Virginia Henley (21 page)

She watched in fascination as large, beautiful fish made unsuccessful attempts to gain the top of the waterfall, then fell back with a great splash, some on their tails, some on their backs. “Oh, poor things,” she murmured.

“No, watch carefully. The next time they swim to the foot of the falls, the salmon leap just above the water to observe the height and the distance. Their second attempt comes so close, they almost make it.”

“It’s the falling water that drives them back,” Emerald said breathlessly.

“On their third and fourth attempts they rise far above the water, then drop into the curvature of the waterfall.”

“There! One made it!” Emerald cried joyously.

“The only successful method is to dart their heads into
the water just where it goes over the rocks and lodge there for a moment, then scud upstream.” “Why do they do it?”

“The instinct to survive and procreate drives them.” The lesson the salmon taught him had served him well.

“You’ve lain here many times.” Their hands were so close, Emerald reached out and curled her hand into his. The black leather glove was a stark contrast against her creamy skin. His silver eyes searched her heart-shaped face for long minutes, then slowly he drew her hand to his mouth and kissed the tip of each finger.

At the intimate gesture Emerald’s insides curled over and a frisson of pleasure spiraled deep in her belly and high in her breasts. She had never been more aware that she was female in her life; and Sean O’Toole was definitely male, all male, dizzyingly male, dangerously male.

The way she felt was nothing new, he had always affected her this way. She couldn’t help it. When she hadn’t seen him for years, she had managed to submerge her thoughts of him, but that only made her dreams of him the more vivid. When she was with him like this, she had no control over her feelings or emotions whatsoever. He overwhelmed her with his powerful presence.

“Come on, Irish,” he said, tugging her to her feet. “It’s time to see to your wardrobe.”

The greyhound was ready for another run, but the wolfhound preferred to stay until he caught a salmon.

    
K
ate Kennedy put Mrs. McBride and her assistant in one of the receiving rooms. The dressmaker was thrilled to have been asked to Greystones by the Earl of Kildare, but curious as a cat to know the identity of the female upon whom he was lavishing gowns. When Mrs. McBride put some pointed questions to Kate Kennedy, she was thoroughly rebuffed.
Kate wasn’t averse to telling tales, but never to outsiders.

When the master strode into the hall with a bedraggled Emerald in his wake, Kate communicated without speaking. She jerked her thumb in the direction of the receiving room and Sean said, “Have Mary prepare them a nice lunch. We won’t be ready to see them for at least an hour.”

With his foot on the bottom stair he held out his black-gloved hand to Emerald. “Come.”

As they ascended the staircase together, her heart thudded against her ribs. Sean had a way of keeping her off-balance. She did not know what next to expect from him.

It certainly wasn’t the large chamber on the third floor. Whole bolts of cloth stood at the center of the room, while shelves from floor to ceiling were built in around the perimeter. Material of every shade and texture imported from around the world was stored on the shelves.

“Take a few minutes to see what you like,” he invited. “Use the ladder if you can’t reach. I’ll be back shortly.”

The ladder was one that slid around the room on rails, as in a library. To a woman the storeroom was like Ali Baba’s cave. Emerald’s delighted gaze swept around, then up and down, taking in everything at once. Then gradually she began to single out the colors that appealed to her most. She used the ladder so that she could reach the various bolts of cloth, but all she did was touch the material in wonder.

When Sean returned he was immaculate and she realized he had changed into a fresh shirt.

“Have you not chosen anything yet? I expected to find a pile as high as a mountain.”

“Everything is so lovely.” Her eyes sparkled with pleasure, but still, she did not reach for any one bolt of material.

“How about a serviceable brown superfine for a riding dress? Here’s a dark wine bombazine for afternoon, and I suggest this baby-blue satin for an evening gown.”

He watched the sparkle leave her eyes.

“I suppose a riding dress should be serviceable,” she murmured, trying to sound enthusiastic, but failing miserably.

“Serviceable and drab and dowdy, and don’t forget downright ugly!”

She looked at him uncertainly. “Why are you taunting me?” she whispered.

“I’m trying to goad you into speaking your bloody mind and choosing exactly what pleases you; not what might please others, not what might please me, but what would please
Emerald!
Be extravagant, lavish, indulge yourself. Or do you not know how to indulge?”

Inside, in all her secret places, Emerald knew she had been born to indulge. She lifted her chin and pointed to a bolt of peacock silk, then to one of emerald green. Sean lifted them down. When she came to the muslins it was difficult to choose among primrose, apricot, lavender, and pale seafoam-green. She glanced at Sean, saw his mocking silver eyes, and said grandly, “All of them.”

She saw his smile and realized he was enjoying himself. “Would it be impractical to have a cream-colored riding habit?”

“Wickedly impractical,” he said, adding it to the pile.

Her fingers ran possessively over a bolt of burnt-orange linen. “I don’t want to be greedy.”

“Why not? Borrow a page from my book and take what you want in life.”

His encouragement spurred her on to choose a bolt of filmy white fabric with silver threads running through it. The wools were so finespun and soft, she sighed over their beauty. With great daring she chose scarlet, imagining how vivid it would be with her black hair.

When she thought she had indulged herself more than he
ever expected, she thanked him prettily and he carried all the bolts of cloth to her chamber and piled them on the bed.

“Mrs. McBride can have the chamber next to yours. By the look of things she’ll be here for a month of Sundays. Shall we have some lunch?”

“Oh, I’m too excited to eat. Can’t we get started?”

“You may do exactly as you please. Impatience can be an exciting quality in a beautiful woman.”

Emerald caught her breath. Sean O’Toole had a few exciting qualities of his own. The looks he gave her, to say nothing of his innuendos, made her heart race.

She spent the next two hours being measured and listening to Mrs. McBride describe the latest styles. Most of the wealthy Anglo-Irish ladies came to her establishment for their wardrobes and she kept apace of the fashions in London and Paris. Emerald made some of her own suggestions, some quite bold, and Mrs. McBride realized the young woman knew exactly what colors would enhance her dark looks to make them vivid.

The earl stuck his head in the door. “Mrs. McBride, could I have a word?”

His dark looks made her all fluttery. He was a most charming man who made all his requests in a polite manner, rather than issuing orders as most wealthy men did.

He handed her a bolt of rich cloth. “Do you think you could design the lady an evening gown in this crimson velvet and perhaps a matching cape, lined in white satin?”

“Indeed, your lordship.”

“I’ve asked Kate Kennedy to gather half a dozen of our maids who are talented with a needle, and, of course, you’ll need some worktables. Whatever rooms you need to use, just inform my housekeeper.”

“Thank you, my lord. How very thoughtful you are.”

Almost as an afterthought he said, “Oh, and Mrs. McBride, could you make her one of those cunning little masks
of red velvet to hide her identity? I’d like to take her to the theater tomorrow night and don’t want all Dublin to know that she is William Montague’s daughter. Especially when she is so recent a bride.”

The woman blinked rapidly, not believing her good fortune at the juicy piece of scandal she had just learned. Everyone in the Pale knew William Montague, brother of the vice-treasurer of Ireland. She anticipated how her patrons’ mouths would fall open when she informed them that the Earl of Kildare had taken Montague’s daughter as his mistress and that they were living openly together!

B
y afternoon of the next day, two chambers upstairs and one down had been turned into sewing rooms. When Sean strode in, Emerald noticed that every female in the room stopped whatever she was doing to gaze at him. His dark looks were so arresting, she could not blame them: he had the same effect on her.

She smiled a secret smile. She hadn’t given him the chance to pull the covers from her this morning; she had been up and dressed when he came through the adjoining door. His mouth showed his amusement that she was one step ahead of him. Her smile deepened: if he wanted her saucy, then saucy she’d be.

“I’ve a fancy for some tight black riding breeches and some black leather gloves, just like his,” she told Mrs. McBride. Then she cast Sean a sideways look from beneath her lashes that was so tempting, it made her feel feminine down to her fingertips. Then she forgot the seductive act and asked earnestly. “Are you really taking me to the theater tonight?”

“If that would please you.” He lifted her hand to his lips and Emerald could not hide the excitement she was feeling. “Wait until you see my gown: you simply won’t believe it’s me!”

“It’s time to get ready if we are going into Dublin. Kate is waiting for you upstairs.”

*   *   *

    
A
n hour later Emerald had to admit that Kate Kennedy made an excellent ladies’ maid; one who could work miracles with a hairbrush. Emerald knew she had never looked this elegant in her life. The crimson velvet left her shoulders bare as well as a shocking expanse of creamy breast. The velvet mask didn’t really hide her identity, but it certainly made her look provocative.

She turned from the mirror as she heard his deep voice. “Are you ready, Beauty?” The sight of him stopped her breath in her throat. His black evening clothes contrasted with his immaculately starched shirt and neckcloth. In formal clothes he looked every inch an earl of the realm. His attraction was magnetic. Desire raced through her blood like wildfire.

She wanted him to pick her up, carry her into his bedchamber, and kiss her all night long. A sigh escaped her lips as he moved forward, lifted her satin-lined cape to her shoulders, took her hand in his, and said, “Come.”

In the carriage he sat her on the seat opposite him. “I want to look my fill and drink in your beauty.”

Being enclosed in such an intimate space with him made her heart hammer and her pulse points throb. She watched his pewter eyes smolder as his gaze licked over her, moving slowly, sensually, from eyes to mouth to upthrust breasts. Emerald found herself doing the same thing. Her eyes lingered hungrily on his mouth, then dropped to his powerful black-gloved hands. She longed for both his mouth and hands to take possession of her. The sexual tension between them built until Emerald was ready to scream from excitement, then his deep voice broke the tension.

“What would you like to see tonight? A play, an opera, or perhaps the music hall?”

She explained how vastly ignorant she was about the theater. “I’m sure I will enjoy whatever gives you pleasure.”

Her words made him smile. “I promise you
shall
enjoy it,” he murmured intimately. Emerald suspected he wasn’t speaking of the theater. He made love to her with his eyes, he teased her with his words, yet the only physical thing he’d done was kiss her fingers.

Emerald longed for him to do more. She closed her eyes and imagined his mouth on hers. Surely he knew she wanted to be kissed? When she opened her eyes, twilight had fallen and the interior of the carriage was very dim, but she imagined he had withdrawn from her. Was he tempering his desire for her because she was forbidden fruit?

Sean had seen Emerald’s eyes close, hiding her desire beneath lowered lashes. And he knew that slight curve of her lips betrayed her anticipation of his kiss. His hunger for her grew hourly, along with her growing sense of freedom and her willingness to turn her back on all the things her father and husband represented. But he wanted Emerald’s need for him to turn to craving. When her desire turned to hunger and her ache became insatiable, then he would take her, body and soul, and make her his.

    
A
t the theater Sean paid for box seats, the best in the house. Before the lights went down they were on display for the entire audience. The men openly admired the beautiful woman and envied the earl, while the women trained their opera glasses upon her, envying both her gown and her lover.

Sean could see that Emerald reveled in the attention. It gave her confidence in herself and the confidence made her more beautiful, if that were possible. As the lights dimmed, the orchestra played the overture, and the curtain lifted. Sean watched Emerald lean forward and focus all her attention on the stage. He couldn’t take his eyes from her. She was so lovely—how her husband must be longing for her. Imagining the pain Jack Raymond was suffering over his
loss gave Sean deep satisfaction. Rumors would fly back to London about this night at the theater, and Sean hoped it would be like twisting a knife in Raymond’s gut.