The scratchy starch of clean sheets. The comforting weight of a blanket. The quick chirrup of birds beyond her window. The faint scent of bay rum. These were Cat’s initial impressions upon waking.
She opened her eyes to a world streaming in sunshine. Squinted against the blinding vividness as she scanned the room. Tried to piece together recent events.
As everywhere else within Kilronan House, this bedchamber suffered from a lack of funds. Nothing jarring, simply a sense of chronic neglect—plasterwork left unrepaired, a spiderweb crack running jagged down one pane of window glass, drapes frayed and left to fade in the sun.
All right, so she knew where she was. A mark in her favor. She also knew why. To assist Aidan in translating the diary. So far, so good. Things were returning to her mushy, befuddled mind.
Cautiously, she sat up, expecting . . . what?
The bone-grinding pain of broken limbs? Her body ached like one big pulled muscle, but nothing more.
A stomach somewhere in her throat? No, actually she was ravenously hungry.
A brain sloshed and foggy with vague recollections of a fight and an enormous man with murder in his eyes, his mage energy crushing her like an egg?
One out of three.
Her blood went cold as the events of last night felled her like a hammer’s blow. But she lived. The intruder hadn’t succeeded in turning her into a puddle of nothing on the floor.
How had she survived? Had Aidan struck a bargain? Had he handed the diary over? Was her time trapped within the limbo of Kilronan House at an end? Would Aidan return her to the streets where he’d found her? And why did that thought make her want to curl even tighter into her bed and never emerge?
To combat the unwanted sensation, she forced herself up. Swung her legs out of bed. Tested her strength with a wobbly rise to her feet. Immediately, the room took on the whirling aspect usually accompanying a bad plate of oysters. Nausea, cold sweats, pins and needles. She sank back onto the mattress with a shut-eyed moan of pure ick.
So much for hungry.
Flopping back onto the pillows, she stared up into the bed hangings. Wished the answers to her questions would suddenly appear there as if by, well, magic.
While she searched for solutions in the damask, a shadow fell across her. Aidan’s lean, noble features and bronze brown glare bursting her illusion of control. She remained a mere puppet in a larger game. A game she began to wonder if Aidan even understood.
“You’re awake.”
She tipped her head in his direction. Offered a cynical curl of her lips. “Yes, but beyond that, I make no claims.”
Amusement brightened his eyes for a moment before his face settled into grim lines. “Can you travel?”
She shot him a you’ve-got-to-be-joking look. “I can barely stand.”
He sized her up with a long, deliberative stare that had her squirming. “Be ready to leave Kilronan House in three hours.”
Anger flared through weakened muscles. Quickened a mind spinning in futile circles. All her pent-up frustrations finding a target in the arrogant condescension of this overbearing earl. “The hell I will.”
He blinked and for a moment she thought she saw again that glint of amusement. But so quickly did it pass that she couldn’t be certain, leaving only hard-jawed annoyance and disbelief that someone like her might actually thwart the plans of someone like him. “Excuse me?”
Being flat on her back was a disadvantage. She struggled up, meeting him eye to eye and scowl for scowl. “I said I’m not going.” Before he could offer a retort, she plowed on, her blood stirred now she’d begun. “I’ve done everything you’ve asked and been almost killed in the process. Who’s to say I won’t end up dead if I stay with you? And despite how it appears, I like living, thank you very much. I’d like to continue doing it for a bit longer.”
“Which is why we’re leaving,” he explained in a tone of voice normally reserved for small, stubborn children. “Lazarus won’t give up until he’s gained the diary. And now that the Amhas-draoi know it exists, they’ll be just as persistent if not just as treacherous about laying their hands on it. I can’t fight both.”
He hadn’t done such a grand job of fighting one, but she didn’t say it.
“Kilronan House isn’t safe. We need to get away from here. Out of Dublin.”
Leave the city? Travel alone in company with Kilronan and his magnetic gaze? His body-luring kisses? His sensually charged charisma working at her indifference with a sapper’s doggedness? Definitely a very, very bad idea.
Now she was on her feet. A finger jammed repeatedly into his unyielding chest. “And where would we go that’s safe?”
Had she said we? Had she actually agreed to this?
“West.” He ignored her finger. Admirable in someone who—now she looked closely—appeared as battle-scarred as she. The tiny fatigue lines gathering at the corners of his eyes, the pastiness underlying the bronze of his skin, the tension humming along jumpy muscles. He may have survived, but it had been a hard-won battle. “There’s someone I must speak with. Someone who knew my father.”
She flung herself away from him to stomp like a madwoman about the room. “I can’t just go haring off with you to some unknown destination on an insane hunch.”
“Social calendar full?” he responded wryly. “Of course you can go. Must go. Or have you forgotten Smith and his associate? They’re still out there. No doubt nursing a dangerous grudge. Your friend Geordie’s yet to turn up living or dead. You’ve no home. No work.” He ticked off his reasons one by one. Each like a nail in the coffin of her justifications. “There’s nothing left for you here, Cat. And everything to be gained by traveling to Knockniry. As I said before, we leave in three hours.”
“I can’t—” Stopped, consternation wiping away the last vestige of argument. She was vertical. Ambulatory. And in naught but her chemise with Aidan’s eyes burning a hole right through it. With a groan, she swept the quilt off the bed and around her shoulders.
“Miss Osborne won’t be pleased.”
His mouth thinned to an irritated line. “No, she won’t,” was all he answered.
A malicious spark pushed her into final agreement. “Fine. Three hours.”
Aidan crossed to the door. “I’ll send someone to assist you in dressing.”
He’d made it to the top of the stairs before Cat came to her senses. Shouted after him, “Who’s Lazarus anyway, and what has any of this got to do with the Amhas-draoi?”
“What’s to stop Lazarus from catching us out here?” Cat asked the back end of Aidan’s horse. “What makes you think we aren’t walking right into an ambush?”
She scanned the dripping trees as she asked the question. Peered through the tangled overgrowth lining the river of mud calling itself a road.
“We may well be.” Aidan swiveled in the saddle to answer, hat pulled low over his brow, a blue tinge to his lips. “But that was guaranteed if we hadn’t left the city. I’m banking on speed and secrecy to keep us safe until we reach Knockniry.”
She tensed as her own mount tossed its head at the crack of a twig, the squawk of a startled jay. “And then?” she persisted, wiping the rain from her eyes.
Aidan didn’t answer.
Or couldn’t.
After all, as he’d explained it to her, Lazarus couldn’t be killed. Or at least, no one had figured out how to do it yet. Brilliant.
She shrugged deeper into the heavy cloak he’d tossed her as they slipped up the area steps to be met near Henry Street by a groom leading two horses. It had been the last notice he’d taken of her before reverting to stone-faced reserve throughout the hours that followed. As they made their circuitous way out of the city and onto the road toward Edenderry. As they paused just long enough to rest the horses and snatch a hasty bite at a roadside tavern outside Kilcock. As the rain moved in, turning a merely interminable trip to one downright dismal. It had only been in the last miles that she’d ventured conversation. That or go stark star
ing mad with boredom.
“Jack was only acting out of concern for you, you know. Perhaps it would have been better to give the diary to the Amhas-draoi. They could protect it.” She peered over her shoulder into the veil of drizzly mist closing in behind them. “And us.”
Aidan’s whole body went stiff in the saddle. “Protect us? Is that what you think they’d do? Hardly. They’d feed us to the wolves if it suited them. They want to use my father’s diary as bait. Dangle it in front of Lazarus and his master to flush them out.”
“And is that wrong? I’ve met Lazarus. The Amhas-draoi are welcome to him. Dangle away, I say.”
Aidan never turned around. Instead, his voice carried back to her on a ribbon of silver cloud. “And the man who controls him? Lazarus’s master?”
She tightened her hands on the reins, a razor reminiscence slicing right through her. She choked down the momentary panic. “Anyone who can control that monster must be a monster in his own right. The Amhas-draoi can have them both, and good riddance.”
Aidan didn’t answer at once. Cat wondered if he would. But finally, he spoke. His words rough with confusion. “I won’t believe it. Lies. It has to be.”
And with that enigmatic comment, a fresh downpour sent her burrowing into the cloak like a turtle into its shell. The wool smelled like Aidan—a musky combination of scents sparking a tingling heat in her belly.
For a moment, she found herself back in the garden of Kilronan House. Aidan’s heartbeat steady beneath her palm, his lips moving against hers in a slow seduction, the track of his fingers upon her face loosening the hard core of her anger.
But this time, she did not step out of reach. This time, she did not allow Jeremy’s ghost to insinuate itself between them. This time, she gave in to the temptation of Aidan’s touch. Surrendered to the honey swell of sensation drugging her body. And found release in his arms upon the soft grass beneath the sheltering laburnums.
An explosion of wings and croaking squawks jerked her back to reality with the heart-stopping force of a gunshot. And the molten slide of orgasm gave way to the slippery muck of the road, unceasing rain, and thigh muscles stretched to the breaking point.
She glanced at Aidan’s uncompromising back from beneath the soggy hood of her cloak.
Had she said this trip would be very, very bad? Try horrible times infinity.
Aidan woke, blinking up into the gray of predawn, confusion at his whereabouts making him question the heavy oaken beams above his head, the draft from a rattling set of windows, and the dampness in the smelly blankets covering him. But with the acclimation of his vision came clarity of thought. A sparsely traveled road. A rickety inn chosen for its unassuming façade. A bedchamber that under normal circumstances he’d have handed over to his manservant with reservation.
He watched the creep of shadows over the floor as night faded into another rain-weary day. Shifted on the thin, straw-filled pallet. Felt the tendons in his thigh give with a snap akin to the original gunshot. The pain slicing from his leg to his brain, dragging a groan from dry lips.
“. . . Jeremy . . . nowhere,” came a grief-stricken entreaty.
Aidan froze. What the hell was Cat doing in his room? And who was Jeremy?
Leaning up on his elbows against the lingering strain of overused muscles, he found his translator and traveling companion curled in a threadbare blanket on the floor in front of the dying remains of the fire.
“Cat,” he hissed.
She roused with a bleary, confused shake of her head.
“Cat.”
This time she heard him. Came fully awake with a startled sailor’s oath.
He raised a curious eyebrow.
A flush of scarlet creeping up her throat, she drew her knees to her chest. Dragged the blanket up over her shoulders. Her hair lay tousled with sleep. And from beneath the hem of her chemise, bare toes peeked. An innocent vulnerability that had Aidan shifting uncomfortably in his bed. The agony moving from his leg to his groin.
“How did you get in here?” His gaze shot to what he was sure had been the locked door.
She answered with a proud sniff. “Anyone with half a brain and a hairpin could have gotten past that lock.”
“All right, then. Next question. Why”—he motioned toward the nest of blankets, the fire, her current state of dishabille—“the midnight visit?”
“The roof leaks in my chamber.”
He glanced to the window and the gray misty veil of rain.
“Sieves have fewer holes,” she complained. “When an ominous drip started over my bed, I surrendered to the flood and decided to camp in here.”
Skepticism must have been written all over his face because a glittering scowl lit her jade stare. “Why did you think I’d come?”
A rusty smile curled a corner of his mouth. “Let’s just say I had a theory.”
She scowled. “Oh, really? And what would Miss Osborne think of your theory?”
Their eyes met. Cat’s green gaze as luminous as river stones. A shift and shimmer of emotion he felt all the way to his bones. It made him bold. Reckless. And gut-seethingly jealous.
“Who’s Jeremy?” he blurted.
He knew he’d made a fatal error as soon as the stupid question left his lips.
Instantly the shutters came down. Inscrutability replacing the scorching heat he knew he’d seen racing over the surface of her features. So much for the dirty little fantasy he’d been conjuring.
“What does it matter to you?” Her tone regally cold.
“You spoke the name in your sleep.” He backtracked like mad. But the damage had been done.
Cat rose. Padded toward the door, her thin shoulders erect, back ramrod straight. “Jeremy was my first mistake.” Paused on a shaky, indrawn breath. “I won’t make a second.”
“Miss O’Connell? Is that you?”
As if conjured by Aidan’s earlier heart-stopping, horrible question, the past rose up to smack Cat right between the eyes. William Danvers shook the rain from his greatcoat. Peeled off his gloves. Ran hands through hair damp from the day’s drizzly rain before sauntering toward her table, his curious gaze searching her for any sign of recognition.
Normally, veiling her features took no more effort than breathing. But right now, inhaling and exhaling seemed like monumental tasks. She hid behind her cup of chocolate, scalding her mouth on an ill-thought swallow while she steadied her shaking limbs. Concentrated on the visage forming in her mind—lighter hair, rounder face, weaker chin, paler eyes, a body just a touch on the plump side—felt the minute changes as pins and needles tightening her skin, and knew she’d succeeded when his assurance turned to uncertainty.
“I’m sorry. I thought—”
She offered him a confused smile and a shrug of her shoulders. A quick shake of her head. “Sono spiacente, signore. Non capisco l’inglese.”
Prayed Danvers didn’t know Italian.
His immediate dismayed tug at his cravat told her she’d chosen well.
He began again. “You look very much like someone I knew once.” Shouted as if volume might overcome the language barrier. Drew inquiring looks from the few ill-kempt patrons sharing the taproom.
“Can I assist you?”
Cat and Danvers both turned at the smooth inquiring tone, but Cat heard the thread of cautious edginess behind the upper-class condescension.
Aidan’s gaze held every drop of the world-weary nobleman, his demeanor as crisp and correct as if the three of them met at the Castle for a ball. He studied her distorted features with a flicker of confusion before turning to Danvers, whose eyes widened with recognition then pleasure.
She sent up a silent prayer. Please, Aidan. Don’t give her up. Not to the biggest busybody in Dublin.
Danvers cleared his throat before sketching a bow. “Your servant, my lord. My horse threw a shoe, and I’ve had to kick my heels here while the smithy fits a new one.” He paused, apparently expecting Aidan to explain his own surprising presence at such a
seedy and out-of-the-way establishment.
But Aidan remained completely in character. The aloof and achingly proper peer of the realm.
Danvers plowed on, unfazed by the silent set down. “I was speaking with Miss—”
“Have we met?” Aidan interrupted while continuing his smoldering staredown. Cat had felt the force of that gaze. Knew it for the quelling confidence squash it was.
“Oh yes, Lord Kilronan.” Danvers graced Aidan with an oily smile. “Once or twice at Daly’s in the company of your cousin. And I believe we both attended a dinner party at the Barnwalls’ last fall.” He darted another searching glance at Cat, who was trying to be invisible behind her chocolate. “I approached when I recognized the young lady.” He frowned. “Or thought I had.”
Cat bit her lip as she ran a finger around the rim of her cup. “Pensa che parli soltanto italiano. Gioco avanti. Per favore.”
Aidan answered with a very bewildered shake of his head. “Are you speaking Italian, C—”
Aidan leapt, but too late. “Damn it! Are you mad?” Chocolate dripped hot and sticky across his coat.
Cat jumped up, apologizing in babbling Italian while mopping at Aidan with her napkin.
He grabbed her elbow. “May I speak with you for a moment?” he chewed through clenched teeth. Guided her away from the table without sparing Danvers a single backward glance.
In the stairwell, he rounded on her. “What was that?”
“He recognized me. I had to do something.”
“You know that man?”
She twisted the soggy napkin between her hands. Hated the panicky sense of her life unraveling. “Yes. A long time ago.”
Aidan cocked a curious brow, a gleam she didn’t trust sparking his dark eyes. “And so you hid.”
She grabbed his sleeve. “Please, Aidan. Let it go. Go back and tell him I’m some long lost Italian cousin of yours. Tell him I’m your crazy Aunt Mary just released from the asylum. Tell him I’m your latest mistress trained in foreign erotic arts. I don’t care.”
Aidan acted as if he hadn’t heard her. “Someone who knew Miss O’Connell from her days prior to a Saint Patrick’s deanery tenement,” he mused to himself. “Who knows why she hides. Why she runs.” He met her frightened gaze with his own impenetrable stare. “What she dreams.”
Earl of Darkness Page 11