An Unexpected Pleasure (The Mad Morelands #4)(89)

“What is it? What’s the matter?” he asked, reaching out to her.

He laid his hand on her arm, and his touch was like a kiss of fire to Megan’s already heated skin.

“I…um…” Megan gathered her scattered wits together. “I dreamed tonight.”

Theo looked puzzled. “A nightmare?”

“No. A dream I had a long time ago. One I had forgotten. I—I think I put it out of my mind because it was so unbelievable. But tonight it came to me again. A man in a cave, lying there flushed and ill with fever. A woman standing over him, chanting. She was wearing a feathered headdress, and she gave him something to drink.”

Theo’s eyes widened, intent on her face, but he said nothing.

“I was there, although I did not know either one of them. I walked over to him, and I—I took his hand. There was this flash of indescribable heat between us. Something…happened to me. I cannot explain it.”

“It is difficult to,” Theo agreed.

“It was you, wasn’t it?” Megan asked. “How can that be?”

Theo shook his head. “I don’t know. But I recognized you the moment I saw you in the garden with Mother.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“What was I to say? You are the woman I saw in my delirium ten years ago? You came to me and touched me, and I didn’t die? You told me I could not go because you were waiting for me? You would have thought me mad.”

“Perhaps we are both mad.” Megan held out her hand to him, the crystal nestled in her upturned palm. “I found this in my room not long after that dream, and I kept it, even though the dream had left my mind. It has been my lucky charm throughout the years. Whenever I felt hurt or tired or lonely, I would take it out and hold it. Somehow, it seemed to help.”

Theo’s gaze flicked down to the crystal in her hand, then back up to her face, astonishment beginning to dawn across his features.

“This is the crystal that was in your hand, isn’t it?” Megan asked. “The one that you gave to me.”

He looked at her for a long moment, then, saying nothing, he turned and crossed the room. Opening a wooden box that sat upon his dresser, he took something out of it and came back to her, his fist clenched tightly.

He opened up his hand. A silver medal on a thin silver chain lay in his palm, small and delicate in his large, roughened hand. On the front of the medal was a raised figure of the Virgin Mary.

With trembling fingers, Megan reached out and picked up the familiar religious medal. She knew it, had worn it for years.

It was hers, the one her mother had given her and she had believed she lost. But she had not lost it; she had given it away.

Her stomach flip-flopped, and her knees went weak, her eyes blurring.

“Megan!” Theo’s arm lashed out, catching her around the waist and holding her up.

She leaned against him, and quickly he bent, scooping her up in his arms and carrying her over to set her down on the side of the bed. He sat beside her, his arm around her shoulders, propping her up. Megan leaned her head on his shoulder, letting the buzzing in her mind and the lights dancing behind her eyes fade away.

“I am not going to faint,” she murmured. “I never faint.”

“I am sure you do not.” Amusement threaded through his voice.

“This is my medal,” Megan said, lifting her head and looking at him. “My mother gave it to me years ago. It was my most treasured possession.” She paused, then asked, “Is this what Barchester saw you taking out and looking at?”

“Yes. I turned to it whenever I was tired or troubled.” The corner of his mouth quirked. “When I needed to reassure myself that what I had seen had really happened.”

He lifted her hand, folding it closed over the medal and bringing it to his lips, gently kissing her knuckles. “You saved me.”

The soft touch of his lips on her skin sent tingles through Megan. The heat, still heavy in her loins, expanded, heightened. Yearning began to throb deep within her.

Destiny, she thought, gazing up into Theo’s face. It was no wonder that she had had trouble believing him a villain. He had lived in her heart for ten years, even though she had not been aware of it.

Megan lifted her other hand and curved it around his cheek, looking into his eyes. It did not matter anymore that he was a lord with centuries of aristocratic English breeding behind him. It did not matter that he could never marry an ordinary Irish girl from New York City.

Theo belonged to her and she to him. She loved him. She knew that now. She loved him with every ounce of her being, with every breath she took and every thought she had. Titles, families, the censure of society, could not measure against that love. If it meant that she would be his mistress, then she would live with that. She could live without a ring upon her finger. She could not live without Theo.

A smile trembled on her lips as her eyes drank him in. With a little sigh, she stretched up and touched her lips to his. And in that small joining, she gave herself up to him. To fate. To love.

Theo went very still for an instant, and then his arms came hard around her. He kissed her, long and deep, hunger shimmering through them. His mouth teased and satisfied, his hands exploring, arousing. Theo felt as if he had been waiting for this half his life. He wanted to taste her all at once, to gulp her down like water to a thirsty man. At the same time, he wanted to savor her, to linger over every kiss, every touch.