“I shall send your husband back to Gaul immediately,” Caesar murmured as he helped her up. “You are the best fuck I have ever had, and I must have you again.”
“I thank you, my lord emperor, for your praise, but Caesar can have any woman he desires. Poor Maximillian Alerio Patronius has only me. If you send my husband back to Gaul I would go with him,” Ashley said.
The emperor nodded. He was not in the habit of being refused, but the woman had serviced him extremely well. She deserved to be rewarded, and sending her to Gaul with her husband would cost him nothing. “You will come to me one more time before I return your tribune to Gaul. And then you may go with him.”
Gathering up her tunic, Ashley bowed. “As the emperor wishes.” She backed away and returned to join her husband.
“You did well,” Max said.
“He is returning you to Gaul,” she told him.
“He wants you.”
“I am going with you,” she told him. “It is you I love, Max.”
And then she heard the sharp ting of the Channel bell, and she awoke in her bed. Wow! Ashley thought. That was some wild night. But I’ve been more than sexually satisfied. Ryan must think I’m a saint, she thought. And she giggled. Where the hell did sex with Caesar come from? she wondered. I didn’t intend to add any more men to the picture. Sometimes the Channel scared her. It was everything she wanted, but now and again something she had never considered seemed to pop up—like a Roman orgy and a sexually insatiable emperor. Maybe I ought to practice a little abstinence for a while. And what was she going to do with the Channel when she was married? Other married women had it. Hell! Probably all of its subscribers were women. And what if sex between she and Ryan didn’t work out? Yeah, right. Like that was going to happen. But it was a temporary arrangement. Both of them had the right to be with people they loved.
Love. Everyone talked about love. But what exactly was love? Ben had thought he was in love for real just before he was shipped out. He had told her that he would probably ask Marianne to marry him when he got back. But he never came back. And Marianne had married someone else less than two years later. If you honestly loved someone, could you really do that? Could you love two men in a lifetime? Of course you could, she thought. She certainly had. Or had she really? What would have happened if she had married any one of the three? She probably would never have had sex with Carson if he had had the nerve to go through with their marriage. It would have ended in an annulment. And in disaster with Chandler, because there had to be more to love than just wild monkey sex. As for Derek, or whatever his real name was, he probably would have serviced her regularly as long as he got to spend her money. But that wasn’t love.
This time she knew the wedding would come off. She was marrying to save her inheritance. Ryan was marrying to save his inheritance. They were crazily sexually attracted to each other. But love had nothing to do with it. It was all about money. And yet the lady Cordelia had told her tribune husband that she loved him. And he had looked just like Ryan Finbar Mulcahy. Subconsciously she had wanted him to look like Ryan. What else did she want subconsciously? It was starting to get very confusing, Ashley decided, and then she realized she had a headache. It was the kind she got maybe once or twice a year. Her temples began to pound and her stomach began to roll. She got up and stumbled to her bathroom, where she threw up. Thank goodness, Ashley thought. It always relieved the tension when she threw up, but she was not going to work today.
Ryan called her in midafternoon. “Are you all right? Nina said you were home sick today. What’s the matter? Did you call Dr. Sam?” He sounded worried.
“I get a knockdown tension headache maybe twice a year,” Ashley told him. “I think all the excitement and secrecy got to me. It’s almost gone now.”
“I’ve got to fly to London. I’ll be in England for the next two weeks,” he said.
“The wedding is in two weeks,” she reminded him.
“I’ll be back Thursday of that week, Ash. You and Frankie behave yourselves while I’m gone, okay? She says she’s coming out to the house this week to start setting everything up in the master suite. Am I going to like it?”
Ashley smiled. “I think so,” she said. “And if you don’t we’ll do it all over again,” she told him.
He laughed. “Hey, babe, just because you and I are rich doesn’t mean we should waste money. Just as long as Frankie hasn’t done it up all Laura Ashley. I’m not much for flowers and butterflies.”
“Oh, no!” Ashley gasped. “You don’t like flowers and butterflies?”
He laughed again. “Nice try, but I’m not buying it, Ash.”
She giggled. “It’ll be very unisex,” she assured him. “But remember, we’re sharing, and it can’t be all Ralph Lauren and leather, Ryan. What are you doing in England?”
“There are some house auctions I want to go to in London and out in some of the counties. Sometimes I buy; sometimes I just photograph details for the reproduction business. The newly rich want it authentic, even if they aren’t quite certain what authentic is at first. They do learn,” he said dryly. “And they expect value for their money. Our work isn’t cheap, and we use the best materials. I think I may have found a new source for clock corners and drawer pulls up in York. They claim to have the original molds. I’ll know when I see them. I can’t just take anyone’s word.”
“When are you going?” Ashley wanted to know.
“Tonight,” he said.
“Travel safe then,” she said.
“Thanks. You take care now,” he replied.
“I will. Thanks for calling.”
“Yeah. Bye.” And the phone clicked off.
Geez, Ashley thought. Could their good-byes have been any more impersonal? She lay back, but as she did she noticed that the pain had gone. But she knew she would have to relax for the rest of the day and evening. August was never the busiest month in the shop. But this week she had to go over the new catalog proofs. They would be waiting on her office computer for an okay. The printer would have to do a runoff this week if the catalog was going to be out on time. Then the pages needed to be bound and put in their envelopes for mailing at the end of September if they were going to get the Christmas orders out on time. She would have to do it tomorrow. Frankie was coming out on Wednesday.
She had seen Ryan’s mother and youngest sister since that initial meeting several weeks ago. She had spoken at length with Frankie several times as they discussed what they were going to do in the master suite. Her sister-in-law-to-be arrived at nine thirty on a rainy morning, roaring up to the house in a sporty little red Miata. Byrnes was immediately outside with an umbrella to escort her into the house.
“Miss Ashley is waiting in the breakfast room,” Byrnes said as he led her to it.
“Good morning,” Ashley said, coming forward to greet her guest. They kissed. “How about some coffee or tea?” she asked.
“I don’t suppose you have a cappuccino on you?” Frankie said.
“Byrnes, would you see to it, please?” Ashley said.
“You’re kidding!” Frankie said as she sat down.
“We’re very accommodating here at Kimbrough Hall.” Ashley grinned.
“I’ll say!” Her eye lit on a plate on the table.
“They were baked this morning,” Ashley told her. “In your honor. Ryan told me how much you loved bialys.”
“Can I live here?” Frankie said, smiling. “Please?”
Byrnes returned with a cappuccino and set it before the guest. Then he disappeared.
“Cappucino and a fresh-baked bialy,” Frankie said. “I’m in heaven.” She sipped, and then she took a nibble of her bialy. “Every bit as good as Rome!” she pronounced.
“You can tell Mrs. B. She’ll be delighted,” Ashley said.
“Ryan flew to England last night,” Frankie said as she ate.
“I know. He called me to tell me.” Ashley sipped her black tea. She always had black tea for breakfast the morning aft
er a tension headache.
“Wow! He’s getting thoughtful. Even Ma doesn’t always know when he’s going off,” Frankie said. “I called his cell last night to yak, and he was at Kennedy waiting to board. I had to remind him to give her a jingle. So, tell me. No cold feet yet?”
“I can’t afford cold feet,” Ashley admitted. “Your brother seems like a nice guy, and at least he isn’t after my money. We’ll do fine.”
“Have you signed the prenups yet?”
“Yes, last week,” Ashley said.
“Ryan hasn’t told Ma yet that this is only a business arrangement,” Frankie said. “She thinks it’s like when she and Da got matched up by the priest, and married. She just got the invitation Saturday, and wondered why you’re not getting married in a church.”
“Ryan has to explain that to her,” Ashley said. “Lina is his mother, not mine. It isn’t my place, Frankie.”
“I know. But he isn’t going to explain it to her. He doesn’t want to understand that she thinks this is a till-death-do-you-part marriage,” Frankie said. “An arranged marriage she understands, but not a marriage of convenience with an out clause.”
“What am I supposed to do then?” Ashley asked, slightly irritated. This was just the kind of situation her brother would have fostered. Why were men such jerks about stuff like this? But they were. Honesty really was the best policy.
“Look, I’m staying a few days. Could you invite Ma out to lunch the last day I’m here? And I’ll help you talk to her when she asks, because she will.”
Ashley considered. Lina Mulcahy had welcomed her warmly. If Ryan wasn’t going to explain the situation to his mother, she really owed it to her future mother-in-law to tell her that the marriage between he R&Ryan, while legal, wouldn’t last, because they were marrying just to save their asses. “I could send Byrnes in for her on Saturday, and then she can ride back with you later that day.”
“Would you?” Frankie sounded relieved.
“Of course. I’ll have Mrs. B. do us a nice lunch, give Lina a tour of the house and the gardens. And we’ll talk. I like your mother, Frankie. But I don’t want her laboring under any illusions about this marriage.”
“Do you think you could fall in love with my brother?” Frankie asked.
Ashley felt her cheeks growing warm. What was it about these Mulcahys that they could make her blush?
“Aha!” Frankie exclaimed. “Maybe you could.”
“I don’t know,” Ashley admitted. “I’ve never been very good at picking men, but I do know your brother and I seem to have a sexual attraction toward each other.”
“Ohh,” Frankie said softly. “Have you done the deed then? I’ve heard rumors from some of his old girlfriends that he’s very good in bed.”
“No, we haven’t slept together,” Ashley said. “Not that he hasn’t tried, but I’m not really into sleeping around. Oh, I did with two of my fiancés, and look how that ended up. I’m taking no chances this time. Do you know what they call me around here? The Bad-luck Bride. Well, I can’t get jinxed this time. Besides, in the agreement we signed, sex between us is optional.”
Frankie laughed. “You put that in the prenup?” she said.
“No, we have a small binding legal agreement in addition about what we can and can’t do or have, where we live and entertain, et cetera,” Ashley explained. “We needed to iron out the details of the little stuff, since this marriage is only so we don’t lose our inheritances. It’s all legal, and no one can say we aren’t married. Neither of the wills involved said we had to marry for love or any other reason. They just said we had to be married.”
“But you think Ryan is hot?” Frankie persisted.
“Yeah,” Ashley admitted. “He’s hot, but that isn’t a reason to fall in love with him. However, I like him, and maybe that’s a start. And it was nice of him to call me yesterday and tell me he was going away. He had called the shop, and Nina told him I was home, and why. He asked how I was feeling, and he really sounded as if it mattered. Of course, he was probably worried I might die before the wedding, and then he’d really be in a whole lot of trouble.”
“No, not Ryan. He’s not like that,” Frankie defended her brother. “If he sounded concerned, then he was concerned. He really is one of the good guys, which is why Ma and I are so pissed off at the others. My five older sisters are like a damned pack of vultures, and Ryan doesn’t deserve that. Dad was always tight with money. It was his upbringing. It was Ryan who was always getting Dad to help them out, and he’s the one who made Dad give us each such a generous bequest in his will. So for them to have gone out and found a buyer for R&R stinks. Especially since the guy is Ryan’s least favorite person in the whole world.”
“I don’t understand your sisters,” Ashley admitted. “Ben and I would have done anything for each other.”
Frankie shrugged. “What can I say? I don’t understand it either, except it seems that the more my sisters have, the more they want.” She drank the last bit of cappuccino from her cup. “Well, we had better get going. I’ve got a crew all lined up to do the painting and papering. They’ll be here tomorrow.”
“Where are you housing them?” Ashley asked, concerned.
“The motel just off the parkway,” Frankie answered. “The new bed will be delivered Friday, and the rest of the stuff will be coming via FedEx this week. By the time Ma arrives on Saturday the rooms will be done. Hey, look, the sun is coming out. It’s going to be a nice day after all. Can we go swimming? Ryan says your pool is wonderful.”
“Of course,” Ashley told her. “But let’s get our work done first.”
“Gee,” Frankie noted with a grin, “you really are a perfect match for my brother. I hope you do fall in love and make this a real marriage.”
Ashley smiled. Maybe I do too, she thought silently.
CHAPTER FIVE
Angelina Mulcahy stepped out of the Lincoln Town Car and looked about her. It was a beautiful hot August day, and a silvery haze hung over the bay below, which was dotted with several small sailboats. She turned to face the portico, and smiled as Frankie and Ashley came from the house to greet her. She kissed both women on their cheeks. “It’s lovely,” she said to Ashley. “What a beautiful house, cara.”
“Wait till you see the inside, Ma,” Frankie said. “It’s right up Ryan’s alley, and the antiques are real. Been in the family for centuries, Ashley says.”
“Francesca! Do not be so common,” her mother chided her.
Ashley laughed. “Don’t scold her, Lina. Like Ryan, she appreciates what my family has collected over the years. Come in.”
The three women entered the house, and as it was only ten o’clock Ashley led them out on the porch for coffee, small cups of freshly made raspberry yogurt, and miniature Danish pastries that Mrs. B. had baked earlier. Seeing the gracious display Angelina raised an approving eyebrow, and Frankie winked conspiratorially at Ashley. After they had eaten, Ashley suggested a tour of the house.
“You’ll want to see where Ryan will be making his home, of course,” she said as she led her guests from the porch. “Frankie has been all over the place this week, but as you will soon be my family, I wanted you to see the house before our wedding.”
Although she was impressed by everything she saw, Angelina Mulcahy’s handsome face remained a smooth, emotionless mirror barely reflecting her thoughts. The house was exquisite. The living room was large and gracious, with an elegant mantel above the fireplace. The formal dining room was something splendid, with its great Duncan Phyfe dining table and chairs with their beige-and-dark-green-striped satin seats. In the center of the table was a huge porcelain bowl filled with an arrangement of multicolored dahlias. The sideboard was balanced at either end with silver chargers, and a silver punch bowl and ladle was set in the center. There was a fireplace in the dining room as well.
Angelina admired the paneled library with its fireplace. “How many fireplaces do you have in this house?” she asked her hostess.
/> Ashley thought a moment. “Twelve, I believe. The bedrooms all have one, and the kitchen downstairs has one.”
Living room, dining room, library, kitchen, Angelina thought silently. That means there must be eight bedrooms. It’s a house for a family. A nice big family. She followed her hostess upstairs, where she was shown the new master suite, with its parlor, bedroom, two bathrooms, and two large walk-in closets. She was astounded by the size of it all, thinking of the small bedroom she and Finbar had slept in for much of their marriage.
“Well, whaddaya think, Ma?” Frankie said. “Have I done a good job?”
“It’s amazing,” Angelina replied, unable to keep the approval out of her voice.
They entered from the upstairs corridor into the parlor, which was painted pale green above its chair rail, and a dark cypress green below. The walls held several very good paintings—landscapes, and two obviously original ancestor portraits in muted gold frames. The carpeting was a pale cream color. A maple secretary stood in one corner, the wavy glass in its door attesting to its vast age. There was a couch upholstered in dark green duck cloth with several decorative pillows, and two comfortable club chairs that were upholstered in a large floral rose pattern, muted green on a cream background. There were small antique side tables, and several lovely lamps.
“Wait until you see the bedroom,” Frankie enthused. “I got the bed from Ryan’s place. It’s a repro of a sixteenth-century English piece with an eight-foot linen fold-paneling headboard. Solid oak. Ashley’s granddad lived in this room until he died several years ago. Strangely his bed was the only nonantique in here, and we sent it off to Habitat’s store in the next town.” She led the way into the bedroom. “Well?” she said, grinning.
“The bed is a bit overwhelming at first,” Ashley said, “but the room can take it.”
Angelina looked at the bed with its turned pillars at the foot and its dark green velvet bed hangings. The room was papered in a cream silk paper with delicate green ferns. There was a wonderful sixteenth-century chest-on-chest, and a seventeenth-century bureau with an exquisite mirror over it, among the other furnishings. “Just think,” Angelina said softly, “you will create your children in that bed. Dynasties come from such beds.”
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