Dark Torment
Page 34
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but, Miss Sarah . . .” Mary was determined to speak, and this was so unlike her that Sarah stared at her with amazement. Mary beckoned urgently. Intrigued, Sarah forgot what she had been going to say and joined her at the window. Lydia and Liza, the former with a petulant frown, followed.
“Look, Miss Sarah!” Mary was pointing out the window in the direction of the drive. Sarah followed the direction of her pointing finger, and froze. A man was cantering a big bay up the curving drive. . . .
“Dominic!” The word was scarcely a breath. She felt as though her heart had stopped as she stared and stared, sure her eyes must be playing her false. But the horse and rider kept coming, and there was no doubt.
“Dominic!” This time it was a full-throated cry. Leaving the other three staring out the window, Sarah picked up her skirts and went flying out of the house. She ran across the porch and down the drive, her eyes shining as Dominic, seeing her coming, reined in the horse and dismounted.
“Dominic!”
He was holding out his arms to her, and she ran into them, scarcely noticing that her big belly kept him from holding her as close as she would have wished. “Oh, Dominic, what are you doing here? I thought you would be halfway to England by now.”
He put her a little away from him, his eyes sweeping her up and down, widening a little as they rested on the visible evidence of their growing child.
“I would have been—except I jumped ship when we stopped to take on fresh water at the Mascarene Islands. There was another ship in the harbor, bound for Sydney. It brought me back. I decided to wait until we could go together.”
Sarah smiled at him, scarcely able to believe that he was real. He smiled back at her, the twist of his lips faintly crooked.
“Oh, Dominic. Welcome home.”
He laughed a little, unsteadily. Sarah stared up into that handsome face and felt her heart turn over inside her. His hands on her arms felt so good, so right.
“Home,” he said, musing, his voice a low rasp as his eyes ran over her again. “That’s what I learned when I left. Home for me is anywhere you are, my Sarah.”
Then he pulled her into his arms again, and, belly and all, held her tight.
Epilogue
It was exactly one year later, except that in Ireland it was summer, not winter. Lush green grass grew thickly over the rolling hills. Sunlight sparkled and ducks played in the blue waters of the lough. The mist that had hovered over the countryside that morning had largely dissipated now, leaving behind only a few drifting veils to mark its passing. In the distance stood a very big castle with battlements and turrets, made of stone as black as the devil’s heart. The sun glistened on the black stone, making it shine like thousands of diamonds.
Down by the lough, Sarah was laughing as she clung to the trouser seat of her year-old son. The boy, having lately mastered the art of walking, was delighted with it. He was bound and determined to toddle straight into the water. Sarah had been showing him how to feed the ducks, and his chubby fists were full of bread crumbs. Though a flock of the white birds quacked and pecked at his feet and Sarah’s skirts, he had his eye on the large swan that floated in the water, just out of reach.
“Edward, no!” Sarah repeated for what must have been the dozenth time.
Her son, determination in every line of his solid little body, quite properly ignored that, his legs churning as he fought to get to the swan despite his mother’s grip on his pants.
“I can see he takes after his mother. A fighter to the end.” This light-hearted remark made Sarah turn her head and smile at the tall, black-haired man who himself was smiling as he watched them.
“I thought you were going to be busy with your estate agent all afternoon.”
“I was—but I happened to glance out the window and saw you and Ned down here by the water. So I decided to join you. You’re looking very lovely today, Countess.”
“Thank you, my lord.” Sarah smiled with mock coquettishness up into her husband’s handsome face. It seemed so strange to call him that, and to be called countess herself. She wasn’t sure she would ever get used to it. A brief shadow must have crossed her face, because he searched it with his eyes.
“Sorry you left Australia?” he asked softly.
Sarah looked at him, at the black castle looming behind him, and shook her head.
“How could I be sorry? I love Fonderleigh, and Ned, and you. . . .”
“Not in that order, I hope.” He was grinning at her. Sarah wrinkled her nose at him impishly. Then he sobered, “I’m serious, Sarah. Do you ever miss Lowella?”
She thought about that. Her life had changed so much in the last year. She was no longer uncertain of herself, or of him, and it showed. Her clothes were stylish yet simple, like the bronze-green walking dress she had on at the moment. As did all her new clothes, it played up her quiet beauty, bringing it to the forefront so that one noticed it now instead of overlooking it. Her tawny hair was worn in a soft upsweep that made an effective frame for her golden eyes. Her mirror told her that she looked a totally different woman from the one he had fallen in love with in Australia. She no longer had trouble believing him when he called her beautiful, and he called her that a dozen times a day.
“Sarah?” he prompted softly.
“Oh, sometimes I miss the heat, when the chill gets into my bones. But that’s all, I think.”
“You’re not homesick?”
She shook her head. “How could I be homesick? You and Ned are my home.”
He smiled, remembering. Their son chose that moment to lunge again for freedom. With his mother’s attention distracted, he made good his escape.
“Edward Dominic!”
Both parents lunged for him before he could fall headlong into the lough, but it was Dominic who caught him. He hauled his protesting son into his arms, then swung him to his shoulder, while Sarah shook her head at the child and tried to look severe. He beamed at her, his chubby face splitting into such a wide smile that she had to smile back.
“He’s a little rogue,” Sarah said to her husband.
Dominic grinned. “I told you, he takes after his mother.”
“His father, more like,” she retorted, eying both her maddeningly handsome males. And smiled again at the expressions in two sets of identical Irish blue eyes.
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