Born in Shame

by Nora Roberts

  "I didn't realize you were coming, Maggie." Nor did she know how she felt about it. Turning, she gave Brianna a quick embrace and kissed Kayla on the tip of her nose.

  "Fly safe." Brianna jiggled the baby, watching the car until it was out of sight.

  It was a. short trip to the airport under leaden skies and drizzling rain. Shannon thought back to the day she had landed at the airport that shared her name.

  She'd been all nerves and repressed anger. Most of the anger had faded, she realized. But the nerves were still there, jumping now as she considered what this short trip would change in her life.

  There was little fuss on their arrival. Shannon decided Rogan was a man who tolerated none when it came to business. In short order they were seated on his private plane with Liam bouncing at the window, pointing out every truck or cart that came into view.

  "He's a traveling man, is Liam." Maggie settled back, hoping they'd be airborne soon so that she could have a cup of tea. She'd been suffering a great deal more morning queasiness with this pregnancy than she had with her first. And she didn't care for it.

  "It's wonderful he can have the experience," Shannon commented. "I always appreciated it."

  "You did a lot of traveling with your parents." Rogan slipped a hand over Maggie's, wishing every bit as strongly as she that the morning sickness would run its course.

  "My father's favorite hobby. One of my earliest memories is of arriving at the airport in Rome. The rush and the voices, and the color of it. I guess I was about five." The plane began to taxi, and Liam hooted with delight.

  "He likes this part best." Maggie kept a smile glued to her face as the takeoff roiled her stomach. Damn, damn, damn, she thought. She would not throw up the pitiful dry toast she'd choked down for breakfast.

  "Me, too." Shannon leaned over, pressing her cheek to Liam's so they could share the excitement together. "There it goes, Liam. We're up with the birds." "Birds! Bye. Bye-bye."

  Bye. Shannon sighed a little. Murphy was down there. They hadn't had their full night together as they'd hoped. Between the trip and the rain and a horse with a split hoof, they'd barely had an hour alone.

  And time was running out. She was going to have to think of that very soon. New York wouldn't wait forever. "Bloody hell." As Shannon looked back, surprised, Maggie tore off

  her seat belt and bolted out of the cabin. The lavatory door slammed behind her.

  "Bloody hell," Liam repeated, diction for once nearly perfect.

  "Is she airsick?" Shannon reached for her own belt, wondering what, if anything, she should do.

  "Morning sick." Rogan cast a troubled look toward the closed door. "It's plaguing her this time."

  "Should I go see if I can help, or anything?"

  "It only makes her madder when you try." Feeling helpless, Rogan moved his shoulders. "With Liam she had a couple days of queasiness, and that was the end of it. She's more insulted than anything else that she's not sailing so easily through this one."

  "I suppose every pregnancy is different."

  "So we're discovering. She'll want tea," he said and started to rise.

  "I'll make it. Really." She got up quickly, touched a hand to his shoulder. "Don't worry."

  "She likes it brutally strong."

  "I know."

  Shannon went into the narrow galley. The plane was very much like its owner, she decided. Sleek, efficient, elegant, and organized. She found several different types of tea and, considering Maggie's condition, went for the chamomile.

  She stopped what she was doing to look around when the door to the lavoratory opened.

  "Steadier?"

  "Aye." But Maggie's voice was grim, somewhat like a warrior who'd just survived another bloody battle. "That ought to do it for today."

  "Go sit down," Shannon ordered. "You're still white."

  "A sight better than green." Maggie sniffed, eyed the pot. "You're making flowers."

  "It's good for you. Here." She handed Maggie a box of crackers she'd found in a cabinet. "Go sit down, Margaret Mary, and nibble on these."

  Too weak to argue, Maggie went back to her seat.

  "I'm sorry," Rogan murmured, slipping an arm around her.

  "Don't expect me to say it's not your fault." But she snuggled her head against him and smiled over at Liam, who was busy deciding whether he would draw with or eat the crayon his father had given him. "Do you know what I'm thinking, Rogan?"

  "What are you thinking, Margaret Mary?"

  "That I strolled through the world's easiest pregnancy with that little demon there." She aimed a steely look when Liam lifted the crayon toward his mouth. He grinned and began to attack the coloring book with it instead. "Could be this one's a bit less comfortable because we're going to have a sweet-tempered, biddable child who'll never cause mischief."

  "Hmmm." He eyed his son, and managed to grab the fat crayon before Liam could draw on the wall of the plane. The boy howled in protest and shoved the coloring book to the floor. "Is that what you'd like?"

  Maggie laughed as Liam's temper rolled through the cabin. "Not on your life."

  Brianna had spoken no less than the truth. The Dublin house was lovely. Tucked behind graceful trees and gardens, it had a beautiful view of the green. The furnishings were old, with both the distinction and the elegance wealth could buy. Chandeliers dripped, floors gleamed, and servants moved with quick and silent efficiency.

  Shannon was given a room with a welcoming four-poster bed, a muted Aubusson, and a stunning O'Keefe.

  She'd no more than freshened up in the bath before a maid had tidily unpacked her bag and set her toiletries on the Chippendale bureau.

  She found Maggie waiting for her in the main parlor downstairs. "They'll be bringing a light meal in," Maggie told her. "I tend to be starving this time of day after my morning bout."

  "I'm glad you're feeling better. God." Shannon's eyes widened as they fixed on the sculpture dominating one side of the room. Mesmerized, she walked toward it, her fingers unable to resist one long stroke of the glass.

  It was magnificent, erotic, and nearly human in its sinuous limbs and melting features. She could almost see the man and woman, fused together in absolute fulfillment.

  "Do you like it?" Maggie's voice might have been casual, but she couldn't prevent the quick spurt of pleasure at Shannon's dazzled reaction.

  "It's incredible."

  "Surrender, I called it."

  "Yes, of course. You could make this," she murmured, in wonder, "something like this, in that little place in the country."

  "Why not? A real artist doesn't need fancy digs. Ah, here's the food. Bless you, Noreen."

  Maggie was already involved in a chicken sandwich when Shannon came over to join her. "Where's Liam?"

  "Oh, one of the maids has a crush on him. She's whisked him off to the nursery to make him hot chocolate and spoil him. Better have one of these before I eat them all."

  Taking her at word, Shannon chose one of the little sandwiches. "This is a magnificent house."

  "It's lovely, to be sure, but never empty. Having servants about still makes me twitchy." She shrugged.

  "There's no doubt we'll need help after the new baby comes. I'll have to lock myself in the glass house for any privacy."

  "Most people would be thrilled to be able to have housekeepers and cooks."

  "I'm not most people." Maggie bit off more chicken. "But I'm learning to live with it. Rogan's on the phone," she added. "He's mad for phones. There's business at the Paris branch he should be seeing to in person. But he won't leave while I'm having this problem in the mornings. Doesn't even help to shout at him. When the man's dug in his heels, you can't budge him with a brick."

  She moved on to the pasta curls and gave Shannon a speculative look. "His mind's set on having you."

  "Well, mine's not set. Entirely."

  "First I'm going to tell you that when the man came after me, I had no intention of being managed. By anyone at all. He has a way,
Rogan does, of seeing right into you, finding those weaknesses and prides and secrets you'd just as soon keep to yourself. Then he uses them. With charm, with ruthlessness, with logic, and with such organized planning that he's always one step ahead."

  "I've noticed. He got me here, when I had every intention of telling him thanks, but no thanks."

  "It's not just a business with him. He'd be easier to resist if it was. He has a great love and affection for art, and for the artist. And what he's done in Clare..." The pride for him came into her voice, into her eyes. "He's made something important there, for art, for Ireland. He's done it because he's tied by his heart to both."

  "He's a very special man, personally and professionally. You don't have to know him long to see that."

  "No, you don't. So second..." Maggie dusted her fingers with a napkin. "I'm going to ask what the hell's wrong with you?"

  Shannon's brows shot up. "Excuse me?"

  "Why the devil are you dragging your heels on this? The man's offering you the moon and half the stars. An artist dreams about the chance of having what you've got right in your hands, and you keep bobbling it."

  "Bobbling is not what I'm doing," Shannon corrected coolly. "Considering is."

  "What do you have to consider at this point? You have the paintings, you'll do more."

  "It's the doing more I'm considering."

  Maggie gave a snort and forked up more pasta. "What nonsense. You can sit there and tell me you could stop- just set your brushes aside and leave your canvas blank?"

  "When I get back to New York, I won't be free to indulge myself as I have here."

  "Indulge." Maggie set her fork down with a clatter and leaned forward. "You have some warped idea in your head that your painting is an indulgence."

  "My position at Ry-Tilghmanton-"

  "Oh, fuck that."

  "Is important to me," Shannon finished between her teeth. "And my responsibilities there leave me little time to paint for pleasure-much less to paint for someone who you'll agree is a demanding manager."

  "What of your responsibilities to yourself, and your talent? Do you think you have the right to toss away what you've been given?" The very idea of it was an abomination in Maggie's mind and heart. "I've only seen your paintings of Ireland, but they show you have more than a good eye and a competent hand. You've got a heart that sees and understands. You've no right to toss that away so you can draw bottles of water."

  "You've been doing your homework," Shannon said quietly. "I have a right to do what works for me, what satisfies me. And that's just what I'll do. If Rogan asked you to work on me-"

  "You'll not blame him because I speak my own mind." They rose together, boxers meeting in the center of the mat. "He asked me only to come along so you'd have company when he was occupied."

  "I'm sure he thought that was considerate. Now get this straight, this transaction, however it works out, isn't your concern. It's between me and Rogan."

  "Transaction." On a sound of disgust Maggie dropped back into her chair again. "You even talk more like a businesswoman than an artist."

  Shannon jerked up her chin and looked down her nose. "That fails to insult me. Now if you'll excuse me, I think I'll go out and get some air."

  Chapter Nineteen

  She was not going to let it get to her. Shannon promised herself that Maggie's opinionated, out-of-line attitude was not going to sway her in any way, or put a shadow over her visit to Dublin.

  The evening, at least, was companionable and pleasant. Thanks, in Shannon's opinion, to Rogan's flawless manners and hospitality. Not once through dinner, or the easy evening that followed, did he mention the contract or the plans he had in the making.

  Which, she supposed, was why she was so off guard the following morning when he escorted her into his library directly after they'd shared a quiet breakfast. He shot straight from the hip.

  "You have an eleven o'clock appointment with the photographer," he told her the moment they were seated. "They'll tend to your hair and makeup, so you needn't worry about it. I had in mind something on the elegant side, but not