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He gave her a rueful smile, a wink and retreated down the steps, lifting his hand in a parting goodbye.
She sensed the goodness in him, but also sensed he was still at that age he wasn’t ready to find one woman. He was having too much fun in the sampling. And that made her smile inside, reminding her of Chloe’s joy for life. She found herself wishing him a good life and a good love, a permanent woman to claim him when he was ready for it.
As she came bac
k into the house, Mac was heading to his and Violet’s guestroom.
He was wearing a pair of jeans now that the tone of the evening had changed, though his Mistress hadn’t been inclined to allow him a shirt. Marguerite certainly didn’t object. However, he still nodded his head respectfully, murmuring “Mistress” as he went by her.
Marguerite watched him go up the stairs, the broad back marked by lash scars, the jagged bullet scar that had nearly ended his life.
“Mac?”
She realized at that moment she’d never directly addressed Mac Nighthorse, such that his name almost sounded odd on her tongue.
He stopped, turned. “Yes, Mistress?”
The tone of his voice distracted her, as she realized it was more gentle, softer than when he spoke to a man. Thinking about their conversations tonight at dinner, when he spoke to Leila versus Roland, or Tyler versus herself, she realized he’d done it consistently. And now that she thought about it, so did Tyler.
She crossed her arms over the banister, considered him with a frown. “Earlier tonight, Violet suggested that men like you and Tyler don’t see a woman as capable of taking care of herself. ”
He smiled, apparently not the least offended. “Maybe we don’t believe a woman’s ability to take care of herself should relieve a man of the responsibility of looking after her. ”
She opened her mouth, shut it as his grin deepened. “Was that what you were intending to ask me, Mistress?”
“No. You distracted me. Your tone of voice,” she amended quickly at the twinkle in those silver eyes. “I’m sorry. I don’t think it’s a question I have a right to ask. I’m not even sure why I want to know. ”
“Mistress Marguerite, you can ask me anything. ”
“Do your scars still bother you?”
He cocked his head, came down a couple steps. “Not the ones on the outside. The ones on the inside, sometimes. But I’ve figured out if you can’t heal them, you need someone to help you accept them. ”
“Is that what Violet is to you?”
“She’s everything to me,” he said simply. “Without her, there isn’t a me. Not a me I’d want to live with, anyway. ”
“And that loss of identity doesn’t worry you?”
Now his smile got broader. “It’s not a loss of identity, Mistress. It’s called finding yourself. ”
When his gaze shifted, Marguerite turned to discover Violet standing at the opposite end of the foyer.
Marguerite could think of no other word than reverent to describe how Mac looked at his Mistress. Not in the sense of overlooking her flaws, but of seeing everything in her he could ever need for emotional fulfillment. “When I’m with her,” he said quietly,
“I see who I really am, the mirror of my soul. ”
“Mac and I are going for a walk on the grounds. ” Violet pulled her gaze with obvious reluctance from her husband. “So I know Tyler would appreciate your company. Leila and Joseph have already gone to bed. He’s back at the pool house. ”
“I’ll head that way. ” Marguerite nodded to them both, left them with that energy pulsing between them. She wondered what it would be like to feel like that on a daily basis, to be inside one another so deeply that there were no doubts, even when you were at one another’s throats.
She took the long way, wandering through the living area, disturbed by Mac’s words. No, disturbed was not the right word, but she didn’t know what was. She just knew she had an unexpected desire to simply lie down here on Tyler’s sofa, become part of his furniture, of his daily life, and never leave again.
He rose the moment she came into the pool house. When she got close, he reached out and she automatically put her hand in his to let him lead her outside behind the pool area. There was a sloping lawn here and she could see Mac and Violet as hand-in-157
hand silhouettes walking along the pathway by the small manmade pond, a dotting of solar lights guiding them. The water glittered in the moonlight.
Tyler could tell her thoughts were bothering her, so he coaxed her to lie down with him on the soft grass in front of the bench. It was an earthy, sweet-smelling mattress, almost as sweet as the woman who lowered herself to the ground with easy elegance.
