The Irish Rogue

by Judith E. French

  Kessie laid a heavy set of iron keys by Anne's cup. "You've got a good husband to help you. And you'll never truly be mistress here until you take the keys to this house."

  "But—"

  "Sit and finish your tea. Think about this. You're twenty and four, a woman grown. It's time you thought about what I want, not just what's easiest for you." She motioned with strong, lean hands. "Now you sit down and finish your tea. Lord knows when you'll get another quiet minute today."

  "But where are you going? And why?"

  "You know my granddaughter Abigail up in Delaware was widowed last year. She's got two little boys, not much more than babies. She wants me to come and help her with the children. Abigail's a midwife, and she gets called out all hours of the night. If I'm there with her, she can go to her patients without the worry of finding someone to stay with them. I've decided that I'm going to live with her."

  "I love you, Aunt Kessie," Anne protested. "This is your home. Can't you bring Abigail here?"

  The wise brown face grew serious. "No, that wouldn't do. My Abigail's strong for the Methodist church just down the road. She lives near Dover in a settlement of free folk called Moortown." She smiled up at Anne. "You know I've loved you since you were knee-high to a duck, but I love the ones born of my flesh and blood as well. It's right I spend my last years with those that need me most."

  "I'll miss you terribly."

  "It's better that I go. The busier you are, the easier this grieving time will be for you."

  "I don't understand... but if it's what you must do..." Anne paused. "You know you would have had a home here in your old age. Do you have enough money to take care of yourself?"

  Aunt Kessie nodded. "Don't worry about that. Your daddy was good to me. He gave me a Christmas gift every year, even though I hold more with the old African ways than his. I've put that silver and most of my wages away. I'm not going to Abigail empty-handed, and I'm aching to get my arms around those little boys of hers."

  "Nothing I can say will change your mind?"

  "I'm a free woman, darlin'. I came here from the islands on my own two feet and I'm going away the same."

  It was on the tip of Anne's tongue to tell her that she wouldn't have O'Ryan's help, that he was leaving. But she didn't. Instead, she swallowed the lump in her throat. "You deserve to do what will make you happy, Aunt Kessie. When—when are you going?"

  "Today. I didn't tell you before because of Master James passing. Now it's said, the sooner I go, the easier it will be. Ivy Washington will be coming from Greensboro Hall to be housekeeper here. Least she will if you want her. Ivy has a good head on her shoulders. You could do a lot worse than to put her in charge."

  "But Ivy Washington belongs to Nathaniel's mother. I doubt that she'll part with Ivy."

  "Already did. Master James, he signed the papers a few weeks ago. She'll be coming here this afternoon."

  "But why didn't you tell me any of this? Why keep it—"

  "Your daddy said he wanted to see the grin on Abraham's face when Ivy moved into the housekeeper's cabin. Then, after the accident, I didn't want to burden you. You'll like Ivy, and she'll be grateful to come to Gentleman's Folly. It's only right a husband and wife live together, even if they do be slaves."

  "Yes," Anne agreed. "It is only right. But she won't be you, Aunt Kessie. No one can take your place."

  "Doubt if she'd try to. Ivy's got her own ways. She's honest and clean, and she's smart. Just treat her like you've treated me." Aunt Kessie finished the last of her tea, then rose and kissed Anne on her cheek. "You have your mother's good sense, Miss Anne, but you worry too much about what other folks say. You're a woman, and it's harder for us. Don't let any man—not even that good-looking Irishman you married—think for you."

  "I'll try," Anne promised.

  "That's all a body can do. Listening to my own heart got me through a lifetime of trouble, and it will do the same for you."

  * * *

  Aunt Kessie left before noon, driving a good mare and riding in a wagon loaded with gifts from Anne: clothing, household items, and furniture. Tied at the back of the sturdy vehicle were a three-year-old cow and a pair of fine work mules.

  "If there's ever anything you need, you must write," Anne insisted as she pressed a velvet-covered jewelry box into the black woman's hands. "These were my mother's. She would want you to have them. I only wish I had more to give you."

  "Think of me kindly, that's all I ask," Kessie said after they had embraced a final time. "Don't worry so much about tomorrow that you forget to live today."

  * * *

  That night, alone in her bedchamber, Anne sipped a glass of wine as she mulled over Aunt Kessie's words in her mind. Follow your heart, her foster mother had advised. But how?

  Anne was so empty inside, it felt as though she didn't have a heart. How could she know what she wanted?

  With both Aunt Kessie and Papa gone, the whole weight of running the manor house and maintaining the plantation rested on her shoulders. All she had was O'Ryan. He had been her rock since her father died, and soon he'd be leaving her as well.

  She flung herself across the bed, making no protest when Shannon jumped up and snuggled in the crook of her arm. She stroked the dog and laid her cheek against the warm, silky fur, but tonight, not even Shannon could fill the hollow ache inside.

  If only my baby had lived...

  The mantel clock ticked. The house seemed much too quiet. Anne sat up and poured herself a second glass of wine. It seemed to go right to her head; she wondered why, then remembered that she hadn't been hungry at supper.

  What did she want? She put down the empty glass and went to the window. She couldn't see the bay in the darkness, but she could sense the ebb and flow of the tide. What did she want?

  Papa, alive and hearty, looking up at her and laughing... Her lost child growing inside her... O'Ryan's arms around her... his strong body pressed against hers and his hands caressing her.

  Anne's crushing despair lifted as she thought of Michael—her husband, sleeping down the hall... so close and yet so far away. Her pulse quickened as she remembered how his mouth felt on hers.

  "I want him," she whispered aloud. "Just for tonight, I want to be his wife."

  Downing a third glass of wine for courage, she went to his bed. When the knob turned and the door hinges squeaked, O'Ryan lunged up, a pistol in his hand. "Don't shoot," she managed breathlessly. "It's me."

  "Annie." He lowered the gun. "I'm sorry. I was asleep. I didn't—"

  "Expecting pirates?"

  Moonlight streamed through the windows. She could see him clearly.

  "You startled me." He was naked, his hard-muscled body luminous and fluid as he lowered the weapon and eased down the hammer.

  Her heart raced. Her palms felt moist and tingly, her fingers clumsy as she fumbled with the tie of her dressing gown. The ribbons came undone, and the silken folds fell around her bare ankles.

  Anne felt the bay breeze lick her breasts and thighs. She trembled from head to foot, wishing it weren't too late to turn back. But she knew it was.

  "Why are you here?" O'Ryan asked. The sound of his deep, lilting voice made her giddy.

  She wanted to explain, to tell him why she'd had to come, but she couldn't find the words. Instead she took a hesitant step toward him.

  "I can't stay with you, Annie."

  She nodded. How could she feel so terrified and so thrilled at the same instant? This wasn't about tomorrow or the day after that. Her coming had nothing to do with keeping him at Gentleman's Folly.

  "I have to go."

  Was that regret she heard? Was he as torn between reason and hope as she was? "It's all right," she answered.

  The room seemed to sway as he crossed to take her in his arms. She could smell the sweet fragrance of new-mown hay and hear the haunting call of a loon through the open window. Then O'Ryan's powerful hands were on her, touching, stroking, and molding his flesh to hers.

  Heat flashe
d under her skin.

  She moaned softly and tilted her chin to meet his kiss. His mouth slanted against hers, hot and demanding. His fingers tangled in her unbound hair, and his long, sinewy legs pressed against hers.

  The taste of him was intoxicating—maddening. He filled her with his tongue, and she drank him in savagely, needing more, wanting more.

  He tore free from their embrace and stared into her face. "Are you certain? I won't lie to you, Annie. I want you. But this doesn't change our bargain. I can't stay—"

  "Damn it, O'Ryan! I don't care! Just this once—just tonight—I want you to..." Words failed her. She touched his cheek and traced the line of his jaw and the cords of his throat with her fingertips. She closed her eyes and let her last doubts fall away as she moved her hand lower to caress his chest and brush the contours of a hardening male nipple.

  "Devil take me." He groaned. "We'll both regret this later."

  "I won't." Tremors of excitement darted over the surface of her fevered skin. She felt her own nipples tighten as he reached an exploring hand to cup her right breast.

  He squeezed her gently, lowering his head to take her quivering flesh into his mouth. Her eyes widened with shock as his fiery tongue laved the eager bud and sucked until she cried out with sudden pleasure.

  O'Ryan's hands were all over her, kneading, crushing her against him. His groin thrust against her and she felt the heat of his swollen organ.

  Then, without her realizing just how it had happened, he was pressing her down against the braided rug, straddling her with long, lean legs. His fierce kisses drove all reason from her mind, and her own desire flared. She arched her back and wrapped herself around him, reveling in the ripples of his muscles, the curve of his lean buttocks, the weight of his male body claiming hers.

  The scent of his skin and hair, the feel of their sweat-sheened limbs intertwined wrenched hungry whimpers from deep in her throat. A warm flood of moisture pooled between her thighs, and she strained beneath him.

  She found his hand and wantonly pushed it between her legs. He groaned again and nipped her throat with quick, sharp love bites. Shudders of need ripped though her as he delved deep inside her wet folds.

  "Please," she begged him, "I want..."

  She gasped as he slid down her thrashing body and parted her legs then buried his face in her heat. The room spun as her body spasmed with pleasure. Wave after wave rocked her to the core. She clung to him, calling his name, losing all sense of time and space.

  And when she thought that she could never move again, she sighed and looked into his eyes.

  "Now, Annie," he murmured hoarsely. "Now I'll love you."

  He plunged into her, pounding deep and hard, filling her with his passion. For an instant, she was stunned, unprepared for his size and power. But then her body responded. To her astonishment, her exhaustion fled before a renewed passion.

  Laughing, she spread her legs wider, taking the length of him. She met frenzied stroke for stroke with joyous abandon as each thrust brought them closer and closer to a shared rapture.

  They climaxed, one after another, in two heartbeats, and Anne felt the surge of his release as she stopped thinking and surrendered to the glory of their joining.

  Chapter 11

  O'Ryan lay with Anne wrapped in his arms for a long time before he kissed her hair and spoke. "Annie, Annie, we've opened a box of trouble now, haven't we?"

  She murmured, "Um-hmm."

  "You're completely unrepentant."

  She snuggled closer, utterly content, and sighed.

  He swallowed and wrapped a lock of her auburn hair around his finger. He couldn't see the color in the dark bedroom, but he could feel it in the same way that he could feel the sensual intensity of her gaze. "You were the one who said we should keep this all business," he reminded her.

  "Yes, I did."

  Her slow, soft Tidewater accent flowed over him like warm honey. The silken texture of her skin, the feel of her breasts and thigh pressing against his body, made it hard for him to think. Already he felt a growing need to have her again.

  "You've bewitched me, you shameless wench." He tried to keep his words light to hide the depths of his emotion, but her only response was to utter a sound of contentment and lift his hand to her lips. One by one, she kissed his knuckles and teased them with the tip of her tongue.

  He groaned and kissed her. He'd enjoyed bed-sport with many women in his lifetime, some beautiful, some not. But he'd never known one whose mouth fitted his so perfectly, who made love with such unabashed passion or who awakened such yearning in his own heart.

  Ah, sweeting, he thought. Another few days and I’d have been clean away without a broken heart.

  "I've put you in danger," he said, trying to salvage reason from an experience he couldn't explain. "I should have protected you. There could be—"

  "A child?" She slipped her arms around his neck and brought her mouth up to his. "Don't worry," she whispered when they broke apart. "We are husband and wife. If you leave me with a babe, it won't matter."

  "It would matter to me." That was one thing he didn't want to do. If he ever fathered a child, he wanted to be part of the babe's life. It would be easy to deceive himself that this marriage could work, that he could have the love of one woman forever... that they could build a life together.

  But he knew better. He had seen firsthand the pain that loving a wife could bring. Hell, even Sean's Nora had cursed her husband for bringing her to America. If Sean couldn't hold his marriage together, who could?

  Anne pulled him back into the present by massaging his neck and shoulders with slow, steady circular motions. Her fingers were surprisingly strong and very warm. He could feel his cock growing hard as she tilted her head back and he nuzzled the damp hollow of her throat and inhaled her natural fragrance.

  "I didn't mean for this to happen." He brushed the curve of her breast and her nipple puckered into a hard peak under his caress. "Annie, Annie." Every instinct for self-preservation told him to get up off this floor and go—to flee the Eastern Shore and not stop running until he reached the Pacific Ocean.

  The charge of murder against him in Philadelphia, the peril of being sent back to Ireland to hang, were not nearly as threatening as the touch of this one small woman. But he could have sprouted wings and flown out the window easier than refuse what she was offering.

  Anne shifted her weight so that she lay on top of him. "I don't care about tomorrow," she whispered. "Only tonight."

  "But I—"

  She put her fingers over his lips. "Don't speak about tomorrow," she said. "Don't think about it."

  He traced the line of her back and the hollow of her waist, cupping her round, firm bottom before slipping his fingers lower. She was still slick and wet, and the knowledge inflamed him.

  He found her nipple with his mouth and drew in the sweet bud of flesh, sucking until she groaned with pleasure, writhing against him. The taste of her was intoxicating, and before he could stop himself, he seized her hips and lifted her onto his swollen member.

  This time he held back, savoring each movement, making each deep thrust slow and exquisite torture. He used every ounce of self-control, forcing himself to wait until his body screamed for release and her urgent pleas echoed through the room.

  Moonlight glistened over her sweat-sheened body and her glorious hair brushed his face and chest. "Is this what you want?" he demanded.

  "Yes... yes..."

  He slammed into her, plunging faster and faster, until he thought he would die if he couldn't bury himself inside her.

  "Ohhhh."

  He knew when she'd reached the peak and slipped over. He gave one final stroke and he was with her, falling into an abyss of mutual exultation that left him totally exhausted, unable to lift his head or move from the spot where they lay, half on and half off the rug. His last thought before sleep claimed him was that he still wanted her and that he would never let her go.

  * * *

&nbs
p; "Michael."

  He opened his eyes and felt Anne's warm breath on his face. Damn, but she even smelled sweet after a hot bout of bump and tickle. "You'll be the ruination of me, woman." He groaned. "My manhood is worn to a nub."

  She sighed.

  "What time is it?"

  "Late."

  "Too early for breakfast, I suppose." He rather liked the feel of her stretched out on him, even if he was too satiated for anything more than words. "Has anyone ever told you how beautiful you are? As fair as sunrise over the banks of the Shannon."

  "It's dark. You can't see what I look like."

  "Aye, that's true, but I have the Celtic gift of sight?"

  "And you called me a witch."

  "There's nothing of the devil in the gift" He cupped her cheek in his hand. "You've a talent for loving, Mrs. O'Ryan."

  "Let me loose." She tried to wiggle free.

  "That's what got you in trouble the second time."

  "I need to..." She sighed, impatiently this time. "I need to go out, to the necessary."

  "Ah, that." He sat up, turning her so that she fitted nicely into his lap. He kept his arms around her so that she could not escape. Hadn't she said that they shouldn't think about tomorrow? Tonight was what mattered, and he wasn't ready to have it all end yet.

  "Michael. Be reasonable. A woman has certain—"

  "Needs." He chuckled. "So I noticed."

  "You didn't fight very hard."

  "A sensible man knows when he's outflanked." He wondered if she could hear the thump of his heart or know just how deeply she'd gotten inside his defenses.

  She laughed. "I really do have to—"

  "All right. I'll give you that. But if you're going to the garden, I'll come along."

  She turned her face away, and he had the feeling that she'd suddenly turned shy. "I'd prefer privacy for—"

  "To protect you. Who knows? There might be pirates in the maze." He released her and got up. Pale moonlight was still filtering through the open window, filling the air with the scents of honeysuckle and wild roses. He knew he'd never smell either again without thinking of Anne and this moment.