To Tempt an Irish Rogue (2 page)

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Authors: Kaitlin O'Riley

Tags: #Romance, #General, #Historical, #Fiction

BOOK: To Tempt an Irish Rogue
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Ignoring his brooding countenance, she collected his payment without comment, while offering a smile at his little girl instead. “Are you happy with your book, Mara?”
Mara glanced up at her with wide green eyes. Her winsome little face, seeming even more innocent and precious framed by the wide brim of her bonnet, filled with happiness and expressed what she would not say with words. She loved the book.
She smiled at the sweet girl. “I am so pleased that you like it.” Paulette glanced back up at Declan Reeves, relying on her shopkeeper role to steady her. “Please keep me in mind if you should need anything else.”
Their gazes met and something forceful and charged raced through her as she looked into his green eyes, so deep and impenetrable. She shivered slightly at the intensity.
“I’m sure I shall,” he said with a glance that sent more quivers through her.
Flustered, Paulette blinked and looked away, shuffling a stack of papers on the counter in a businesslike manner, suddenly at a loss for something to say in response. It seemed he responded to every innocent comment she made as if she meant something else entirely. She managed to mumble, “Thank you for coming to Hamilton’s.”
“No, it is I who should thank you, Miss Hamilton.”
She looked up as he turned to the door, ushering his silent daughter out of the shop and into the misty afternoon.
Chapter 2
Rumors
“How were things at the shop today?” Colette Hamilton Sinclair asked. “I meant to stop by this afternoon but then Phillip came down with a bit of a fever.”
Paulette sat having dinner with her two sisters and her brother-in-law in the elegant dining hall of Devon House later that evening.
“It was a good day all in all, taking into account the rain.” Paulette’s thoughts drifted back to the magnetic dark-haired man and his silent daughter who had been in the shop that day. “The strangest gentleman came in to buy books for his daughter. I think he was from Ireland. His little daughter was so sweet but she hasn’t spoken a word since her mother died.”
“How sad,” murmured her younger sister Yvette, who was seated across the table from her. “Was he a handsome man?”
Of course Yvette would want to know what he looked like! That’s all she cared about. Whereas Paulette found the subtler qualities in a person more interesting. She wrinkled her nose at the thought of the Irish gentleman. “He was not what I would describe as handsome, but he was not unattractive either,” she began, recalling the brooding dark looks and unreadable expression. But he had those deep green eyes and full mouth. “Yet . . . I suppose he was handsome.”
“From Ireland, did you say?” Colette, her oldest sister, asked, sounding a bit intrigued, her blue eyes sparkling. “What was his name?”
“Declan Reeves.”
“Declan Reeves?” Lucien Sinclair echoed, pausing with his fork in the air and taking a marked interest in the conversation. Colette’s husband’s dark brows furrowed and he glanced sharply at Paulette. “Are you sure he said the name Declan Reeves?”
“Yes, I’m positive.” Paulette nodded, wondering what could have captured her brother-in-law’s attention. “His daughter’s name was Mara. She had to be about four years old, and so pretty. But dreadfully sad. Why do you ask?”
Lucien set his fork down. “I just read something in the paper about him yesterday. He’s Lord Something-or-other, but it must be the same fellow.”
Now it was Paulette’s turn to question. “What did the paper say about him?”
“Nothing good, as I recall,” Lucien explained. “I won’t slander a man’s name based on gossip, but there are those who are suspicious of him and the manner in which his wife died.”
A cold shiver raced down Paulette’s spine and she suddenly sat up straighter in her chair. The uncomfortable feeling she had in the shop when she met the man now did not seem so far-fetched. There had been something dark and rather sinister about Mr. Reeves. She dared to ask, “How did his wife die?”
“There was mention of a fire, I believe,” Lucien said with a slight shrug of his shoulders. “I don’t know all the details as I was just skimming the article in the
Times
and didn’t pay much attention to it, but the name stuck in my head for some reason.”
Paulette’s heart ached at the thought of the little blond girl who would not speak and a wave of sadness washed over her. The child had lost her mother in a fire and it must have been quite traumatic for her. Was there a possibility that her father was responsible for her mother’s death?
“Well, let’s talk about something more cheerful, shall we?” Yvette added while wrinkling her nose. “I don’t care for morbid stories.”
“No, I’m sure you’d rather discuss fashion and handsome gentlemen,” Paulette pointed out, oddly relieved to be changing the topic of conversation. Although she wished to know more about the mysterious and brooding Declan Reeves, learning that he might very well have killed his wife left her feeling unnerved. But somehow, after seeing how kindly he treated his little daughter, she did not think him capable of such an act, no matter how forbidding he looked.
“There’s absolutely nothing wrong with talking about pretty clothes. Or handsome gentlemen,” Yvette countered with an enigmatic smile. With her blond hair styled in an attempt to appear older than she was, she added, “And one of these days I’m going to be wed to the richest and handsomest gentleman of all.”
Lucien gave her an amused look. “And just who would that be?”
Yvette paused in deep thought. “I’m sure I don’t know. I have yet to meet anyone who catches my fancy.” Her dainty chin went up defensively. “I’m still looking.”
“And you keep looking until you find him, Yvette.” Lucien gave his youngest sister-in-law an indulgent smile.
“I have every intention of doing so.” Yvette disregarded the skeptical looks of her two sisters. “Mark my words.”
“Well, I’ve no doubt you will when you are old enough,” Colette said. “You are only eighteen, Yvette.” As the eldest sister, Colette had taken over the role of parent to her younger siblings after their father died and their mother had been unable to care for them.
“Yes, I’m eighteen now and old enough,” Yvette responded eagerly, tossing her blond curls with an air of superiority. “And Paulette is twenty-one.”
“I’m
almost
twenty-one,” Paulette amended, as always careful of the little details. She wouldn’t reach her twenty-first birthday until September.
Ignoring her correction, Yvette pointed to Paulette. “
She
should be married by now!”
“Don’t drag me into this,” Paulette protested. “I’m not interested in getting married.”
“Oh, you always say that, Paulette, and I don’t believe you one single bit.” Yvette tossed her head emphatically. “Every girl wants to get married.”
“Well, you’re quite mistaken on that account.” Paulette was in no rush to have some man telling her what to do night and day. She was quite happy with her life the way it was, thank you very much. Paulette loved living with her sister and her husband at Devon House and working at the bookshop. Colette and Lucien were much more permissive than her own parents ever would have been and they allowed her the freedom to manage the shop and to be her own person.
Ever since Colette had married Lucien Sinclair, their lives had changed for the better and Lucien’s generosity had allowed them to keep the bookshop. Even though their widowed mother, Genevieve Hamilton, had decided to leave London and live in Brighton, Lucien Sinclair had invited all Colette’s sisters to live at Devon House. Her older sisters Juliette and Lisette were both married now, leaving only Paulette and Yvette still living with Lucien and Colette.
Last year Simon Sinclair, Lucien’s father, died, making Lucien the Marquis of Stancliff, and Colette the Marchioness of Stancliff. Given their titled positions the two of them always had many social obligations, but Colette still managed to raise her two sons and take care of things at the bookshop with Paulette.
More than content with the way her life was currently arranged, Paulette had no interest in rushing into a marriage with just anyone. She had already made up her mind that she would wed only if she could find someone just like Lucien Sinclair. In her eyes he was a perfect husband to Colette. Yet Paulette harbored a secret doubt she would ever find a man who would let her do exactly as she liked.
“So, no,” she continued with certainty, “I’ve no wish to marry.”
Yvette looked horrified and turned to her eldest sister for support. “Colette, you cannot allow Paulette to spend the rest of her life alone in the bookshop!”
Colette, her blue eyes filled with kindness, gave Yvette a look of understanding, but did not agree with her. “Paulette can do as she wishes. Just as you can.”
Vindicated, Paulette smiled in smug triumph at her younger sister. Honestly! She had more important things to do than worry about finding a husband. She was about to open a new shop, for heaven’s sake! The business of marriage required more time than she was willing to take away from the importance of managing the bookshop. And Colette understood her on this matter better than her other sisters did.
Yvette could just keep her romantic dreams and aspirations for a lofty marriage. Paulette would marry some day, perhaps, if she met someone special enough, but she certainly wasn’t on the hunt for a husband like so many girls her age were. Luckily there was no pressure for her to marry right away. Colette and Lucien were in agreement with her, so Paulette was free to do as she liked, knowing full well that she was fortunate indeed. Most girls were not so blessed.
Yvette let out an anguished little squeal, blinking back tears. “But if Paulette doesn’t marry, then I cannot!”
All eyes turned to her in surprise and, once again, Lucien laughed. “Where on earth did you get that idea?”
Yvette’s expression filled with worry. “I can’t marry before my older sister does, Lucien. It isn’t right! And if Paulette doesn’t ever marry, then what’s to become of me?”
Paulette really tried her best to contain her laughter but failed. The giggles just escaped. Yvette’s worry seemed quite ridiculous to her.
Lucien and Colette both began speaking at the same time. “Yvette, you don’t have to wait for Paulette to marry first!”
“I don’t?” Yvette blinked in surprise. “I thought it was common knowledge that sisters had to get married in order of their age.”
“Maybe that is true in some households, but I can assure you, Yvette, you can marry, or not, whenever you wish to, regardless of what our little Paulette here decides to do,” Lucien explained. An unspoken look of understanding passed between him and his wife.
“Thank you for taking that pressure off me, Lucien,” Paulette said, grateful beyond measure that Colette had married such a reasonable man. Lucien had always understood her motives and actions and Paulette loved that about him. The last thing she needed was Yvette breathing down her neck to hurry up and wed some fool, just so she could plan her own grand wedding. “Besides,” Paulette pointed out with her calm reasoning, “there’s no one that you want to marry at the moment, is there?”
“Well, no . . .” Yvette stammered helplessly. “But it’s the principle of it all.” She released a weary sigh. “However, if Paulette is not worried about being a spinster—”
“Who said anything about me being a spinster?” Paulette cried in indignation. Honestly! Maybe she would marry someday. At some point. If she met someone truly special. Paulette was not averse to marriage. Hadn’t she seen her three older sisters marry quite happily? It was for that very reason that she would not be rushed into anything.
“Well, you don’t want to have a Season and you don’t go to parties or have gentleman callers. You don’t seem interested in the least in finding a husband,” Yvette pointed out. “It just stands to reason that—”
“Please stop!” Colette held up her hands. “I’ve had quite enough of this conversation for one evening. Suffice it to say that both of you can marry whomever and whenever you choose.”
“Thank you!” Paulette was more than happy to end the conversation. She loved Yvette, but her endless pursuit of a fiancé was a bit taxing. Whereas Paulette had loftier goals in mind.
Lucien deftly changed the subject. “Have you been by to see the new shop yet?”
Filled with excitement at the prospect of the new shop, Paulette answered, “No, I haven’t seen it yet. But Quinton said that it should be finished in the next few weeks. Then we shall be able to begin installing the furniture and books. I’m hoping we can open by the end of October.”
Hamilton’s Book Shoppe was doing so well that she and Colette had decided to open another, larger bookstore on the other side of town. They had been preparing for months and the newly constructed building was almost ready.
“We’re going to have a grand opening celebration,” Colette added. “And Juliette will be returning home in time to be a part of it.”
“It’s going to be the best bookshop in London!” Paulette declared. She couldn’t wait for the new store to open!
Chapter 3
Blame
Declan Reeves sighed heavily as he entered the elegant townhouse he had just rented for his stay in London. How long he stayed depended on a number of things. He had simply needed to get away from Ireland for a while. Away from memories and sadness. Away from everything that he had ever known.
Away from anything that reminded him of her.
But more than anything else he had needed to get Mara away. His daughter needed a fresh start. He hoped that the change in environment would be good for her. And he prayed that it would prompt her to speak again.
He glanced down at the little girl who walked beside him, her tiny hand clinging tightly to his. His daughter’s heart was broken and he did not know how to mend it.
As they walked through the foyer of the house, he stopped and knelt beside her, looking into her pretty green eyes. “Mara, darlin’, are you happy with your new book?”
She gave him a smile and nodded.
Declan longed for her to laugh and giggle. To squeal with delight as she used to whenever he entered a room. She had been so bright and spirited before, full of life and energy. Now it was as if she were a shell of her former self. Hollow on the inside. He had no idea how to reach her.
With this trip to London, he hoped that a complete change of scenery, at a place with no memories associated with her mother, would jolt her out of her silence. Mara had not uttered a word since the night her mother died. And those last words would haunt him forever. He heard them in his sleep every night.
And so did Mara. Some nights she woke up screaming uncontrollably, her face a mask of terror streaked with tears, sobs wracking her little body. He’d rush to her room and hold her until her screams ceased and she fell back to sleep out of abject weariness.
They’d only been in London a few days, so perhaps it was too soon to expect her to change. Then again, perhaps London wouldn’t help at all. Perhaps he’d been foolish to leave behind all the girl had ever known. But he’d had to give it try. Lord knew they both needed a respite from all that was going on back home.
A petite, kind-faced woman came bustling into the foyer. “I see you’ve returned, Lord Cashelmore. Shall I take Lady Mara upstairs now?”
He glanced briefly at the lady he had recently hired to watch over his daughter and nodded in agreement, before turning his attention back to Mara. She stared at him, her eyes fixed upon something within him. As had become her custom, she spoke to him without words. He touched her soft, baby cheek with his hand and placed a gentle kiss upon her forehead. “You go on up with Mrs. Martin now and I’ll be up to see you for supper and then we’ll read your book together.”
As she always did when he gave her instructions, Mara nodded her head obediently. She took the woman’s outstretched hand and followed her up the stairs.
Ignoring the familiar ache in his chest, Declan stood silently and watched them go. It was a moment or two before he finally walked to his study and threw off his hat and cape. He moved to stand before the window and stared out at the misty afternoon. Dreary and depressing. There was no other way to describe the day. There was not a single bright spot to lighten the dark afternoon.
Except for the girl in the bookshop.
Miss Hamilton. Something about her had caught his attention. Her bright energy and obvious intelligence. Her incredible patience in dealing with Mara. Her obvious joy and pride in her store. Her sparkling blue eyes that had glanced at him with such suspicion, then avid interest, followed by a nervous shyness. Every emotion she had was easily seen in her delicate features. It was strange, but their eyes had held for a moment and something unspoken passed between them. He felt instantly drawn to her.
But he supposed there was nothing unusual in that. She was more than merely attractive. The girl was quite beautiful. One doesn’t expect to find such a beauty working in a bookshop.
What was more unusual was that he found himself still thinking about her. He hadn’t thought of a woman in that way since . . . Margaret Ryan.
He shook himself at the memory of her beautiful face, her silver-blond hair.
Would there ever be a time that he thought of Margaret without overwhelming grief and guilt? Would he ever be able to put all the anger and horror behind him? Would he ever have a normal life again?
At least that was his goal in coming to London. To find some sense of normalcy in his life. And Mara’s. Maybe once they had found a measure of peace he could stomach returning to Dublin and facing Margaret’s acrimonious family and the past that haunted him.
A knock on his study door startled him.
“Come in,” he called, turning from the rainy scene outside the window.
The door opened and his new butler, another of the number of house staff he just hired, entered. The butler, Roberts, was a tall, lanky man of about fifty. “Lord Cashelmore, a Mr. O’Rourke is here to see you.”
Declan sighed inwardly with relief. Perfect. Gerald was just the person he needed to see, although he hadn’t expected him to arrive so soon. Declan had left Dublin so abruptly and he sent only a terse note informing Gerald that he was going to London. “Please send him in, Roberts.”
“Very good, sir.” The door closed as the butler hurried off to retrieve Declan’s guest.
Declan moved to the sideboard where there was a decanter of Irish whiskey. If he knew anything at all about his cousin, Declan knew that Gerald would expect a drink when he arrived. He lifted the lid of the crystal decanter and poured a shot of the amber liquid into a glass. He turned as the door opened.
“So you found me,” Declan said by way of greeting.
“Yes, and the weather is as depressing here as it is back home,” Gerald O’Rourke announced as he entered the study.
Declan smiled at his cousin, noting with surprise that Gerald had more gray in his hair since the last time he’d seen him. The man was far too young to be so gray, but then his only cousin had always looked older than his years. “It’s good to see you, Gerald.” He handed him the glass of whiskey.
Gerald’s florid face smiled broadly, accepting the drink. “You’re a good man, Declan.” He downed the whiskey in one neat gulp and placed the empty glass on the table. He glanced around. “So, it’s a nice place you’ve got yourself here.”
“It’ll do for now.”
Declan had no idea how long he would stay in London or if he would move on to some other place. Perhaps he would never go back to Ireland. The very prospect of returning to his native land filled him with an unbearable sadness.
“How is Mara these days?”
“She’s fine,” Declan murmured. He hated having to admit that his daughter had still not recovered.
“Is she . . . is she talking yet?” Gerald’s eyes flickered as he glanced at Declan.
Declan shook his head regretfully. “No, not yet.”
He wished he could have said yes. What a joy that would be! To have his beautiful daughter speaking again. To hear the sweet sound of her voice in his ears. He dreamed of it. When he wasn’t having nightmares about her mother.
Gerald shrugged carelessly. “Oh, I’m sure she’ll start talking one of these days. It was a lot for a little girl to go through.”
“It’s been almost a year,” Declan muttered.
Almost a year ago his wife burned to death in front of their daughter’s eyes, screaming for her. Almost a year since Mara had uttered a single word. “Papa.” It was all she would say for hours after the horrific scene. Then a blank expression shuttered her childish features and she said no more. Declan had tried everything he could think of to reach her. The finest doctors, the best care. But it seemed Mara only retreated further into her own little world, not venturing forth into the real one. Not uttering a sound.
“Still, children are funny creatures.” Gerald gave a half smile. “Mark my words, one day she’ll just surprise you and ask for a biscuit or something equally inconsequential.”
Declan said nothing, but in his heart he hoped for nothing else. “How are things back home?” The heaviness in his chest began to tighten.
A shadow crossed Gerald’s round face. “Not good. You left so unexpectedly, without word to anyone. By the time I got your note you were already gone, Declan.” He paused. “They think you ran away to escape the consequences.”
Declan sighed heavily. “Well, they are partly true anyway.” He had run away, but not for the reason everyone assumed.
His mouth forming a grim line, Gerald continued, “It’s gotten worse since you left.”
“How could it possibly be worse?” Declan scoffed.
Since Margaret died, Declan had watched in muted shock as the comforting words and sympathies on the death of his wife transformed into something else entirely. He’d endured months of dubious glances, cold shoulders, suspicious murmurings, whispers behind his back, blatant accusations, and outright blame. That was the reason he had left. He had had to protect Mara. She didn’t need to hear any of that ugliness. Especially from her own family.
Declan stood and went to the sideboard. Pouring himself a glass of Irish whiskey, he stared at the amber liquid as it floated in the crystal. With a quick motion of his wrist, the whiskey swirled in the glass faster and faster. He stilled his hand, watching the liquid spin wildly then slowly wind down. Not wanting to drink it after all, he set the glass down and turned back to face Gerald and what he had to say.
“Some say that you are planning to marry again,” Gerald continued. “That’s why you came to London.”
Declan laughed with derision. “I can assure you that marriage is the last thing I’m seeking out at the moment!”
“Having a new mother might be good for Mara,” Gerald suggested with a shrug of his shoulders.
“I don’t think so. I will never marry again. In case you hadn’t noticed, my first marriage did not end all that well.” Declan could not hide the bitterness in his voice. He was not cut out for marriage, as his disastrous union with Margaret proved beyond a shadow of a doubt. He never wanted the responsibility of a wife again, even if there was a woman out there who was not terrified of the idea of wedding him. For after all of the rumors about him, who would want to marry him anyway? Marriage had been nothing short of a disaster for him and Declan took the blame for all of it. But he had no interest in marrying ever again.
“I understand that. But it’s more than rumors and innuendo now, Declan. It’s far more serious than the gossips’ tongues wagging behind their fans.” Gerald paused. He gave Declan a pointed look. “There are some who are demanding an inquest.”
The heaviness in his chest grew even weightier. Declan had half expected this news, but never quite believed it would actually happen.
“How can they still think I had anything to do with Margaret’s death?”
Gerald hesitated, running his hand across his round face, before answering. “It doesn’t look good, Declan, what happened that night.”
“Do you think I’m responsible?” Declan demanded, anger and frustration coursing through his veins. “Do you honestly think I killed my wife? That I deliberately set the fire that night?”
“No! No!” Gerald put his hands up. “Of course not! Heavens, no! I’d never think such a thing about you, Declan. You know that. I’m your cousin, your best friend. I’m on your side. Alice and I will always stand by you. I’m just telling you what they’re saying in Dublin. I came to warn you.”
“Warn me?” Declan asked of his cousin. Gerald was his only living relative and had been his trusted friend and advisor since he was a boy. If Gerald had come to London to warn him, Declan knew it was serious.
“Well, yes. As I said, it doesn’t look good. Taking Mara to London with you didn’t help matters. It only inflamed their suspicions. I think they may call you in. They’re building a case against you. You never did have an alibi that night.”
“Jesus, Gerald! You know why I brought Mara to London! And you of all people know where I was when the fire started!” Declan would never forget a single detail of that horrendous night for as long as he lived.
“I know that, yes. But no one else believes you.” Gerald gave another helpless shrug. “And they certainly don’t believe the likes of me.”
“The Ryans need someone to blame and they are going to blame me no matter what the truth is, because they don’t care about the truth. They’ve never cared for me, never wanted Margaret to marry me in the first place. Now they just want to blame Margaret’s death on my head and be rid of me. They only want to take Mara from me.”
“You may be right.” Again Gerald hesitated. “Maybe London isn’t far enough away.”
“What are you suggesting? That I flee to America?” Declan scorned the idea of hiding.
Gerald gave him a helpless look. “Would you prefer to spend the rest of your life in the gaol?”
“It’s not going to come to that. I’m innocent.” Declan shook his head defiantly. He would not go to prison for murdering his wife. It was impossible. Unthinkable. “And I will not skulk away in shame as if I’ve committed a crime when I haven’t,” he declared.

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