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“Balor said he’s meeting with you and your brothers this week about doing additional surveillance to find out where Stasia is ourselves,” Kieran says, and tightens his hand around a pen. “Or figure out who might know something.”
“Aye.” That will be my priority once I get Darcy squared away. “We may head into Manhattan to throw people off.”
“Good,” Kieran says and then narrows green eyes at me. “So, why are you here, and who the fuck is this?” He holds up his phone, and it’s a photo Riordan must have taken of Darcy leaning against the Escalade.
“That’s Darcy Quinlan, my niece. My father’s son, Rian’s daughter, from Waterford.” I told Kieran about Rian years ago over several whiskies in this very office, so the name is no surprise. I straighten my back, then add, “I think she’ll be a good match for you.”
Kieran’s face doesn’t move. Not a muscle. He stares at me like his brain is replaying the Sabine debacle. Finally, he blinks and then sits back. He glances at his phone again and then signals Lachlan. “Bring thecailínin.”
My irrational brain jolts me out of my seat, and I lean on his desk. For one, I don’t want Lachlan near her, and I don’t want Darcy to see Kieran’s reaction when I tell him the truth about her. “Hold on, Lach. Kieran…” I bow my head. “Let me tell you a few things about her.”
“How old is she?” For an arranged marriage, it shouldn’t matter to him how old Darcy is. With no love between them, however, the age difference guarantees the union will be a lonely one for Darcy.
That fucking sucks.
“Twenty-three.” Saying that out loud makes me dizzy. She’s too young to be dealing with this. Withallof this. She’ll have to shoulder an enormous amount of responsibility being married to our king. “She also has a daughter. I didn’t know this when I went over there. A boy took advantage of her when she was a teenager. Left her pregnant. The child is lovely. A doll.”
I momentarily focus on a bright spot in my messed-up schedule. I’m taking Sadie to Manhattan to buy her a doll, give it a haircut, and serve it tea.
“How old is the little girl?” Eoghan asks.
“Four,” I answer. “That means Darcy is fertile. That’s important, right?”
“Aye, it is,” Kieran says, not giving me a hint of what’s going through his mind.
“There’s something else. SomethingelseI didn’t know when I went over there.”
“What kind of investigator are you?” Lachlan lays into me, but I have to play it cool.
“Her father was a bastard, Lach. Ewan’s had no contact with him.” Kieran’s harsh words are meant to defend me.
I ball my hands into tight fists anyway. “I’m hoping Rian will visit soon.”
“Whatelsedo I need to know about this woman you want me to marry, Ewan?” Kieran looks me in the eyes.
“In addition to being the daughter of abastard, although I’d rather say thesonmy father was never allowed to see, Darcy is adopted. Not a blood-born Quinlan.” This would be a deal breaker if I’m pitching a match between Quinlans and O’Rourkes, a bond that would be sealed in blood, but without the true Quinlan blood on my end.
“Whose family is she?” Eoghan asks.
“Her parents wereculchies, a local couple who died in a fire a few towns over when she was eighteen months old. Rian and his wife wanted a girl, so they took Darcy in.”
“Darcy,” Kieran hisses seductively.
“DarcyQuinlan,” I stress.
“The name is what’s most important.” Eoghan sounds in favor of the match. “I’ll tell Riordan to bring her inside.”
“Anything else?” Kieran asks with sarcasm like I’m selling him a second-hand car that’s falling apart.
I can never tell him I took her virginity and spent endless nights fucking her. “Nothing. Nothing else.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Darcy
Ihavenochoice,I muse, as the towering beast with dark hair and darker eyes, named Riordan, leads me through a series of doorways in the overwhelmingly massive house.
I’m doing this for Sadie.
