by Jess Raven
Perhaps going back there, seeing the deeds to the house signed away to some stranger, would finally draw a line under the whole episode for me.
“Want me to find another agent?” Liam asked, drawing me out of my thoughts.
I realised I’d been drumming my fingers on the file.
“No, I said,” placing a proprietorial hand on top of the folder. “I can do this. I want to.” Want was a strong word. In truth, I was afraid, but I was determined to face my demons. Besides, we needed the money. The sale on an estate like Bronach would keep Dad’s real estate agency afloat, and no way was I was going to put the moral guilt on Liam to go up there and do the dirty work. I could see it in his eyes: the hidden fear that I’d ask him to go. I’d always considered myself the stronger of the two of us, even before he’d had some demon creature try to suck the life out of him. “I’m happy to go, I really am.”
“You’re a hell of a woman, Darcy, you know that? Bravest person I know. If it wasn’t for what you did up there, I wouldn’t be here. I’d be in the ground, just like John-Joe.”
“I’m not brave,” I said. “It was Jack Pembroke who saved your life.”
And I’d never got the chance to thank him for it.
“You saved all our lives, Darcy.”
“Not John-Joe’s,” I replied sadly.
“No,” Liam agreed.
“Why do you suppose she left me alone?”
He stared at me with those haunted blue eyes. “Because you’re a woman?”
“Yeah,” I agreed, “maybe she only goes for men, or maybe she just hadn’t got around to killing me.”
It niggled at me, all the same, how Adriana had seemed almost protective of me in the pub that night, asking whether John-Joe was bothering me.
“Damn it, did it really happen?” His head sagged on his shoulders and he rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “Sometimes I think I’m going crazy. I mean that thing, what was it, a vampire?”
“Something like that, I think, yeah,” I breathed, covering his trembling hands with my own.
“It bit me. What does that mean? I’m worried Darcy.”
“What? That you’re going to turn into one of them?” I cupped his face in my hands, scrubbed at his stubble and offered him a smile. “You feel very much flesh and blood to me, Liam McShane. Besides, that stuff is only in stories, right?”
“Vampires were supposed to only exist in stories,” he said, and I hated seeing the fear in his normally carefree eyes. “If they exist, what else is out there?”
I had no answer to that.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The memories that filled my return drive along the coast road up to Bronach Lodge were tempered by the glorious turn in the weather. It was hard to imagine those dark things really existed, when the sky was such a pure shade of blue, and the sun sparkled on the waves like shoals of diamond fish. Not a full month had passed since the night of the storm, and yet the season was in full change. I’d changed too, irrevocably.
After I discovered the truth about Jack and Adriana, I’d taken a long, hard look at who I’d become in the years since my father’s illness, and found I hardly recognised the jaded, cynical person staring back at me.
I was alone in life, not because Alec had cheated on me, but because I’d chosen to shield myself from ever getting hurt again. I’d been an idiot. I’d let my own foolish distrust lose me the opportunity to find love. I’d leapt on the chance to believe Adriana’s lies, because that’s what I’d come to expect. I’d refused to let Jack defend himself, and now that I knew the truth, he was gone from my life. It was a hard lesson, learned too late.
He wasn’t coming back. I’d lost him, as I’d lost my mother, and my father and my ex-fiancé. The difference was this time? I wasn’t going to let it break me. I wasn’t about to go chasing him all the way to New York like a lovesick puppy. That’d make me no better than his blonde stalker. We’d had one night of connection, one night of unbridled passion, and I’d ruined it by pushing him away. His letting Bronach go felt like he was closing the book on us, and that seemed only fair. I hoped my cruel lies would help him forget me sooner than I’d be able to get him from my mind. I had a feeling it would take a very long time.
I’d have forever to live with the regret, but from now on, I’d decided I was opening myself up to life and fate and everything they could throw at me: the hurt, the losses, the dizzy highs. I could embrace them. I could learn from the hurts, I could forgive, and I could move on. I could learn to trust again.
I drove past the spot where the big sycamore had fallen on Jack’s car, and I couldn’t help but smile, picturing myself taking his hand and crawling on my hands and knees from the wreckage. I’d thought the night couldn’t possibly get any worse. How wrong I’d been. The giant trunk was now a giant pile of firewood, drying in the early summer sunshine.
I pulled up to the house only to discover I wasn’t first to arrive. Out on the gravel drive, a big motorcycle stood balanced on its kickstand. It was a powerful looking machine, sleek and black. No sign of a rider, though. I checked my watch, and my diary, confirming I was there in good time. I hated to keep a client waiting.
Slipping from the car, I smoothed the creases out of my blue shift dress and shrugged into a short, grey rain mac. The heels I’d worn to smarten up the outfit crunched over the stones as I walked towards the entrance. Although the window shutters were all closed, the hall door to Bronach Lodge stood wide open.
I stepped into the gloom of the hallway and called, "Hello?"
Nobody answered.
Dust motes shimmered in the random shafts of sunlight that found their way in through the gaps in the shutters. Stepping through them, I made my way along the corridor towards the drawing room, breathing in memories of the night spent here, with him: so vivid I swore I could still smell the beeswax candles burning.
I stopped outside the library, and inhaled. That scent was more than just a memory.
The door was ajar. I pushed it inward and stepped into the room. The flames of numerous lit candles cast a soft, flickering glow on everything, and I wondered absently why the room's occupant would have gone to the trouble of lighting them, when they could simply have opened the shutters to the sun. Then my gaze settled on the figure sat at the polished-wood desk, and the rest of the room receded out of focus.
"Jack Pembroke."
"Darcy McShane."
"I wasn't expecting you to be here," I said, hesitant. "Are you well?"
He looked incredible, in a form-fitting black sweater and dark jeans, surrounded by ancient, leather-bound tomes. Less tanned than I remembered, but that was hardly surprising, given what massive blood loss and weeks holed up in a hospital bed with no natural light were liable to do to your complexion. The pallor only served to highlight the arresting green of his eyes.
"Never felt more alive," he replied. "Nothing like a near-death encounter to get your priorities all lined-up in a row, wouldn't you say?” His mouth curled in a crooked grin that melted something inside me. “This is for you," he said, all business as he pushed a white envelope across the desk towards me.
Ah, so he'd come to hand over the deeds to the house. A huge gilt mirror on the wall behind him reflected my disappointment back at me, and I had to school my expression before he read it.
But why come in person, when his legal team could easily have dealt with the paperwork? Unless he'd come for an apology. I certainly owed him one, and the sooner I got it said, the sooner we could conclude this business, and I could go hide under a rock someplace for the rest of my reproductive life.
Chicken that I was, I went with apologising for the least personal of my affronts to him first.
"About Adriana," I said, glancing at my feet when the intensity of his gaze proved too much. "I'm sorry about the whole pepper-spray thing."
He waved me off. "Don't be. It was self-defence. Adriana got what was coming to her."
"I'd like to apologise, all the same. Is she here?"
I asked, risking a look over my shoulder.
One dark brow quirked in amusement. "If she is, she's breaking the restraining order I had my lawyers put on her."
My jaw went slack, and my mouth took the shape of a silent 'Oh.' Quickly snapping it shut, I struggled to fill the awkward silence. "She told me, well, actually she led me to believe you two were married."
"Yeah, in her tiny, deluded mind," Jack scoffed. "We dated once, as in one single date, years ago. I knew right off it was a big mistake, but she begged me, swore it wouldn't interfere with our professional relationship, and I gave her the benefit of the doubt. Turns out you're not the first woman she's scared away." He laughed drily. "And here I was, thinking I had halitosis or body odour, or I just wasn't cut out to be boyfriend material."
My brows shot up. Who was this gorgeous man kidding? He wasn't boyfriend material, he was the stuff of any woman's wild, debauched fantasies. Well, all of my wild, debauched fantasies, at least. Too bad I'd blown it with him when I had the chance. Regardless of that, though, I still felt the need to explain myself.
"She mentioned the ring you wear, that's why I believed her. You'd told me you were married to the job. I thought you were being economical with the truth."
He twisted the gold band from his finger and handed it to me on his outstretched palm. "This ring? Take, it. Examine it."
"That's really not necessary," I said.
"Take it, please."
I tentatively plucked the ring from his hand. Engraved on the inside were the names Kathleen and Jonathan and a date.
"It belonged to my father. I found it, not long after he disappeared. I was playing in the mound of stones up on the hill and there it was, glinting at me in the sunshine. I never showed it to mother. I knew it would make her angry. Just the mention of his name and she'd be off on another month-long ritual cleansing of both me, and the house. So I kept it with me, for sentimental reasons, and occasionally, when it suited, I wore it on my left hand. I get propositioned a lot in my job, sometimes it's less complicated to let potential clients assume I'm unavailable. Adriana chose to read something more into that than there was."
God help my misguided foolishness, but there was a part of me that also relished the idea of Jack making himself unavailable to other women.
I handed back the ring and he slid it onto his finger. "Thank you," he said.
“You think she’ll be okay?” I asked.
“I expect so. I arranged a good severance package for her, and her psychiatric bills will be taken care of.”
“That’s really generous of you, considering.”
He shrugged. “Adriana and I go back a long way. She claims to have no memories at all beyond arriving in Ireland, and getting lost on the coast road whilst trying to find my hotel. After that, everything’s a blank, up until you Mace’d her.”
Wow. I wondered if she’d found her way here, to Bronach, and the Dearg Due had possessed her somehow. We might never know for sure.
“How about you?” I asked, recalling what the police had told me. “Do you remember?”
“Every detail,” he replied.
And wasn’t that a loaded comment?
"I'm sorry for not hearing you out that night. I ... I've been hurt in the past. Once bitten, and all that jazz. You Americans would probably say I've got trust issues."
"My blood is as Irish as yours," he replied.
"Except you don't plan on living here," I said, unable to disguise the note of regret that crept into my voice. "Are these the deeds?" I asked, quickly sliding the envelope from the table. This was proving to be much harder than I’d thought. "I'll see they're in safe hands until the sale is finalised."
"There's not going to be any sale," he said.
"There isn't?" I frowned, perplexed.
"Nope," he shook his head and leaned back in the chair, crossing his arms behind his head. "I've decided to make Bronach my home."
"You have? But what about the ... what about her?" I asked. My voice dropped to a whisper, as though the mere mention of a name might bring the Dearg Due back from the dead.
"The way I see it, I've been hiding from this family curse all my life. I just didn’t know it. We know now how to keep her contained, and I've been doing some research." He motioned to the faded books around him. “You might find these enlightening,” he said, turning the dusty, leather-bound manuscripts in my direction. “There are Pembroke family histories here going back many hundreds of years. I’ve unearthed records of the marriage into the family and the subsequent untimely death of a certain young village girl. You might want to take a look at her name.”
He directed me to a place half-way down one of the pages. The paper was yellowed and cracking with age, the handwritten words archaic, but very beautiful. I underlined the name with my finger as I read it aloud. “Áine d’Arcy.” I looked up at him in disbelief. “She was a Darcy?” It had been my maternal grandfather’s surname, and I’d been named for him. I’d known the family ties to the village went way back, but I’d never in a million years imagined I might share some genetic link with the creature that had tried to kill Jack and my brother. Could that have explained Adriana’s reaction to me in the pub? John-Joe’s death? The Dearg-Due leaving me alone, while she targeted the men? Answers to questions I’d been pondering for weeks seemed to be slotting into place, while at the same time the events of that night grew more mysterious than ever.
“Hardly a coincidence,” Jack said. "All of this seems predestined, wouldn't you say? I think this is where I'm supposed to be. I believe you and I were fated to meet, Darcy McShane. This is my ancestral family home, after all. If I'm not here to see the cairn remains intact, then it's only a matter of time before this tragedy repeats itself. I won’t have any more deaths on my conscience. I believed my mother hated me, when, all along, she was only trying to protect me. She sacrificed everything she had trying to keep me safe. Now that she’s gone, I owe it to her memory to stick around.”
Oh, so that explained why he was sticking around. Guilt and a sense of family responsibility. I knew all about those. But ... "If you're not selling, then why am I here? And what’s this?" I asked, clutching the envelope.
"I wanted to apologise," he said.
I gaped at him, incredulous. "You? I'm the one who owes you the apology."
"Call it a peace offering, then. Open it," he said.
I peeled back the sticky fold of the envelope and drew out a single sheet of paper. It bore the letterhead of a private clinic, Jack Pembroke's name along with some personal details, and two columns, one listing a long slew of diseases they only taught you about in sex-ed classes to scare you off doing the act, the other that was an equally long line of negative results. "I don't understand,” I said, growing more flustered by the moment. “What’s this about?"
"You expressed your concern that I might have transmitted a disease to you when we were together. I wanted to reassure you that you have nothing at all to worry about on that front."
I felt the flush spread from my neck all the way up to my hairline and down to the tips of my toes. "I ... Oh God, I swear that was just something I said in the heat of the moment. I didn't actually mean ... Oh my God. I'm so sorry." I let the paper fall onto the table and covered my face in my hands, but with my whole body burning in shame, it was pretty useless.
"There was something else you pulled me up on that night," he said.
There was? What else had I said? My brain rattled through a rapid rewind of the night, before the Dearg Due had shown up and things had gone ballistic.
"I was hoping you might give me the opportunity to prove you wrong about that too."
Oh Jesus. I remembered now, I'd called him a bad lay.
All I could do was laugh. It was that or break down in a blubbering mess.
"You find it funny?" he asked. He placed a hand over his heart, as though my laughter had mortally wounded him.
"No, of course not. Well, actually, yes. It is funny, it's downright
ridiculous. You and me together, that night? It couldn't have been better. You must know I only said what I did because I was trying to save face."
"Couldn't have been better, huh?" His grin was wickedly smug. I could see his confidence growing in the squirming shadow of my admission. "I do love a challenge," he said. He sucked on his lower lip and raked me with a covetous, head-to-toe gaze that heated every inch of my skin.
Not knowing where to look, I picked up the sheet of test results and waved it in his face.
"You know, most men go with the standard flowers or chocolates, maybe buy a girl a drink. You've certainly got a unique approach going here, Jack Pembroke. Not sure it'll work on just any woman."
"I don't want just any woman, Darcy McShane. I told you. I want you, and I'm prepared to do whatever it takes."
"Whatever it takes?"
"Umhmm. So, is that a yes?"
I remembered my promise to myself, to grab life by the horns.
"Yes," I said. "That's a very definite yes." I couldn’t hold back the stupid grin tugging at my lips. "You're really staying?" I asked, scared to believe.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
"I'm really staying," he said. He rose fluidly from the chair and walked around the desk until he was standing at my back.
Resting his hands on my shoulders, he smiled at me through the mirror, the kind of secretive smile that conjures up all manner of mischievous thoughts.
“May I?” he asked. He hooked his fingers behind the lapels of my short trench coat and drew it back off my shoulders, like a true gentleman would do for his date at a fancy restaurant. But the hot growl of his breath and the graze of stubble behind my ear told me Jack Pembroke had no intention of playing the gentleman with me.