The Last Killiney (26 page)

On the other side of that door was London, all of it, like a flickering blanket spread out before them.

Together, they stood for a moment in silence. Paul seemed as transfixed as she, taking in the twinkling lights, the church spires. Yet when she heard him speak again, she knew he’d not forgotten their subject.

“There’s a reason for everything,” he said, turning back to her, “and I’ve a feeling in my gut tellin’ me that’s why we’re here, why God’s put us in this mess with each other.”

She dared to step nearer to him. “Why is that?”

“Because,” and it surprised her how swiftly, how easily his arms encircled her, “because neither of us were gettin’ where we should’ve been in the other time.” He drew her up close, so intimate and personal that she gasped despite herself. “And because I needed to break with the woman,” he went on, resting his forehead against hers, “and you’ve been living alone on that island of yours for far too long.”

“And what about Aidan?” she asked. “Maybe James is meant to fill the space Aidan left when he died in Belfast?”

“Look,” Paul said, sterner now, “I’m going to make you promise that if something happens to me, you’ll carry on, business as usual, all right? You won’t top yourself, you won’t live out your life in a mental ward or whatever, yeah?”

“I don’t think they have straitjackets in this time.”

He pulled back an inch or two and fixed her with warning eyes. “Promise me, Ravenna. I’ll not leave the house, I’ll not set foot on that boat until you’ve promised as much.”

Knowing he was serious, that she had no choice but to do as he asked, she nodded grudgingly.

“So you’ll get on with your life?” he said. “Flirt an’ marry an’ all that?”

“I’ll never stop loving you.”

“Never said you had to.” And working his hands under her cloak, feeling along the seam between her bodice and skirts, he lowered his hands slowly, awkwardly down the curve of her until she thought she would faint with wanting to kiss him.
What should I do?
she wondered.
Lean closer? Kiss him first?

Yet even as she deliberated, she could feel it—he was shaking. It wasn’t just his hands that seemed to tremble at her hips, but his whole body pressed tightly to hers. She risked stirring then. Lifting her fingers to his jaw, caressing him, feeling the scratch of his whiskers beneath her touch, she marveled at the vulnerability she saw in his gaze. “Are you really that scared?” she asked.

There was the barest hint of a smile on his lips. He laughed a little. “The last time I kissed a woman that wasn’t Fiona, I think I was sixteen.”

And then, before the happiness faded from his eyes, she felt it: The warmth of his kiss came soft and clumsy, breathing life into her, pressing her with a gentleness that wet her lips with an appetite she’d never known she’d possessed. It didn’t occur to her that she didn’t know how to kiss him back. She just did, and when they parted, for several minutes afterward she was amazed at how the fluttering ache persisted in her belly and the taste of him remained sharp in her mouth.

Overwhelmed by the excitement of being in his arms, she, too was shaking at this point. Seeing that she was, he released her. He took a step back, gave her room to recover. “Hey, if I’m to get through this voyage,” he said, scooping up her hand, “you’ve a lot to teach me about Indians, yeah? Can you tell me about powwows and teepees?”

“Potlatches and longhouses,” she said, looking down at where he worked his fingers into hers, interlocking their hands in a snug, intimate fit.
How strange this is
, she thought.
Does he know I’ve never done this before?

Glancing down, Paul followed her gaze. “Potlatches, that’s right,” he said distractedly, “but em, I guess I’ve a few months t’learn the difference. Otherwise I’ll never make it home to give the wife what she wants.”

“So you’ll go on the voyage?”

He hesitated, and immediately she sensed the deluge that threatened him, the need so strong in him to avoid the fate he’d seen in his dream. Still he nodded, his eyes a haze of bitter devotion. “For you, Ravenna. I’ll go because you asked me to, and because maybe…maybe this is what God’s got in mind, pittin’ me against death, makin’ me look it in the face, y’know? And besides, like my Da used t’tell me, the woman’s always right.”

“And that’s what you’ve decided about Fiona? You’re going to get a divorce like she wanted?”

“A divorce and a plane ticket, as soon as I get home.”

“Plane ticket? To America, you mean? But you won’t need one, I’ll be at Wolvesfield, or wherever Elizabeth has taken my—”

“Then we’ll fly to Las Vegas together,” he said.

“Las Vegas?” She smiled.

“Would you rather we do it on your island?” he asked. “With all the Federal Government fellahs protesting and threatening to take us off to prison?”

Holding her breath, her heart hammering wildly, Ravenna managed to squeak out the question as she looked at his perfectly serious face. “Do what?” she asked. “You mean you want to…you want to make love? In front of all the game wardens?”

But even before she’d finished the question, he’d melted in a grin. “That might be interesting,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “No, I meant
marry
, I want to
marry
you in front o’ the wardens. We could stand on the beach with the waves lappin’ at our feet, saying our vows under the seagulls and the open sky while yer fellahs start up their motor boats to take us away in handcuffs for trespassing…Or we could be married by an Elvis impersonator. Which is better, d’ya think?”

Ravenna stared at him, rendered insensible by the tide of emotion washing over her. This
was
a dream, it had to be, for as she tried in vain to force her lips into an answer, Paul let go of her hand and slipped his arm around her tight. He put his face down close to hers, and the memory of his kiss ached inside her when he drew her nearer still.

“That is, if you’ll have me,” he said. “Will you, Ravenna? Do you want me the way you said you did?” His eyes were shot through with needing; his voice was a whisper of husky breath that made her senses careen.

Gazing at him, feeling his hands run up and down her back, she heard the words tumble from her lips before she’d even thought to contain them. “Of course I do. I’ve wanted you since I was twelve, since I—” She caught herself, realizing her mistake.

Paul didn’t notice. He bent close and took her mouth in a kiss, moving his lips over hers, brushing her with promise, teasing her until it seemed there was nothing in the world but the sound of his pledge.

“Then you’ll have me,” he said, murmuring in a breath against her open mouth. “I’ll be yours, my Mary of the river, ’til death do us part.”

Chapter Seventeen

When they left London the next morning, Paul was elated. He’d gotten virtually no sleep, but he didn’t care. Having spent the night alone with his racing thoughts, he’d been happy to stumble outside in the predawn stillness, eyes blurry, head aching, yet completely content when at last he was able to take Ravenna’s hand.

Does she even know what she’s done t’me?
That she’s changed m’point of view?

Helping her into the carriage, Paul wondered if she could imagine as much—that in her eager, inexperienced kiss he’d found something altogether deeper than passion. He’d lost himself in her innocence. He’d soaked up her hurry, her trusting nature, even her bewilderment in her own responses, and seeing that love in her eyes as their carriage rattled out of Charing Cross, Paul felt changed.

And yet he couldn’t tell her. He wanted to. Indeed, all night he’d been able to think of nothing else. But as much as he craved wrapping her in his arms, whispering those things he’d realized in the hours they’d been apart, still he didn’t, for he’d noticed something strange in the last few days.

James and Sarah never showed affection.

Paul couldn’t figure it out. Even in the carriage that morning, when no one but themselves were likely to see, James and Sarah acted the same. They didn’t whisper. They didn’t kiss. In fact, James wouldn’t even sit next to the maid, much less hold her hand. The pair did talk, but no more amongst themselves than with Paul or Ravenna. If he hadn’t already been told as much, Paul would have never even guessed the two were lovers.

Not that he cared what James and Sarah did. It was only that Paul reckoned he ought to be following the guy’s lead, behaving the way an eighteenth-century nobleman behaved. If that meant he didn’t sit with Ravenna as he wished he could, if James thought it proper to chaperone or whatever, then Paul should go along, yeah?

So he made a vow in the darkness that morning:
Keep your hands t’yourself
. Maybe James didn’t have a problem with it, public affection and all that, but Paul wasn’t about to start a row in the midst of a three-day carriage ride.

Even so, when the light strengthened and he was able to see Ravenna more clearly, he found himself straying. Where she leaned against the window, gazing at him with wistful eyes, she seemed delicate, fragile. She obviously was thinking about last night at the church, and this, along with the snug fit of her blouse, that pout to her lips so suggestive of things she’d never even heard of, let alone done…Paul could hardly stand it. He had to be near her. The memory of their kiss burned in his mind, and he seriously considered ignoring James’s example then, scooping her up in a rough embrace, searching the contours of her soft little mouth.

This he didn’t do.

Behaving himself all the way to Yeovil, Paul kept to his side of the carriage. He asked Ravenna questions, as many as he could think of about motor boats, killer whales, whatever, all the while stifling his wilder thoughts in the gravity of James’s face. When this didn’t work—as Paul had become so worked up in learning every detail of Ravenna’s life he’d forgotten all about James and Sarah—next he tried napping. He closed his eyes, hoping to avoid temptation this way. He only ended up dreaming about her, even worse as his dreams were vivid enough to make him awaken uncomfortably aroused.

Thank God it’s dark
, he thought.

Such was the cut of him, infatuated, rigid, when at last they arrived at the coaching in. James got out first. When Paul followed him, stepped into the pouring rain and inches-deep mud, he stopped Ravenna at the carriage door. Slipping his arm behind her legs, in one swift movement he tossed her over his shoulder and carried her, along with the bedrolls, through the inn’s door to the warmth of the drawing room.

Setting her down beside the fire, he heard voices in the passageway, James questioning the innkeeper about their room.

“I’m afraid there’s just the one, m’lord.”

“One room? For the four of us?”

“Afraid so, m’lord.”

Hearing those words, Paul felt in that instant all the longing of their carriage ride bundled inside him, a pulsing knot of anger deep in his groin.
One shaggin’ room
. How would he manage it?

Where she lingered near his arm, she was already more than irresistible. Her hair was damp from the rain outside. Her fingers were cold when she asked for his fob watch, and in handing it back to him, unblinking, weary, she gazed up at Paul with the most loving eyes. In the dim light, she looked like a picture of heaven, and he almost kissed her then and there, for he knew James had gone upstairs with the innkeeper. Only Sarah would witness the deed, and so Paul leaned closer, craving Ravenna’s lissome frame, wanting to hold her,
needing her so much
…

But before he could act on these unbridled thoughts, she turned away. “I didn’t either,” she muttered, answering something Sarah had said. “Maybe I could talk him into some bread or—”

“You’ll do nothin’ o’ the sort,” Sarah replied.

A frown crinkled Ravenna’s pretty black brows.

“You’re in no fettle to go runnin’ about, bickerin’ with innkeepers,” the maid insisted. “Now we’ll just see what Jem says about the room, then you’re off to bed.”

“I’m fine, I’m just tired.” But tainted with too many sleepless hours, her words sounded frail. She was swaying, Paul noticed it now, and it crossed his mind that maybe in all his selfish ardor he’d done it again—he’d overlooked
her
needs, ignored everything about her save what he’d coveted in the midst of his lust.

Scolding himself, Paul dared to put his hand on her shoulder. “You’re hungry?”

“Yes, but it’s too late,” she whispered, pleading him with those doe-dark eyes. “Sarah and I were thinking if we could just get a sandwich, maybe a drink of water—”

Paul’s heart suffered when her fingers, still wet with rain, worked their way softly into his. “Can you get us something to eat?” she asked. “I don’t care what, I just…don’t feel very good, that’s all.”

“All right…OK.” Slipping his free hand down her back, Paul felt grim for the way he’d forsaken her. “Em, I’ll see what I can getcha when that fellah comes back.”

He pushed her gently in the direction James had gone, and handing the bedrolls to Sarah, he urged the maid to take her upstairs. “Don’t mess about, yeah? Just make her lie down. I’ll be there soon.”

Watching them disappear into the passageway, he crossed his arms tightly, fought with himself for the pain inside. How could he have been so self-absorbed? Touching her, making love to her…these things were important, but not to the exclusion of everything else, especially her feelings. In the carriage, where she’d gazed at him so longingly, and now, when she’d implored him with her hands wrapped in his, she’d not been seducing him. She’d
needed
him. And to think he’d been too enraptured with her earlobe to notice.

When the innkeeper came back, Paul got the food—cold beef, a loaf of bread, a tankard full of warm ale; taking it upstairs on a wooden tray, he found two bedrolls laid before the fire. James was already stretched out on one.
That’s where I belong
, Paul thought,
on the floor, until I’ve learnt a thing or two about the way I’m goin’ here
.