Her heart seemed to swell. She knew he was making a deliberate effort to charm her, and it was a mistake to let him get away with it. "And do you have any wonderful ideas for making money, sir?" she replied, pulling back her hand. "Or just in spending it?" It was hard to sit here and talk to him as if they were no more than business partners when she kept thinking of what they had done together in darkness... of how it had made her feel.
"As a matter of fact, I'm intending to enter a horse race at Talbot Courthouse on Saturday."
"With Jersey?"
O'Ryan nodded.
"Do you think your luck at cards will extend to a horse race?" she asked.
He smiled impishly. "It always has before."
She looked pensive. "It could work. Jersey nearly won last year. Papa rode him. But the prize is a silver cup. It can't be worth more than twenty dollars. That won't—"
"It's not the prize money I'm after, Annie."
"It's not? What then? Not more of your gambling?"
"Me? Gamble?" His Chesapeake-blue eyes danced with humor. "I'd never think of it."
Chapter 13
O'Ryan found young Daniel playing with another slave boy near the barn and asked the two of them to begin clearing the leaves and rubbish around the cottage. Then O'Ryan mounted a horse and rode to the tobacco fields. Abraham wasn't in the first one, but men and women were moving up and down the rows pulling weeds and picking worms from the growing plants under the bright Tidewater sun.
The Maryland heat was vastly different from Irish weather. It seemed that the summers here were hotter and the winters colder, but O'Ryan didn't mind. His grandmother had always told him that hell wasn't fire and simmering cauldrons, it was ice and blast-force winds that sucked the life from a man's bones.
His stint in prison had confirmed her wisdom. O'Ryan doubted that he'd ever be warm enough to forget the constant drip of water inside a bitterly damp and airless cell. Without a single blanket, amid Stygian darkness and the constant rustle of hungry rats, he'd prayed for a glimpse of moonlight.
No, the temperature here on the Eastern Shore would have to soar before he'd find cause to complain of heat. And as for humidity... O'Ryan scoffed. Until a man slept in fetid bilge-water in the hold of a plague ship, he could well hold his tongue.
O'Ryan found Abraham on the small acreage near the river. O'Ryan didn't interfere with the work crews. He simply reined in the gelding and watched long enough to see that there appeared to be no problems.
Two teenage girls paused in pulling up a crab trap and waved at O'Ryan from a rowboat anchored in the river. O'Ryan recognized Grace. He'd seen the other lass working in the dairy, but he didn't know her name.
"Having any luck?" he called out.
They grinned and lifted a basket half full of blueclaws.
Riding on, he followed a back lane that led through the old-growth forest. Three older men were trimming the limbs from a newly felled oak. A team of oxen stood patiently nearby, waiting to drag the massive log to a sawmill near the river. The air was heady with the scents of woodchips, old leaves, and the ever-present tang of bay air.
O'Ryan had accompanied James on this same route, but it seemed different now that Anne's father was dead. At this moment, the plantation was O'Ryan's responsibility. A farm this big was much like a town. The inhabitants needed food and fuel. Most of what was used on Gentleman's Folly was grown or constructed here. There was a dairy, a weaving house, a potter, a smithy, and a brick kiln.
If the land were sold, the lives of every man, woman, and child who made their home here would be changed, perhaps for the worse. For Anne, the blow would be devastating.
No matter how O'Ryan told himself that this wasn't his problem, that his authority here was temporary, he could not shed the heavy mantle of responsibility. He found himself thinking what if. What if there were no slaves but only free men and women working the plantation? What if some of the tobacco lands were put into wheat or pastureland to raise beef animals? Surely the growing port of Baltimore must have a market for salted meat. Ships from all over the world delivered cargo to the Chesapeake Bay. They would need supplies for their crews.
At home in Ireland, he'd seen what too great a dependence on one crop could do. When the yield of potatoes was down, people went hungry. Here, the Eastern Shore's fortunes rose and fell with the price of tobacco. If he could diversify...
The horse stopped short as a doe bounded across the track in front of him. For an instant, she stopped and stared at him wide-eyed. The animal was so close he could see the quiver of her nostrils and the texture of her buff-colored hair. Then, abruptly, her white tail flagged in alarm. She leaped once, twice, and vanished into the thicket as silently as a dream.
O'Ryan swore under his breath, not at the deer but at his fancies. Perhaps if things had been different, he and Anne might have had a chance, but his past was littered with the bones of poor choices. He had Kathleen and the boy to think of, and he didn't want to endanger either of his women.
"Damn me," he muttered aloud. "When did I start thinking of sweet Annie as mine?" Regardless, she didn't deserve more hurt. He'd help her as long as he was here. Hell, he'd even enjoy her bed if she'd let him, but he had to stop thinking of anything more. The last thing she needed was a husband with a price on his head.
His resolve lasted through the afternoon and early evening, until the tall case clock on the hall landing of the manor house struck ten.
O'Ryan had gone to bed as the red-and-gold sunset shimmered over the rippling waves of the Chesapeake. He had lain restless as the doves ceased to call and the last song of the Carolina wren faded into dusk.
Gradually, the plantation slipped into tranquility. The dogs stopped barking, voices hushed, and the last door squeaked shut. The only sounds were frogs, the chirping of crickets, and the buzzing of a single mosquito.
O'Ryan swatted the mosquito.
Now his breathing sounded loud in the room. He flattened the feather pillow with a fist and tried to remember the details of an article he'd read in one of James's agricultural texts. His mental images should have been of heads of wheat. Instead, he found himself thinking how soft Anne's skin was and the way her head fit into the hollow of his shoulder.
"Madness," he muttered. "Two adults, married in the eyes of society and the church, sleeping apart because..." Because of what? Because he was afraid of falling in love with his wife?
She was willing, even eager to bed him. So long as they remembered who they were and why they were together, what harm could come of giving each other a little human comfort?
* * *
Anne strained to hear a footstep in the hall. It seemed to her that her bedchamber was overly warm, that the breeze off the water carried only heat. She had told O'Ryan that they could never repeat what had happened that night. She'd said it and meant the words when she'd said them. But now...
She had too much pride to go to him again. If he didn't want her enough to dispute the point, then she could live with her memories. Lazily, she trailed a hand over her belly and down her bare thigh.
Stephen Preston had taken her virginity, but he hadn't taught her what it meant to be a woman. His lovemaking had been quick and awkward, leaving her confused and restless. Until O'Ryan had taken her in his arms, until he'd filled her with his passion, she had been innocent of desire.
A smile played over her lips. She'd given that innocence to Michael O'Ryan, and had received far more than she'd expected.
Was that a scrape outside her door? She closed her eyes and counted to fifty. Nothing. Fifty more.
A horse whinnied. Odd: it sounded to her as if the animal was below in the garden. Rising, she crossed to the window just as something light struck the glass. Anne jumped back, startled.
Three pebbles clattered across the plank floor. From the box at the foot of the bed, the puppy whined and yawned sleepily.
"Annie!"
"What are you doing?" She looked out the open window.
; Below were two saddled horses. O'Ryan lounged in the saddle of the nearest and commented, "It's a hot night."
"What do you want?"
He grinned.
She realized that the neckline of her nightgown was gaping and clutched it together. "Why are you throwing things at my window?" Shannon chewed on Anne's ankle, and she bent and lifted the little dog in her arms.
"Come down, Mrs. O'Ryan. It's a grand night for a ride."
"You must be out of your mind." Shannon squirmed and licked her wrist.
"There's a hunter's moon," O'Ryan called."'Tis a night for ghosts and sprites and all manner of fairy folk to be abroad. I don't blame you for being frightened."
She laughed and hugged the pup.
"Come down and ride with me," he coaxed. "It will be fun. When's the last time you did something just for fun?"
* * *
Nearly half an hour later, they rode down the back lane and took a path through the woods. Dressing alone without the help of a maid hadn't been easy, and then Shannon had cried to go out. Getting away from the house without being discovered had required a great deal of stealth and several trips up and down the staircase with the puppy. But now, in the shadows of the forest with her favorite mare beneath her, Anne was glad she'd come.
"I don't know if we have any fairies on Gentleman's Folly," she said to O'Ryan, "but there is at least one ghost. It's a white doe that some say is the spirit of an Indian princess."
"I saw a doe today, but it was rusty-red, not white," he answered.
"Sorry, not our ghost."
"So you say, but spirits and wee folk are tricky. It could well have been your native princess in her summer gown."
Anne chuckled. Funny how the sound of O'Ryan's speech had become familiar. Here, with only the breeze rustling the leaves and the rhythmic thud of the horses' hooves, the rich timbre of his voice sent chills running up and down her back.
O'Ryan was a man unlike any she'd ever known. He was a total mystery. She knew practically nothing about him, yet in some ways she felt that he was a vital part of her life.
She had hoped that he would come to her bed tonight, but she'd never suspected he'd want her to come riding with him when all sensible people were sleeping.
"Are you still planning on going for your friends in Baltimore in a few days?" she asked.
"Yes, I am. You can't imagine the poverty I've seen among the immigrants. At home, Sean was a man of property, respected in the community. Here, he's perceived as another shiftless paddy among hundreds. He deserves better."
"Why did he leave Ireland?"
"Opportunity for his children. He wants them to have an education, to live in a place where they don't have to tug their forelocks and step out of the path when an Englishman rides by."
"Is it so bad for you there? In Ireland?"
"Worse than you could imagine. Not for me—I grew up sheltered by wealth and privilege. But terrible for those who have only what they can earn with their two hands, and for the women and children unable to care for themselves."
"I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't know."
"Nor I, Annie. Not until I was wounded and hunted by English soldiers one rainy night. A farmer found me and risked his life and that of his family by giving me shelter through the storm. Supper for my host, his good wife, and their seven children was a single bowl of boiled potatoes without salt or butter."
They rode in silence for a while, leaving the woods and riding through a meadow. O'Ryan offered to open the gate, but she touched her mare's rump with her quirt and the little bay leaped ahead.
Anne seated herself firmly in the sidesaddle, leaned forward, and guided her mount easily over the three-rail fence. O'Ryan was just behind her. His horse galloped past, heading toward the far side of the field and the river.
She urged her mare faster, reaching the sandy bank just a length behind O'Ryan. "No fair!" she cried. "Cheater! You never told me that it was a race."
"Never give your opponent the edge," he answered as he swung down out of the saddle and placed his hands on her waist.
She stared full into his luminous eyes, and her heart began to race.
Her throat and cheeks felt hot. Her riding coat was summer weight, of the lightest wool, but suddenly it seemed to smother her. "Am I your enemy?" she asked breathlessly.
"Nay, Annie, never." He lifted her out of the saddle and set her lightly on the ground. But his hands remained around her middle, and he bent to find her mouth with his. Their lips brushed, and she felt a jolt of lightning pass between them.
She sighed, and he slid callused fingers up to cup her breast.
"O'Ryan..."
"Yes... say yes."
She put her arms around his neck and kissed him again. Slowly, tantalizingly, tenderly they blended lips and tongues. She felt his fingers fumble the top button of her coat and then the next.
She didn't care. She wanted to get closer to him. She wanted to feel his bare skin against hers. She tugged off one kid glove and dropped it.
"Oh, sweeting."
Another button parted from its loop.
His lips were on her throat. He nipped her gently through the thin fabric of her lace collar with his teeth. His hand tangled in her veil, dislodging her hat so that it tumbled onto the sand.
Buttons flew as she tore away her second glove.
"Help me with this damned coat," he murmured between kisses.
Her coat followed the hat. Anne shivered as the cool night air embraced her. One by one, he removed her garments until she stood shameless, clad in nothing but her linen shift and the moonlight.
"Am I to be the only brazen one?" she whispered.
He laughed. "Not if I can help it." He wore no coat or waistcoat, only a white shirt and buckskin breeches. Off came his high leather boots and stockings. Between more kisses, she untied the stock at his throat and helped him pull his shirt off over his head.
O'Ryan, she found, was not a man who troubled himself with drawers. And once he shed his tight pants, his intentions toward her were quite clear.
"Satisfied?" he demanded, then kissed her until she struggled for breath.
"Not yet." She closed her eyes and sighed as he drew off her shift.
Two fingers touched her naked breast, gently exploring, trailing down over her belly to tease the triangle of curls below. Arousal flared through her, heightening her senses as he leaned and nuzzled her breasts, drawing her nipples one after the other into his hot mouth and suckling until she cried out with anticipation.
But even as desire coursed through her, her own hands skimmed over his broad chest and caressed the nape of his neck as she whispered his name. "What are you doing to me?" she asked.
"Loving you."
A sweet aching curled between her thighs, and her breath came faster. From across the river, she could hear the hoot of an owl, and closer, the creak of a rowboat rocking against a mooring post. Clouds passed over the face of the moon, turning the silver light to palest gray.
Anne had never felt so alive, so conscious of the blood pulsing through her veins or the sound of her own heartbeat.
Tendrils of his hair brushed her skin as he traced the curve of her belly with moth-wing kisses. She could feel his hard fingers massaging the small of her back and stroking her buttocks.
"I want you, Annie. I need you."
He raised his head and his mouth plundered hers. The fire within whipped higher, threatening to consume her. She found the hard length of him and stroked it until he groaned and arched against her, corded muscles straining to possess her.
Then they were on the ground and mating in a wild frenzy of raw heat and sweat-sheened limbs. Their passion seemed to go on forever. Anne lost track of earth and sky. And when she was swept over the edge and tumbled weightlessly into a velvet expanse of exploding stars, the only reality she knew was that O'Ryan was there to catch her as she drifted back to earth.
They lay together for long minutes, while he whispered sweet endearm
ents. Then he kissed her bruised lower lip and nibbled at her ear. She laughed, and he laughed with her.
"Come, swim with me," he said, getting to his feet and pulling her up with him.
"Now?"
"Why not now?" He chuckled. "If the parson happens by, he will think the worst of you anyway."
She tried to protest, but not in earnest. And her heart skipped a beat as he swept her up in his powerful arms.
"Last chance, woman," he teased. "Will you go willingly or nay?"
"Yes."
"Good, because, yea or nay, I'm not going in alone."
She giggled and held on to him as he waded into the river. The water felt heavenly as it washed over her fevered body. She locked her hands behind his neck, prepared for him to drop her. Instead, he stopped, chest-deep, and kissed her again.
"I'll not let you go so easily," he said.
For the barest moment, she wondered if he meant to tell her that he would never leave her, that he would stay on Gentleman's Folly forever and be a true husband to her. And she wondered, in that brief space, what she would answer if he ever said such a thing.
She loved his touch. She could not get enough of his body. But physical need was not enough to make a marriage. She needed trust, and Michael O'Ryan, for all his charm and passion, had not earned that. Not yet.
Then, as quickly as it had come, her mood passed. O'Ryan released her and dived under. When he came up, he laughed again and splashed her. She dunked him, and they played like children until the touch of his lean hands kindled the spark of lust within her again. Quickly, their kisses turned from teasing to something more.
There in the river, rocked by the gentle blue-green tide, with a ceiling of scattered diamonds and soft sand under their feet, he made slow, sensual love to her. And once again, her ardor rose to equal his. And in the quiet lull of peace that followed, Anne was utterly content.
In the dark hour before dawn, O'Ryan helped her to dress. The pins that had bound up her hair were hopelessly lost, so she plaited her tangled tresses into one thick braid and tucked it under her riding hat.
They rode home and slipped into the house as the first rooster stretched his wings and uttered a feeble crow. And Anne held tight to O'Ryan's hand when he walked her to her bedroom door.
The Irish Rogue Page 15
