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And then it was over. His icy control regained as if the animal had never been loosed. A glacial freeze that had her shivering despite the late spring warmth.
“Good-bye, Miss Catriona O’Connell.”
He spun on his heel to cross the grass, the arrow line of his shoulders, the gimp in his stride, the copper gleam of his hair etched eternally on her memory. The sleek arrogance of his body, the soul-touching thrust of his sex etched eternally on her flesh.
“You didn’t answer my question,” she called after him. “Why are you doing this?”
He never turned. Never slowed. But his voice drifted back to her, cold as death. “Because I love you.”
Hugging her shaking body, she sank to her knees beside the forgotten child’s stone. Sorry she asked.
She folded a gown. Half and then half again.
Stupid, pigheaded, stubborn man. Sending her away like a child. Dismissing her as if she hadn’t survived two clashes with Lazarus. Wasn’t involved up to her neck.
That wasn’t right. She shook it out. Started again. Longways. Bring the hem up.
Did he think she could simply turn off her heart like snuffing a candle. Not worry herself sick over what she left behind?
Blast. The sleeves—that wasn’t it either.
Fine. She understood his reasoning. Even understood his anger. But to arrogantly brush her off onto Jack felt too much like another rebuff. Another rejection.
She’d rejected him first, but that was beside the point.
She crumpled the exasperating gown up and stuffed it into the traveling case with one of her father’s choicest oaths. “Bollocks the poxy gown.”
“Is that any way to be treatin’ such fine material? They’ll be naught left at all but a ragpicker’s windfall.”
She turned to be met with Maude’s imperious warrior bulk filling the doorway. Gapped yellow teeth. Creases within creases. And hair a frizzed hennaed horror beneath a stained mobcap, her striped yellow and red gown stretched to breaking beneath a pink apron.
The most horrible, beautiful sight Cat had laid eyes on.
She threw herself into the old woman’s arms. To hell with ‘take it as you find it.’ To her mind, it was bloody damn awful.
“It’s like that, is it?” Maude snuffled into a huge handkerchief. Wiped at a suspicious speck in a corner of her eye. “You’re a great fool, Cat O’Connell. And no mistake.”
Not exactly what she expected to hear. Not after Maude’s past advice.
“But I can’t be his wife. And I’ll not be his mistress.”
“Are you so full of prospects you can be turning your nose up at the idea of pleasuring the man without benefit of clergy? Not as if you haven’t been doing it thus far, is it?”
“It’s not that. But—”
“Go on. Spill it, child. I’m no namby-pamby milquetoast what can’t be hit with a hard truth without wilting.”
“I won’t share him, Maude. I can’t. Not with another woman. I want all of him. All or none.”
“You’d cut off your nose to spite your face.”
“I can’t separate my life into pieces. A part with him. A part without him.”
“Fair enough. And probably smarter than me. I should have done the same years ago. But I’m an easy woman, and it’s been too long, and I don’t take to change at all. Can’t just leave at my age, can I? No.” She sighed. “Ahern needs me. Needs a strong hand and a sound mind when he’s gone wandering.”
“Is Mr. Ahern all right?”
“As right as ever. Downstairs with His Lordship and Mr. O’Gara. Kilronan sent us to Dublin to stay at his town house, but we got there to find—no house. Couldn’t go back to Knockniry. Couldn’t stay in Dublin. Ahern started going a bit bats with all the hustle and worry. So we come here.”
