Dark Torment (45 page)

“Look, Miss Sarah!” Mary was pointing out the window
in the direction of the drive. Sarah followed the direction of her pointing
finger, and froze. A man was cantering a big bay up the curving drive. . . .

“Dominic!” The word was scarcely a breath. She felt as
though her heart had stopped as she stared and stared, sure her eyes must be
playing her false. But the horse and rider kept coming, and there was no doubt.

“Dominic!” This time it was a full-throated cry.
Leaving the other three staring out the window, Sarah picked up her skirts and
went flying out of the house. She ran across the porch and down the drive, her
eyes shining as Dominic, seeing her coming, reined in the horse and dismounted.

“Dominic!”

He was holding out his arms to her, and she ran into them,
scarcely noticing that her big belly kept him from holding her as close as she
would have wished. “Oh, Dominic, what are you doing here? I thought you
would be halfway to England by now.”

He put her a little away from him, his eyes sweeping her up and
down, widening a little as they rested on the visible evidence of their growing
child.

“I would have been—except I jumped ship when we
stopped to take on fresh water at the Mascarene Islands. There was another ship
in the harbor, bound for Sydney. It brought me back. I decided to wait until we
could go together.”

Sarah smiled at him, scarcely able to believe that he was real. He
smiled back at her, the twist of his lips faintly crooked.

“Oh, Dominic. Welcome home.”

He laughed a little, unsteadily. Sarah stared up into that
handsome face and felt her heart turn over inside her. His hands on her arms
felt so good, so right.

“Home,” he said, musing, his voice a low rasp as his
eyes ran over her again. “That’s what I learned when I left. Home
for me is anywhere you are, my Sarah.”

Then he pulled her into his arms again, and, belly and all, held
her tight.

It was exactly one year later, except that in Ireland it was
summer, not winter. Lush green grass grew thickly over the rolling hills.
Sunlight sparkled and ducks played in the blue waters of the lough. The mist
that had hovered over the countryside that morning had largely dissipated now,
leaving behind only a few drifting veils to mark its passing. In the distance
stood a very big castle with battlements and turrets, made of stone as black as
the devil’s heart. The sun glistened on the black stone, making it shine
like thousands of diamonds.

Down by the lough, Sarah was laughing as she clung to the trouser
seat of her year-old son. The boy, having lately mastered the art of walking,
was delighted with it. He was bound and determined to toddle straight into the
water. Sarah had been showing him how to feed the ducks, and his chubby fists
were full of bread crumbs. Though a flock of the white birds quacked and pecked
at his feet and Sarah’s skirts, he had his eye on the large swan that
floated in the water, just out of reach.

“Edward, no!” Sarah repeated for what must have been
the dozenth time.

Her son, determination in every line of his solid little body,
quite properly ignored that, his legs churning as he fought to get to the swan
despite his mother’s grip on his pants.

“I can see he takes after his mother. A fighter to the
end.” This light-hearted remark made Sarah turn her head and smile at the
tall, black-haired man who himself was smiling as he watched them.

“I thought you were going to be busy with your estate agent
all afternoon.”

“I was—but I happened to glance out the window and saw
you and Ned down here by the water. So I decided to join you. You’re
looking very lovely today, Countess.”

“Thank you, my lord.” Sarah smiled with mock
coquettishness up into her husband’s handsome face. It seemed so strange
to call him that, and to be called countess herself. She wasn’t sure she
would ever get used to it. A brief shadow must have crossed her face, because
he searched it with his eyes.

“Sorry you left Australia?” he asked softly.

Sarah looked at him, at the black castle looming behind him, and
shook her head.

“How could I be sorry? I love Fonderleigh, and Ned, and you.
. . .”

“Not in that order, I hope.” He was grinning at her.
Sarah wrinkled her nose at him impishly. Then he sobered, “I’m
serious, Sarah. Do you ever miss Lowella?”

She thought about that. Her life had changed so much in the last
year. She was no longer uncertain of herself, or of him, and it showed. Her
clothes were stylish yet simple, like the bronze-green walking dress she had on
at the moment. As did all her new clothes, it played up her quiet beauty,
bringing it to the forefront so that one noticed it now instead of overlooking
it. Her tawny hair was worn in a soft upsweep that made an effective frame for
her golden eyes. Her mirror told her that she looked a totally different woman
from the one he had fallen in love with in Australia. She no longer had trouble
believing him when he called her beautiful, and he called her that a dozen
times a day.

“Sarah?” he prompted softly.

“Oh, sometimes I miss the heat, when the chill gets into my
bones. But that’s all, I think.”

“You’re not homesick?”

She shook her head. “How could I be homesick? You and Ned
are my home.”

He smiled, remembering. Their son chose that moment to lunge again
for freedom. With his mother’s attention distracted, he made good his
escape.

“Edward Dominic!”

Both parents lunged for him before he could fall headlong into the
lough, but it was Dominic who caught him. He hauled his protesting son into his
arms, then swung him to his shoulder, while Sarah shook her head at the child
and tried to look severe. He beamed at her, his chubby face splitting into such
a wide smile that she had to smile back.

“He’s a little rogue,” Sarah said to her
husband.

Dominic grinned. “I told you, he takes after his
mother.”

“His father, more like,” she retorted, eying both her
maddeningly handsome males. And smiled again at the expressions in two sets of
identical Irish blue eyes.