Virginia Henley (8 page)

The longing to touch him back was like a hunger in her blood. Emerald traced her finger over the embroidered initial on his open shirt, imagining what his warm olive skin beneath it would feel like. With great daring her hand brushed his heart and felt it thud beneath her fingers. Breathlessly, she saw him bend to capture her lips and knew that this time she wasn’t dreaming.

His mouth was firm and quite insistent, parting her lips so that he could taste all her sweetness. The kiss went on forever
and when he finally let her go she was dizzy from his closeness.

“You taste like wine, and woman,” he murmured huskily, touching her lips with his fingertips, wanting more.

Emerald was shocked to realize that what she felt racing through her body was desire. She stepped back, disconcerted, then, to cover the turmoil she felt inside, whirled about and moved down the companionway. “This really is a beautiful ship. Is this the captain’s cabin?” Before he could stop her, Emerald opened the door and stood transfixed.

Bridget FitzGerald had thrown off her novitiate’s robe and lay naked on the captain’s berth. “I thought you were going to get rid of her,” Bridget said pointedly.

Emerald’s hand flew to her mouth as comprehension dawned. Sean O’Toole had been dressing as he came out of this cabin. “You were f-fornicating!”

Sean, though fairly caught in what appeared to be a compromising situation, could see its element of humor. “You’ve been reading the encyclopedia again, English,” he drawled wickedly.

“Ooh,” she cried, whirling about, almost stumbling in her haste to escape from the scandalous scene.

“Emerald!” he called after her, but the plea fell on deaf ears. His humor deserted him. “Now see what you’ve done.” He was suddenly beyond all patience with Bridget’s overt concupiscence. “Why can’t you act like a lady?” he demanded. He sighed with resignation, knowing he might as well ask pears of an elm tree, and sprinted after Emerald Montague.

Tears flooded Emerald’s eyes and threatened to spill over as she ran along the deck of the
Sulphur
trying to find her way off the ship. In her agitation she ran all the way to the prow and stopped running only when she ran out of ship. She whirled about and came face to face with the author of her misery.

Sean planted his feet on the deck, effectively blocking her path. “Emerald, don’t run off. Don’t be silly about this; it was nothing.”

“By ‘nothing,’ I suppose you mean it happens every day,” she cried angrily. The wind snatched her black curls, playing havoc with them. Her upthrust breasts rose and fell with her great agitation. Her green eyes blazed at him in outrage. Visions of him had crowded her thoughts daily and dreams of him had filled her nights. Since she had first laid eyes on him in the cave, she had become totally infatuated with the beautiful Irish youth, casting him in the role of prince.

Sean could clearly see her innocence had been outraged and he was thankful that it was so. It delighted him that she was so refreshingly innocent in mind and body. “What a proud little beauty you are,” he murmured, half to himself.

His words fanned her anger to blazing point. “I hate Ireland and everyone in it. But most of all, I hate you, Sean O’Toole!” She flung the words at him so passionately, he could not resist her fiery beauty. He snatched her into his arms and set his mouth to hers, tasting the heady combination of hot fury, freezing disdain, and sweet innocence all at once.

Emerald offered little resistance, but the moment he released her, she drew back her hand and slapped him full in the face with all her might.

Sean stared at her in disbelief, unable to credit the wallop her small hand had delivered. He captured her wrists to prevent further violence and grinned down at her. How could one small female infuriate and delight him at one and the same time? He pulled her against his powerful young body, then bent his head so he could capture her gaze with his own dark eyes. “Someday, my proud beauty, I’m going to do something to you to earn that slap!”

Sean’s attention was diverted from Emerald as the
Brim
stone weighed anchor and glided away from the jetty. He strode over to the rails and called across to his brother, “Where the devil are you going?”

Joseph cupped his hands about his mouth and shouted, “Three guesses!”

Sean knew immediately he was on his way to Anglesey. “Are you daft? Come back!” Sean cursed and contemplated sailing after him, but he knew if he caught him he’d beat the living tar out of him. He shrugged.
To hell with you, Joseph. If you call the tune, you’ll have to pay the bloody piper.
By the time he remembered Emerald, she had departed the ship.

K
athleen sought out her husband. She had just inspected the lambs that were spitted and slowly roasting in the kitchen and wanted to be certain the roasted pigs in their outdoor pits would be ready for carving at approximately the same time.

“Where’s Joseph?” Shamus asked his wife.

“He’s taken young Emerald for a sail. I must say the pair of them seemed quite taken with each other.”

“What did I tell you?” William asked with a wink.

“I thought the lads would be racing their ships; where’s Sean?”

“He’s with the FitzGeralds and John Montague at the stables, organizing a horse race at the moment,” Kathleen informed him. “Check on the roast pigs, Shamus. I want everything cooked and ready to serve at the same time.”

“Right ye are, love. Paddy Burke just added more turf to the cooking fires.” He watched his wife as she joined her sisters and felt his heart swell with pride. There wasn’t a woman in six counties could hold a candle to her. He turned back to his father-in-law and William Montague. “Come on, the Murphy brothers have arranged a boxing match for this afternoon. I know yer both bettin’ men, so let’s be seein’ the color of yer money!”

*   *   *

J
ack Raymond seethed with envy. He had always been led to believe the Irish were a downtrodden people in an oppressed land. This he considered entirely justified because the Irish were inferior. But the FitzGeralds, and especially the O’Tooles, gave the lie to this theory.

His own father was a titled English aristocrat while Shamus O’Toole was nothing but Bog Irish, yet Fate so favored the sons of this household, it had bestowed upon them everything in life that was worthwhile. Not only did they live in a mansion with servants at their beck and call, they owned a thriving shipping business that made them filthy rich. To boot, they were surrounded by a loving family that heaped affection and admiration upon them, and they had been endowed with devilishly handsome looks and strong physiques. The injustice of this stuck in Jack Raymond’s craw, but the thing they had that rankled the most was happiness.

It made Jack’s blood boil to see how much these people enjoyed life. They did everything with a passion, whether it was eating, drinking, or dancing, and they never seemed to stop laughing. The fact that they were considered inferior by their betters; such as himself, on the same level as animals, didn’t seem to bother them one whit.

Jack would not lower himself to join their vulgar entertainment. He stood apart as an observer, aloof and alone. He wished that he had not come today to witness such an excess of enjoyment, but most of all he wished that Emerald Montague had not witnessed it. Jack secretly coveted her, and thought of her as his. More than anything in the world he wanted her for his wife and he wanted her for her name. Today, he realized he had two formidable rivals in Sean and Joseph O’Toole.

He must make himself indispensable to his uncle. He would keep his eyes and ears open and relay any information that might be of use to William. If it was information
that hurt the O’Tooles, so much the better. Jack Raymond couldn’t remember having had a more miserable day.

    
J
ohnny Montague couldn’t remember when he’d had a better time in his life. Though he found it hard to believe, Irish girls seemed to find him irresistible. He vaguely realized his clothes, his speech, and his nationality made him different from the other young men present, but the females seemed to relish that difference. They attached themselves to him in pairs, quizzing him about London, listening with rapt attention to his answers, then offering to wait on him hand and foot. No sooner did Dierdre run to fetch him a drink, than another FitzGerald sidled up and offered him cake. It was clear he could have his pick of the flowers that danced about him today, and his fancy settled on a fair-haired lass named Nan.

Sean O’Toole generously offered him a mount so Johnny could compete in the horse race and when he came in second, flushed with victory, Nan rewarded him with a kiss. Johnny Montague believed Ireland was the closest place to heaven he would ever know.

    
H
eavenly bliss described exactly what Amber was feeling at this moment. Adorned in nothing but the amber teardrops Joseph had brought her, she tumbled about the bed in playful abandon.

“I’ve another surprise for you, my beauty,” he murmured intensely against her throat. “I’m coming to England.”

Amber lay still, wanting it to be true, hoping he wasn’t teasing.

“Here’s the hilarious part—William invited me.” “William?” A haunted look shadowed her lovely eyes. His fingers reached out to thread through her glorious hair. “I’ve been going mad, knowing you’d soon be leaving,
but your husband has solved the dilemma. He has invited me to London for the season so I can observe English politics firsthand.”

“Oh, Joseph, promise me you’ll be careful. If he suspects anything at all, he’ll destroy you!”

“If he suspected something, would he invite me to be a guest in his house?”

“You mustn’t stay with us, you must have a house of your own so I can come to you.”

He knelt before her in naked splendor. “Come to me now,” he ordered softly.

“God help me, I love you so much, Joseph. Love me once more, then promise me you’ll leave while I’ve no strength left to stop you.”

    
B
ack at Greystones the roasted lambs and pigs were done to a turn and the guests lined up with platters as Mary Malone, Paddy Burke, and Shamus O’Toole carved up the succulent, juicy meat.

Under his breath Sean cursed his brother’s absence. Joseph should have had the decency to be present for his own birthday feast. To make up for Joe’s absence he made a point of talking with each and every guest, sharing a joke or a drink and thanking them for attending the celebration. As he made one excuse after another for his brother’s thoughtlessness, his anger grew steadily.

Shamus refilled the platters of Montague and his nephew Jack. “What about yer crew, William?”

“The
Defense
has a galley; the sailors get their own meals.”

“Not today they don’t. Jack, be a good man and fetch the lads up for some roast pig and a jar of ale.”

“And while you’re down at the jetty, see if Joseph O’Toole has returned with my daughter.”

Jack stiffened, appalled that Emerald had been allowed to go sailing off with his Irish rival.

“She’ll be safe with our Joseph, never fear,” reassured Shamus.

“She’d better be safe or we’ll be having a wedding before the day is over,” William promised, only half in jest. “Jack, would you go fetch the men off
Defense
to participate in the O’Tooles’ generous hospitality?”

When Jack went down to the ship to send the men up to the big house, he was surprised to see the small, dark figure of Emerald curled up on the companionway stairs.

“What are you doing here all alone, Emerald?”

She raised defiant eyes. “I wanted to be alone. I prefer my own company to the company of rabble!”

He moved down the stairs and sat beside her. “Everyone thinks you’re off sailing with Joseph O’Toole.”

“I wouldn’t go sailing with an O’Toole if he were the last man on earth,” Emerald said with a disdainful toss of curls. “They’ve neither manners nor morals!”

“They’re not fit to polish your boots. The Irish are uneducated, unwashed savages.”

“Who asked for your opinion? My mother is Irish and I won’t hear a word spoken against her!” Emerald was ready to vent her spleen on any victim to ease the pain in her heart.

Little bitch
, Jack cursed silently. His father and his uncle had the right attitude when it came to women—total subjugation. They had to be kept in their place and ruled with an iron hand. He curbed an overwhelming desire to take hold of her and master her. He kept his hands to himself, knowing he’d have to bide his time, but someday if his careful plans came to fruition, he’d have the pleasure of bringing her to heel.

“It’s getting late, I can’t leave you here alone in the dark.”

“Keep your pity to yourself. I don’t need you to feel sorry for me,” she bristled. “Go and tell my father I’m ready to leave.”

They both fell silent as the unmistakable sounds of a large vessel approaching echoed across the shadowed water. They heard sails being furled and the sound of the anchor chain dropping through the hawsehole. Suddenly, they heard the deep, angry voice of Sean O’Toole.

“About bloody time! What the hellfire game are you playing at, Joseph? While you’re off bedding your whore, I’m left to explain your absence.”