To Tempt an Irish Rogue

by Kaitlin O'Riley

  “Do you find it exciting to think you were kissed by a murderer?”

  “Heavens no!” she gasped, panic racing through her. “How can you ask such a question?”

  “Well, what do you think, Paulette?” His voice dropped to a harsh whisper. “You have obviously read the accusations in the papers that people are casting upon me. Do you think I killed my wife?”

  Her heart hammering, Paulette did not pause in the slightest in answering him. “No, I don’t believe you could do such a terrible thing.”

  Declan seemed a bit surprised. And then very relieved. He moved to sit on one of the stools beside her. “Thank you for that.”

  “You still didn’t answer the question though,” she pointed out. Her nerves tingled at his nearness to her.

  His eyes met hers with a steady gaze. “No, Paulette. I did not kill my wife nor did I have anything to do with her death. Although there are people who would dearly love to believe otherwise.”

  The honesty in his voice and the sincerity in his eyes confirmed what she had felt in her heart. Declan had not killed his wife. Paulette felt more than a little relieved by his response, too.

  “But why?” she questioned him. “Why do people blame you for her death, Declan?”

  “Because sometimes it’s easier to blame a person for something that has happened than to accept the reality.”

  “Which is . . .” she prompted him to continue.

  His mouth set in a grim line. “A very long story for another time perhaps.”

  Paulette sat silent for a moment. “Thank you for telling me as much as you did. My questions were a bit presumptuous.”

  “No, your questions were honest and I appreciate that. Most people don’t have the nerve to ask me to my face. They’d rather whisper and spread rumors behind my back.”

  “That must be a dreadful feeling.”

  “It is.”

  “Is that why you left Ireland?”

  “Yes, partly. And I also wanted Mara to see some doctors here in London.”

  Paulette thought of the little blond-haired girl with her father’s eyes. “I hope the doctors can help her.”

  “Thank you. I do, too.”

  “Where in Ireland are you from?”

  “Dublin.”

  “Is it very different from London?”

  “Not very. In some ways they are very much alike. Then again, most large cities are the same.”

  “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been anywhere except here,” Paulette said with a sigh.

  “All large cities seem to be the same. Crowded, noisy, and dirty.”

  Paulette laughed at his remark. “I’ve heard people say that. How long are you planning to stay in London?”

  “I’m not sure yet. Now it’s my turn,” Declan said, with a grin.

  “Your turn for what?”

  “My turn to ask you questions.”

  Paulette smiled. “Oh, I guess that’s only fair.”

  He placed his hand under his chin, resting his elbow on the counter. “Why aren’t you married, Paulette? A beautiful girl like you?”

  Surprised by his question, she was also caught off guard by his compliment. “I haven’t met anyone I want to marry.”

  “Why is that, do you think?”

  “I honestly don’t know.”

  “But you’re happy here, working in the bookshop with your sisters?”

  “Yes, very much so.”

  “How old are you?”

  “I’ll be twenty-one next month. How old are you?” she asked.

  Declan shook his head. “Oh, no. My turn is not over. No questions from you yet. But if you must know, I’m five and twenty.”

  “Oh.” He was much closer to her in age than she had originally thought. “You must have married very young! Why, Mara is four years old, isn’t she?”

  “Paulette?”

  “Yes?”

  “You’re interrupting my turn.”

  “I’m sorry. I promise I won’t interrupt again. Please continue.”

  “Thank you.” He paused a moment before asking, “Why did you let me kiss you this morning?”

  Why had she let him kiss her? She’d been asking herself that same question all day and had only been able to come up with one response.

  “Because I couldn’t help it. I’d never been kissed before and I—”

  “Do you mean to tell me that no man has kissed you before me?” Declan was clearly astonished. “Before today?”

  “No.” Flooded with embarrassment, Paulette felt her cheeks grow warm. Why did speaking about kissing her seem more mortifying than his actually kissing her? She had no idea, but she liked sitting here with him, talking. He was surprisingly easy to converse with.

  “Well, thank you, Paulette. That was an honor I didn’t know I had. Now I feel even more regretful over kissing you though.”

  “Oh, don’t regret it!” she cried out. “I thought our kiss was wonderful! Didn’t you?”

  “You’re a funny little thing, aren’t you?” He looked amused by her. “Do you always say exactly what you’re thinking?”

  “Not deliberately.” She paused, feeling slightly panicked. “Didn’t you think it was wonderful? Kissing me?”

  “Yes, I did,” Declan admitted, his emerald eyes glittering as he looked at her. “Perhaps too much.”

  “Why too much?”

  He laughed. “You’re asking the questions again, lass.”

  “Well, I can’t help it,” she said, waving her hands in exasperation. “When is it my turn again?”

  “When you’ve answered my questions.”

  “Aren’t you done yet?”

  He chuckled. “You can’t help yourself, can you?”

  “No. I’m sorry. Please continue.”

  “Thank you. Now I forgot what I was going to ask you.”

  “Was it about kissing me?”

  “Ah, yes . . . Our kiss today. Let’s go back to that. You liked it, did you?”

  “Yes, I did. It was magical.”

  “Yes, it was, lass.” His eyes glittered as he paused for a moment. Then he leaned closer to her. “Are you afraid of me, Paulette?”

  “Yes, maybe a little,” she admitted, adding hastily, “but not because people say that you’re a murderer.”

  “Then why are you afraid of me?”

  “Because I let you kiss me. And I have never let anyone do that before. That’s what scares me.”

  He nodded. “I think I understand that.”

  “So what happens now?” Paulette could not help but ask. She liked talking to him and watching the expressions on his face and hearing the soft Irish brogue on his lips.

  “What do you mean?”

  Feeling a bit self-conscious she asked, “What happens with us now? Are you my suitor now? Are you going to call on me? I’m not sure how all this is supposed to work.”

  He chuckled again and gave her a funny look. “I don’t know. I hadn’t thought that far ahead, to tell you the truth, Paulette.” He paused as if in deep thought. “I didn’t come to London seeking a romance or a new wife, if that’s what you’re thinking. I should tell you straight out that I’m not interested in ever getting married again. My first marriage did not end well, and I don’t believe I made a particularly good husband. That being said, I have no idea what I’m doing here with you, kissing you and bringing you flowers. It gives the impression that I am courting you when I barely know who you are.”

  Paulette fought an impulse to reach out and touch his cheek, which was shadowed in stubble now. Did she want him to be her beau? Since she had never had one, she didn’t know what that would be like. A part of her wished crazily that he would say yes, he wanted to call on her, yet the other half of her was terrified by the very idea. Instead, she merely said, “I barely know you either. Yet here we are.”

  “Yes,” he whispered, “here we are.”

  Yes, there they were, alone in the closed bookshop.

  “We could be friends,�
� she suggested.

  “I don’t know anyone in London and knowing what the papers are saying about me I doubt anyone would be my friend. It would be good to have you as a friend, Paulette.”

  She smiled brightly, loving the sound of his accented voice. “I would like that, too.”

  He reached out and covered her hand with his as it rested on the counter.

  Paulette held her breath, enjoying the warmth of his skin touching hers. They were silent for a few moments. With her heart pounding, she glanced over at him, but he was staring at her hand in his. Slowly he raised her hand to his lips, placing a gentle kiss on top of her fingers.

  Shivers of delight spread through her and Paulette grew dizzy with sensation.

  He said in a low voice, “I should be going home now. It’s getting late.”

  She nodded in agreement, although reluctantly.

  Still holding her hand, he asked, “May I escort you home, Paulette?”

  Paulette had more than a few tasks still to complete in the bookshop before she should leave for the night, but she ignored them completely.

  “Yes, I would like that.”

  He released her hand and within minutes she had the shop locked up and they were walking along the streets of Mayfair. The beautiful summer day had given way to a pleasant summer evening and a large harvest moon glowed golden in the night sky. As Declan escorted her to Devon House, Paulette’s heart filled with a completely unfamiliar emotion. An excitement bubbled within her at the thought of being with this man. This man who seemed to genuinely like her. The novelty of the experience buoyed her spirits in a new way.

  “You grew up in this neighborhood?” he asked.

  “Yes, we lived above the bookshop.”

  “You and your sisters?”

  “Yes, but we almost lost the shop when my father passed away. My sister Colette, whom you met this morning, she’s the oldest. She and I worked the hardest to reorganize and improve the store. When she married Lucien Sinclair, we all moved in to Devon House with her, because our mother moved down to Brighton then. My sister Juliette is the second oldest, and is married to a sea captain and lives in America. She has a daughter about Mara’s age. My sister Lisette lives here in London with her husband, Quinton Roxbury. He’s a renowned architect and may be running for parliament next year. Now there’s just my younger sister, Yvette, and myself, living at Devon House with Colette and Lucien and their two sons.”

  “You’re the fourth sister, I gather.”

  “Yes. Three older, one younger. I’m stuck in the middle.”

  “I don’t know that that’s such a bad place to be,” he said thoughtfully. “It seems you have a wonderful family and you’re lucky to have a family that loves you. I haven’t any siblings, although I always wished for a brother to play with when I was younger. I do have my cousin Gerald whom I’m close with, but it’s not the same.”

  “I can’t even imagine what being an only child is like.”

  “There’s good and bad to it, just as I’m sure there is with being in a large family.”

  “My family is very important to me.”

  “I can tell that about you.”

  Paulette smiled at him. “Well, here we are.” They had reached the massively grand, white house that was her home. “Thank you for walking with me.”

  “You are most welcome.”

  “Would you like to come in and meet the rest of my family? My sister Lisette is visiting tonight.”

  “Perhaps another time.” He shook his head. “I should get back home to Mara. She gets anxious if I’ve been away from her for too long.”

  “Yes, of course. I understand.”

  They stood on the street in front of Devon House and looked at each other, neither one quite knowing what to say or do next. Declan reached out and took her hand in his and Paulette’s heart skipped a beat as she looked up at him. How had she ever thought he seemed old and forbidding? Now he only looked incredibly handsome. She wished he would kiss her again. Even though doing so outside on the street would not be wise.

  “I really should go,” he said, but he did not let go of her hand.

  “Yes.”

  “It’s been an interesting day, Paulette.”

  “Interesting is a bit of an understatement.”

  He chuckled. “I suppose you are right, at that. In either case thank you for a most understated day.”

  Smiling at him, she could not help but ask, “Will we see each other again?”

  Declan paused briefly. “Would you like to meet me in Green Park at noon on Sunday? I promised Mara I would take her.”

  Without a second thought, Paulette accepted his invitation. “That would be lovely.”

  As he did in the bookshop, Declan lifted her hand to his lips and placed a kiss on her hand. “I’ll see you then. Good night, Paulette.”

  “Good night.” Paulette watched as he walked from her, his tall form making long even strides down the sidewalk. She watched until she could no longer see him in the darkening night.

  Chapter 7

  Silence

  Papa was late and she was growing weary of waiting for him.

  Mara Reeves sat on the wide, cushioned window seat in the nursery, tracing the patterns of the big cabbage roses on the chintz fabric with her fingers. The large pink rose swirled perfectly into the smaller red rose, the waves of color blending into each other in a continuous swirl, over and over. Pink, red, pink.

  She liked patterns and colors. Bright colors. Like the colors in the new books Papa brought her. The stories were not what interested her, even though she listened politely when Papa read to her, like a good girl should. She just loved sitting beside him, listening to the soothing sound of his voice and looking at the pretty pictures.

  She wished he would come home already.

  “Well, Lady Mara, why don’t you come over here and have your supper? There’s chicken and the potatoes that you like.”

  Mara looked up at the sound of Mrs. Martin’s voice. She was comfortable sitting on the window seat and not hungry in the least. But she swung her little legs over the edge of the cushioned seat and jumped to the floor. The carpet under her booted feet had a pattern of ivy and green vines interlaced with colorful flowers and Mara made sure she only stepped on the large blue flowers. That was the rule.

  She made her way across the length of the nursery, taking care only to put her feet on the designated blossoms.

  “What are you doing there, sweetheart? Is it a game?” Mrs. Martin smiled, her grin warm and encouraging. “It looks quite fun.”

  Mara didn’t answer her nanny, but continued to the table set for the two of them. She climbed onto her chair and placed the heavy cloth napkin on her lap. Mrs. Martin sat across from her. After saying grace, the woman gave her a nod, and Mara picked up the silver fork and took a bite of her potatoes.

  She wished Papa would come home. He’d been gone longer than usual that day and that worried her. He always came to see her before supper and she didn’t like that he hadn’t done so tonight. That’s why she’d been sitting on the window seat, so she could watch out the window for him. But she grew bored of waiting and became entranced with the flower patterns on the cushion.

  “Do you like the chicken, Lady Mara? It’s my favorite. And the potatoes are tasty, aren’t they?”

  Mara took another bite by way of response. It wasn’t her favorite, but it was fine. She liked the potpies better. The kind with the crispy crust.

  “I’m glad you like your supper. Eat all your food so you grow up nice and healthy.”

  Mara wasn’t sure she wanted to grow up. Grown-ups did not seem as if they liked being grown-ups very much, from what she could tell. But she didn’t say that to Mrs. Martin. Of course, Mara didn’t say anything.

  Mrs. Martin was very kind to her and even though she’d only known her for a short time, Mara liked her well enough. In fact she liked her much more than her nurse back home in Ireland, who had always acted very cross. He
r life in Ireland seemed very far away to her now. It was strange traveling all that way from her home in Dublin, across the sea on a ship, to London. Being on the ship was rather exciting and she wasn’t too afraid, as long as Papa held her tightly when they were on the deck.

  Where was Papa?

  Unable to eat another mouthful, no matter how much Mrs. Martin attempted to cajole her, Mara set down her fork and wiped her mouth with her napkin and placed it on the table beside her plate as she had been taught to do.

  “You certainly are a calm and obedient child, for all that you won’t speak a word,” Mrs. Martin remarked as she continued to eat her own supper. “I must say this is the easiest position I’ve ever had. For a four-year-old you don’t cause a speck of trouble, little Lady Mara. You may be excused.”

  Mara climbed down from her chair and stepped only on the blue flowers all the way back to the window seat. Once back in her perch, she crawled on her knees to the windowsill and peered out. It was growing dark and still no sign of Papa. Her heart thumped loudly in her little chest. Come home, Papa, the voice in her head repeated, Come home now.

  She pressed her face close to the windowpane and blew on the glass, her fingers making patterns in the condensation. Over and over she blew her warm breath on the glass, and drew patterns until they faded quickly and she had to begin again.

  She mostly drew faces. Two eyes, a nose, and a mouth. Sometimes the face smiled. Sometimes it didn’t. She didn’t know why, except that’s what she always drew.

  A big golden moon was rising in the sky. It was the biggest moon Mara had ever seen in her whole life. Captivated by the beauty of it, she stopped drawing faces on the glass and leaned her forehead against the cool pane. She stared at the giant orb glowing in the night. So far away. So far from anything she had ever known. She guessed the moon was as close to heaven as one could possibly get.

  Everyone told her Mama was in heaven. Could Mama jump on the moon from heaven? Was Mama up there now, searching for her? She could barely remember what Mama looked like anymore. She just had images, a rose scent and silver blond hair. She had gone away such a long time ago. But Mara still missed her, still wanted her.

  But thinking of Mama brought back ugly images of the last time she saw her. And Mara hated to think of the evening that gave her nightmares. It was too terrifying. The all-consuming fear and dread. Voices shouting in anger. Papa’s voice calling for her. Sickening black smoke. The blistering heat. The brilliant flames and crackling wood. The agonizing screams.