CHAPTER EIGHT

Las Vegas

July 20, 1998

Giving an ostentatious yawn, Simon stopped speaking and stretched out on the checkered picnic blanket they'd brought, staring up at the full moon with an expression that showed he was well aware of Meghann's consternation at the incomplete tale.

"So what happened after you fainted?" she finally asked impatiently and swatted his arm in annoyance. "Did your spell work or did you have to use earthly means like your sword to kill your father?"

Simon raised himself up on one elbow. "My sword? Have you forgotten the quarrel we had in the great hall? Why do you think I resorted to magick in the first place? The slightest hint that my father had been murdered and all suspicion would have fallen on me. Now, if you want to know what happened, hand over that slab of cake in your hands."

"But it's the last piece," Meghann said, looking down at the heavenly chocolate fudge cake with regret. She gave a poignant sigh, firmly dismissing the inner voice that had the nerve to claim her actions bordered on flirtation. "Would you really starve your own child?"

"Madam, you have had a side of ribs, three pieces of chicken, one pastrami sandwich on rye, and demolished half that cake by yourself. You are in no danger of malnutrition so you may spare me the sight of those limpid, appealing eyes. Hand it over or I'm silent as the grave."

"I wish you were in your grave," Meghann muttered but she shoved the paper plate at him and Simon resumed his tale.

"All of what I say next was told to me by others, Meghann. For the next four days, I was oblivious to the world around me. After I collapsed, Father Bain completed the ceremony and put the room to rights while I lay feverish and raving at his feet. There was no question of him taking me back to the manor house… a fierce blizzard had settled over the area while we conducted our ritual. Somehow, Father Bain dragged me up the stairs and laid me on the stone floor, spending the rest of the night pouring snow and ice over my body in an attempt to bring down the fever.

"At first light, he planned to ride into the village and bring Adelaide to the church. But before he could leave, my brother Roger came blundering into the church, babbling incoherently about Satan entering the house and striking down my father. According to Father Bain, my dear brother did not even spare a glance for me thrashing about but demanded that the priest come to the manor immediately and cast out the devil."

"So they left you at the church?"

"No, no. Father Bain slung me into the coach and they headed off. On the ride home, Roger told Father Bain a rather extraordinary tale of being awoken in the dead of night by a howl such as he'd never heard before. He rushed to my father's room and said the old man was writhing on his bed and screaming in an unnatural voice. According to Roger, it took five strong men-at-arms to restrain my father and keep him from harming himself. That's when Roger set out for the church."

Simon paused to take a sip of iced coffee. "What happened next I shall regret missing to my dying day. No sooner had Father Bain dragged me into the house than my father appeared at the top of the stairs, his guards hot at his heels. My reputation as a sorcerer was permanently cemented when the old man came out of his madness long enough to point one trembling finger at me and shout 'why?' in a voice that shook dust from the rafters. Next, he charged down the stairs, no doubt intending to attack me. But halfway down the stairs, he burst into flames… Father Bain said one moment he was staring at a raving old man, the next he vanished into a giant ball of fire."

"You're making that up," Meghann accused. "Alcuin told me your father was found in bed by a maidservant—cause of death unknown."

"Was Alcuin there, madam? What the sham priest told you is the lie Father Bain recorded in the parish records so the whole world would not learn the bizarre circumstances behind my father's death. Roger went along so our family's reputation would not suffer—he did not even tell Isabelle the truth when they married. That was doubtless because he had no desire to frighten his new bride by informing her of her brother-in-law's penchant for the Dark Arts."

"So what happened after the demon made your father spontaneously combust?"

"Roger and the guards ran to my father and threw their capes on him to smother the flames but it was too late. All that remained of him when they removed their capes was a smoking, black cinder… not even recognizable as a man.

"Roger was the first to recover his wits, which surprises me mightily, as I never thought he had any to begin with. He had no weapon on him, as he'd run from the house with no thought but getting the priest to come exorcise my father. Apparently he grabbed a sword from the belt of one of the guards and launched himself toward me, screaming that I was an unholy monster and I'd somehow killed my father through sorcery. Fortunately for me, Father Bain was no soft indulged cleric but a man of good physical strength and he repelled my brother's attack, barely saving my head. While the guards restrained Roger, Father Bain denied my brother's charge in a voice that carried through the great hall. On his honor as a priest, he swore I had spent the evening in prayer with him by my side… which, when you think about it, was no lie." Simon gave a malicious smirk. "Of course, the good father never divulged the nature of my prayers. After that, he took charge. He ordered the guards to take my brother to his rooms and give him sleeping herbs so he could recover from his shock. Because of the condition of my father's body, there could be no question of him lying in state in the great hall. A coffin was ordered constructed and my father's body was removed from sight while the carpenter made the coffin. Father Bain gave my father the last rites, and prepared his soul to enter the kingdom of heaven. The next day, my father was buried."

"What happened to you?"

"I was put into Adelaide's care, bled by leeches to remove the bad humors from my blood, and given great quantities of violet tea to bring down my fever. Four days later, much to my brother's dismay, I recovered."

"Why didn't Roger accuse you of witchcraft and have you burned at the stake?"

"He wanted to but there was no way to bring formal charges with Father Bain's testimony. After all, how could he refute the sworn statement of a trusted, respected priest insisting I spent the whole night in Christian prayer?"

"Great cover," Meghann commented.

"Wasn't it? Of course, ever since the Dark Ages a great number of high church officials involved themselves in sorcery and necromancy, knowing no one would ever think to accuse them unless they became incredibly careless. Don't look so shocked—have you no knowledge of the cutthroat world of church politics? It would take more than a life of pious prayer to achieve the power and glory most of the clerics were after. At any rate, Roger not only had no legal way to kill off his little brother, he now lived his life in terror that he'd be my next victim unless he ceded to my wishes—a point I made very plain when he came to visit my sickbed the morning after my fever broke."

"You threatened him?"

Simon laughed, the deep, rich sound carrying throughout the still desert around them. "I did better than that, little girl. He thrust a cross at me… even as a mortal I had to bear with that dreary ritual… and I began thundering incantations at him. Fortunately for me, Roger was such a fool he visited me without a witness to corroborate anything I did. So I was able to fling curses at his head and within moments, he fell to his knees, begging me to spare his life. I said all he had to do was give me what was mine and I'd vanish from his life. Even in his terror, Roger could not bring himself to admit the gold was mine and said he would invest in Sir John's venture. I would go along on the trip and receive ten percent of Roger's share for overseeing the voyage. I told him I would not consider the arrangement for anything less than twenty-five percent and the fool agreed. Within a fortnight, I was on my way to Algiers."

Simon reached for her hand—making her jump when he ran one finger over her palm. "What think you, Meghann? When I began my tale, I promised you would see the foes I vanquished deserved their fate. Do you agree, or think as Alcuin did—that I was a vicious mercenary destroying innocent lives without remorse?"

"Maybe you had some justification for your actions," Meghann said softly. She knew Alcuin would never excuse any killing not committed in the name of self-defense, but Meghann wondered if she would have behaved differently in Simon's place. As long as his father lived, Simon was trapped in the role that awful old man had assigned him—youngest son in a loveless marriage, spending his days doing no more than keeping track of an unprofitable sheep form. Simon was right to call his father a skinflint He should have taken advantage of his son's sharp mind and sent him to court where he could have made a name for himself or paid for him to continue his education.

"What was wrong with your father?" Meghann demanded.

Simon shrugged, moving a lock of hair that had blown across her eyes, twirling the flame strands in his fingers while he spoke.

"I have asked myself what was 'wrong' with my family many times and never arrived at a satisfactory answer. Perhaps the old man was merely cautious and tightfisted. After all, you speak from hindsight of four hundred years. You know England became a mighty empire because of trade and exploration—my father, an ignorant baron of the north, did not have your knowledge. Nor did he have the kind of imagination or foresight that is required to take risks."

"Why did he hit you?"

"Darling." Simon smiled. "You look so indignant. Why aren't you glad I was on the receiving end of blows at one time in my life? My father thrashed me because… I suppose because I was expendable and a bit of a nuisance. Remember my time, Meghann. People did not love or coddle their children the way they do now, perhaps because they died so easily and there was no point getting attached to them. To my father, I was born solely to advance his name. But with Roger alive and well, I was not even needed for that."

"So you were an understudy in case Roger died?"

Simon laughed. "That is one way to look at it. Also… Meghann, you look on my ambition and you're sympathetic. My little American girl was raised to admire self-made men but in my time ambition was all but a sin. Sympathy rested with my father… having to control a young hothead that dared to try and rise above his station. I was supposed to be content with my marriage and place in Roger's household."

"That's terrible." Meghann frowned. "And so is… was…"

"Yes?" Simon prompted at her twitching lips. "Either you've developed a nervous tic or you're refraining from laughing."

"No, no, no," Meghann said, her dancing eyes giving her away. "I would never laugh because you'd been married to… to a, um, unattractive woman. It wouldn't be nice to laugh because the image of some fat hag chasing you around and demanding you… con… consummate… ha, ha, ha…"

"Yes?" Simon said severely, giving her a dark scowl. "This amuses you?"

"Sure it does." Meghann giggled. "I know you—thinking you're God's gift to women and then getting saddled with some fat slob for your wife."

"You're not going to get away with cackling over my misfortune." Simon lunged for her, and started tickling her sides. Meghann yelped and tried to squirm away but he straddled her, tickling without mercy.

"Do you still think it's funny?" Simon demanded. "My being shackled to that pockmarked pudding of a woman?"

"Yes!" Meghann gasped out, unrepentant. "I hope… I hope she made you go down on her!"

"Now you're going to pay."

"Stop!" Meghann pleaded through her laughter, red-faced and gasping for breath. "Please… the baby!"

"Using your pregnancy to worm out of your deserved punishment," Simon said reprovingly but he did stop tickling her. Instead of moving off her, though, he stayed on top of her and caressed her cheek, giving her a smile that made her heart thud uncomfortably in her chest. "What did I tell you, Meghann? You can enjoy my company. Shall I show you other forms of amusement?" Without waiting for a reply, Simon leaned down and began nuzzling a particularly sensitive spot behind her ear.

"Stop that," Meghann managed to gasp through the haze overtaking her as that knowing tongue on her neck sent little rippling waves throughout her body. Why did she always find it so hard to think when this satyr touched her?

"Have you ever made love in the desert, Meghann?" Simon murmured while he nipped her earlobe and ran his fingertips lightly over one leg, the sensations making her skin tingle pleasantly.

With a supreme effort of will, Meghann shoved him away from her, nervously backing to the farthest edge of the blanket. Always, no matter if he terrified her or made her so angry she wanted to kill him, lust remained an unbroken bond between them. How many nights had Meghann sworn she despised him only to wind up clutching his hair the moment he touched her, ripping his clothes off with abandon and urging him on with moans and sighs while at the same moment she wished she'd never met him?

She wasn't going to start up that old sick sadomasochistic cycle, Meghann promised herself. She'd come too far and learned too much to go back to being no more than Lord Baldevar's sex slave.

Simon eyed her silently for a few minutes before he stretched one long, elegant hand out to her. "There is no need to crouch like a virgin defending herself from marauding conquerors. I am not about to resort to rape—you may come closer without fear I'll molest you."

"I am not afraid of you," Meghann informed him and ignored the extended hand though she did move back to the center of the blanket. She was afraid of herself—afraid of the unthinking, unreasoning body that simply responded to pleasure and urged her to throw herself at Simon without any thought of consequence.

It's just sex, Meghann told herself. After all, she'd been celibate over two months now—two months too long, in her opinion. She only responded to Simon because she needed release. Well, Las Vegas had thousands of eligible men and any one of them could give her what she wanted without having to sell her soul to get laid.

"What makes you think I'll stand by and allow you to behave like some alley cat, lifting your pretty tail to any male that pleases you?"

"You wretched whoremonger, how dare you call me an alley cat!" Meghann screeched, her face bone-pale but for the twin slashes of crimson on her cheeks. She took a deep breath, preparing herself to use the astral plane and get back to town so she wouldn't have to spend another minute with this loathsome bastard.

"Pregnancy might hinder your ability to fly the plane," Simon commented with an amused smile when he saw the uneasy frustration appear on her face after she spent a full five minutes trying to fly without success.

"Go to hell!" she spat, and Simon laughed, grabbing her wrist to restrain her before she could get up and walk back to town to escape him.

"Why take such offense, little one? I never called you an alley cat—I simply said I would not allow you to behave like one. Have you forgotten my letter? You may scorn me and keep your chastity if that is your desire but I will not stand by and allow you other lovers over me." Simon gave her an appealing look, dropping his hands to loosely circle her waist. "Please don't leave, Meghann. I probably should not have shattered the fun we were having by touching you, but it would take a stronger man than I to resist such a sparkling, bright-eyed coquette beneath me. Please stay a while longer."

Was he mad? Stay with him after he'd proven he was as jealous and possessive as he'd ever been? As far as Meghann was concerned, that little speech proved Simon Baldevar was still the same evil, domineering fiend she'd been so right to run away from.

She glared up, ready to tell him so, ready to tell him to take his filthy hands off her, but he gave her a disarming grin that made time reel backward—made Meghann see the dashing stranger that had captured her heart almost sixty years ago.

It wasn't fair, Meghann thought when her heart lurched painfully. It wasn't fair that his face was so unmarked by time… that he could look just like he had that first night when he took her on the Staten Island Ferry and the wind from the river blew his chestnut hair about in a wild disarray just as the desert wind whipped his hair around now and softened his stern features. Too, that first night the moonlight had glinted off his sharp cheekbones and made her long to touch them just as she longed to reach up now…

Goddammit, what was wrong with her? The fiend had just told her he wouldn't allow her any lovers but him… as if she were his slave, as if he had any right to meddle in her life. And what did she do? Instead of putting him in his place, she stared up at him and fell for his handsome face when she knew all too well the black heart it concealed.

Meghann raised her head and gave him a level stare. No, she wouldn't leave… she'd stay around him until she learned to control the lust inside her. Pushing Simon away, she poured herself some milk, with a great show of nonchalance, from the carafe they'd bought at the deli, and groped about in her mind for a neutral topic of conversation.

"I shouldn't have laughed… it's terrible that your father made you marry her," Meghann finally said, daintily sipping her milk. "In fact, the whole idea of arranged marriage is horrible. I can't see anyone choosing who I should marry."

"I see merit in it," Simon told her. "It may have landed me a bloated hag when I was young and poor, but under arranged marriage I wouldn't have to entertain your tedious refusals of my suit. Instead, once you were pregnant, I could simply demand your father give me your hand in marriage."

"I am not," Meghann began icily, "some chattel to be sold or dispersed between the whims of two men. Anyway, even if you had knocked me up in your time, I doubt you'd have bothered to marry me. Earls, even pathetic younger sons of barons, didn't marry peasants."

"You wouldn't have been a peasant," Simon argued. "Your father… he owned a construction company, didn't he? That would make him a tradesman in my time, a prosperous member of the middle class. Maybe it would raise a few eyebrows if I married the daughter of such a man to legitimize my son, but by the time Elizabeth raised me to the title of earl, there were very few people that would dare tell me what to do."

"Well, my father wouldn't make me marry anyone that raped me!"

"My dear, if an earl offered marriage to a tradesman's daughter, it would not matter if I raped you at noon on London Bridge… not as long as I gave you the honor of becoming my countess. And you were not raped… unless my memories of a hot vixen begging for my touch are erroneous." Simon laughed, firmly grasping the hands that tried to maul his face.

"But I do not wish to shatter our new friendship so I shall offer you a compromise—I will not embarrass you with references to the night you conceived if you do not keep insisting you were raped. Is it a bargain?"

"Mmmn," Meghann muttered but she did drop her claws. "And who told you we were friends?"

"Do you still consider yourself my enemy, little one?"

Meghann shrugged, disturbed when the "yes" she wanted to shout out wouldn't come to her lips. "How do you know I won't pretend to accept you and still plot to kill you once I don't need your blood?"

Lightning quick, Simon's hand lashed out. For one dreadful moment, Meghann thought he planned to strike her but all he did was grasp her chin while staring into her eyes with an intensity that made her heart drop to her shoes. "My pet, you are simply too forthright to ever be an accomplished liar. You've never been able to dissemble or conceal your true feelings… that's why you have so many enemies at Ballnamore. Even if you never speak a word, they see your contempt for their old-fashioned ways and narrow view of the world."

"How do you know about all that?" Meghann demanded.

"Because I know you," Simon told her. "I can well imagine what those pious fools would think of my headstrong, prideful consort. Enough about those imbeciles—answer my question, Meghann O'Neill. Are you my enemy?"

"I… I don't know," Meghann said at last. She had to concede Simon had a point when he told her to make peace with him and she couldn't say she hadn't enjoyed herself tonight. The way they'd laughed and talked together—it was almost like being friends. She'd forgotten that sometimes she used to genuinely enjoy being with Simon, that as he'd pointed out earlier they never ran out of things to talk about or disagree over in a friendly, lighthearted way. But how could she forget all the atrocious things he'd done to her, to the people she cared about?

She thought her answer might anger him, but Simon only smiled. "A considered, uncertain response is certainly a vast improvement over what I would have gotten from you a few weeks ago. Somehow I do not think you are planning after tonight to go back to greeting me with scowls and spiteful words."

"Maybe not," Meghann answered. "But is that all you want—for me to be nice to you?"

"I want a great deal more but I have learned from our past encounters. I will force from you nothing that you are not willing to give freely. When you are ready to be a bit more than 'nice,' I shall be waiting."

You'll wait a long time, Meghann thought. What did he think—one dinner, some sob story about his dysfunctional family, a few gropes, and she'd leap into bed with him? Maybe it was to her benefit to be on his good side, but this was it… their relationship was going no further than it stood right now.

"Do you think your life would have been worse if you'd been born a girl?" she asked Simon to change the subject.

"Of course. It would have been easier for my father and Roger to use me."

Meghann winced at the bitterness in his voice. What must it have been like for him, to grow up in such a loveless atmosphere? Of course, his upbringing couldn't excuse what he'd become, she told herself firmly. Still, how different would her character be if she hadn't had her father's love and support when she was growing up? If her brothers had looked at her as a potential rival instead of the spoiled darling of the family they'd made their younger sister into? She remembered how Simon had always snapped at her whenever she spoke of her family, told her to stop speaking of people she'd never see again. At the time, she'd assumed he was jealous of her love for them but now she wondered if she'd caused him pain when she spoke of an upbringing so different from his own.

"Don't compare my life to yours, Meghann. We come from very different times. Too, your father was a far better man than mine. He had a large family, yet each of you were well provided for."

"Yes." Meghann nodded, remembering how every child, including her, went to college and one brother, Seamus, was sent to law school. She bunked rapidly, feeling the familiar tears that stung her eyes whenever she thought of the family she'd had to give up for immortality.

"Meghann." Simon pulled her against him, wrapping his arms around her and putting her back against his chest. "Don't become sad because the past is gone. Think of the future, of the beautiful child we're going to have. Experience the present… this wonderful, wild place we find ourselves in."

"It is beautiful here," Meghann agreed, drinking in the beauty of the desert. It wasn't just the stark outline of rock formations and the dark, fathomless lake nearby that captured her heart—the wild vastness of the place gave her a sense of exhilaration and freedom that she'd never felt before.

"Can you feel the power of this land, Meghann?"

She nodded, the wind buffeting her hair around her face as she gazed up at the star-studded sky. "It goes on forever… there's such energy here, such… such magic!"

"It is an enchanted spot," Simon agreed. "I fell in love with the Southwest desert the moment I saw it. Grand, impervious to time and mortals… this place does not call the heart of man, Meghann. It calls to us."

For a while, they sat together quietly, taking in the wild beauty of the desert. Meghann stared at the stark landscape, thinking how much the desert suited Simon. An untamed land, a harsh place that did not forgive or offer comfort, that would kill if you allowed it to but with a majestic beauty and power that had to be acknowledged.

No wonder he likes it here, Meghann thought and turned around, feeling a little bemused by the strength emanating from him. She'd be a fool to persist in angering this formidable creature instead of taking the olive branch he held out to her.

"Thank you for tonight," she said softly and smiled.

Simon smiled back and took her hand, kissing it lightly. "Anytime, little one—you have but to ask. Now, are you aware that it is past four? I best get you home before your chaperone starts tearing his hair out."

"My God!" Meghann cried. "Charles—I forgot all about him! And Jimmy… Simon, I lowered his medication and I was supposed to stay and watch him! What if he had a relapse? What if he got away?"

Simon waved her concerns away like an annoying fly. "You know he cannot cross the threshold of that room without my permission. And if he had become unruly, Vinny would have contacted me by now." Simon flicked open his blazer to show Meghann the small cellular phone he carried with him. "You may take his silence to mean that thing can handle a lower dose of your potion."

Meghann didn't bother telling Simon not to call Jimmy a thing, just promised herself she'd spend all of the next night with him to make up for her neglect.

"Here." Simon put the keys to the Ferrari in her hand. "I believe I promised you could drive."

Eagerly, Meghann got behind the wheel, familiarizing herself with all the buttons and paddles on the console while she adjusted the seat and steering wheel.

Used to her own simple Caddy, she struggled with the engine immobilizer for a few minutes before Simon leaned over and showed her how to put her foot on the brake and pull the right paddle behind the steering wheel.

"Now?" Meghann said, giving Simon a quick glance.

"Whenever you're ready."

Grinning widely, she selected first gear, hammered down on the go-faster aluminum pedal in the driver's footwell, and the Ferrari took off in a cloud of red dust. The car went to 183 mph in a mere eleven seconds, impervious to the rocky desert road, purring along at top speed in stealthy silence.

Expertly, Meghann navigated the winding curves and spared a glance for her passenger. Unlike Charles, who tightened his lips and clutched the dashboard when she got speed-happy, and Jimmy, who yelped and demanded she slow down before she killed him, Simon seemed to be enjoying the wild ride as much as she was.

Meghann watched the desert scenery race by and thought she had to get one of these cars for herself. It was more like flying than driving… she couldn't remember the last time she'd had so much fun as she was having right now, soaring through the desert night in this elegant machine.

Only when they approached town did Meghann reluctantly slow down in deference to the cars around her. Easily, she drove through Spanish Hills and parked the car in Simon's garage before heading over to her still beloved Caddy.

Simon walked her to her car and Meghann stood indecisively for a few moments, unsure of how to end this strange evening.

Simon lifted her hand and gave it a polite kiss good night, caressing the wrist for a moment before he turned and walked into the house.

On the drive home, Meghann considered the events of the night, still unsure of how she went from wishing Lord Baldevar dead to… to what? Liking him? No, well… maybe.

What was not to like? Even Alcuin had once conceded that Simon Baldevar could be very charming when he wished to be. But Meghann knew what lurked under that charm… didn't she?

She hadn't known of his lonely, brutalizing childhood. Maybe if he told her more, she'd understand him, and in understanding him…

Now you've lost it, a voice inside her head pronounced. What—are you thinking you're going to change him? Make Lord Baldevar a good guy?

Meghann laughed out loud at that thought, making a driver next to her wrinkle his brow in concern. No, Meghann had no illusions about Simon changing his stripes. But it was possible she could get him to make some concessions. Already she'd gotten him to leave Jimmy alive.

If she couldn't destroy him (and the zero-for-two record she and Charles had indicated she couldn't), then she had to find a way to have him in her life where she could tolerate him. Certainly tonight he'd been quite tolerable… except for when he started pawing her and giving orders for whom she could sleep with as if he were some king and she were his untouchable wife.

Meghann glanced at the strip—should she throw down the gauntlet and go pick up some gambler? No, not tonight… it was nearly five A.M.; she had to get home. Well, there was always tomorrow. Maybe she and Charles and Lee could go to some club. Meghann thought Charles would probably stand up and cheer if she found herself some transient stud to ease away her anxiety. Momentarily, she worried about being unfaithful to Jimmy but then she thought what he didn't know about what she did while he was ill couldn't possibly hurt him.

As for Charles, there was no reason to tell him how she spent her evening, Meghann decided, and pulled her car into Lee's driveway, careful not to block his Jeep Cherokee. She'd work her way up to it, to gradually convince Charles that maybe they should make peace with Lord Baldevar. If she hit him with it all at once, he might decide it was she and not Jimmy that needed to take antipsychotic medication, Meghann thought, smiling at Charles when he came out of the house. One glance at his shining eyes and rumpled hair told Meghann his evening was all he'd wanted it to be.

"Where's Lee?" Meghann asked, linking her arm through his as they walked into the house.

"Sleeping," Charles said, the self-satisfied tone in his voice making Meghann laugh.

"Hey," he said, looking her up and down. "You seem… different, happy. Has Jimmy improved?"

Meghann shrugged and began making up the bed for her daytime rest. "I just decided I have plenty to be happy about—you and Lee are with me and the baby is in all likelihood going to be born healthy."

Charles nodded and kissed her cheek good night. "You're right, Meghann. Alcuin always told us to find the good in a situation and focus on that. You have every right to be happy over impending motherhood."

After Charles left, Meghann threw on an oversize Mets T-shirt and crawled into bed, thinking she'd made the right choice in not telling Charles just who was responsible for her newfound equilibrium.