Ruth Langan - Rory

Dunstan shouted an order to the driver. At once they changed directions and were soon at the old man’s door.

“Good night, Lord Dunstan.” The older man touched the tip of his hat, then leaned across the seat and brushed his lips over AnnaClaire’s cheek. “Good night, my dear. I can rest easy, knowing I’ve left you in such good hands.”

“Good night, Lord Davis.” AnnaClaire watched him climb from the carriage and ascend the steps of his mansion.

At a command from her companion, the driver urged the team forward and they were once again making their way through the darkened streets.

When the carriage veered to the right and started up a slight incline AnnaClaire found herself pinned against Dunstan’s side. Though his movement was subtle, she felt his hand brush her breast. She stiffened and pushed away. But when she glanced over at him, she could see the smile playing on his lips. His insensitivity was vexing. She experienced a wave of relief when they started up the drive that led to her home.

Lord Dunstan turned to study the graceful curve of courtyard, the warmth of candles glowing in the curtained windows. “So this is where you stay when you are in Ireland. What is it called?”

“Clay Court. It was my mother’s ancestral home.”

Something about the way she spoke the words had him turning to look at her. “I would be careful if I were you, my lady. Some might think you consider this place more home than England.”

At his words AnnaClaire felt the trickle of ice along her spine. He had taken no pains to mask the warning. “I’ll remind you, Lord Dunstan, that my father is a respected member of the queen’s council. And though I am of mixed heritage, my loyalty has never come into question.”

“Nor should it, my lady. But there will always be some who will wonder at your allegiance to your mother’s people.”

Lord Dunstan climbed down, then turned and offered his hand to help her from the carriage. She had no choice but to accept his assistance.

At the door she managed a smile. “Thank you for seeing me home, Lord Dunstan. I’ll say good night now.”

When she started to close the door he startled her by stepping inside. “It wouldn’t be wise to see you home and not see you safely settled, my lady.”

“I have loyal servants to see to my safety.”

“Ah. That is reassuring.” He glanced around, noting the highly polished stones of the foyer, the crystal chandelier in which blazed dozens of candles. “I would have expected such loyal servants to meet you at the door.”

“They have their chores to see to. Tavis will be above stairs, no doubt, laying a fire to warm my bedchamber.”

“Tavis, is it? If you but asked, lovely lady, I could do the same. And I would need no wood nor torch. The touch of your hand on mine would be enough to set the blaze between us.”

She hated the smirk on his lips. Hated more the heat that rose to her cheeks at his insinuation.

She kept her voice even, as though dismissing him. “My little housemaid, Glinna, will be waiting to help me undress.”

“A most pleasant chore, I would think. And one I would be most pleased to undertake in her stead.”

She itched to slap him and knew that she had to tread very carefully around this man. She would, instead, ignore him. Something he’d seldom experienced, she surmised.

“And Bridget is most probably in the kitchen, preparing tea before I retire.” She lifted a hand to her lips and forced a yawn. “Forgive me, Lord Dunstan. It has been a long day, and I fear I must bid you good night.”

“Of course.” He caught her hand and lifted it to his lips, lingering until she forcefully withdrew it from his grasp. “I hope I have your permission to pay a call on the morrow.”

“I…” She struggled to think of a polite way to decline. “I fear I will not be home.”

“I see. A pity. But there will be other times.” He gave her a lazy smile, to let her know that he had already seen through her little charade. His voice lowered, as though sharing an intimate secret. “You are unlike so many of your gender who smile and flutter their lashes in invitation. This feigned reluctance on your part is most intriguing. I must admit, you have aroused my curiosity, as well as.other things. Now I simply must get to know you better, my lady. It is my good fortune that Lord Davis and I will be spending a great deal of time together. Perhaps, when he is paying a call, I shall accompany him.”

“Yes.” She kept her tone carefully bland. “Of course.”

In the glow of the candles he studied her more closely. “You are really quite lovely. And more than a little mysterious.” His smile grew as he reached out a hand and stroked her cheek. Her startled reaction made him chuckle. “And now that I have made your acquaintance I have already forgotten whatever objections I had to visiting this damnable land. Good night, my dear AnnaClaire. Until we meet again.”

She watched as he stepped outside and climbed to the seat of his carriage. As the image of horse and carriage disappeared into the darkness she let out the breath she hadn’t even known she was holding.

“So. The vain English peacock makes you sigh, does he?”

AnnaClaire whirled. Rory stepped from the shadows, wearing nothing more than the bloody breeches he had hastily slipped into. On his face was a look of absolute fury.

“What are you doing below stairs?”

“Watching you make a fool of yourself. Is this what our women have come to? Playing coy with our enemy?”

Her chin came up as she fixed him with a hateful look. “Ireland cannot lay claim to me.”

“What are you saying, woman? You’re Irish. You said your mother was Margaret Doyle.”

“Aye. And my father is Lord James Thompson.”

For a moment all he could do was stare at her. When he found his voice he said, “Your father is chief counsel to the bloody Queen of England?”

When she nodded, he shook his head in wonder. “What do you think he would say if he knew you were aiding the Blackhearted O’Neil?”

“It would break his heart. He must never know.”

“So, despite your father’s position and title, you consider yourself Irish.”

She stiffened her spine. “I am neither English nor Irish, Rory O’Neil. I answer to myself. As for playing coy, you are as mistaken as Lord Dunstan was.”

He took a step closer. “So. That was Dunstan? I’ve heard of him. All his titles bought and paid for with the blood of innocent farmers. He’ll say and do whatever it takes to please his queen, so long as she continues to repay his loyalty with more wealth and power.” He gave AnnaClaire a long, measuring look. “And your denial rings hollow, my lady. I heard with my own ears how you allowed him to speak to you.” His tone lowered with feeling. “And saw with my own eyes how you allowed him to touch you.”

The intensity of AnnaClaire’s temper surprised her. Rory’s words brought fury bubbling dangerously close to the surface. She lifted her skirts and started to flounce past him. “I’ll not stand here and argue with the likes of you, Rory O’Neil.”

“Nay. Especially since you’d lose the argument. Nor will I allow you to dismiss me like some groveling servant.” Without taking time to think he caught her roughly by the shoulder and dragged her into his arms, hauling her against his chest.

His temper had always been his undoing. And there had been plenty of time for it to grow as he’d watched the handsome stranger put his hands on AnnaClaire. As if that hadn’t been enough, the mention of her father’s name had caught him by surprise. Now fury propelled him into acting without thinking. His big rough hands closed around her upper arms, lifting her nearly off her feet as he covered her mouth in a savage kiss.