tell.’

His sister-in-law frowned. ‘But there must be. Where are you from, Mrs Fernley? Who are your people? Under what circumstances did you meet?’

Meg blinked rapidly at the barrage of demands. ‘I—’

Jacob cut in immediately.

‘Margaret is feeling much better,’ he said decisively, ‘and is certainly no danger to Celia, but her throat is still weak. As talking is uncomfortable for her at present, any questions will be best saved for another time.’

He didn’t catch Meg’s reaction but Isabella looked highly affronted. ‘Well, of course, if you wish, although you could always answer instead…?’

‘I’m sure your guests wouldn’t want to hear such dull minutiae about my marriage,’ he countered smoothly, knowing the opposite was true. ‘Won’t you tell us how Celia is instead? It’s to celebrate her christening that we’re gathered here; that at least is an interest we all share.’

For all her tactlessness, Isabella was at least a devoted mother. If there was one subject he’d already gathered could divert her from any other it was her baby daughter, who although having committed the cardinal sin of not being born a boy was still the apple of the Viscountess’s eye, and it was a relief when talk turned rapidly away from his shadowy nuptials and instead towards the charms and genius of her child.

There was little he could add to the conversation. On the three occasions he’d been ceremoniously escorted to the nursery to admire his niece, she’d been asleep, a perfectly pleasant yet ordinary infant not inspiring much comment. But sitting quietly now while her mother had so much to say gave him a chance to retreat briefly into his own much more stimulating thoughts.

Every time Meg took a sip of coffee, straightened her napkin or even breathed, he felt it like a physical touch to his skin. A powerful yearning to kiss her again gnawed at him; just once wasn’t nearly enough and yet a repeat would have been madness, her silence as she picked at her breakfast suggesting she’d gone somewhere inside herself that he couldn’t follow.

He pushed a piece of toast around his plate that he had little intention of eating. What was she thinking? Was she in any way glad to have found herself in his arms again, returning at last to the place where she arguably should have been for the past five years? Could it be she’d deliberately staged him having to help her with her dress to bring them close enough to compromise themselves? Or, more probably, had the intimacy of the moment made her forget herself and act in a way she now regretted?

His fingers tightened around his knife. That’s it. That’s the answer. What other could there be?

If she had any real feelings for him, she would be his wife in truth rather than just on paper. She’d made sure that hadn’t happened, however; in letting him stand alone in those cold, dark woods she’d left him in no doubt that anything between them was lost, and unless he wanted to relive that awful night he would have to master his weakness at every turn.

Isabella was still holding forth at the head of the table. ‘I confess I’ve been waking in the night to supervise the wet nurse when Celia is fed, just to be sure everything is done properly. Everyone tells me I’ve taken to motherhood extremely well, although it is excessively fatiguing…but then, you don’t look particularly rested either, Jacob, and you have no such excuse.’

Too absorbed in his own affairs to pay much attention, Jacob only looked up when he heard his name. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘I was saying you look tired.’ Isabella tilted her head to one side, the picture of artificial concern. ‘Perhaps now Margaret is feeling better you’ll be able to sleep in your own rooms again rather than spend all night sitting up in the library…unless, of course, that’s the arrangement you prefer?’

The implication was loud in the otherwise quiet room. Suggesting he preferred to stay away from his marital bed would lead to speculation, and Meg’s sudden fumble of her cutlery told him she’d realised it too.

Close scrutiny of the marriage could have disastrous consequences, he thought swiftly, simultaneously supressing the urge to fling a crust at Isabella’s smug countenance. He had to head off any further curiosity, and he had to do it fast, although his heart turned a dizzying somersault as he realised there was only one real way to do so.

With studied calm he absolutely did not feel on the inside, he raised a brow at his sister-in-law. ‘Your consideration for Margaret’s health and my sleeping habits does you credit. It appears nothing is so trivial as to escape your notice and, indeed, comment.’

He paused, very aware of Meg sitting motionless in her chair. His heart beat faster, both for what he was about to say and at guessing her reaction to it, but there was nothing else to be done.

‘With that said, I’m sure you’ll be glad to learn I won’t be returning to the library this evening. As comfortable as the sofa in there is when I’ve fallen asleep while reading, I don’t believe it can compare to a proper bed, and I know Margaret wouldn’t want me to suffer unduly.’

To his profound relief, Meg managed to croak out two words. ‘No, indeed.’

Isabella pursed her lips. Her expression implied some thwarted entertainment, although she was careful to appear offhand. ‘Well, it’s really none of my business. Everyone knows I’ve never been one to intrude. Speaking of intrusions…’ She pivoted without drawing breath, returning at once to her favourite subject. ‘I had to reprimand one of Celia’s nurses yesterday…’

Covered by yet another interminable tale of things interesting only to Isabella, Jacob slowly turned his head to look at Meg. She was staring down at her plate, her chest rising and falling more quickly than any unruffled person’s would, and despite everything in him that told him to ignore it, he couldn’t help but notice the effect it had on the low neckline of her gown.