Suddenly Meggie appeared in the doorway. Jeremy said without pause, "I don't understand, Uncle Tysen. I am a man and Charlotte is a woman. We each have our own roles, our own responsibilities. Is Meggie feeling ill? Perhaps in her head?"

Meggie, no matter how important her reason for coming back, now turned on her heel, cursed under her breath, but not under enough for the two gentlemen, one of them her father and a vicar, and ran up the stairs.

Tysen just shook his head. "Do tell me more about this Arabian stallion you wish to buy from Spain."

Jeremy said, "Meggie is growing up fast."

"No. Actually, she's already well grown. She has very firm ideas about things."

"She always has. What a joy to tease her until the smoke came out of her ears." And he grinned again. "Now, about that Arabian. The fellow's nasty as a cock who's been kicked out of the hen yard. He's also as fast as the fox who managed to break in just last week and eat one of our best setters. He made a big mistake, however." Jeremy laughed.

Tysen arched an eyebrow.

"He tried to bite Charlotte, and she smacked the toe of her boot against his nose."

WAS TOO soon. Thomas knew he made her laugh, perhaps she'd even found his two kisses more than interesting, not that he could know for sure. Dammit. He forced himself back to the task at hand, making himself finish writing the letter to his steward.

He didn't know what made him look up, but he did, and there she was, striding like a long-legged boy into his garden. He slowly rose, rounded his desk, and opened the French door. She was flushed, breathing hard, her breasts pumping up and down, a rather nice sight.

What the devil had happened? He opened the door wide.

"Mistress Sherbrooke," he said formally, giving her a small bow, "do come into my humble estate room. I didn't realize that small private gate still opened."

"I forced it," Meggie said. "Good afternoon, Thomas. It isn't raining. Have you finally allowed Mr. Hengis some potato sticks?"

"No. Morgana informed me that Mr. Hengis-Benjie-was a poltroon, that you, little sweetling that you are, got a soaking because he misread his nose and you could have easily succumbed to an inflammation of the lungs."

He watched her calm, even smile at his jest, regain her bearings. He said then, "Come in and sit down."

She did, saying nothing more. She eased down in the leather chair across from the big mahogany desk.

He sat on the edge of his desk and swung his leg, content to watch her for a few moments. She was really quite upset.

"All right, tell me what happened before you spit nails on my carpet."

"Nothing, dammit."

He very nearly laughed. "You, the vicar's daughter, shouldn't tell lies, Meggie. You probably shouldn't curse either. Something bad is bound to happen, like your tongue might rot off."

"Why would you care? What is my tongue to you?" The instant the words were out of her mouth, she remembered all too well that kiss in Martins' barn. "Never mind, don't you dare say anything. All that tongue business was very improper. I am so angry, Thomas, I could kick something."

"That moldering old hassock is at your disposal."

Meggie leapt to her feet, gave the hassock a hard kick, so hard she nearly knocked herself backward. She turned and smiled at him. "Thank you."

"A person should never allow ire to build to high levels. It clogs the body's pathways and leads many times to bad things, such as cursing."

"Blessed hell, surely that is nonsense."

"Oh no. I once knew a man who worried all the time, even worried when he discovered that his watch was several minutes slow and how many people he'd offended by being late. He never said much, just walked about with a frown on his face and bucketfuls of worry in his heart. Finally, one day when he was worrying about how his hog would ever find enough mud to wallow in since there hadn't been much rain, he just fell over dead, his pathways all clogged. So the moral to this tale is to spit it out when you're upset about something and kick something. Now, would you like a bit of brandy?"

"Brandy? Goodness, I haven't tasted brandy since Leo, Max, and I once stole Papa's bottle, hid behind one of the big tombstones in the cemetery, and drank it empty. All three of us were vilely sick. Papa, as I remember, didn't give us a hiding, just said that we now knew firsthand what stupidity tasted like."

Thomas laughed. "A taste does not stupidity make."

"Who said that?"

"Some long ago brilliant fellow."

"You're lying, but all right, I will try my first taste of brandy as a grown-up person."

He poured her a bit and himself a bit more. He clicked his snifter to hers. "Here's to the demise of the obnoxious person who made you angry enough to spit."

She choked, spewing the mouthful of brandy all over the front of his white shirt. She dropped the snifter, and stared at the darkening stain on that pristine white shirt. "Oh no, I don't believe I did that. This is awful, just look at that stain. It's such a beautiful shirt and I've ruined it. I spit on you. I've never done that before. I'm so sorry, Thomas."

He set down his own snifter and took her hands between his. "It's all right. It's just a shirt. No, Meggie, please don't try to suck it clean like little Rory tried to do to your skirt that morning at the church." She looked as if she would burst into tears and laughter, both at the same time.

He didn't think, just leaned down and kissed her. He tasted brandy and that sweet scent of her that had tantalized him when he'd kissed her before, a scent he'd never before tasted on another woman.

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.