Page 75 of A Daring Desire

“I shall look forward to it, then.” He set the horse down and walked back to the bed, staring down at her. “You wanted me to play lady’s maid, I believe?”

She nodded, and he helped her to her feet, turning her around and deftly undoing the fastenings on the back of her gown. Ciarán worked his way through the layers of her outfit with careful attention, a sense of such profound peace settling over him that by the time he had her down to just her shift, that he had to speak. He turned her to face him and cupped her face in his hands.

“Thank you,” he said, holding her gaze. She stared up at him, perplexed, for she heard the deeper meaning behind the words, the sincerity.

“Whatever for?”

“For everything,” he said simply. “For all of it. For never giving me a moment’s peace, for following me about and never giving up on me, even when I behaved so badly you would have been sensible to cut me loose for good.”

“You don’t need to thank me for that. I did it for myself as much as for you.”

He laughed at that, still astonished she should think so. “Are you happy, Catherine?” he asked her, searching her face.

“Wonderfully happy, though there is one thing I would like if you are in a giving mood,” she said, and he thought he knew her well enough to read a challenge in her eyes, and probably not one he was going to like.

“Oh?”

“Take me to Graymont Park.”

“No.” He spoke instinctively, before he could even think about it, knowing he did not want her there, did not wish to go there himself ever again, though his duty to the tenants and the land made an occasional trip inevitable.

“Ciarán, please…” she began, but he cut her off.

“No!” he said, his voice harsh. “I’m not taking you. Leave it alone, Catherine. This is not up for discussion.”

“But why not?”

“Because I don’t want you there. I’d reduce the place to a pile of rubble if I could.”

She drew back out of his arms and his heart wept for the sudden distance between them, but he would not take her to that vile place. Though he knew it was foolish, he felt it had the power to taint her, to leave its dark trace upon their relationship, which was too new, too fragile to risk.

“I see,” she said, and whilst there was no anger in her voice, there was something… and he didn’t like it. “When was the last time you visited?”

“I don’t know. Eight, maybe nine years ago.”

“Nine years!” she exclaimed, shocked.

“The steward is an excellent fellow,” he said defensively. “He goes on very well—”

“You are the Marquess of Kilbane, and Graymont Park and all those who depend on it are your responsibility.”

“Damn it, Catherine, do you think I don’t know that?” he said, hurt that she should think him careless of his responsibilities. “My tenants and staff are quite content, I assure you.”

She snorted but said nothing, which was eloquent enough.

Irritated and disappointed that what had promised to be a lovely night together was spoiled, he shrugged off his coat and flung it on the back of a chair, untying his cravat with brisk, impatient movements.

“I suppose you employ a skeleton staff?” she asked.

“No,” he replied testily. “I know my duty to those who depend on the work the place provides.”

“So, a full staff, then?”

He let out a breath of frustration. “No,” he admitted. “But as many as is reasonable when the place is never lived in.”

“But there are no balls, no grand dinners to supply, no visitors to house and feed?”

“Catherine,” he said, a warning note in his voice. “I’m not taking you there. Leave it be.”