The Irish Rogue
Page 10
"I know little of these matters," O'Ryan said. "But doesn't it seem reasonable that even an early miscarriage can bring on an alarming flow in a delicate lady?"
"Exactly so," James agreed. "Right. And we shall never speak of this again. You have my word on it."
O'Ryan continued to pace the hallway for what seemed an eternity until the door opened and the housekeeper came out, accompanied by the twins.
"You two girls go on to bed," Kessie said.
"Is Anne all right?" O'Ryan asked. "I want to see her."
"She's sleeping," Aunt Kessie said. "The bleeding has almost stopped. I'll stay with her until morning."
"I'll sit with her." Without waiting for a reply, O'Ryan entered the room and went to Anne's side. She looked small and fragile. Someone had braided her hair into two thick plaits.
He swallowed and blinked away a speck of dust in his eye.
Anne sighed and murmured something he couldn't make out. Her complexion seemed translucent, but her breathing came slow and steady.
"I'm sorry, Annie," he whispered. "So sorry about the child." Strangely, he was. The loss of another man's child had left an empty ache in the pit of his stomach.
It was impossible to forget that she'd married him to give this lost babe a name. Now, she didn't need him. She didn't need him at all.
Chapter 9
Anne didn't want to open her eyes. Instinctively, she turned away from O'Ryan and curled up on her side. She felt no pain other than a dull throbbing in her womb. Strange, she thought. It should hurt more. She had suffered spasms during the night. This morning, she was left with a dry mouth, a headache, and a feeling of acute loss.
She didn't want to look into O'Ryan's face, didn't want to remember how she'd felt when she first suspected she was pregnant. She should be happy. The child that would have been such a problem in her life was no more. Her womb was empty, her body her own.
She wouldn't have to keep up the pretense that this baby was O'Ryan's. She'd never have to listen to well-meaning friends tell her how much the baby looked like him, and she wouldn't watch her son or daughter for some hint of Stephen Preston's lack of character.
Now that there was no coming child, she wondered if she'd been too hasty. She'd rushed into a marriage with a mysterious stranger who didn't love her—a man who'd wanted only her grandmother's legacy—when all she'd had to do was wait a few weeks for nature to take its course.
"Anne."
She didn't answer.
"You're awake. I know you're awake," O'Ryan said. "How are you?"
His voice sounded tired, like that of a man who'd sat beside his beloved all night, like someone who cared. She steeled herself against his false compassion.
"Go away," she whispered.
He took her hand and gripped it tenderly. "It's a hard thing... losing a babe." He leaned down and kissed the backs of her fingers.
She opened her eyes and looked at him in confusion. "How can you say that? You know how I got pregnant—how can you have any respect for me?"
"I'm the last one to condemn you for being human, Anne."
"I never wanted this baby."
"You were afraid."
There was no contempt in the deep Irish voice. "I couldn't even do this right, could I?" She sat up, holding the sheet modestly over her breasts.
"Don't blame yourself for the miscarriage. It happens."
"What do you know of women and childbearing?" The room was bathed in half-light, his face barely visible. "I mean... It's not an area where most men—"
"My mother lost six. She died a little with each one."
Gooseflesh rose on Anne's arms as, almost too low for her to hear, he continued, "Even after she'd left my father for another man."
She was shocked that he would reveal such a private thing about his life when he'd been so secretive. "I—I'm sorry."
He shook his head. "It was a long time ago."
O'Ryan didn't sound as if it was long ago. She could hear the ache in his voice. She wanted to weep for all those lost children—for her lost child. "You must have loved her very deeply... your mother."
"Aye. I still do."
It was something they had in common, being motherless. It said something about O'Ryan that he could harbor such feeling for a woman who had broken society's rules, and she liked him the better for it.
But her own guilt cut deep and the thoughts she had been mulling over slipped out. "My—my miscarriage makes our bargain one-sided, doesn't it?"
"Tish, Annie, don't say things you'll regret. It's the pain of your loss that makes you angry."
"What do you know about me?" she asked softly. "We're still strangers, despite this ring on my finger." Tears welled in her eyes, but she would not give in to them. "For that matter, what do I know about you?"
"The less the better. You've troubles enough. You don't need mine."
"I don't, do I?" She'd made such a fool of herself, woven such a snarled web that there was no way to undo it. "Have I put my family in danger by bringing you here?"
"I'll not lie to you. I've done things..." His voice hardened. "I've broken man's laws and God's, but I swear by all that's holy, you and yours have naught to fear from me."
She shivered with apprehension, wondering if she would ever know truth from lies where he was concerned. "You'd not be stupid enough to tell me if you meant us harm, would you?"
"Nay."
She swallowed, heart hammering against her ribs. "I want to believe you," she murmured. "But..."
"We'll talk about it another time." He rose to his feet, then leaned down, brushed a lock of damp hair off her forehead, and kissed her gently. "Be well, sweet," he said.
"I—I must ask you to move to another room... just until—"
"Until you recover." He nodded. "Of course. Rest now. I'll be here if you need anything."
"Thank you." Anne watched as he retreated to a chair near the open window. Oddly, she felt no thrill at regaining her privacy. She'd never wanted him in her bed, but she hadn't wished her victory to come at such a cost. Her eyes clouded with moisture as she closed them and turned away.
* * *
Anne woke in midmorning to find O'Ryan gone and Aunt Kessie sitting beside her. "Good morning, child," the black woman said. "How do you feel?"
"Sore. I need to—"
"You'll not leave this room today. You need to heal." Aunt Kessie went to the cupboard for a china container. "I'll leave you a little privacy while I get those girls to bring up some hot water, a nice breakfast, and my special herb tea. There are fresh cloths here. Don't worry if you're still bleeding a little. It's natural after losing a babe."
"I'm all right. I—"
"You scared us half to death, especially that new husband of yours. He did right by you. Many a man would make himself scarce, but he didn't. It says something about him."
Anne had little appetite that day despite the delicacies the servants brought to her chamber. Her father and Aunt Kessie each spent several hours sitting with her. Her husband made only a brief appearance at noon and again at mid-afternoon to ask if he could get her anything. Both times, she'd told him that she was fine.
Just before supper, he knocked at her door again. "Do you want company now?" he asked.
She didn't answer, pretending sleep. She waited, hoping he would come in anyway. And when he didn't, she wept again.
The following morning, she rose and dressed, and went down to join the family for breakfast. When she went to the dining room she found a small handful of wildflowers next to her plate.
"Don't you remember what day this is?" Aunt Kessie said. "It's the first of May."
She glanced up to find O'Ryan studying her face. "I thought you'd like them," he said. "At home, we always—"
"Glad to see you up and about." Her father patted the crown of her head. "You take it easy now. Feet up, lots of Kessie's abominable tea. That will set you right as rain."
Anne barely nibbled at the food in front of her. Sh
e noticed that O'Ryan appeared to have little appetite as well. "Perhaps we could invite Mary and the girls to visit us," she suggested. Her sister's company would be a blessing. With Mary here, she would have no time for feeling sorry for herself. Mary would fill the house with chatter.
"Of course," her father said. "Write to her and ask her to come. She's welcome to stay as long as she likes."
"I will."
There was a strained silence.
"Your husband intends to put his day to good use."
Anne laid her fork down and glanced at O'Ryan expectantly.
"Abraham and Silas are taking me fishing."
"If you catch any, Kessie will want fillets for tomorrow's breakfast," her father said.
O'Ryan finished his meal and excused himself. He couldn't wait to get out of the house. For the first time since he arrived at Gentleman's Folly, he wished he were back in Philadelphia. He wished he'd taken Anne Davis home safely to her sister and walked away without ever asking her to become his wife.
In the days since he'd saved her from being assaulted, he'd come to admire her, and he'd forgotten a rule he'd tried to live by since he was eighteen: he'd confused sexual attraction for something more. He'd let himself begin to imagine living here with her as his true wife.
His first concern had to be Kathleen. Anne had promised him nine thousand dollars. It wouldn't take a tenth of that to bring Kathleen and her son out of Ireland before the authorities traced him to her and arrested her as his accomplice to murder.
He couldn't let her down a second time.
* * *
When O'Ryan returned to the house after a successful morning of fishing, he found an invitation waiting for him. Nathaniel and his guests wanted him to accompany them to Swan's Nest plantation for an evening of cards and billiards.
"You're going, of course," James said heartily.
O'Ryan hesitated. He welcomed the opportunity to add a little more money to his nest egg, but he didn't want to be insensitive to his bride's condition. "I thought I should stay with Anne—"
"Nonsense," her father replied. "Rest and time will fix what ails her. Last thing she needs now is a husband knocking about the house. Go on and enjoy yourself. Get to know the locals. Ashton Swan is a damned sharp cardplayer, even if he is topping seventy. He'll trim your pockets, my boy."
"You must go, of course," Anne agreed. "Just don't count on your luck holding at Swan's Nest." She threw him a meaningful look. "As Papa says, Mr. Swan is a skilled player. Doubtless he'll pick you clean."
Not that that would require much, O'Ryan thought. He'd kept little enough of his last winnings, and he'd brought almost nothing with him from Philadelphia. He wondered how long he could decently wait before asking Anne for his nine thousand dollars. He wanted to make this as easy on her as possible, but as she'd already realized there was no need to prolong the charade of their marriage. The sooner he was out of her life, the better it would be for both of them.
* * *
Early that evening, halfway between Greensboro Hall and Swan's Nest, he, Abraham, Nathaniel, and the Steele brothers were crossing a creek when O'Ryan noticed a rough canvas cloth bobbing in the current downstream.
Curiosity aroused, he urged his horse to the far side of the low bridge and down the bank into the shallows. Water had risen to soak his boots before he was able to snag the object. When he opened the drawstring, he stared into the frightened eyes of a half-drowned puppy. The tiny bitch was a tangle of long, matted black-and-white fur, huge feet, and vermin.
"Best knock it in the head," Miles Steele suggested. "You don't want to walk into Swan's parlor covered in fleas."
Ignoring him, O'Ryan guided his mount back to shore, dismounted, and stood the pup on her feet. She uttered a plaintive yip and promptly tumbled over, too weak to stand. He knelt and ran his fingers over the dog, cautiously feeling for broken or deformed bones. The animal was pitifully thin, but he could find no injuries.
"Let me take him, sir," Abraham offered, sliding down from his mule. "Master James is partial to dogs. He won't mind another on Gentleman's Folly."
Nathaniel laughed. "What James doesn't need is a mongrel bitch in his kennel. That thing looks like it's half wolfhound and half bear."
O'Ryan offered the hungry animal his index finger. The pup sniffed it, then began to suck frantically. "What do you think, Abraham?" he asked the slave. "Does my wife like dogs as well as her father does?"
"Yes, sir, she does." Abraham nodded. "She'd love this one. Let me clean her up for you."
"This pup might be just thing to cheer her up," he said, more to himself than to the black man. O'Ryan handed the animal to Abraham, washed his hands, and gathered up his horse's reins.
* * *
It was two hours past midnight when he rode away from Greensboro Hall with his pockets heavy with silver and his arms full of squirming puppy. He'd left Abraham behind so that he could spend a few hours with his wife.
"It's good of you to give me leave. Me and Ivy, we don't get many nights together. But Master James might not like it," Abraham had said.
"If he asks for you, I'll tell him it was my orders," O'Ryan had answered. "Be back in time for that morning tide. I want to try my luck at those rockfish again."
Abraham had thanked him, then hurried off to Ivy's cabin.
Again, O'Ryan felt disgust at a system that would require a man like Abraham Washington to live apart from his wife. "I've never met a man less suited to slavery," he murmured aloud. If Abraham's skin were a different color, O'Ryan had no doubt he would quickly rise in the world.
Abraham had worked miracles on the pup—on Shannon, as O'Ryan had decided to call her. The small belly was taut with milk, the filth and fleas had been washed from her hair, and she'd been brushed until her fur shone.
O'Ryan had begged a red ribbon from his host. The length of silk was snug in his pocket, ready to tie around Shannon's neck before he presented her to Anne.
"You have to look your best," O'Ryan warned the pup. "If the lady doesn't like you, you're stuck with me."
Every window in the house was dark when he finally let himself in by the kitchen door and walked quietly through the downstairs and up the center staircase.
It was too dark inside to see, but O'Ryan prided himself on his good memory. He navigated the hallways until he reached his bedroom, across and down from the one he'd previously shared with Anne.
He made a bed on the floor with his shirt for Shannon, but being female, she had other ideas. He'd no sooner laid his head on the pillow than the little dog began to whine. "Shhh," he warned. He didn't want to wake Anne or the rest of the household.
In the end, he was forced to take Shannon under the covers and let her curl up next to him. "A fine turn of events," he grumbled in Gaelic. "The first woman who's voluntarily come to my bed in months and she's a hound."
Sometime before dawn, O'Ryan awakened to a warm wetness on his chest. Only half awake, he rose, pulled on a pair of trousers, gathered up the dog and the damp sheet, and made his way downstairs to the back porch. The sheet went into a basket of dirty laundry; the dog went to the lawn, somewhat late, to continue her housebreaking training.
After a quick swim in the bay and a stop at the barn to secure a little milk for Shannon's breakfast, O'Ryan returned to the house. Brushed and presentable, they knocked on Anne's door a few hours later.
"Go away," she answered when she found out who was there.
"I've brought you something," O'Ryan replied. Despite Shannon's brief fall from grace in the semidawn, he was pleased with the pup's appearance. The scarlet ribbon made a fine touch, and he wanted Anne to see the little dog before she chewed the ends to shreds.
"I'm getting up," Anne said. "I'll see you at breakfast. You can give it to me then."
"All right, have it your way, Annie," he said. Kneeling, he opened the door and pushed Shannon inside.
"Don't you dare—" Anne broke off and gave a brief exclamation that might have been e
ither delight or exasperation. "A puppy!" she cried.
Seconds later she flung open the door. Shannon was clasped tightly against her breast, and her eyes brimmed with tears. O'Ryan thought her a fair sight with the sunlight frosting her auburn hair.
"I did not mean to make you cry," he said, hugging woman and pup in one embrace.
She laughed, and he bent his head to kiss her lightly on the lips before releasing her and stepping away. Her eyes widened and she touched her mouth with a fingertip. "Oh," she murmured. Her breath came in quick, excited gasps. "It—it's all right."
He used his handkerchief to brush away a tear from the corner of her eye. "The dog's name is Shannon," he said. "I thought you might—"
"Thank you." Anne rubbed her face against the curly fur, heedless of the pup's darting red tongue and squirming body. "I love her." She smiled at him.
"It was worth soaking my good boots to see that smile on your face."
"Just don't stand there. Come in," she said shyly. She motioned to the small table where a tea tray stood. "Now that you've seen me at my worst, you may as well join me."
"I don't suppose you have coffee in that pot," he said.
"Tea, a blend of orange pekoe."
"I've drank worse." Smiling at her, he entered and closed the door behind him.
* * *
Shannon couldn't take away the sadness of Anne's miscarriage, but the puppy did make her laugh. Feeding her and trying to remember to take her out kept Anne from hiding in her room. And cuddling the soft, warm body eased the ache in her heart.
O'Ryan's kindness in saving the puppy and then in bringing it home for her said more about his character than any words. His kiss... That had surprised her. She wouldn't think about that just now, perhaps later.
He needn't think that she would let him kiss her whenever he pleased. If he tried... Well, if he did, she'd make it plain that his attentions weren't welcome.
But he didn't try to kiss her again, and gradually she let herself begin to relax in his company. In the weeks that followed, they often walked together or sailed the skiff along the shores of the bay. During these bright days and soft spring nights, thanks partly to O'Ryan's devilish charm, her body and spirit healed.