into the fire. It flares and crackles, spitting indignantly as Jen shoves her hands into her robe pockets to keep from putting Liam’s stupid, insensitive head through the goddamn wall .
“Jen, what have I —”
“Don’t you dare try to override my desires with your own! Don’t you dare try to change my mind when I have already told you what I do and do not want. You don’t know better than me!”
“Jennet I —”
“I’m not a child you can just talk around to it!”
“Please, Jennet,” Liam says, scrambling to get upright, wincing as he jostles his hard-on when he gets his rump back under him. “I didn’t mean it like that. Only that I want —”
“I can’t have kids!” Jennet fumes, refusing to allow him to continue. “I’m all messed up inside, okay? Happy now, Mister Sticks-his-nose-where-it-doesn’t-belong? Bloody hell !”
Liam goes a new and interesting shade of pale and pulls himself to his feet. They aren’t steady and he grips the mantle-place, avoiding the broken glass and gulping down the remains of the brandy from the second snifter.
“Sorry,” Jen whispers after he manages to get a hold of himself. “We kept it pretty quiet but … there will be no heir of Carterhaugh.”
“None?” Liam asks, and his voice is rough, and raw, and small. “None at all?”
“Not of my blood,” Jennet says. “I could adopt. Maybe I should adopt. Such a big house, I’m sure there’s a child in care who would love it. Carterhaugh does need an heir.
“But the heir of Carterhaugh must be of your lineage!” Liam blurts, spinning around to face her. He reels, knocks the second snifter and it smashes next to its brethren, small shards of glass flying up and scoring Liam’s shins. He doesn’t seem to notice. His face is suddenly flushing, even though his lips remain ghost-white. “Or else the —” He catches himself and bites down hard on the inside of his own cheek.
Jennet laughs. “Don’t tell me you actually believe all that fairy tale nonsense.”
Liam says nothing. He stares down into the fire, eyes distant and dim, and for a while Jennet lets him.
“What’s wrong?” he finally asks.
Jen hates this conversation. She’s had it over, and over, and over with well-meaning busy bodies who do not understand what it means to have to choose between a hypothetical future and a devastating present. She’s not in the mood to have it again, so she flops down into the remaining wingback chair and crosses her arms petulantly. “Nothing, now.”
“But if nothing’s wrong, then why can’t you have children?” Liam thunders.
Jen scoffs in the face of his rage, unaffected by his display of man-child rage. “Leaving aside the fact that you’re making one hell of an assumption about whether I even want children, and a second bloody huge assumption about how a woman is broken or wrong or useless because the mechanism in her body has malfunctioned, it was either my uterus or my life, okay? Jesus .”
Liam turns large, wet eyes to her. “You nearly died?”
“Yes,” Jen bites out. “Complications from Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome.”
“What does that mean?” He crouches down, lays his hands on her knees as if to console her, but it is patronizing and she hates it when someone tries to make her feel like a small child who just needs to have things explained to her better and then she’d understand, then she’d care Only she doesn’t care, and she doesn’t need to have it explained better, and she sure as fuck doesn’t need anyone to make her feel guilty about saving her own life, so she sneers and says:
“They took out all of it. Everything.”
“ Everything?” Liam asks, horrified.
“Don’t judge me,” she spits. “This isn’t your choice to make, you know. It’s my body. I decide what is and is not injected into it, how it’s cut up, what’s taken out or what’s put in. God, you’re just like the doctors! All those old white guys, telling me they know
“Jen, what have I —”
“Don’t you dare try to override my desires with your own! Don’t you dare try to change my mind when I have already told you what I do and do not want. You don’t know better than me!”
“Jennet I —”
“I’m not a child you can just talk around to it!”
“Please, Jennet,” Liam says, scrambling to get upright, wincing as he jostles his hard-on when he gets his rump back under him. “I didn’t mean it like that. Only that I want —”
“I can’t have kids!” Jennet fumes, refusing to allow him to continue. “I’m all messed up inside, okay? Happy now, Mister Sticks-his-nose-where-it-doesn’t-belong? Bloody hell !”
Liam goes a new and interesting shade of pale and pulls himself to his feet. They aren’t steady and he grips the mantle-place, avoiding the broken glass and gulping down the remains of the brandy from the second snifter.
“Sorry,” Jen whispers after he manages to get a hold of himself. “We kept it pretty quiet but … there will be no heir of Carterhaugh.”
“None?” Liam asks, and his voice is rough, and raw, and small. “None at all?”
“Not of my blood,” Jennet says. “I could adopt. Maybe I should adopt. Such a big house, I’m sure there’s a child in care who would love it. Carterhaugh does need an heir.
“But the heir of Carterhaugh must be of your lineage!” Liam blurts, spinning around to face her. He reels, knocks the second snifter and it smashes next to its brethren, small shards of glass flying up and scoring Liam’s shins. He doesn’t seem to notice. His face is suddenly flushing, even though his lips remain ghost-white. “Or else the —” He catches himself and bites down hard on the inside of his own cheek.
Jennet laughs. “Don’t tell me you actually believe all that fairy tale nonsense.”
Liam says nothing. He stares down into the fire, eyes distant and dim, and for a while Jennet lets him.
“What’s wrong?” he finally asks.
Jen hates this conversation. She’s had it over, and over, and over with well-meaning busy bodies who do not understand what it means to have to choose between a hypothetical future and a devastating present. She’s not in the mood to have it again, so she flops down into the remaining wingback chair and crosses her arms petulantly. “Nothing, now.”
“But if nothing’s wrong, then why can’t you have children?” Liam thunders.
Jen scoffs in the face of his rage, unaffected by his display of man-child rage. “Leaving aside the fact that you’re making one hell of an assumption about whether I even want children, and a second bloody huge assumption about how a woman is broken or wrong or useless because the mechanism in her body has malfunctioned, it was either my uterus or my life, okay? Jesus .”
Liam turns large, wet eyes to her. “You nearly died?”
“Yes,” Jen bites out. “Complications from Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome.”
“What does that mean?” He crouches down, lays his hands on her knees as if to console her, but it is patronizing and she hates it when someone tries to make her feel like a small child who just needs to have things explained to her better and then she’d understand, then she’d care Only she doesn’t care, and she doesn’t need to have it explained better, and she sure as fuck doesn’t need anyone to make her feel guilty about saving her own life, so she sneers and says:
“They took out all of it. Everything.”
“ Everything?” Liam asks, horrified.
“Don’t judge me,” she spits. “This isn’t your choice to make, you know. It’s my body. I decide what is and is not injected into it, how it’s cut up, what’s taken out or what’s put in. God, you’re just like the doctors! All those old white guys, telling me they know
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