The Last Killiney (20 page)

“Look,” and she removed her hands from him, “I know it’s not the best time to ask, but can you…do you…What I mean is—”

“Do I believe you?”

She wavered uncertainly before him. “Do you?”

James’s jaw hardened. He nodded darkly.

“And Paul?” She felt his grip soften. “You’re not going to kill him for being in the house?”

Straightening, James turned toward the cluster of servants gathered in the corridor. “Is he still here?”

“I’m here,” Paul said from the drawing room door.

James muttered something under his breath. Yet when he turned his eyes to Ravenna’s, there was no mistaking his tortured expression, as if he’d suddenly remembered it again,
Father is dead
…

“Let’s go sit down.” Gesturing toward the drawing room door, she led him to the sofa; she asked Paul to stoke the fire, and when he had, when all the servants had assembled and James had glanced up for an instant, Ravenna met his grief-stricken eyes. “Tell us what happened,” she urged him softly.

Leaning on the sofa’s arm, James shook his head. He glanced away. Shielding his eyes with an open hand, it was at least two minutes before he managed the words. “You didn’t know this, Sister, but our father was seeing Fox’s wife, Mrs. Armistead. He was at St. Anne’s Hill when his heart…gave out. I told him not to go…”

Staring at the carpet, he fell silent.

“Did he suffer much, my lord?” a footman asked.

Slowly, James nodded. “He left generous annuities for all of you.”

“And Ravenna?” Paul’s voice, reluctant from where he stood before the fire. “Who’s gonna be looking after her now?”

James shot Paul a solemn glance. “There’s always been a substantial portion set aside for Elizabeth’s marriage.”

At the mention of marriage, the maids hushed their whispering. Nothing stirred other than Paul’s boots, shifting from one foot to the other in weary apprehension as he glanced around at the servants’ faces. So many expectant eyes met his, but not Ravenna’s—she’d wanted him to face the truth about his wife, but never had she wished for this.

Eventually Paul took a deep breath. He still didn’t look at her, but clearing his throat, he pushed through the servants and got down in front of her on his knee. As if he’d made up his mind at last, he took the malachite ring from his finger. He reached for her hand, and when he’d slipped the ring in place, deliberately, quickly, it made her wince for the hurry of it all.

The ring fit perfectly.

As if he’d hoped and prayed it wouldn’t, all the light went out of Paul’s eyes.

She wished then she could take back the moment more than anything in the world. It wasn’t worth it, to see the expression on Paul’s well-meaning face as he gathered his courage and spoke the words, “Elizabeth, would you be my wife?”

Chapter Thirteen

Of course she’d agreed to marry him.

In the silence that followed, Paul didn’t move. He steeled himself and waited for the flood of memories—the altar of that little church in Dun Laoghaire, his friends and family gathered round, and coming down the aisle, dressed in white silk, Fiona more lovely than he’d ever seen her look.

But those vows are broken
. Where he knelt before Ravenna, he knew his heart was losing strength. The voices inside him were whispering again even as he fought them off,
This girl loves you. Give up. Tell her
. Beating him down, wearing at his soul, the idea of it seemed too much—that he might need Ravenna more than he’d ever needed the woman. From the way she argued so passionately to the flush of her cheeks whenever Paul touched her, he saw what was coming. He’d defied it, ignored it, even tried to hurt her feelings just to live the lie a little longer, but under all his gruffness, in between his ardent pleas to reach Fiona and find Fiona and win back the love of his precious Fiona, beneath all this was the uncomfortable realization that he’d fallen again…and fallen hard.

Paul straightened, took his hand out of Ravenna’s. He muttered some excuse about being tired and, turning to leave, he stepped into the passageway just as he was, scowling, guilt-ridden. He didn’t care about James’s glare. Making his way to the great hall, he went out anyway, through the double doors and on toward the sea in a fit of despair.
Fiona
, he thought, but it was only a reflex. The name meant nothing.

For the first time in his life Paul was free.

Seeing the dull shimmer of the ocean stretched out before him, he walked for hours. The moon shone faintly behind the clouds. The air was bracing, but it only served to remind him of how awake he felt, how blind he’d been.
You’ve lied to yourself about so many things
. Had he ever recognized as much? Fiona did hate his sensitivity. She never would be happy with Paul, and when the girl had pointed this out in the bedroom earlier, her voice all scolding and tender at once, she’d only confirmed what Paul had fought so long to disprove.

The thing about it was, he’d known. He really had. Even back home when he’d met Fiona between classes, goaded her into telling him about
her
feelings,
her
troubles, in fact Paul had felt nothing—no sympathy for her problems, just this nagging idea that he should care about her. To admit he hadn’t would have meant conceding she’d been right all along, that Fiona was a stranger. He should let her go.

But then without the woman, what would he have? An empty house? A couple of friends who—apart from the fact they were sick to death of him—didn’t mind buying his pint after work?

Walking along the cliffs, going through his marriage year by year, he sorted out the truths. Fiona had changed. Trevor and Deirdre had grown tired of his antics while Eamonn rarely even phoned anymore. There were the kids, those many dirty teenage faces he knew on the Dublin streets whom he’d helped and counseled over the years, and there was Aidan’s mother, but few others would miss him. They’d say they did, but really they’d all be heaving a sigh of relief.

And then there was Ravenna.

What should I be telling her? That after all my fits and tantrums, I’ve since come t’realize she was right about us? That I’ve a mind now t’mess up her life as well?
Because that’s what would happen. As much as she seemed to understand him, Ravenna had no idea what she was getting herself into. Fiona hadn’t left him for nothing. To straighten out whatever mess he was into and show him where he’d gone astray, to give out about his obsessiveness and irresponsibility, not to mention his sociable nature…was Ravenna really up for this?

Yer girl’s not stupid
, Paul thought.
She’ll figure it out soon enough, and until she does, until she sees the real cut of you in a Dublin pub when the barman’s calling time and she’s been phoned t’drag you home, you’ve no business rushing in with your typical selfishness
.

Leave her be
, he told himself.
Give her enough t’keep her happy, but wait for the rest—for your own sake as well as hers
.

* * *

By the time Paul arrived at her bedroom door, he’d summoned ten times the self-restraint he figured he’d need.
She’s probably asleep, anyway
, he told himself.
Just wake her up, tell her
.

But when he raised his hand to knock, it crossed his mind how beautiful she might be, coming to greet him in the middle of the night. With lissome legs and bare feet, she could be wearing that shirt he’d given her to sleep in.
Gorgeous in that shirt
, he thought. He remembered well her heavy black hair spilling over its collar, shirttails barely covering her thighs. It’d only been a glimpse he’d caught before James had ushered him off to sea, but that image burned in his mind, arousing him, hardening him…

“Stop it,” he grumbled.
Now you’ll never keep your hands off her thinkin’ these things, will you?

Muttering a vow of celibacy, he knocked at her door. Nothing stirred. Should he wake her? Did he dare entertain that notion of turning the latch, stumbling inside, running his hands over the sheets until he’d found her in the darkness, silken and willing to curl in his arms?

He knocked again, more adamantly this time.

When he heard no movement, no padding of feet nor rustle of blankets, Paul felt a pang of guilt—not for wanting her, but rather for the fact he’d probably set her to worrying. Ravenna knew how angry he’d been made by their argument, and now he’d been missing for how many hours? He’d told no one where he’d gone. Doubtless the girl was bundled up somewhere, waiting for word he’d come home safe.

So he went downstairs, to the basement rooms where it seemed the servants were always about. He hoped to find someone to ask about Ravenna, but when he wandered into the kitchen, he found no maids or footmen. The candles were lit. A huge fire blazed in the main fireplace and in front of this, staring at a pie crust rolled out on the table, James sat pensively.

It wasn’t what Paul expected to find.

Rage was the general impression James gave. With his chair tipped back, his arms crossed and his boots up, there was a dangerous scowl on James’s brow. He seemed to be furiously brooding about something, and Paul wondered if he dared say anything to the fellah.

Just give him your condolences and go
, Paul thought. “Em, I’m sorry about your father an’ that.”

James looked up. The lines to his forehead deepened at the sight of Paul, and when he started to stand, his fearsome build uncoiling from his chair, Paul raised his hands and stopped where he was. “If I’m buggin’ you here, I’m afraid I’ve—”

“No,” James said, shaking his head.
Grief in that face
, Paul could see it now. “No, I just…” James hesitated, rubbed at his temple. “I have a lot on my mind, that’s all. It’s Paul, right?”

Paul nodded, stepped forward. When he found himself invited to pull up a chair, he declined as politely as he could. “I’m just looking for yer girl,” he explained. “You don’t know where Ravenna’s gone?”

“She’s gone to bed,” James muttered.

“No she hasn’t, actually. She’s not in her room.”

It occurred to him then that maybe Ravenna wasn’t even in the house, that she’d followed him in the midst of his shame-ridden fit. She might be searching the beaches, the woods, even the ruins for him, thinking he’d gone to ask God to send him home, or worse, that he’d been so upset he’d wandered off to top himself.

But while he ran through these possibilities, James sat down, crossed his arms again; the muscles in his jaw moved ever so slightly. Seeing the fellah’s eyes shift uneasily about the room, Paul realized how selfish he’d been.
This guy’s grieving for his father, isn’t he? It’s only a page from history to me, but to him
…

And just like that, he felt it.
Death
. First his mother, then Aidan, and finally Paul’s Da, all of them had left their scars until Paul couldn’t even remember a time when he’d not known exactly what James was going through.

“I’m sorry for throwing you out,” James said.

Paul found himself averting his eyes. “Before you left for London, you mean?”

James gave a curt nod. “That was unwarranted.”

“No, it wasn’t really. I knew how you felt.”

He remembered how furious James had been, how he’d attacked Paul so readily. Six-foot-four, sinewy and strong, James was the very picture of threat, never showing his feelings, always righteous and opinionated…and yet he wasn’t so tough, was he?

Sort of like Aidan
, Paul mused, thinking of his friend’s acerbic manner, his blunt way of talking.
In fact, a lot like Aidan
. “Look, I’m not Killiney,” Paul said, “but if you could use a friendly voice—”

“Killiney was never friendly.”

“He wasn’t?”

“Not dependably.” James cast a furtive glance at Paul. “I hope that doesn’t offend you.”

“No,” and shaking off that image of Aidan, Paul focused on James’s sun-browned face. “No, I quite understand. I’ve a few friends m’self who probably aren’t even looking for me. They’re not dependable
or
friendly, but they’re still my friends, aren’t they?”

“In the future?” James asked.

But as Paul started to answer, he heard the clatter of shoes on the servants’ stair behind him.
Ravenna
, he thought, and again there came that warming inside him, so strong he couldn’t fight it off.
Tell her
,
just take her in your arms and say it
.

But James shook his head, as if reading Paul’s mind. “It’s only Sarah.”

And it was the maid, hurrying into the kitchen with a worried taint to her pretty eyes. When she saw Paul, she frowned. “Well, look at you.” She stopped in front of him, put her hands on her generous hips. “We’ve only half the world searchin’ for you.
He’s right here, m’lady
.”

Paul froze, didn’t move.

In the doorway behind the maid, petite and beautiful as ever he’d seen her, Ravenna appeared in the dim kitchen light.

Taking a step toward him, the girl’s lips parted, and instantly Paul found himself imagining the most unspeakable things. The nightgown she wore was so sheer he could see the pink of her nipples. The dark patch of curls showed between her thighs all too plainly, and fussing with that malachite ring, her eyes fraught with worry, Ravenna seemed a vision.

Paul thought he’d burst with wanting to kiss her.

“You’re mad at me, aren’t you?” she asked.

He glanced at Sarah, at James who sat reticently before the fire. “No,” Paul said, turning back to meet her eyes, “no, I’m not mad. Can we talk for a moment? Can I walk you upstairs?”

When he approached her, took up her wrist in his grasp, Paul’s blood surged in his veins.
Can I trust m’self here? Is this the smartest thing you’ve ever done?
Because he knew if she so much as brushed up against him or touched his arm with a thoughtless caress, he knew he’d find a way to rationalize taking her. Virgin or not, she’d suffer the brunt of his burgeoning desire, and this couldn’t happen, could it?