The Rapscallion's Romance, page 12
That morning they were greeted in the foyer by Brendan himself, who walked over and kissed Eliza on the cheek. As he threaded her arm through his, he turned to Fallon with a charming smile. “I’m glad you could join us.”
Fallon suddenly felt like an extra wheel, but that was before another figure stepped into view. “Good day, Miss O’Malley.”
Fallon turned at the sound of her name coming from that familiar, deep, velvety timbre. Even so, her mouth went lax at the sight of Atticus Clare. It didn’t escape her notice how snugly his tan suit fit those well-defined muscles beneath, nor that he was just as handsome as she’d remembered with that overly long dark hair pulled back in a queue and those onyx eyes full of charisma and something deliciously… dangerous. It immediately put her in mind of a man with rather similar characteristics.
But just as she was feeling those annoying flutter of butterflies in her midsection, she recalled one key factor. She lifted her chin slightly. “Mr. Clare.” She glanced behind him expectantly.
He smirked, as if reading her thoughts. “I fear it’s just my company that you’ll have to suffer today. Mrs. Stuart has business to attend to that occupies her this morning.”
“Oh.” Fallon wasn’t sure what to say.
Thankfully, Eliza saved her from any embarrassment as she announced, “Shall we go?”
Brendan bent down and spoke softly into her ear, and Fallon watched her cousin blush lightly. Fallon could only imagine what Eliza’s fiancé was whispering to her as they walked out the door together. A twinge of unnecessary envy brushed up Fallon’s spine, but she tamped it back down. Eliza was gaining a love match and Fallon was thrilled because of it.
It wasn’t until Atticus walked forward and offered his arm that Fallon stiffened slightly, but accepted his offering. However, she lifted a brow, for she was suddenly the object of his intense scrutiny. His dark eyes were mocking as his mouth quirked upward. “I do hope you don’t mind the intrusion,” he offered smoothly as he followed the couple to a four-passenger phaeton with a single horse ready and waiting. A wicker picnic basket had also been tied to the back. Eliza and Brendan were already seated in the front, where the latter had taken the reins from a waiting groom.
When Atticus held out his hand to assist Fallon into the carriage, she found she was grateful that they were both wearing gloves. Otherwise, the tremor that passed up her arm would have been much more pronounced.
She was settling her skirts around her when Atticus sat down beside her. Her breath caught slightly when his thigh brushed hers and she glanced over at him sharply. However, he was looking straight ahead, as if nothing untoward had occurred. Fallon decided to let the slip pass, although she scooted over to the edge as far as she could to put some much-needed distance between them.
“Is everyone ready?” Brendan asked over his shoulder. Without waiting for a reply, he flicked the reins and they set off with a decided jerk. Eliza squealed in delight as she clung to his arm as the carriage wheels bounced and flew across the ground. Fallon, however, had to throw out one hand to brace herself, while the other desperately held her hat in place. “Dear Lord. Is he going to drive this reckless all the way to where we’re going?” she muttered.
“You’re welcome to lean on me if you want.”
Fallon narrowed her eyes on Atticus, who was sitting calm and collected beside her, appearing not to have a care in the world, although his gaze sparkled with mirth and something… deeper.
“I’m fine, thank you,” she returned tightly.
He shrugged. “Suit yourself, but you should know that Brendan engages in several races throughout the year, so he always drives as though he is competing.”
The blood promptly fled Fallon’s face. She was used to riding horses, but such high perch vehicles like this one had always made her uneasy because they were so tall. She dared to peek down at the ground which was whizzing by at a remarkable speed, and quickly shut her eyes against the sight.
When they abruptly hit a bump, her lids flew open and she lost her grip on the side. She had a terrifying moment when she thought she might actually fall out of the carriage, but a firm hand caught her about the waist and pulled her back to safety.
She was brought up against a solid chest, with barely a breath separating her from Atticus Clare’s tempting, masculine lips. She wanted to tell him to release her, but something kept her from the retort. Perhaps it was the fact his body was firm and rather… comforting, or that those dark eyes kept her immobile, stealing the air from her lungs.
In the end, he was the one who retreated. “You should be more careful,” he murmured evenly as he let go of her and faced forward once more.
Fallon sat back against the seat. Plenty of distance still separated them, although her heart had ceased to stop racing.
Atticus kept his focus directed forward and attempted to concentrate on anything other than the tempting woman at his side. But then, this little escapade had been his idea. He’d approached Brendan earlier that morning with a proposition slipped in under the guise of hunting quail.
Once their dawn hunt had been concluded, he’d mentioned his desire to see Eliza’s cousin again. The other man had turned to him rather curiously and wanted to know why, and damned if Atticus didn’t have a reply at the ready, so he’d merely shrugged and said, “The Raven finds that she is of particular interest because of her close tie to Locklyn Durmor.”
While that had been enough to satisfy his close friend’s curiosity, the truth was that the Raven had spent several sleepless nights consumed with thoughts of the dark-haired Miss O’Malley. Even his attentiveness to Josephine had been lacking of late, so he’d decided that the way to cure himself of the enchanting woman was to tell himself that the night he’d bedded her had been like so many others before.
But the moment she’d walked in the front door with Eliza, Atticus knew he was a lost cause. If anything, Fallon was even more beautiful than he’d remembered, even though his brain had tormented him fiercely for the past week.
He was still trying to figure out how to deal with her request to the Raven, knowing that she would soon write to her devoted priest in Carraroe with another entreaty. But the longer he could keep her from returning to Ireland right now, the better off she would be. The country was in turmoil and if Stephens succeeded in his current plan to bring over thousands of Irish immigrants to fight for the cause, it was about to become even worse, perhaps even a full-blown war. He didn’t want her mixed up in that sort of chaos, as the concern for her safety would be more distracting than her current presence at his side.
And that was very distracting.
The moment his eyes had lit upon her, it was as though he’d been a starving man in the desert offered a drink of cool water, except he hadn’t known exactly how much he’d been in need of the sustenance. Josephine had been a lively companion of late, but they were working together toward a mutual cause, and any feelings he might have held for her long ago had turned into deep respect and a simple friendship. She no longer inspired the fire within his soul like Fallon did, and even then, he wasn’t sure Josephine had ever made him burn this bright.
He had to curl his hand into a fist on his thigh to resist reaching out and touching Fallon. He wondered if she thought of the Raven as much as he reveled in the sweet taste of her that still lingered on his tongue. He could feel his cock responding to the passion of that night, and her eager responses. He couldn’t believe that she’d been a virgin, for the way she had boldly reached out and touched him had made him believe otherwise.
The idea that she might allow Locklyn Durmor the same liberties made Atticus see red. Thankfully, she had made her distaste of her intended quite known. It was part of her plea in returning to Ireland, so that she might escape him, so his anger cooled considerably.
As the phaeton finally came to a halt near the edge of the Hayes property near a line of trees and an open patch of land on a hill that overlooked the sea, Atticus had to hold back the grin that wanted to reach the surface at the obvious relief on Fallon’s face. He could imagine how she would react when the Raven ordered about his crew on rough seas. She would likely turn green if she couldn’t handle Brendan and his daring manner with the driving ribbons.
Eliza clapped her hands together, obviously ecstatic about the journey, while Fallon clenched the seat in front of her and took a deep, restoring breath before she allowed Atticus to assist her to the ground.
Once her feet touched a solid surface, her knees wobbled slightly, but Atticus was there to steady her. As Brendan tied up the horse to a nearby tree to happily munch on some hay that he’d brought along, Eliza must have noted her unease, for she said sympathetically, “I’m so sorry! I should have warned you what a daredevil Brendan can be. Do you want me to wait with you until you are recovered?”
“It’s quite all right.” Fallon waved a hand. She didn’t wish to be the reason Eliza didn’t get to spend time with her betrothed. “Go ahead and I’ll be along shortly.”
“I’ll stay with her,” Atticus offered, and Fallon glanced at him while they both tried to ignore the twitch of her cousin’s lips.
As Eliza and Brendan headed off with the blanket and wicker picnic basket, Fallon stepped out of Atticus’s grasp. While it was obvious she didn’t yet trust herself to stand on her own, she held on to the phaeton’s frame. “There’s no need for you to remain with me.”
He crossed his arms over his chest and shrugged. “I don’t mind.” He lifted a dark brow. “Unless you want me to go?”
Fallon opened her mouth, likely to send him away, but she surprised him by relenting. “If you feel the need to stay, I suppose I don’t see any harm in it.”
Atticus smiled, and kept his gaze upon her, for truly, there was nothing else that could capture his attention.
Fallon shifted from one foot to the other, uneasy under that steady regard. She resisted the urge to scrub a hand over her face to make sure there wasn’t a smudge of dirt that made him stare as he did, but then, she would be lying if she wasn’t guilty of the same. With the sun shining on hair that held an almost blue-black hue, his onyx eyes catching the light and reflecting the same, he was quite spectacular to look at.
“Hmm. What’s this?”
Fallon glanced to where Atticus had bent down to pick something up from the ground. When she saw the portrait of her mother, she put her hand in her pocket and realized that there was a hole inside that she hadn’t even known about. Luckily she hadn’t lost the one thing that tied her to part of her past.
He didn’t immediately hand it over, but studied the picture in the small, oval frame. “Is this you?”
“No. It’s my mother.”
“Indeed.” He peered more closely. “Ah. I can see the difference now, but the resemblance is… remarkable,” he murmured. He glanced at her, and for a brief instant, she thought she saw a fleeting hint of recognition pass before his eyes before it was quickly veiled.
As he handed the picture to her, he kept that same unnerving focus on her face. Their fingers brushed as she took the item, sending waves of fire licking across her skin. “She was a very beautiful woman.”
“Thank you.” She tucked the small portrait away in her reticule and tied the strings together firmly. “Shall we rejoin Eliza and Brendan?”
He offered his arm to her, and for a time they walked in silence. Wishing to turn the subject to something of import, she asked, “Do you know when the Algonda will be in port next?”
“I’m not sure,” he returned noncommittally.
“For someone who relies on the cargo he is delivering to make a wage, I would think it would be rather important to keep track of when he might be expected,” she said curiously.
“I do business with several ship captains other than Mr. Flannery. Besides, I’ve known him for some time. I trust him implicitly to arrive when I need him to.” He turned to her. “Why do you ask?”
“I fear it’s a personal matter.”
His brows drew together. “I see.”
They said no more as they topped a hill and saw Brendan and Eliza sitting together rather cozily. While Fallon had feared of being in the way earlier, now she found that the couple’s continued affection for one another made her feel rather awkward when it came to being next to Mr. Clare, for they would never have the same sort of close relationship that her cousin shared with her future husband.
However, after they had joined Eliza and Brendan, it wasn’t long before Fallon discovered Mr. Clare had a talent for storytelling and some of the tales he shared about his life on the sea as a privateer soon had them all laughing, including herself, so that by the end of the outing, she had relaxed and actually began to enjoy the company, Atticus Clare included.
It was late afternoon before everything was packed back up and they began their journey to Shawsea Hall. Thankfully, Brendan didn’t drive quite as recklessly on the return trip, but when Fallon saw her aunt standing outside with Martina Durmor, her stomach still dropped to her feet. Immediately, the conversation she’d had with her aunt about staying away from Mr. Clare began spinning in her mind. As Atticus assisted her down, the joy she’d felt earlier abruptly burst like a popped balloon.
As Brendan greeted the two older women with a charm that came naturally, Atticus did the same, although he was a bit more reserved. And it was obvious, to Fallon at least, that the two matrons weren’t nearly as receptive to him either.
“I’m surprised Mrs. Stuart isn’t with you,” Francine noted.
“She had a prior engagement,” Atticus returned smoothly. “And since I was already at Hayes Manor this morning, I decided to make a nuisance of myself for the rest of the day.”
“Oh, nonsense.” Eliza smacked him playfully on the arm. “You regaled us with quite some amusing swashbuckling tales, you rapscallion!”
He bowed slightly to her. “It is my continual goal to please those around me.”
Eliza laughed, but Fallon’s breath caught as he turned and looked directly at her, as if conveying some sort of a secret message meant only for her.
“Miss O’Malley. I should like to have a private word with you.”
Fallon blinked, the spell broken as Martina addressed her. “Of course.”
She obediently followed the other woman inside. Once they were in the parlor, she turned to her with a pinched expression. “I am confident that my son shall soon make you an offer of marriage which would make your aunt very happy, but not if you intend to make a fool of him by cavorting with Mr. Clare who has a mistress in town. Am I unclear in any way?”
Fallon noted that she didn’t claim the union would make her happy as well, but she didn’t remark upon it as she shook her head. She found that some battles were easier to fight than others, even if her heart might be bitter because of her current situation. “I understand perfectly.”
She nodded. “I thought you might. Your aunt has done a lot for you since you arrived. The thing to do would be to repay that kindness by making a good match. I know you wouldn’t want to disappoint her.”
“Indeed, not,” Fallon said stiffly.
Martina headed for the door. At the frame, she stopped and glanced over her shoulder. “I expect to hear good news very soon, Miss O’Malley.”
With that parting remark, she was gone.
As Fallon sank onto the settee, Eliza came into the parlor and joined her. “I saw Mrs. Durmor leave. Is everything all right?”
Fallon thought of the Raven and realized that, even should he keep his promise to help her return to Ireland, it would be too late. So, it appeared that Fallon had to take matters into her own hands. And while she offered a smile to her cousin, inside she was starting to make alternate plans.
“There’s nothing to worry about. Nothing at all.”
Chapter Eleven
“Are you sure it has to be now?” The man whined at his female accomplice, who was sitting opposite him in the darkened booth of the Hog’s Head Pub. Since privacy was of the upmost importance for the conversation to be had this night, they had met at the rundown tavern, known not only for its notoriety, but because the occupants here could have cared less what they were discussing, hell bent on their own debauchery.
“We agreed that you should proceed with your proposal!” she hissed angrily.
He set his jaw, starting to grow bored with the whole affair. It had been something of a lark at the beginning when he’d been approached with the idea, but each time he was around his intended bride, she found a way to get under his skin—and not in a good way. That Irish accent grated on his nerves, as did her unwillingness to be alone with him, always finding some way to dissuade him. If he couldn’t get under her skirts and satisfy his urges, then what was he really gaining out of any of this?
Leaning back lazily in his chair, which he knew would annoy his companion, he decided to ignore her for the moment and eye their buxom waitress in a hungry fashion. As she sauntered over to pour him some more ale, giving him a generous view down her blouse, he licked his lips in greedy anticipation.
The lady sitting across from him cleared her throat loudly. He reluctantly swung his glance back in her direction. “If you could please pay attention to the matter at hand,” she said through gritted teeth. “The last thing left is your full cooperation and once the vows are said, you can do whatever you want with your bride, even dispose of her, if that’s what you wish.”
His eyes narrowed as he considered the prospect set before him. Still, it wasn’t enough of an incentive for him to actually stand in front of a vicar and declare his undying love. “Won’t anyone find it suspicious that my wife dies shortly after our wedding?”
