Chapter 2:
Miranda and James enter Thomas’ life, each with their own relationship to the concept of pretending.
Also appearing: playing devil’s advocate, wielding the sword of truth, the memory of an autumn encounter, a first lovers’ spat, things that can neither be spoken nor left unsaid, and really bad metaphors for grey eyes.
“You’ve never bedded anyone before me?” Thomas asked and Miranda reached out to right his glass, preventing the wine from spilling all over his breeches.
“Not for lack of desire, certainly. It’s not generally encouraged in girls of good birth to go rolling in the hay with every last bright-eyed lad we fancy. No matter how nice a pair of shoulders he has.” She sighed wistfully, and laughed when Thomas echoed the sound. “You have, I suppose? Been with men?”
“More than I should care to admit.”
“Not that it helped you more than my chastity helped me, when it counted.” Thomas felt his face heating, and Miranda pressed a hand to her forehead. “Oh, Thomas, no – I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry.”
He shook his head. “I can’t blame you. I should have spoken to you earlier. Not only did I fail to live up to my marital duties, I brought to bed with me the ghost of an entire entourage of former lovers, and forced you to confront that on your wedding night.”
Miranda was quiet for a moment. She took the glass from his hand and took a long, slow sip. Then she propped her elbow on the back of the settee, chin in hand.
“Tell me about them.”
“About the men I’ve known?”
“About the men you’ve fucked.”
Miranda’s voice was calm as a winter sunrise and Thomas felt a quiet thrill at how brazenly she refused to look away, refused to mumble or whisper or stutter while speaking of her husband fucking other men. God, if he could not love her the way he should, he did love her all the same, in a bone-deep, aching way.
Thomas Hamilton: A Life. – AstronautSquid – Black Sails [Archive of Our Own]
Meg's Mumbles 