The Irish Heiress

by Kaitlin O’Riley

  Now she was taking another step forward on her own.

  That morning, after giving very specific instructions to her lady’s maid, Brighton, Mara went to work at Hamilton Sisters’ Book Shoppe, as she usually did. Except instead of going to visit the original Hamilton’s Book Shoppe as she said she was, she set out for Upper Brook Street. If Aunt Colette happened to stop in at one of the shops, she would assume Mara was at the other. But since it was Wednesday, and Mara knew that all her aunts were having tea together, it was unlikely that Aunt Colette would be venturing to either shop this afternoon. Mara wouldn’t be missed until supper.

  Or later, if Brighton followed her directions.

  Here she was now. In Foster Sheridan’s townhouse. Unchaperoned. Uninvited. What in heaven’s name was she thinking to come here like this? Biting her lip, she had rationalized that she was simply calling on a friend. But she knew that was not true. What she wanted to suggest to him was scandalous.

  But now . . . Now fear welled up from deep within her, and she suddenly felt as though she might be ill.

  She had made a most dreadful mistake.

  Panicking, Mara swung around and headed for the door. If she hurried, she might manage to exit the house before Foster even saw her. Yes, that’s just what she would do. She would leave.

  It was too late.

  The door to the drawing room opened and Foster walked in, looking even more handsome than she remembered. Wearing a dark gray frock coat over a crisp white linen shirt and a claret waistcoat with a black silk tie, he looked quite dashing. His dark brown hair was combed back, accentuating his patrician features and the masculine line of his jaw. Naturally there was a hint of surprise in his green eyes, but a joyful smile lit his handsome face.

  “Why, Mara, what a surprise to see you here!”

  And just like that, her last-minute panic and doubts dissipated like morning mist in the sunlight. He was happy to see her! He wasn’t cross with her in the least for being there. Mara hadn’t made a mistake at all. Her initial instincts had been correct.

  “Good afternoon.” She smiled at him, her heart pounding wildly.

  “Not that it isn’t wonderful to see your beautiful face, but I must ask . . .” He paused and stared at her. “What brings you here? There is nothing wrong, I hope?”

  “No. Nothing is wrong at all except that I needed to see you,” she said. “And I wish to speak to you about something.”

  “I’m not going to tell you that you shouldn’t be here unescorted, because you are certainly aware of that fact. But here you are, so please, do have a seat.” He showed her to the brown leather wing-backed chair she had assumed was his, and when she was settled, he sat upon the sleek burgundy leather sofa across from her. His expression darkened. “I thought we resolved this the other morning. What more can we say, Mara?”

  Mara took another deep breath before speaking. “Well . . . ever since we spoke in your carriage, I’ve been trying to understand our situation a little better and I require some answers. Might I ask you some questions about your marriage?”

  His dark brown eyebrows furrowed with confusion. “My marriage?”

  “Yes.”

  He gave a slow nod of his head. “I suppose so.”

  “Where is your wife?” she questioned. Mara needed to know why he said he did not live with his wife.

  He answered evenly. “She lives on our estate in Yorkshire.”

  “She doesn’t wish to live here with you?”

  “No. We have not lived together since the first month we were married.”

  This was not completely unheard of, if not a little odd. Many husbands and wives lived apart and led separate lives. Foster’s marital state of permanent separation also gave her another glimmer of hope. “Why do you not live together? I gather you do not love each other?”

  Foster sighed with heavy resignation. “Ours was an arranged marriage, to please our parents and join our estates. I tried to love Rose in the beginning, I did. But Rose made loving her quite impossible.”

  Rose. Her name was Rose. Putting a name to his wife made her seem more real. Foster had a wife named Rose. Mara took a breath and asked the other question that made all the difference to her.

  “And have you any children?”

  “No.” He laughed bitterly. “No, I have no children. Rose made having children quite an impossibility, since she would never allow me to touch her.”

  “Oh, my.” Mara pondered the very personal implications of what Foster just revealed.

  She was not unaware of the intimacies between men and women. Paulette had been quite forthcoming with her about those types of things and the two of them had had some very frank conversations over the years. Mara understood what happened in the marriage bed, or what didn’t happen, in Foster’s case, to create children. What he had just revealed to her was quite shocking.

  She thought of all the loving and happy marriages she knew of, and her own family in particular. Her parents were still quite besotted with each other. They held hands, hugged each other, and Mara frequently caught them kissing. Aunt Colette and Uncle Lucien were happily married, as were Aunt Juliette and Uncle Harrison. And so were Aunt Lisette and Uncle Quinton, and of course Aunt Yvette and Uncle Jeffrey. And now her cousin Sara and the Earl of Bridgeton were wildly happy together.

  She’d heard of unhappy marriages, certainly. However, for the most part, Mara had only ever witnessed husbands and wives who were quite contented with each other. None of them would ever consider living apart from each other.

  Now Foster and his wife . . . Rose. Foster didn’t have much of a marriage. It must be terrible to be tied to someone you did not love, let alone not even like. It made her sad to think of it. And also extremely puzzled. Who was this woman who could not love Foster Sheridan? What was there not to love about him? Or what was there to detest so greatly that she could not abide living in the same house with him? As far as Mara could tell, Foster was quite perfect.

  “How long have you been married to her?” she asked.

  “Ten years.”

  They’d been living apart for ten years? It boggled her mind to think of it. How did that happen in a marriage? How did it get to a point with his wife, with whom he was supposed to build a life, that they ended up apart?

  “And in all that time you’ve never lived with her or kissed her or . . . or anything . . .” Mara’s voice faded.

  “In the beginning, yes.” He began slowly, instinctively understanding what she was asking. “I shall be quite frank with you, Mara. Intimacy was never comfortable between us. Rose is not particularly easy to please or to be with. We were both young when we wed. I did make . . . attempts . . . at creating children with her. But she would cry and scream and carry on, so that I simply could not—”

  He paused, staring at her with the saddest eyes she’d ever seen.

  “I’ve never shared this with anyone.”

  Impulsively, Mara moved to sit beside him on the sofa, placing her hands in his. He accepted her gratefully. His hands were warm and instantly made her feel calmer. Whenever Foster touched her, she felt that inexplicable connection between them. She was now convinced that she made the correct decision in visiting him today.

  “So for the past ten years you’ve not had a real marriage with her in the true sense at all, have you?” Mara asked.

  He shook his head again. “No, we’ve never . . . It was simply easier to live apart. We have absolutely nothing in common. We share nothing together. Rose and I detest each other.”

  “Have you thought about . . . a divorce?” There. She’d finally said aloud the scandalous word that she had been wondering about. If they were so terribly unhappy, why would they remain together?

  Once again a harsh and bitter laugh escaped him. “Have I thought about a divorce? Only every single day for the last ten years.”

  She gazed at him, seeing the years of hurt and disappointment reflected in his eyes. “Well, what prevents you from getting one? Yo
u seem to have grounds.”

  Foster sighed heavily. “That’s a very good question. I’m not quite sure why I haven’t pursued a divorce. There are many reasons. Pride. Convention. Aversion to scandal. Not caring enough anymore, I suppose.”

  Suddenly nervous again, Mara simply stared at him and then just blurted out the radical thought that had been spinning around her head since they met in the park three mornings ago. “Foster, I don’t care that you are married.”

  He remained silent, but his eyes widened slightly at her words.

  She continued to explain. “I have no wish to marry. Anyone. I never have.”

  Again he said not a word. His brows drew together in confusion.

  “Don’t you see, Foster? I have no designs on you. I am not interested in marriage . . . I simply want to be with you any way I can.”

  He shook his head in utter disbelief. “You don’t know what you’re saying, Mara.”

  “Yes. I do.” She had given the matter of marriage a great deal of thought, for longer than she could remember. Mara knew she could never marry, would never marry. It was too dangerous to risk having children. Discovering that Foster was a married man actually made her situation easier. She’d thought of nothing else since she learned he was married.

  “Mara, what you are implying isn’t the life for a girl like you. You’re the daughter of an earl, for God’s sake.”

  But it’s all she could have. It was the most she could risk. “I don’t know quite how to explain it to you . . . But I’m not like other girls who wish for a husband, marriage, and a home with children. Especially children. So don’t you see? It’s a solution to both our problems.”

  With a skeptical glance, he said, “My darling girl. You barely know me. How can you wish for this . . . To be my mistress? Is that what you want to be? Because that is what you are intimating.”

  “It’s not an ideal situation by any means.” Her cheeks warmed.

  It wasn’t as if she’d dreamed of being a man’s mistress her whole life. And to be completely honest with herself, suddenly hearing the word said out loud sent a slight shudder through her. But becoming his mistress would allow her to be with the man she loved without the expectation of marriage and children. And Mara knew without a doubt that she loved Foster Sheridan. With him she would be safe.

  “You cannot become my mistress,” Foster said emphatically.

  “Are you saying you haven’t had a mistress before?” She looked knowingly at him. “In all these years living apart from her, you’ve lived like a monk? I’m aware that I’m naïve, but I’m not stupid. You must have had a mistress.”

  “Whether I have had a mistress or not is beside the point, Mara.” He rose from his seat, putting a little distance between them. “I cannot believe we are even having this conversation.”

  “So you have had a mistress.” Mara idly wondered what the woman had been like. For that matter she wondered what his wife was like. An irrational pang of jealousy flickered through her at the thought of Foster kissing another woman. It was ridiculous, she knew, but still she couldn’t help feeling that way.

  Foster avoided her eyes. “Mara, you must go home now.” His jaw clenched. “You are a lady. You are the daughter of an earl. You cannot become my mistress. Your father would undoubtedly kill me. Your reputation would be destroyed and your life would be forever ruined. You must leave here. Now.”

  Her heart began to race at the thought of leaving him. No. This was not how this afternoon was going to end. She refused to leave, not when she knew in her heart that the two of them were meant to be together.

  “Will you kiss me first?”

  “Mara, please don’t do this.” His hands balled into fists.

  “I need to know what it feels like to kiss you. Please, Foster,” she whispered, heat flaming her cheeks. “I’ve never been kissed by anyone before. Can I at least have one kiss from you to cherish before I go?”

  He stared at her, his expression pained. “Mara . . .”

  Inspired by the conviction of her heart, she rose from the sofa. “Kiss me once and then I shall leave if you still wish me to. I promise.”

  A taut silence grew between them. She trembled, not knowing what to do next, but she took an instinctive step closer to him. Her forward behavior was completely out of her usual character, but Mara did not waver.

  Foster remained motionless as if he feared the slightest movement would weaken his resolve. “I’m afraid if I kiss you, I won’t ever let you leave.”

  “Then let me stay with you.”

  An endless moment stretched between them. They both knew they were treading in very dangerous waters. With their eyes locked on each other, Mara held her breath, waiting for him to kiss her.

  For a fleeting moment Mara wondered what on earth she was doing in this man’s home . . . A man she barely knew. A married man, no less. Perhaps he was right after all. She should just go home. Standing there and practically begging him to kiss her was not only incredibly foolish, it was decidedly reckless. Idiotic. Shameful.

  Even so, she wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. She willed him to kiss her. And deep in her heart she knew that he would. It was simply how it was with them.

  With an anguished groan, Foster slowly reached for her, pulling her closer, and her heart soared. She was so close she could smell the scent of him, manly and warm. She tilted her face toward his.

  Then he placed his hands on either side of her face. In a hoarse voice, he whispered, “I have wanted to do this since the moment I first saw you.”

  Lowering his head, he tenderly placed his lips upon hers.

  Sighing, she closed her eyes and gave in to his kiss.

  His lips were warm, soft, and inviting . . . inviting her to take more from him. His hands slid from her face to her neck and then down her shoulders and along her back, drawing her into his embrace.

  Mara’s arms found their way around him, reaching up and clasping his neck as their kiss deepened. A wondrous thing it was, this kiss. When his tongue entered her mouth she became weak all over. She sighed into his mouth, eager to melt into him. Oh, heavens! It was a deliciously wicked and incredibly intimate kiss. Never imagining a kiss could be like this . . . this mad, overwhelming, all-consuming rush of desire that flooded her whole being.

  On and on it went. Nothing else in the world seemed to matter. It was as if they had both been starving, and kissing each other was their sustenance. She never wanted it to stop.

  Her entire focus was on Foster. The feel of his hands on her body thrilled her. The taste of him on her tongue excited her. The masculine scent of him enveloped her. The sound of his heart pounding in his chest filled her ears. Or was that her own heartbeat she heard? Her pulse increased, as his hands slid back up and untied the laces on her velvet bonnet. In a swift motion her bonnet was off her head and lying on the floor. His fingers splayed into her blond hair as he deftly loosened the pins that had held her elegant coiffure in place. Her silvery blond tresses spilled around her shoulders and he gasped her name.

  If she had ever dreamed about kissing a man, this would be her dream come true. They didn’t need words or explanations. This kiss sealed their fate together and they both knew it. Whatever the consequences were, they would face them together. She felt it with a certainty, a clarity that buoyed her spirit and chased away any doubts over what they were getting themselves into. She was meant to be with this man. They were meant to be together.

  With a sudden movement, Foster stopped kissing her and cradled her face in his hands once more, staring at her intently. He whispered, “My God, Mara . . .”

  She nodded her head. “I know.”

  “You need to leave now. Do you hear me, Mara?” His voice was raspy. She could hear the almost desperate plea in his words. “Turn away and walk out that door right now. This mustn’t happen between us.”

  “It’s already happened.”

  “No.” He shook his head with decision, as if denying what she said was true.
He seemed quite panicked. “No. It’s not too late. Not yet.”

  “Oh, it is far, far too late. You see”—looking up at him, she smiled—“I’m in love with you.”

  8

  Emotions

  Foster could not breathe.

  As he stared into the mysterious gray eyes of the beautiful creature in front of him, he could not breathe. She had quite literally taken his breath away with her sweetly whispered words.

  I’m in love with you.

  No one had ever said those words to him before. No one.

  And here was this incredible woman he barely knew declaring her love for him after one kiss. Granted, as kisses go, it was by far the most splendid kiss he’d ever experienced. Not a doubt about that. So what was it about this particular woman? Why did she have this effect on him? What was it about her that made him yearn for something he could never have? Why did he long to spend the rest of his life with her by his side? What was this compelling connection he felt to her?

  I’m in love with you.

  How could she possibly love him? No one had ever loved him, for he was not lovable. He’d known that his whole life. His parents, self-absorbed with their own lives, had not loved him. His wife, cold and distant, had not loved him. None of the women he had sought comfort with over the years had loved him either. He’d heard talk of love, read stories of love, and seen love poems, but Foster had never truly experienced it. Although he had secretly longed for it all of his lonely life.

  Yet again, Mara awakened something deep inside of him.

  It was hope.

  Suddenly with Mara, there was a hope of escaping the miserable existence that was his current plight. Being shackled to an icy harridan with no feelings, who hated him, was the summation of his life. He’d failed at his marriage because he’d been unlovable.

  I’m in love with you.

  His heart flipped over in his chest. He’d never felt this way before. As he gazed into her fathomless gray-green eyes, he wondered idly if she were some sort of enchantress. He definitely felt bewitched by her. With her pale blond hair spilling around her shoulders, she looked more womanly and more beautiful than she had earlier. He wanted her, yes, but more than just physically. He wanted a life with her, as unattainable as that was. Everything about this, about her, was impossible.