by Conn, Claudy
“Call me Finn, eh?” he said.
What did he want? What? For expediency I smiled and said hopefully, “Sure, Finn …?”
“Tenacious, are we?” He inclined his head. “Right then, to the point. Ye want to know what I want.”
My breath hitched. There was something in the way he said that—something ambiguous that made me want to run. Everything about him seemed … intense.
“That’s right. Just what do you want?” I managed to squeak.
He laughed, and his sultry eyes took on a warm, suggestive glint. “A dangerous question, lass, to be asking of me. Well, then, just what do I want? I don’t think ye are ready for that, Riley, not sure ye ever will be.”
He said my name with that lilt of his, and it sounded like a song. Stop, stop, I told myself. Okay, I’d walked into that one, but I was so not going there. Wasn’t flirting with him like that. Oh no. Not.
I gave him a rueful smile and said, “I came here to find out what business you wanted to discuss.” I put up my hand, took on what I call my ‘teacher tone’, and added, “If you mean to take this where I don’t wish to go, I am so out of here. Got it, Mr. Dunraven?”
“Touché!” he said with a wide grin. “Are we back to Miss Doogan and Mr. Dunraven then? Have I slipped that far back?”
“You weren’t that far forward, so not that far back,” I said breathlessly. Okay, getting back in form.
He chuckled and said, “Right then, lass. Since I don’t want ye to get into the habit of saying no to me right from the start, I’ll get to the point. As I mentioned, I returned to Dunraven about a year ago, though I have still had to do quite a bit of traveling as I consolidate some of m’holdings. It came to my notice that there is a stretch of land between yer estate and mine that I could use beneficially for both of us. I made an offer to Maddy … yer grandmother, and she said she would talk to ye and get back to me. Unfortunately I was away when we lost her.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry for it.”
He seemed sincere. He liked my grandmother, and that gave him some points. I tried to imagine the piece of land that bordered Dunraven and allowed him a warm smile. “I would hardly call our land an estate when compared to yours.”
“No? Yer land encompasses over three hundred acres. I call that an estate. However, there is a narrow stretch of rowan oaks—about twenty acres of the lovely trees. I wish to buy that narrow stretch from ye.”
I had to wonder at this. After all these years, what could anyone want with this acreage? I eyed him and came right to the point. “Why?” I shook my head. “Dunraven is over seven hundred acres strong. Why would you want a measly twenty acres?”
“Ah, I have a personal reason for that, but allow me, lass, to say this, those twenty acres ye have more rowan oak trees than I have on all my seven hundred acres.” He shook his head, and then he looked away from me before he brought his gaze back to my face. “Ye grandmother said that she was more than happy to sell this piece to me but meant first to discuss it with ye. I was hoping she did that … before we lost her.”
I frowned and remembered my last conversation with my grandmother before her stroke. She had said, “Riley, come home for a few days. I want to show you a piece of land I’m thinking of selling to Dunraven. You can use the money to open that new store you have been talking about. Maybe you could open it here … in Sutterville, near me?”
I had been surprised and reminded her, “But, Granny … you told me that the white and rowan oaks were planted on our land during the Salem witch trials. You said they gave us power and were a place of sanctuary. You said they were sacred.”
She had answered that Dunraven was a friend and could I not please come up so she would explain the whole of it.
I had forgotten that until now, and then I remembered one more thing. Just before my grandmother died, she and her coven had held a “witches’ ball” at Dunraven. I never went to coven events. It was a social thing, yes, but the witches always performed magic at the witches ball. He must have known. He must have.
He must realize that, like my grandmother, I am a witch, from a long line of witches, as are the members of her coven, I thought.
So the question that I put to myself again was, what was he? We witches can recognize one another, almost instantly. We give off a magical vibe that identifies us to each other. I did not get any such vibe off him.
Busy in my mind, I nearly jumped when he touched my folded hands on the table and brought me back to earth. He asked, “Did Maddy not mention any of this to ye? I was sure she would.”
Chewing my bottom lip, I looked up and saw his gaze settle on my lips. Self-conscious about this nervous habit, I stopped immediately and answered him. “Yes, I do remember her telling me she wanted me to come up and have a look at a piece of land she was thinking of selling. I didn’t think there was any rush … you see, Betty and I have been talking about expanding the business, and I thought she was trying to help …” He smiled and I pictured my grandmother. “She was like that.” I shook my head and realized I hadn’t visited my granny enough before I lost her. What had been wrong with me? I should have made more time for her. She sure had given me all her time after my parents’ deaths. I felt something in my throat catch, and I had a difficult time swallowing as the words slipped out. “I should have …” I couldn’t finish, and guilt swept through me.
He reached out and held my hand. “Now, now, lass, don’t be going there. Ye know yer grandmother was proud of yer success, and ye had no way of knowing time was against ye.”
I looked at him sharply. Something in his tone made me feel like he knew more than he was saying. I took a long pull of air and said, “Thank you. I know she was considering selling that piece, and it surprised me at the time, as she had never agreed to sell any land before. Makes sense, because she talked about you like you were a legend amongst men.”
“Did she now?” he said with that dreamy lilt.
Coffee. I had it to my lips as soon as the waitress set it down, and, oh, it was a great diversion and also quite good. I waited for him to sip his and said, “Well, I suppose you need an answer.” I shrugged and wondered what I should do, what my grandmother would want me to do.
“Far sooner than I thought I would,” he said in a voice that had suddenly dropped low and husky. His eyes flirted, his body language flirted, and he had to know the effect he had on women and undoubtedly used it to his advantage. Was he doing that now? Was he flirting with me to get his way about the land?
I wasn’t going to have my head turned by his extraordinary style, by his tone of voice, by his hotness, oh, no, not I. My brow arched quizzically as I sat back. In control, I questioned myself. This is not about him, his flirting, his needs. This is about my granny. What would she want? Would she want me to sell him this piece of land? I knew what she’d want. I knew it in my heart. She would want me to come home. She would want me to go through her things, her journal. She had always told me that if anything happened to her, I would need to read her journal. She had been adamant about that. She would want me to look out for her coven … until they were able to reorganize. I needed to attend to my grandmother’s wishes.
What was he doing? He diverted my attention to his hand … large, strong, yet groomed hands he had. He had reached for something in the inner pocket of his sports jacket and laid it out flat on the table. Ah, it was a survey.
I frowned but did not touch it as I studied it for a long moment. He pointed to the stretch of land between our properties, and I tried to picture it in my mind.
I had lived most of my youth in New York with my parents. When they died, Granny came and scooped me up, and off we went to her home in Maine. There I flourished until I went to college at Columbia.
I knew the three hundred acres well. I had walked over most of its beautiful terrain, but I’d done most of that walking when I was a teenager, and then off I went to college. I had never given much thought to the rowan and white oak trees at the far end. I couldn’t quite pi
cture this particular twenty acres.
I would never sell Granny’s home. In addition to the trust fund my parents had set up for me, Granny had managed her money very well, and the interest from both funds were more than enough to handle the costs of keeping the family home in Sutterville.
I knew she’d wanted me to come back and settle in Sutterville, but how could I live there when my life was so centered in NYC?
Did any of those questions have anything to do with this piece of property? No, so why was I stuck in that never-never land?
Oh, damn, I just didn’t know what to do.
I’d adored Granny. She had always seemed larger than life, her smile warm enough to blot out the sun. Her wisdom came from the ages and was unbreakable and untarnished. She got me through the loss of my parents and the grief that had wanted to tear me apart then.
Her death was a double-whammy, as she was my last living relative. She left me everything that she had, but after her death all I’d wanted to do was curl up into a ball. The business and the people who depended on us in that business—all the ladies that made a living at creating the beautiful hand-knit baby clothes—well, that had made me pick myself up and get back to work.
“I don’t know,” I said and sighed, and I heard the heaviness in my sigh. I looked at him as straightforwardly as I could and sighed again before saying, “Here is the thing. I can’t answer you now. I think I have to go home first. I haven’t even gone through my grandmother’s things. I need to get a feel for what she would want me to do.”
“I understand that, lass,” he said gently.
“Yes, but you need an answer, and you deserve it. Granny would want me to give you an answer, so I guess it’s time for me to pick my butt up and take it home. This puts it squarely on my shoulders. I can’t put it off any longer. I see that it is something I have to do immediately,” I said with the resignation I felt. “I have been planning a trip home. I left things … unfinished. I have to go through my grandmother’s documents and set everything in order at the house just the way I know she would want me to. I need to look through her things and see if she left any instructions for me. She might have made a decision and wrote what it was in her journal.”
“Ay then, she had a journal?” he said curiously.
Why did I get the feeling this worried him? I smiled and said, “Yes, she kept a journal, though I doubt anyone other than I would be able to read it. We had a language of our own.”
He grinned. “Did ye, lass? How curious. Why is that?”
I shrugged. “I’m not sure, but Granny thought it would be fun … right after I came to live with her. It was hard for me without my parents, and I think she set me to learn this special language as a distraction.” I closed my eyes for a moment, fought back tears, and finally said, “She always knew how to help me.”
He squeezed my hand, and I gave him a polite smile, but the truth was, I felt anything but polite. His touch, his sincere show of sympathy, everything about him, did things to my central nervous system—things that made me think of what it might be like to be in his arms. What the hell? Where did that come from?
The waitress brought our plates of food, and he said before he dug right in, “Ay then, if ye have a mind to come up to yer home, I can save ye the drive. Ye can fly back with me tomorrow.”
I arched a brow at him and shook my head, “Uh, no thanks. That is very kind, but I would like to have my own wheels when I get up there, and I honestly don’t mind the drive. It will let me unwind. I love Kennebunkport and think I’ll stop overnight.”
He frowned and looked like he was going to object but thought better of it. He bit into a slice of toast instead.
Okay. So it just like that, I made up my mind. I would take the rest of August off and head on up to Maine.
~
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Claudy Conn also writes risqué Regency romances.
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Courting Kit
~ One ~
THE EARL OF HALLOWAY stood, his hands clasped at his broad back, as he stared out the large panoramic window of his grandmother’s drawing room.
Its central location afforded a lovely view of the Grange’s extensive gardens. Halloway Grange was only one of four Halloway establishments, but it was the only estate that did not belong to the present, young earl.
This was because his late grandfather had purchased the estate and deeded it to his bride as a wedding gift all those years ago. It reposed in elegant state only forty minutes out of London, and it was where the dowager had come to stay permanently when her beloved husband died.
The earl smiled ruefully to himself, as it was most certainly, every square foot, all hers and yet also the earl’s very special, very favorite haven.
He adored his grandmother, and her personality was entrenched in the Grange. He brushed this sentiment aside, however, as it had no place at that moment in his active, frenzied mind. He was frustrated and irritated with his grandmother and not quite certain just what he could do about it all.
A good ten months had passed since Shawna and Roland had been married. He had thought that, by now, his grandmother would be at ease with it and gotten over what she could not change. However, something untoward must have ruffled her feathers. She was tighter than ever about his monthly spending and walked about as though she was on the warpath about something.
He had received a brief and somewhat curt note from her at his bachelor’s lodgings that had made it quite clear she required him at the Grange to attend her at once.
The earl was never one to take orders, even if it meant spiting himself, so he put the note aside, much inclined to ignore her command. His heart, though, that was another thing altogether. He loved her and told himself she was getting on in years. In the end, he allowed guilt and conscience to dictate his plans.
A string of mumbled curses escaped his lips. Frenzied pacing took over his steps, and he found himself requesting his man to put together an overnight portmanteau. No more than a few hours later, feeling reduced to schoolboy status, he stood in his grandmother’s drawing room, facing her.
One bloody look at her and a sure wariness tickled warning signals in his brain. Damn, but he was in for it, really in for it, and there was no escape. Hell and Brimstone! She had the power to reduce him to a child with one look. Absurd.
He fancied he saw a whirlwind in her eyes and a storm about to erupt from her lips. She dashed well meant to throw everything she had at him fast and hard, and he took a step back and warily considered her.
Diving right in, she wagged her bony finger at him and got right to the point. “I’ll not have your errant spending, do you hear me, young man? You are on the road to hell, and I won’t stand by and allow it to happen. No … this will not go on.”
Her voice became a buzz in his ears and a pounding hammer in his head.
She continued to rant at him for several minutes during which he found his mind wandering elsewhere. He had heard all this before.
Sadly, he was in a difficult position. His pockets were to let, and there was another three weeks before his trust fund would release his next quarterly payment. He was heartily bored with everything and everyone and damned sure he was, as she pointed out, on the road to hell.
When she paused for breath, he put up his hand and gave her a wry smile. “When you are done berating me, perhaps you will tell me what it is you want.”
“Marriage. You will get married, and soon!” His grandmother’s voice told him she meant to be implacable on this. “I will not have you diddling about gaming parlors with harlots and paramours. I will not have our name dragged through the mud as it is being done here and now and because of you!”
“A bit too—” he started to object before she cut him off. Why did she always over exaggerate? He gritted his teeth, and suffered in silence.
“Because of YOU!” she reiterated and made a clucking sound before s
he continued. “You will marry, because you don’t have a choice about that. However, I will allow you this: find someone who you could be comfortable with … for I have given up hope that you will fall in love. You don’t seem to have it in you,” she ended on a wistful note.
“Marriage is not for me. I can’t see myself doing the polite to the same woman day in and day out for the rest of my life. It wouldn’t be fair to some poor girl to marry me, expecting me to attend her. No, she would be bound in a loveless marriage, and I don’t think I could live with a woman who would be calculating enough to want to marry for my wealth or name.”
“Your wealth is something I can keep from you. Your name won’t be worth much if you continue on your present road,” she snapped back at him.
He studied her from the top of her gray hair piled high with its silver lacey scarf draped handsomely over her head, over her gray and mauve simple gown, down further to her feet. He didn’t want to meet her faded blue eyes. She was right, on both counts, but … marriage? Ah no, she expected too much, and he was too young to saddle himself with a missish bride.
However, his pockets were to let. It was damned annoying to be so wealthy and yet not be able to draw on his inheritance. He sighed heavily and looked out the window. He was in a bind, yes, but he would not marry unless his heart was in it.
On the other hand, a respectable life was what he owed his name.
Still, he would not foist himself onto some young maid. How could he hurt some young thing who would expect him to escort her about, do the polite, and end by falling madly in love with her? Indeed, he wasn’t about to shatter some young maid’s dreams, and if he entered into such an alliance, that was precisely what would happen, for he was sure he had no heart to give.
He tried to explain his situation to his grandmother, but she waved him off and would not listen. “You will marry,” she told him, and her eyes didn’t give him an inch.