The Lost

by J. D. Robb

  “No wonder the town looked so prosperous.”

  He smiled. “A high compliment indeed. Some years ago you’d have thought Glinkilly the poorest of places in all of Ireland.”

  “And now, thanks to you, it prospers.”

  His tone lowered. “May it continue, through good times and bad.” He brightened. “How is your dinner?”

  Aidan laughed. “What little I’ve tasted is excellent. I’m afraid I got too caught up in your narrative to do it justice.”

  “You’d best eat or Kathleen, who oversees our kitchen, will think she made a dreadful choice, and probably have Bridget’s and Charity’s heads in the bargain.”

  “We can’t have that.” Aidan took another bite of beef that nearly melted in her mouth.

  By the time they’d finished their meal, Bridget and Charity were back, this time with coffee and a tray of assorted cherry and blueberry tarts.

  Cullen polished off one of each before sitting back with a sigh. “The perfect ending to a perfect meal. Bridget, be sure to give my compliments to Kathleen.”

  She smiled and took her leave, shooing Charity ahead of her.

  Across the table, Ross refused dessert and sipped his coffee. It occurred to Aidan that he’d volunteered nothing during the course of their meal. Maybe he was on a mission to see that she didn’t offend her host. Or maybe, she thought, he found her company too dull to bother with something as inane as small talk.

  Still, despite his silence, she’d been acutely aware of him watching, listening, studying her like a specimen to be dissected. It gave her an uneasy feeling. If Cullen Glin was warmer than she’d expected, his legal counsel was behaving like a bodyguard keeping an eye on a trained assassin.

  He needn’t worry that she would try to worm her way into this very wealthy man’s life by some pretense or other. She had every intention of informing Cullen of his error in bringing her here. But not tonight, she decided suddenly. Tonight, seeing the eagerness in the old man’s eyes, hearing it in his voice, she would let him have his fantasy for a little while longer.

  She sipped her coffee, warmed by the fine food and the fire on the hearth, and the pure pleasure of her host’s charming personality.

  Just for tonight she would pretend that she was merely a guest in this lovely mansion, invited to partake of all the pleasures such a place could provide.

  Tomorrow would be soon enough to deal with the unpleasant realities of her situation. Tomorrow she would firmly, without leaving any room for doubt, let Cullen Glin know that she was who she had always believed she was, the daughter of John and Claire O’Mara, and the granddaughter of Maureen and Edward Martin.

  Cullin Glin would have to search elsewhere for his long-lost kin.

  “Come,” the old man said, suddenly getting to his feet. “Now that we’ve been fortified by Kathleen’s fine food, it’s time you had a tour of my humble abode.”

  “And this was once the library. It’s now my office.”

  Their first stop had been the formal parlor, decorated with a lovely mix of antiques salvaged from the original lodge, and comfortable pieces put together by a local decorator.

  This room, however, seemed perfectly suited to her host. Floor-to-ceiling shelves were stocked with leather-bound books. A stone fireplace soared to a second-story gallery that ringed two walls, showing more bookshelves. A massive desk was positioned in front of French doors that opened to a brick-paved patio and the gardens beyond.

  “I’m afraid this is where Ross and I spend most of our time.” With his hand beneath Aidan’s elbow, Cullen led her across the floor.

  “It’s a lovely room.”

  Ross moved to a side table and poured coffee liqueur into two small glasses. As he handed her one, she thanked him before nodding toward the patio. “Though I think I’d be more tempted to work out there, to the sound of birds and the scent of all those roses.”

  “Not at all conducive to work. I doubt we’d get much done out there.” Cullen smiled as Ross handed him a similar glass.

  Aidan moved about the room, running a finger along the smooth wood of his desk, pausing to study a framed pen-and-i nk drawing of the town of Glinkilly that hung on the wall.

  The signature of the artist caught her eye. “You did this, Cullen?”

  He nodded.

  “It’s excellent.”

  He couldn’t hide his pleasure. “In my misspent youth, I toyed with the idea of being an artist. Then I was persuaded to put aside foolish dreams and get to the business of making money.”

  She turned. “What do you do when you’re not working?”

  He glanced at Ross. “Now, there’s a question that hasn’t been put to me before. In the years you’ve known me, can you think of anything I’ve done except work?”

  Ross shook his head. “Not to my knowledge.”

  The two men shared a laugh.

  “What is it you do?”

  “I study spreadsheets, cost analyses, profit-and-l oss reports. I buy and sell companies, make money for the investors, sit on the boards of several corporations.”

  Aidan merely stared at him. “It sounds . . . complicated. Do you enjoy your work?”

  He took a moment to sip his after-dinner drink. “In that misspent youth I spoke of, I was a laborer. And had the aching muscles to prove it. It took me some time to uncover this other talent, but I’ve more than made up for my lapse. So the answer to your question is yes. I enjoy my work very much.”

  “I’m sure the people of Glinkilly are glad, too, since they’ve been the beneficiaries.”

  “There is that. It gives me pleasure to improve their lives, especially when I see how hard they’re willing to work to continue to grow and prosper. Long after I’m gone their children and grandchildren will keep the legacy going.”

  “And legacy matters to you.”

  He met her look. “It does, yes.”

  He saw her stifle a yawn and was immediately contrite. “I’ve been having such a grand time showing you my home, I forgot how exhausting travel can be. Please, my dear, go up to your bed now, and we’ll have another visit in the morning.”

  Aidan set aside her glass. “You’re right. I really need to sleep now. I’m afraid the flight and time change are defeating me.”

  He walked over to close her hand between both of his. “I hope you sleep well and late into the day. Whatever time you wake, we’ll share one of Kathleen’s fine big breakfasts.”

  “Thank you, Cullen.” She glanced past him to where Ross stood, silent and watching. “Good night, Ross.”

  “Ross will walk you to your suite.”

  “There’s no need.”

  Cullen ignored her protest. “I insist.”

  After saying good night to their host, Ross followed Aidan from the room and up the stairs.

  Because he remained one step behind her, she couldn’t see his face. But the prickly feeling along her spine had her achingly aware of those steely eyes watching her.

  At the top of the stairs, Aidan stood back while Ross opened the door to her suite of rooms.

  She shot him a weary smile. “Good night, Ross.”

  “I’d like a word with you.” Seeing that she was about to protest, he stepped into the room and pulled the door shut behind him. “Just a word. No more.”

  She sighed. “What’s wrong? Didn’t I follow your instructions carefully enough? Did I say too much? Too little? Did I keep frail old Cullen up past his bedtime? Or did you decide that I wasn’t grateful enough for this fine opportunity to glimpse the good life?”

  A half smile touched his lips as he leaned back against the closed door, arms folded across his chest, regarding her. “Ah. There’s that fine Irish temper again.”

  “I’m tired. I’ve had a long day, and a longer week. Say what you came here to say and let me get to bed.”

  “I want to thank you.”

  The unexpected words had her eyes rounding in surprise. “For what?”

  “For using that charm on
the old man. I haven’t seen him this animated in years.”

  “You thought I was pretending? That I was heeding your advice?”

  “Weren’t you?”

  Her tone lowered with feeling. “I didn’t need to pretend to be charmed. I was honestly responding to Cullen’s warmth and goodness.”

  “You liked him.”

  She nodded. “How could I not?”

  “What’s more, he likes you. I can tell that you’re all he’d hoped you would be.”

  “Not all, I’m afraid.” Her chin came up. “He’s hoping for a blood relative, a granddaughter, and that’s something I can never be.”

  “You don’t know . . .”

  She held up a hand. “It’s late, I’m tired, and this can go nowhere.”

  As she started away, he clamped a hand on her shoulder and turned her to face him. “I just wanted to say . . .”

  A look of astonishment crossed her face before it turned to anger. “Take your hand off me. Don’t you ever put a hand on me without permission.”

  He lifted both hands in a sign of surrender. “Sorry. Reflex.”

  “So is a slap across the face, which is what you’ll get if you ever dare to do that again.” She took a step backward. “Good night, Ross.”

  A dangerous smile teased his lips and crinkled his eyes, which only fueled her temper.

  Before she could say a word, his hand shot out. The smile remained as he touched a finger to her cheek. Just a touch, but she felt the heat of it all the way to her toes.

  “You have very soft skin, Aidan O’Mara.”

  She was about to make a sharp reply when he dipped his head and covered her mouth with his.

  She had every intention of slapping his arrogant face. But all her good intentions fled the moment their mouths mated. She was mesmerized by the feel of his lips on hers. By the hunger in his kiss that spoke to a like hunger in her. By the hands, strong and sure, that moved up and down her spine, pressing her to the length of him, testing, measuring. By the slow heat that built and built until she could feel it pulsing through her veins like liquid lava.

  When at last he lifted his head, she stood very still, trying to get her bearings. Her head was spinning, and she would have sworn the floor had actually tilted.

  He looked equally stunned, and kept his hands firmly on her shoulders, as though anchoring himself while a storm raged within him. After some moments, he took a step back.

  His deep, rich voice, with just the faint trace of brogue, washed over her. “Good night, Aidan. Sleep well.”

  She watched in silence as he opened the door, stepped from the room and closed the door without so much as a backward glance.

  She listened to the sound of his footsteps along the hall.

  Only when his footsteps faded did she move, on trembling legs, to the bedroom.

  She undressed and turned off the lights before walking to the windows. Dropping to the window seat, she stared down at the gardens, silvered with dew in the moonlight.

  She drew up her knees as she sat, deep in thought. What had she gotten herself into? Nothing here was familiar. And yet nothing felt strange.

  She ought to be feeling at loose ends, and yet she felt an odd sense of peace, as though she’d come home.

  Home. Now, that was a joke.

  It was all this luxury, she scolded herself. It would be very easy to get used to a life of such ease, and turn her back on the problems she’d left behind. But the debts would still be there when she returned. As would the unpaid taxes and insurance, and the medical bills, which would probably take a lifetime to pay.

  Spying a movement in the garden, she watched as the two wolfhounds leapt from the shadows and scampered along a path. Trailing slowly behind was a tall figure.

  Though still in shadow, she recognized him at once.

  As she watched, Ross paused beside a stone bench and turned to look up at her window. Even though she knew he couldn’t see her in the darkness of the room, she ducked her head. A moment later, feeling foolish, she peered out the window, but he was gone.

  She crossed the room and climbed into bed, determined to put him out of her mind. But try as she would, he was there, with that mocking smile, those piercing blue eyes. The press of his hand at her shoulder had brought a flood of anger. But that heart-stopping kiss had been her undoing, sending shock waves rippling through her.

  Had it been a spontaneous gesture? Or had it been calculated to elicit exactly the emotions she was experiencing?

  She had the feeling that there was nothing innocent about Ross Delaney. From his deliberate aloofness to the way he seemed to be always studying her, he appeared to be every inch a worldly man. No doubt he took this life of luxury for granted, and felt it was his due. A man like that would probably be amused by her small-town reaction to Cullen’s lifestyle. Not to mention her reaction to his kiss.

  Still, worldly or not, he had no right to intrude in her private life, and even her sleep. Damn Ross Delaney, she thought angrily. He was certainly doing everything he could to keep this from being easy.

  She’d envisioned a quick trip to Ireland, an overnight stay in a rustic lodge, and a doddering old man who would offer his apologies for wasting her time, while presenting her with a check for enough money to make a dent in her growing mountain of debt.

  Now she would have to deal with a successful, sharp-minded old businessman who seemed genuinely fond of her, even if he was confused about her lineage.

  Not to mention having to deal with the very handsome, very irritating self-appointed bodyguard, who was behaving as though she had deliberately come here to break the old man’s heart.

  She touched a finger to her lips. She could still taste him. Could still feel the jolt when he’d put his hands on her, as though she’d dropped off the edge of the world into some strange new realm.

  She found herself wondering if his reaction had been as volatile as hers. If so, there was bound to be a violent explosion of cataclysmic proportions before she took leave of this place.

  Four

  Aidan slept badly. Another reason, she thought, to resent Ross Delaney. Not that it was entirely his fault, but his touch had left her entirely too unsettled. Added to that were the strange dreams. Dreams of her mother and grandmother as young girls, dancing along the garden path with the wolfhounds, Meath and Mayo. They’d been close together, heads bent while sharing secrets, and when she’d tried to hear, they had climbed onto the dogs’ backs and disappeared high in the branches of the trees. But they had been so real, she woke from sleep, and found herself weeping furiously because she missed them so.

  There had been way too many tears these past days. Time, she thought, to toughen up and get on with life.

  As she showered and dressed, she renewed her determination to be perfectly honest with Cullen Glin. He’d been such a charming host, she owed him that much. It wouldn’t be easy, she realized. She’d begun to care about him, and hated the thought of bringing him any more pain.

  Pain. She’d seen it in his eyes. Heard it in his voice when he spoke of having no kin. Still, she wasn’t responsible for his pain. She had her own to deal with.

  There would be no dancing around the truth today. She needed to be candid and admit that she had come here out of curiosity, and for the promised money, because of the debts incurred during her mother’s long illness. No need to sugarcoat the truth.

  Because she intended to be businesslike today, she wore her charcoal business suit and a simple white blouse. She took her time with makeup and hair, and noticed that her hands weren’t as steady as she’d like. No matter. It was time for complete honesty.

  She descended the stairs and followed the sound of voices until she came to a sunny breakfast room, with a wall of windows overlooking the gardens. Along one wall was a sideboard with several steam tables. The smell of coffee, bacon and freshly baked bread had her mouth watering.

  Charity was chatting up Bridget, talking on and on about her father.


  “Oh. Good morning.” Charity placed a bowl of fresh snapdragons in the center of the table. “Mr. Delaney instructed us to be as quiet as mice today. He thought you’d sleep ’til noon. Did we wake you?”

  “Not at all. I simply woke and knew I’d slept long enough.” Aidan paused. “Did I overhear you say your father was having trouble with his ledgers?”

  “You did.” The girl blushed. “As part of the Farmers’ Cooperative, he’s obliged to balance the books, but the poor dear is having fits over all the numbers. He said he’d rather muck a hundred stalls than tally any more numbers.”

  Aidan shared a laugh with the girl. “I wish I were going to be here long enough to lend a hand.”

  “You’re good with figures?”

  “That was my job when I worked at the bank. I love balancing books.”

  “Oh, my.” Charity touched a hand to her heart. “If you could be here long enough to help my poor father, he’d bless your name forever.” She clapped a hand to her mouth. “Here I am babbling, and forgetting my duties.”

  Aidan watched as the young woman danced away, returning moments later, trailed by Cullen and Ross.

  “Good morning, my dear.” Cullen greeted her with a smile. “I instructed Charity to let me know the moment you came downstairs.”

  “I don’t want to take you from your work.”

  “I can work anytime. Right now, Ross and I will join you for breakfast.” He nodded toward the steam tables. “There’s ham and bacon already prepared. Kathleen will make any kind of eggs you prefer. And she’s already baked fresh scones.”

  “I’ll start with coffee. Would you like some?”

  “I prefer tea in the morning, but I’m sure Ross would like another cup. Ross?” He turned and the younger man gave a nod.

  Aidan filled two cups and handed one to Ross before lifting the other to her mouth and drinking deeply.

  Cullen held her chair, then took his place at the head of the table, with Ross to his left and Aidan to his right.

  Charity paused beside him. “What is your pleasure, Mr. Glin?”

  “Just bacon and some of Kathleen’s fine scones.”