“It has to.” He was desperate. Need for her acceptance strained his voice. “I am committed.”
Committed. He should be. “You will be dead within the year if you keep on this course.”
“Do not underestimate me.”
“You are a fool.”
“And you are going home tomorrow.”
She agreed. There was nothing she could do here. “Then you must make love to me tonight.”
He drew in a breath and held it for a moment, before letting it go explosively. “You make a tempting offer, but I must regretfully decline.”
“We made a bargain.”
“Which you have broken, by doing something so foolish as putting yourself in danger.”
Damn the man. He would now claim she had broken their agreement? “Will you break your word to me yet again, then? Let me add to the pot, then. I will pay you for your services.”
“Pay me to stud you? Have you hit your head?” His hands moved to her hand and gently began to probe. “I feel no knot, no swelling.” He took her cheeks between his palms. “What, pray tell, do you think a fine stud like me would be worth to a lady like you?”
Hastily, she blurted, “A thousand pounds.”
She had ten times that in the bank. She hoped he was not aware of that. She was encouraged when he dropped his hands from her face in shock. “The duke is a generous guardian.”
She said, half pride and half shame—it was still a taint for someone of her class to earn money rather than simply have it dropped into her lap by a pair of doves. “My roses.”
He frowned. “Your rose bushes grow money? Paper or coin, my lady?”
Was he teasing her? Now? She wished, briefly, that she could just take what she wanted. But she didn’t know how. “The strains I cultivate are highly favored, people are willing to pay for them.”
“And so you are willing to pay for me?” His face was in shadow, she could not tell what he thought when he said, “I am overwhelmed with the honor. However, this is not the time for such a discussion.”
He lifted her, easily, onto her horse’s back. “I’ve hungry people left to feed tonight, my lady.”
“I need your answer.”
“You shall have it in the morning.”
“Sean—“
“Go home, Kate. I have more work to do before I can contemplate playing the stud for you.”
[Dear Reader, this note is to let you know that you can get a link to a special holiday bonus from Kelly if you send an email to http://storytellers-unlimited.com/kellys-gift. Now please keep reading to find out whether Kate gets her Christmas wish from Sean!]
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Kate rode toward home, grateful that he had been distracted enough not to insist on accompanying her back to the abbey. He wanted to send her home. He said it was dangerous for her.
She would be more content if she did not believe he was right. She was in a situation she did not understand, with a man she did not understand. But she wanted to. Even if doing so would not change his decision to divorce her.
The moon came out from behind the clouds, and she saw the silhouette of the ruins of the castle and stopped a moment. What secrets did this family have? Would she understand if she uncovered them? Or would she be even more confused?
Her horse nickered and lowered its head to the ground and Kate saw that the dog had come out to greet her. “Hello, Teagan girl, what are you doing out so late?”
The dog looked up at her, and wagged its tail, as if to say, “The same as you, my lady, looking for intruders and satisfying my curiosity.”
Kate hoped the dog’s curious nature would not be as disappointed by what she found as Kate’s had been tonight. Her own husband was so anxious to avoid her bed that he would break his word at the slightest provocation.
She dismounted, considering a midnight foray into the ruins. Perhaps she would climb up and kiss the Blarney Stone. Or perhaps not, considering that it was much too treacherous to do at night.
She patted the dog and found, as she wandered, that she had a companion for the evening. Somehow she found it comforting to have another friendly soul beside her in the darkness.
“So, girl—where are Bridget’s fairies? Can you show me?”
The dog looked at her and wagged its tail again, but did not dash off in any particular direction, barking commands to follow to the fairy knoll. That, Kate supposed, would have been much too easy. Instead, the dog ambled at Kate’s heels, content to see where Kate wished to go.
Teagan was a friendly dog--keeper of the castle they called her. Short brown fur and warm brown eyes that expressed faith and confidence that Kate was no interloper. Where the dog would fiercely guard the walls from others, she allowed Kate passage for only the cost of a few kind words and a brisk pat on the head.
If only Sean was as trusting as this dog. Kate knew he was doing all he could to make her go home before his honor was on the line and he had to keep their bargain or break it. She hadn’t considered herself unappealing, but these last six days had left her wondering if there was something wrong with her--or with him.
She’d done her best to show him she was sincere. To show him she was no condescending aristocratic fool who didn’t see the devastation all around her. But he still wanted her gone.
To be truthful, she’d have gone home two days ago when the servants--if one could call them that--had decided to wash her linens with a few berries that had turned the white a pale, but decidedly blue hue.
Sarah had been white faced with shame, that those she’d thought she’d befriended would do such a thing to her mistress, and she’d vowed never to let an Irish finger touch Kate’s clothing again. But Kate had understood that she could not let Sarah take responsibility for this action. And that she could not let it stand without comment. So she had descended to the kitchens herself.
The servants had been shocked to see her, and even more shocked when she held up the clothing they had nearly ruined. They’d apologized, but the sincerely shining faces of regret hadn’t convinced her they hadn’t meant to do exactly what they did.
Without the smile that threatened to bloom on her face, she asked for them to supply several ingredients, a bowl, and a spoon. They had done so, and then stood open mouthed when she carefully mixed together the ingredients to form a paste that restored her clothing to its original color without harming the delicate fabric.
She knew they had been surprised when she knew how to bleach them white again. And, as a small measure of revenge, she had not revealed how she had known such a thing—not even to Sarah, herself.
The advantage of the freedom she and Betsey had had floating between the upstairs and the downstairs worlds had taught her many skills the sister of a duchess never had to learn. She knew how to mend, get out stains, prepare a roast for 20 guests and bite a wood sliver to keep her expression as impassive as that of a footman.
What those skills actually meant she couldn’t guess. But here, at least, she knew they had a purpose beyond her own small curiosity. And she enjoyed that status. All her life she’d been the youngest sister, the one who was needed to be gotten out of the way when important things were happening.
She could be useful here. And she would not let Sean relegate her to youngest sister status again. He might want to get rid of her, but there had to be a way to change his mind. All she needed to do was to get him to agree to have a wife. Easier said than done.
The money she offered had not seemed to tempt him. Perhaps, if she truly wished to stay, she needed to find a way to impress Sean with her talents as easily as she’d impressed his servants. But what talents would a man like Sean admire most?
After a long night’s work, Sean stumbled home tired to fall into his bed at dawn. But his sleep was fitful and fraught with unpleasant dreams.
He’d spent the night thinking of what she’d offered. To pay him for performing the duties of a husband. He didn’t like the feeling. He never had, even when he’d been searching
for a wife with a good sized dowry and family connections.
He managed an hour’s sleep before the door to his bedroom opened and she entered. “You’re trying to force me to leave before you keep our bargain, but you won’t.”
He sat up in bed, trying to get his muddled mind to work right. Their bargain. Their devil’s bargain. A child. Maybe. What was it she really wanted? Perhaps he should get her to admit it. “Why should I mind a roll with a pretty girl--unless you’re expecting more from me?”
She shook her head, though there was a tell tale blush on her cheeks that suggested she knew very well she wanted more from him. And knew very well that to say so would see that she had no hope, even of a child—not from him, anyway.
“Are you certain you don’t want more? Perhaps for me to declare myself madly in love with you and carry you back to London, as I would have done five years ago?”
“I would not believe anything you said, Sean McCarthy, unless twelve others swore on their mother’s graves to the fact. I know better than that.”
“Well, perhaps you are a bit wiser than you were when I had to climb into your bed to get you to marry me.” A flash of regret surged through him when his words sent her reeling, as if he’d struck her.
“I’m sorry. I wish I hadn’t been so foolish. I’d do anything to take it back and leave you unhurt. I promise I never meant to hurt you.”
A cynical flash of disbelief narrowed her eyes. “Of course not, my lord. It was merely an accident.”
“Exactly.” He nodded. “Which is why I need to know if you expect more from me than just the hope of a child in nine month’s time.”
Stubborn to the end, she repeated firmly, “No more--I wouldn’t want more from a man who would marry me and abandon me to my own devices for five years.”
Her own devices. “I left you with your family—in comfort.”
“How comfortable do you imagine it to have been to have to explain why my husband had yet to return year after year? To face those curious glances and sly smiles? To read your letters over and over and tell myself that you had not just married me for my money. That you would return as soon as you could. That you longed for me as I longed for you.”
“More comfort than Kathleen Murphy, who lost her husband to the hangman for stealing a loaf of bread and left her penniless and on the streets with a child in her belly and nothing more than that loaf bread in her hand.” He had done nothing of the kind. She had had her family. Her roses, which had done very well for her. He felt the need to point that out to her in his own defense. “You were safe under the duke’s roof.”
“Very well, then. I’ll accept you had your reasons not to return to me. That your letters were not full of pretty lies.” Her expression belied that she would accept any such thing easily. “But now you wish to divorce me and I ask only one small thing from you.” She began to unfasten her gown, sitting on the bed beside him, turning her back to him. “Surely, you will not refuse me? Or send your cousin again, to perform your duties?”
Reluctantly, knowing he would likely regret this even more than he had expected, he moved to help her with the unfastening. Perhaps this would appease her. He knew it would not appease him, but he could live with his own hunger for her, forever if he had to.
She smelled, as always, of roses, and with her gown loose around her, the heat of her mingled with the rose scent until he no longer doubted he could satisfy her request. “I did not send him to seduce you, but to keep you safe since I could not.”
She turned back to him, holding her gown so that it would not slip farther down her shoulders. “Why have you decided to divorce me now? I cannot have been a troublesome wife--unless you consider writing a letter every so often a bother?”
So. As he had suspected, she wanted more. “A letter every week can be considered a bother to a man as busy as I am.”
She would not let go of her questions about his motives, though. “Do you want another, richer wife? Tell me the truth.”
“I am not--“ he bit off his words and shrugged. Perhaps that would be a reason she could accept. Certainly, he could not give her the truth. “The thought has occurred to me, I confess it.”
She stood up abruptly and held her gown close to her. “The duke will see that you do not get one with a dowry.”
“All this talk of another wife is fast reducing my ability to satisfy your request, Kate.”
“Do you find me so unattractive that you wish I was some other woman—any other woman?”
He had hurt her. “I don’t think it would be seemly to discuss my next wife’s dowry with my present wife—especially considering what she is willing to pay for my stud service with the money she had made in her trade.”
But he had stepped into a hornet’s nest with his comment. She said furiously. “I did not want to be a burden upon the duke, seeing that my own husband was not willing to provide for me, I decided to provide for myself. And I have done quite well at it.”
How far would she take this absurdity. He decided to find out once and for all. “I’m relieved to hear that you will not be wholly dependent upon the duke’s charity in the future when raising our—possible--son.”
There was no humor in her, not even dry wit when she replied, “Son? I had thought of a daughter.”
Perversity made him add, “McCarthy blood tends to run to sons.”
“I’d be better suited to raising a daughter—although I suppose I’ll have to ask one of my sisters to deal with her presentation in society.” Her voice dipped. “I don’t suppose a divorced mother will do much for a young girl’s reputation.”
He sat up then, all temptation gone at the thought of Kate, trapped outside of society, raising a child and unable to marry again because of his foolish actions.
“I’m sorry, Kate. I just can’t do it.” He stood up, turning his back to her and dressed quickly. He was tired, but his bed was not a safe place for him at this moment. He’d have to bed down in the stables later to get the rest he needed—he didn’t think she’d venture out there.
He heard the rustle of clothing and hoped she was dressing, as well. But then her stubborn, proud voice said without a quiver, “Five thousand pounds.”
He pretended to disbelieve her. He knew, to the penny, how much her roses had added to her accounts. Or rather, to his accounts. “You have that?”
“I do, just barely.”
He shook his head. She was a very good liar, surprisingly. Thank goodness he was well informed. “Ten thousand--five now and five when the child is born.”
“You cannot be serious. That is an impossible sum.” He waited for her to refuse, the sum would bankrupt her.
He smiled. “I am completely serious, I assure you, my lady.”
“You prefer humiliation?”
“I don’t believe you would do such a foolish thing--and if you did, I am certain the duke would take whatever measures necessary to protect you from ruining yourself.”
“He is only a duke, not a god.”
“Some in England would argue that as stridently as those here argue the leith brogan must be appeased.” He paused for a moment to let that sink in, and then continued, “Will you make me write to him at once to tell him he must guard against letting you do anything so foolish as to present evidence of your virginity in public?”
She struggled with the fastenings of her gown. “He cannot prevent me.”
He quickly helped her refasten her gown. “I believe that he not only can prevent you, he will do so—for your own good.”
She shrugged away from the brush of his knuckles. “Are you concerned for my reputation—or yours?” She turned to face him, her expression bleak. “Either way there is one remedy that makes this discussion unnecessary. But I suppose you find it beneath you to take your wife to bed.”
There was a knock on the door of his study and he prayed as he called “Enter,” that the servant had not heard any last scrap of their conversation. Douglas was known in the kitchens for h
is love of gossip—and Sean knew the servants already whispered about the fact that he had put Kate in a bedroom so far from him.
His concerns about such trivial things flew away, however, when the man announced that the sheriff awaited him in the study. With a warning glance at Kate, he left her.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Ten thousand pounds. He had somehow managed to ask for the sum that would leave her virtually penniless. Kate avoided Douglas’s openly curious look to see her in Sean’s bedroom. She fervently hoped that he had not heard the two of them arguing. Pretending that she did not wish to melt away in embarrassment, she asked, “What does the sheriff want, Douglas?”
“Same as always, my lady.” Douglas winked at her. “But don’t worry, he won’t get it.”
Kate was not so sure, and though she knew she would not be welcome, she hurried down to the study and stood at the door, not willing to enter and be told to leave. Not willing to trust that he would tell her truthfully what the sheriff wanted. She cautiously released the latch and pressed the door open an inch or two, grateful that his clandestine activities had made Sean oil the hinges on this door, at least.
The sheriff was a large, florid man with a broad back. Fortunately, he stood at such an angle that she could see his profile well enough to see his expression. Not friendly. “Good day, my lord.” He tugged at his forelock cursorily. “I have some questions for you.”
“Sheriff.” Sean did not look guilty of anything more heinous than having an extra dollop of cream on his biscuit this morning. Kate marveled at his ability to appear innocent even to her own eyes, even when she knew he was not.
“There’s been another fire.” The man seemed not to know whether to be deferential or belligerent and so chose to teeter back and forth between the two extremes. “Some folks say you might know something about it.”
“Folks who work for Jeffreys, no doubt?” Sean stood up. He was taller than the sheriff, though not as broad. “Another fire, Sheriff? Were your men sleeping on watch again?”
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