Declan sighed inwardly with relief. Perfect. Gerald was just the person he needed to see, although he hadn’t expected him to arrive so soon. Declan had left Dublin so abruptly and he sent only a terse note informing Gerald that he was going to London. “Please send him in, Roberts.”
“Very good, sir.” The door closed as the butler hurried off to retrieve Declan’s guest.
Declan moved to the sideboard where there was a decanter of Irish whiskey. If he knew anything at all about his cousin, Declan knew that Gerald would expect a drink when he arrived. He lifted the lid of the crystal decanter and poured a shot of the amber liquid into a glass. He turned as the door opened.
“So you found me,” Declan said by way of greeting.
“Yes, and the weather is as depressing here as it is back home,” Gerald O’Rourke announced as he entered the study.
Declan smiled at his cousin, noting with surprise that Gerald had more gray in his hair since the last time he’d seen him. The man was far too young to be so gray, but then his only cousin had always looked older than his years. “It’s good to see you, Gerald.” He handed him the glass of whiskey.
Gerald’s florid face smiled broadly, accepting the drink. “You’re a good man, Declan.” He downed the whiskey in one neat gulp and placed the empty glass on the table. He glanced around. “So, it’s a nice place you’ve got yourself here.”
“It’ll do for now.”
Declan had no idea how long he would stay in London or if he would move on to some other place. Perhaps he would never go back to Ireland. The very prospect of returning to his native land filled him with an unbearable sadness.
“How is Mara these days?”
“She’s fine,” Declan murmured. He hated having to admit that his daughter had still not recovered.
“Is she . . . is she talking yet?” Gerald’s eyes flickered as he glanced at Declan.
Declan shook his head regretfully. “No, not yet.”
He wished he could have said yes. What a joy that would be! To have his beautiful daughter speaking again. To hear the sweet sound of her voice in his ears. He dreamed of it. When he wasn’t having nightmares about her mother.
Gerald shrugged carelessly. “Oh, I’m sure she’ll start talking one of these days. It was a lot for a little girl to go through.”
“It’s been almost a year,” Declan muttered.
Almost a year ago his wife burned to death in front of their daughter’s eyes, screaming for her. Almost a year since Mara had uttered a single word. “Papa.” It was all she would say for hours after the horrific scene. Then a blank expression shuttered her childish features and she said no more. Declan had tried everything he could think of to reach her. The finest doctors, the best care. But it seemed Mara only retreated further into her own little world, not venturing forth into the real one. Not uttering a sound.
“Still, children are funny creatures.” Gerald gave a half smile. “Mark my words, one day she’ll just surprise you and ask for a biscuit or something equally inconsequential.”
Declan said nothing, but in his heart he hoped for nothing else. “How are things back home?” The heaviness in his chest began to tighten.
A shadow crossed Gerald’s round face. “Not good. You left so unexpectedly, without word to anyone. By the time I got your note you were already gone, Declan.” He paused. “They think you ran away to escape the consequences.”
Declan sighed heavily. “Well, they are partly true anyway.” He had run away, but not for the reason everyone assumed.
His mouth forming a grim line, Gerald continued, “It’s gotten worse since you left.”
“How could it possibly be worse?” Declan scoffed.
Since Margaret died, Declan had watched in muted shock as the comforting words and sympathies on the death of his wife transformed into something else entirely. He’d endured months of dubious glances, cold shoulders, suspicious murmurings, whispers behind his back, blatant accusations, and outright blame. That was the reason he had left. He had had to protect Mara. She didn’t need to hear any of that ugliness. Especially from her own family.
Declan stood and went to the sideboard. Pouring himself a glass of Irish whiskey, he stared at the amber liquid as it floated in the crystal. With a quick motion of his wrist, the whiskey swirled in the glass faster and faster. He stilled his hand, watching the liquid spin wildly then slowly wind down. Not wanting to drink it after all, he set the glass down and turned back to face Gerald and what he had to say.
“Some say that you are planning to marry again,” Gerald continued. “That’s why you came to London.”
Declan laughed with derision. “I can assure you that marriage is the last thing I’m seeking out at the moment!”
“Having a new mother might be good for Mara,” Gerald suggested with a shrug of his shoulders.
“I don’t think so. I will never marry again. In case you hadn’t noticed, my first marriage did not end all that well.” Declan could not hide the bitterness in his voice. He was not cut out for marriage, as his disastrous union with Margaret proved beyond a shadow of a doubt. He never wanted the responsibility of a wife again, even if there was a woman out there who was not terrified of the idea of wedding him. For after all of the rumors about him, who would want to marry him anyway? Marriage had been nothing short of a disaster for him and Declan took the blame for all of it. But he had no interest in marrying ever again.
“I understand that. But it’s more than rumors and innuendo now, Declan. It’s far more serious than the gossips’ tongues wagging behind their fans.” Gerald paused. He gave Declan a pointed look. “There are some who are demanding an inquest.”
The heaviness in his chest grew even weightier. Declan had half expected this news, but never quite believed it would actually happen.
“How can they still think I had anything to do with Margaret’s death?”
Gerald hesitated, running his hand across his round face, before answering. “It doesn’t look good, Declan, what happened that night.”
“Do you think I’m responsible?” Declan demanded, anger and frustration coursing through his veins. “Do you honestly think I killed my wife? That I deliberately set the fire that night?”
“No! No!” Gerald put his hands up. “Of course not! Heavens, no! I’d never think such a thing about you, Declan. You know that. I’m your cousin, your best friend. I’m on your side. Alice and I will always stand by you. I’m just telling you what they’re saying in Dublin. I came to warn you.”
“Warn me?” Declan asked of his cousin. Gerald was his only living relative and had been his trusted friend and advisor since he was a boy. If Gerald had come to London to warn him, Declan knew it was serious.
“Well, yes. As I said, it doesn’t look good. Taking Mara to London with you didn’t help matters. It only inflamed their suspicions. I think they may call you in. They’re building a case against you. You never did have an alibi that night.”
“Jesus, Gerald! You know why I brought Mara to London! And you of all people know where I was when the fire started!” Declan would never forget a single detail of that horrendous night for as long as he lived.
“I know that, yes. But no one else believes you.” Gerald gave another helpless shrug. “And they certainly don’t believe the likes of me.”
“The Ryans need someone to blame and they are going to blame me no matter what the truth is, because they don’t care about the truth. They’ve never cared for me, never wanted Margaret to marry me in the first place. Now they just want to blame Margaret’s death on my head and be rid of me. They only want to take Mara from me.”
“You may be right.” Again Gerald hesitated. “Maybe London isn’t far enough away.”
“What are you suggesting? That I flee to America?” Declan scorned the idea of hiding.
Gerald gave him a helpless look. “Would you prefer to spend the rest of your life in the gaol?”
“It’s not going to come to that. I’m innoce
nt.” Declan shook his head defiantly. He would not go to prison for murdering his wife. It was impossible. Unthinkable. “And I will not skulk away in shame as if I’ve committed a crime when I haven’t,” he declared.
“It’s your neck,” Gerald offered. “I just thought you should know that the situation has become more serious and it might be wise to take your leave while you still have the opportunity.”
“They can say I’m guilty, but that does not mean that I am. Besides, they have no proof of anything. Jesus, Gerald, I’m only twenty-five years old! I refuse to give up my inheritance, my title, and my home to take the blame for something I had no part in.”
Gerald grew quiet, his graying brows furrowed. “Then come home and face them. You’re not proving your innocence by hiding here in London.”
“I’m not hiding! I’m here because of my daughter. And Margaret’s family knows this. They’re angry I took Mara away from them, which is another reason they are lashing out at me while I’m not there to defend myself. If the Ryans had any proof at all they would have had me arrested already.”
“So you’re staying here in London then?” Gerald asked.
Declan nodded. “For the time being, yes.”
“Any idea how long that might be?”
Declan released a very long sigh. “As long as it takes.”
Chapter 4
Attraction
Paulette pulled up the shade that covered the door to Hamilton’s Book Shoppe, turned the “Closed” sign to read “Open,” and smiled as the morning sun greeted her. Finally! A bit of good weather after the rainy spell they’d had the last few days! She glanced around the tidy shop, pleased with its attractive and inviting appearance. She and Colette had worked tirelessly to make the shop a success and her pride in her family’s business filled her with joy.
She could barely recall the cramped, dusty, and disorganized place it had been when their father had been alive and handled everything, before she and Colette had transformed the shop. But she distinctly remembered being a very little girl and her father lifting her up to the top of the ladder so she could reach a book for him. Paulette had loved being up that high. She had loved the smell of the books. A beautiful mix of leather, paper, and ink. And when her father had allowed her to assist him, she adored helping customers choose the perfect book.
Running her hand along the glass-covered counter, she savored this early morning quiet when she first opened the store and she was the only one there. The shop truly belonged to her then and it was her favorite time of the day. She reveled in being the first one up and out of the house and busy at the shop. It made her feel as if she were ahead of everyone else.
The bell over the door jingled merrily. “Good morning, Miss Paulette!”
She smiled at the red-haired young man who entered the shop. “Good morning, Tom. How are you today?”
“I’m just fine on this gorgeous morning.” His freckled face grinned broadly and he placed a cloth-lined basket on the counter. “My mother sent these over to you.”
“Oh, I can smell them from here!” Paulette squealed with delight. Mrs. Alcott made the most heavenly shortbread biscuits and she knew they were Paulette’s favorite. Tom Alcott and his mother had lived in the rooms above the bookshop for the last few years and had been the caretakers of sorts.
Her older sister, Lisette Hamilton Roxbury, had helped to save Tom and his mother from the slums of St. Giles and had given them work and lodging at Hamilton’s Book Shoppe. It had been a perfect arrangement all around. Although about six months ago, Mrs. Alcott and Tom finally moved to one of the houses that Quinton Roxbury had designed. Paulette had not yet found anyone to take the Alcotts’ place and the living quarters upstairs, where the Hamilton sisters had been born and raised, were still unused.
“Please thank your mother for me,” Paulette said, reaching beneath the red-checkered cloth and retrieving a shortbread biscuit. She couldn’t wait to have one.
“She knows how much you like them.”
“Thank her for me, please.” Paulette grinned. “I miss having you both here.”
“We miss it too, but we love the new house. And with Mother getting married soon, the house is a better place for us.”
Paulette nodded as she ate the cookie, delighting in the sweet buttery flavor. She was happy that Anna Alcott was finally getting remarried, after all the heartache she’d been through in her life. Jack Harris, a grocer, was a fine man and would take care of her and her son. Thirteen-year-old Tom still helped out in the bookshop when he wasn’t in school.
“Do you have anything for me to do today?” Tom asked.
Wiping the crumbs from her lips, Paulette nodded. “Yes, if you could just take that package over there to the printer I would appreciate it.” She pointed to the shelf near the door.
“That’s it?”
“For now, yes. Get going to school or you’ll be late.” She smiled at him. Tom was a good boy and she didn’t want him to miss a minute of his education.
“Thank you, Miss Paulette.” He flashed her one of his broad grins, grabbed the package wrapped in brown paper, and moved to the door. “I’ll drop this off on my way to school.”
“Thank you, Tom. And good-bye.”
Alone in the shop once more, Paulette stepped behind the counter and sat upon one of the high stools. Her assistant, Lizzie Parker, wouldn’t arrive for another hour. She took another cookie from the basket. Taking a bite, she opened the thick accounts ledger, bound in red leather, and glanced at the long columns of figures.
Hamilton’s Book Shoppe was doing very well and she was certain the new shop would do even better. With quick efficiency she added up each column, her numbers neatly arranged in her precise handwriting. Without thinking she grabbed another cookie from the basket and popped it into her mouth. Heavenly. She had to stop herself or she would eat the entire basket!
The bells above the door jingled and she glanced over to see who entered the shop. Her heart did a little flutter at the sight of Declan Reeves. His tall form blocked the sunlight and for the briefest moment outlined him in silhouette. Paulette had trouble swallowing the last of the shortbread.
“Good morning.”
His lyrical voice sent a shiver through her. Unable to speak, she nodded her head and managed a weak smile in greeting. The cookie suddenly felt like sawdust in her mouth. She forced herself to choke it down.
“It’s nice to see the sun again. Don’t you agree, Miss Hamilton?”
“Why, yes.” How her lips formed the words, she had no idea. Her heart was beating ridiculously fast. For lack of anything else to say, she offered, “It’s quite early yet.”
He responded, “I prefer to start my days early.”
“So do I.”
An awkward silence ensued as they stood there, staring at each other. The usual bookseller patter that always came to her so naturally abandoned her in his presence.
Declan Reeves was much handsomer than she remembered. Younger looking, too. Perhaps it was the morning light. He seemed less foreboding and for some reason that made her even more nervous. Why was he back in the shop so soon? Was it only two days ago that he had been in the bookshop with his daughter? His daughter! Now she had something to talk about!
“Where is your little girl?” she asked, surprised by the normal tone of her voice. She wished she had a cool glass of water.
“She’s at home with her nurse.”
The lyrical sound of his Irish accent made Paulette’s pulse quicken. “Did she enjoy the book of fairy tales I selected for her?”
“Yes, thank you very much. Mara loves it. I’ve read it to her at least a hundred times before bed the past two nights.”
The image of this man reading a story to his little girl made her heart flip over in her chest.
“I’m so glad,” she murmured. “Are you looking for another book for her?”
“Perhaps.” His emerald green eyes settled on her. “But I was also looking for myself.”
>
“Oh?”
“Yes.”
She tried to swallow but her mouth was too dry. “And what is it you would like?”
His eyes widened the slightest bit, but he didn’t answer.
“Would you care to browse?” she suggested weakly.
His intense glance lingered on her longer than anyone would deem proper. Her cheeks grew warm and a funny feeling filled her chest.
“Would you mind if I did?” Mr. Reeves questioned, one of his dark eyebrows raised.
“Not at all. Feel free to wander about the store.” She waved her hand in an attempt to appear casual and light-hearted. “If you decide you need my assistance, please let me know.”
“I promise I will, Miss Hamilton.”
Paulette surreptitiously watched him turn and make his way down one of the rows of tall shelves lined neatly with books of all sorts. He was in the philosophy section. Interesting, she thought.
He was very tall, she noted, almost as tall as the highest shelves. And he walked with definite purpose, with his hands clasped behind his back. It was strange. He had the mannerisms of a much older man, yet he was quite young. Close to her own age perhaps. She was dying to ask him how old he was, but knew it was impolite. He disappeared around the corner shelf at the end of the row and she lost sight of him.
Rousing herself, she wondered at her nervousness. The man had flustered her and she did not know why that should be so. In an effort to calm herself, she reached for the water pitcher and filled a cup with the cool liquid. She downed the water quickly.
Once again the bell jingled and the shop door opened. A trim young woman with a bright yellow bonnet covering her black hair entered. “Good morning, Paulette.”
“Hello, Lizzie.” Grateful that her assistant had arrived and she was no longer alone with the enigmatic Mr. Reeves in the shop, Paulette smiled. “You’re early this morning.”
Lizzie Parker and her brother Daniel had been assisting in the bookshop for the last few years, but recently Paulette had trained Lizzie to manage it completely, to take her place when the new shop opened. Paulette and Colette would need to spend most of their time in the new store.
To Tempt an Irish Rogue Page 3
