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And Elisabeth had never looked more breathtaking.
The snug fit emphasized every ripe, delicious curve, the bodice cut to reveal honeyed, freckled flesh. Add her wild tumble of dark red curls and those big brown eyes, and it was as if a come-hither sex goddess had suddenly appeared where an annoying little sister stood seconds earlier.
Disconcerting.
Onwen stumbled, Elisabeth rubbing against him, the back of her neck temptingly close.
Uncomfortable.
He gritted his teeth, trying to ignore his body’s rising response. Lifted his face to the rain to quell the heat centered in his groin.
This was Elisabeth Fitzgerald. A pest. A nuisance. A spanner stuck smack in the middle of his carefully laid out plans.
And if he leaned forward just a little, he’d be able to kiss the soft spot right behind her ear.
Killer barked, tearing beneath Onwen’s legs to dive into the brush after a rabbit. The mare leapt sideways in agitation. A flood of rainwater tipped from Brendan’s hat’s brim down his back in a freezing cascade.
“Son of a bitch,” he snarled, shuddering.
But thankfully, the dash of ice water returned life—and Elisabeth—to normal.
Hellish, but normal.
seven
The shine of Brendan’s money overrode the publican’s suspicions, and he ushered them into a tiny rear chamber with a searching look down his long, crooked nose and a recommendation to keep out of the way of the regulars.
Up to now, Elisabeth had clung with every ounce of willpower to a stony, unbridgeable fury until her chest ached and her head throbbed from the effort. Only in the last hours had she felt her anger slipping away. Too exhausted to maintain it, and besides, a cold shoulder only works if the person being pointedly ignored is aware of it. Brendan seemed completely oblivious. Another reason to be annoyed with him, and yet it only served to loosen that hard knot of rage even further.
Actually, laughter bubbled through her. A sign of approaching hysteria? Had Brendan finally driven her out of her head? If anyone could, it would be him for certain. He was a master of provocation.
No sooner had the innkeeper closed the door than Killer wiggled free of Elisabeth’s enveloping greatcoat, flinging himself nails skittering onto the floor. Shaking until his hair stood on end, looking like a black-and-white hairbrush.
Brendan rolled his eyes. “I can’t believe you brought that dog in here.”
“We couldn’t leave him outside. He’d catch his death.”
“He’s a stray, Lissa. He’s used to being outside in all weather.”
“That doesn’t mean he enjoys it. See?” Killer had curled up on a pile of musty sacks, giving a long doggie sigh as if he’d found nirvana. “He doesn’t want to be out in the rain either.”
She followed his lead, shedding her waterlogged outer layer before sinking gratefully onto the only chair in the room, a rickety thing with sagging
cane and one wobbly leg. Yet still a pleasant change after being perched atop Onwen’s knobby withers.
“Bloody Irish weather. I’m growing moss.” Brendan peeled off his own sopping jacket. Plowed a hand through his wet hair.
“You sound as if you’re surprised. You did live on this island for more than twenty years,” Elisabeth responded, shaking out damp skirts. Peeling herself out of the wet shawl Brendan had purchased off a tinker in Gort.
He paused from rubbing warmth back into his arms, gaze somber. “That was a lifetime ago. I was another person.”
Dun Eyre and the whirl of wedding preparations. A smelly roadside tavern and a man she’d thought dead mere days previous. Two halves of the same life severed cleanly down the middle. “I know exactly what you mean,” she answered sourly.
Until now, she’d kept thoughts off the present by painting rosy pictures of her future. The happy-ever-after ending when Gordon reassured her that no mere scandal could tarnish what they had together. That he would still marry her. That the future they’d talked about was still possible.
She imagined the wedding, the smiles and laughter, the tearful farewells as they departed for London. After that, it all went blurry. She couldn’t envision the house on Upper Mount Street. Couldn’t fantasize about the life she and Gordon would have there. It was as if her imagination had stretched as far as it could. Beyond that illusory wedding, there was only a foggy unreality.
Instead, her mind seemed to fall back into the past. Showed her events she’d forgotten until now. As if Brendan’s return had unlocked an entire part of herself she’d buried away after his desertion. The memories rose through her. Slowly. Steadily. Unstoppable as an encroaching tide.
