"You don't think me a harlot?"
He found her dressing gown on the floor and wrapped it gently around her shoulders. "Nay, sweeting. I think you a rare woman, one who isn't afraid to say what she wants."
"My father hasn't been dead a month," she murmured. "What kind of woman could think of—of this when she should be mourning?"
"A heart can only take so much. You've had your share of troubles and more. Not even the angels could find fault with easing your sorrow in a husband's arms."
"Not really a husband."
"In the eyes of the law and in your church, we are married."
"But not your church. You're a Catholic, aren't you?"
"My father was, but my mother was Protestant. What I am is between me and my maker."
"Please, do this one thing for me." Her words were a bare whisper. "Tomorrow, we go on as we were before. And we never speak of what happened tonight."
"I can't stay with you even if I wanted to," he said. Better to leave it as it was, a good memory for both of them, before the sweetness turned cloying and she found out what kind of a man she'd let into her bed.
"What makes you think I want you to?" Her heart thudded. She wasn't sorry she'd come to him. She'd never be sorry. What had happened between them was—was more than she'd ever expected, more than she'd guessed could ever be between a man and woman. But she'd not beg him to stay with her. She'd done that with Stephen and he'd scoffed at her and denied the child they'd made together.
One rejection from a man she thought she loved was enough to last a lifetime. She hadn't guessed what a scoundrel Stephen was, but O'Ryan had been honest with her from the beginning. What she needed was an ordinary man like Nate Greensboro, someone of her own kind and definitely not another fortune hunter with the marks of a criminal on his back.
Her heart had gotten her into the worst trouble of her life. Now, without Papa to guide her, she needed to govern her life by reason. And there was nothing reasonable about Michael O'Ryan.
She pulled her gown tight around her. She was shivering, despite the July heat. "We have a bargain," she said softly. "I'll keep my promise if you'll keep yours."
"Aye, our bargain." He gave an enigmatic chuckle. "I suppose no harm can come of tonight so long as we both understand the rules of the game."
She left the room and walked down the hall to her own chamber, opening and closing the door hard enough for the sound to carry. Then, without going in, she crept away on bare feet. She went silently down the stairs and out through the front entrance.
Not allowing herself to run, she strode purposefully through the garden, past the graveyard, and down a hidden path to the water's edge. There she dropped her garment and waded out into the bay, letting the cool water caress her naked body.
Anne was an excellent swimmer. She'd learned to swim almost before she could walk, and the bay had never failed to comfort her. This time she wanted to commit to memory each kiss, each touch, each sensation that she and O'Ryan had shared. She wanted to fix these hours in her mind so that she would never forget the one night she had thrown aside all thought of who she was and what she should do. And she suspected that even when she was old and gray and toothless, thinking of this night with Michael would still bring a smile to her lips.
* * *
He found her early the next morning in her father's library. The puppy lay curled at her feet in a wicker basket, and Anne was poring over the plantation journals. "Good morning, Annie," he said.
She glanced up, felt her cheeks go hot, then picked up the little dog and cuddled her against her breast.
"So that's the way it's to be, is it?" he asked. "Last night's heat and this morning's chill?"
She pretended to ignore his question and made a show of inspecting the journal on the desk. "I told you, I don't want to talk about that." She sighed. "I'm afraid I can make little of Papa's accounting." Her voice trembled only slightly. "There's a little cash in the strongbox, but I'm afraid we must go to Annapolis and see his lawyer."
"Did your father leave a will?"
She nodded, obviously eager to be on more impersonal ground. "Yes. He did. There's a copy here. You needn't worry. Everything is as I said. I have the deed to Gentleman's Folly and his will leaving everything to me. Mr. Sawyer, that's our lawyer, has copies of everything."
"But you don't know where any of your money actually is?"
Anne rose to her feet. Shannon squirmed in her arms, and she put him on the floor. "My father's only just buried. Decency would require that you wait until—"
"He should have shared the information with you. How did he expect you to manage Gentleman's Folly if he kept his finances a secret?"
"Papa was a wealthy man," she protested. "Would you have expected him to keep his money here? How safe would that have been?"
"Don't get excited. I didn't mean to upset you. We'll go to Annapolis and see this Mr. Sawyer. A will must be probated, but—"
"I should be able to take control of the money my grandmother left me," she replied. "I'm sure you want what was promised you."
"That isn't what I said." He reached for her, but she moved back. "I'm only thinking of you and what's best for—"
"Were you? Or were you wondering when I would fulfill my part of the bargain? Before Papa died, we'd decided that it was time to settle things between us." She tried not to let the hurt show in her words. Last night she'd lain in his arms, given herself to him, body and soul. And today... Today, the reality of her marriage of convenience had reared up to face her squarely.
"Hist, honey, you mustn't think that I don't care about you. I do, but things are more complicated than—"
"You're anxious to be rid of me."
"Anne, don't say that."
"It's true. We never intended this to be a permanent arrangement. And I know you have expenses... your gambling."
"I don't lose at cards," he reminded her.
"You expect me to believe that you always win?"
"I usually do." He frowned. "I don't want to argue with you. That's the last thing I want. We both agreed that our marriage was best ended quickly and cleanly. I want none of what your father left you."
"Grandmother's money is there. Why shouldn't you have it at once?" she answered sharply. "Ask Abraham to prepare the sloop for sailing. We'll leave within the hour."
"Anne... I want us to part as friends. Can we do that?"
"We can try."
* * *
An early afternoon storm rolled and cracked over Joshua Sawyer's office. Rain sheeted against the windows and drummed on the shingled roof. Lightning flashed, striking the earth nearby, sending a sudden white light through the dim room that smelled of musty papers and old leather.
Anne blinked, shielding her eyes with a hand, certain that the crash of thunder had prevented her from hearing Mr. Sawyer correctly. "I'm sorry," she apologized. "What did you say?"
The lawyer removed his glasses, wiped away an imaginary smudge on the lens, and repositioned the spectacles on his wide nose. Sawyer was a large man of ample girth, but his voice was surprisingly soft, almost lisping. "As I said before, this is not a discussion for a lady. If you would just wait in the outer office, I can explain the situation to your husband."
O'Ryan shook his head. "My wife is heiress to Gentleman's Folly and all her father's estate. Explain your situation to her."
Sawyer cleared his throat. "Your father and I were friends for many years, Mrs. O'Ryan. I would have spared you this, but—"
"But what?" she insisted.
"It is my unpleasant task to inform you, Mrs. O'Ryan, that your father's untimely death leaves you in a difficult position." He pursed his lips and went on as Anne's world dropped away. "As you may be aware, Mr. O'Ryan, tobacco planters all over Maryland are in dire straits. Many have already lost their land. These acres have been put in tobacco for nearly two hundred years, and the tobacco is a greedy master. It robs the soil, yielding poorer grades and lower crops each season."
> O'Ryan glanced at Anne. He'd heard similar grumbling from Nate and his friends, but since they all seemed prosperous, he hadn't taken their complaining too seriously. "Did you know about any of this?" he asked her.
She nodded. "A little, but nothing so serious. My grandfather always bragged about the quality of leaf he grew before the Revolution, but—"
"Exactly my point," Sawyer said, cutting her short. "Gentleman's Folly is heavily mortgaged to the banking house of Rawlings and Rawlings."
Anne clenched her hands together. "But Papa told me that I never had to worry, that he'd provided for us and—"
The lawyer shook his head. "The expenses of your sister's wedding and dowry were exorbitant. I've heard rumors that certain merchants in town, even those in Oxford, had been refusing him credit."
O'Ryan swore a French oath.
Anne drew in a deep breath. "But I do have monies of my own, an inheritance from my grandmother, the lots in Baltimore. Surely that will—"
"Gone, Mrs. O'Ryan. Everything." His brow furrowed. "Your father was your executor until your marriage. The property in Baltimore city was sold two years ago. I handled the deeds myself."
"What do I have?"
"A husband who will look after you. As I said, this really isn't something a lady should concern herself with. Your father, I'm afraid, was admirable, but a poor businessman. He made shipping investments that... Frankly, Mrs. O'Ryan, I advised him to put his money in the slave trade. That's where fortunes are being made. But he wouldn't listen. He bought a half interest in the Mary Kincaid, a coastal trader, not a slaver. Unfortunately, that ship went down off Bermuda last winter with a total loss of cargo and crew. I can give you other examples, but—"
Anne felt sick. It was suddenly stifling in here. She wanted to be outside, even if it was pouring rain. "You're telling me that Papa left nothing but debts?"
Sawyer stood and leaned forward over his desk, sympathy etched on his poxed face. "The only thing clear of debt are your slaves and personal belongings. Even this year's tobacco crop is pledged for interest on the mortgage." He made eye contact with O'Ryan. "Sir, I would advise you to contact your own bankers and your solicitors. Naturally, I would be happy to represent you in these matters, but if you already have—"
"Thank you for your time, Mr. Sawyer," O'Ryan answered tightly. "I will consult my own advisers. Be assured that I appreciate your efforts on behalf of my wife."
"I know this comes as a shock," Sawyer said. "James never intended to be remiss in his duties to his family. It's the times and the tobacco market. Many of his neighbors are in the same state. But you must act quickly. Obediah Rawlings isn't a man to delay the unpleasant. Expect to hear from him very soon. With Mr. Davis's death, he will want full payment or he will foreclose on the plantation. Be certain of it."
* * *
"There isn't any damned money." O'Ryan pulled Anne into the shelter of an enclosed well house a half block from the lawyer's office. They'd left Sawyer's intending to make a run for the sloop, but torrents of wind and rain had battered them so fiercely that they'd taken shelter here.
O'Ryan was so angry he wanted to curse the whole damned Chesapeake. He wanted to drive his fist through the oaken latticework wall. Twice in his life, he'd put his fate into the hands of a woman. And both times, he'd been skewered, skinned, and spread over a fire to roast.
He gritted his teeth and muttered the foulest dockside oath he could summon. The loss of the money he'd expected was a blow, but that wasn't what twisted like a knife in his gut. He couldn't help wondering if Anne had known the truth when she'd accepted his offer of marriage.
"Don't swear at me!" she shouted above the downpour.
"I'm not swearing at you."
"And I'll not have you curse Papa."
What would he do about Kathleen? She depended on him. And now Anne's fate rested in his hands as well.
"You think I deliberately cheated you, don't you?" Anne said.
"What am I supposed to think?"
Normally, the three-sided well house at the edge of the public sidewalk would have been in full view of passersby. But with the thunderstorm the street was deserted, and the window shutters were closed on the brick houses on either side of the small structure.
He wiped a dripping lock of hair out of his face. "All that land, the house... How the hell could there be only debts?"
Anne pushed at his chest with both hands. "Keep a civil tongue in your head. None of this is my fault."
"Well, it's sure as hell not mine!" He didn't want to fight with her. He needed time to reason this out.
Rain pounded the tin roof and poured in through the latticed walls to soak Anne's skirts. Her shoes were already sodden, the ribbons on her hat dripping blue onto her cream-colored pelisse. His own clothes were as wet as if he'd gone swimming in them, but he didn't care.
The thought came to him that she might have deceived him as she'd deceived her father about their marriage. "Anne, I need to know the truth. When you promised me the money, did you believe it was there?"
She didn't answer.
He'd been so sure that Anne was different from the woman who'd sold his neck to the English soldiers... different from his mother. "Were you laughing inside... that day I proposed to you in your sister's parlor?"
"No, I wasn't." She shoved him again, and he took a step back. "What's wrong with you, Michael? I've lost everything and all you can think of is your blasted agreement."
He swore again. Damn, what was wrong with him? Didn't he know she couldn't do such a thing, that she wasn't capable of such a lie? And regardless of whether she had known or hadn't known, she was in terrible trouble.
"We built a house of cards, and it's come tumbling down around us," he said. He wanted to believe her—God, he wanted to believe her. But nothing could erase the feeling that a beautiful woman had duped him again.
"You know how Papa was," she argued. "He didn't believe it was a woman's place to concern herself with such matters."
"How the hell could he live like a gentleman without money?"
"Stop cursing at me."
"I'm not..." Guilt curled in the pit of his belly. "Damn it to hell!" He couldn't walk away now. He was as responsible for Anne's welfare as he was for Kathleen's. Feeling the way he did about Anne, it would have been hard enough to leave her when he thought she was rich. He couldn't leave her now. "I'm not going anywhere."
"You heard Mr. Sawyer. I don't have any money. I may not even have a roof over my head. Just go back to Ireland, you greedy blackguard. Forget you ever laid eyes on me."
"Not likely!" He was the injured party here, so why did he feel like dog vomit? Why did he want to put his arms around Anne and tell her that he'd take care of her, that he'd make everything all right?
"Maybe Mr. Rawlings will give me an extension on the mortgage. This year's crop looks like a good one. Perhaps—"
O'Ryan folded his arms over his chest. It was the only way he could keep his hands off her. She looked as if she was going to burst into tears. Damn, but he hated it when a woman cried. "Weren't you listening? Sawyer said that this year's crop is already promised. And what are the chances that you can make a success of the plantation when your father couldn't?"
"I can try."
"You're an expert on agriculture, I suppose." His sarcasm was thick enough to block out the rain.
"Stop it. Stop being negative. I'm trying to think of a solution. I won't let them take my land without a fight."
"You can't win this alone." He wouldn't let her try.
"Can't I?" She stiffened. "I'm a Davis."
Her steely resolve turned his tenderness to desire. Memories of the night before rushed through him. He wanted to unbutton the bodice of her dress and bury his face between her breasts. He wanted to slide his fingers up her leg and inner thigh until he felt her moist warmth.
He felt himself growing hard, and he groaned. What would she do if he pressed her back against the well and made love to her here
with the thunder and lightning cracking around them and the steady cadence of the rain? Would she refuse him or would she ride him as wildly as she had on his bedroom floor? Would she scream with pleasure when he entered her?
"Annie." He put a hand on her arm.
"Go away."
"I'm not leaving you."
"Why not? It was always the money that kept you here."
Her scorn cut him like a whip. He wanted to tell her that she was the reason he was staying, but the words wouldn't come. "You'll not be rid of me so easily," he answered. "I'm staying until you keep your half of the bargain."
"It may take months. Are we to go on with our pretense of marriage for so long?"
"Think, Anne. It's impossible for me to go now. Your creditors will surely fall on you and pick you clean. They won't deal with a woman. I may be able to negotiate with them. Everyone seems to assume I have money."
"They should. Wasn't that our scheme? To pass you off as a wealthy gentleman?"
"Has it been so bad? Having me beside you?" Not for him. For him, these last months had been the happiest he'd ever known.
She met his gaze directly. "No, not so bad," she granted. "So long as we both remember that this is a business relationship. That way—"
"Neither of us get hurt," he finished for her. Least of all you.
"And what gratitude am I supposed to show for your generosity?"
"I'm sure I'll think of something."
Chapter 12
"The least I can do is to lend you my man Taylor," Nathaniel Greensboro said. "Without James, neither you nor Anne has the experience to keep the field crews working. If you don't keep after the tobacco worms, you'll lose your crop." He leaned forward in the saddle and rested his hands on the gray horse's withers.
O'Ryan stood beside the gate just outside the front entrance of the manor house. Nate had ridden by to ask if there was anything that he and Susannah could do for Anne.
"I appreciate your concern," O'Ryan said. "But no thanks. We've a good man in Abraham."
"I know him, and you're right. He's savvy about working the land, but you've got a mixed labor crew. The free men won't take orders from him because he's a slave, and the other slaves... Well..." Nathaniel shrugged. "You really need Taylor."
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