Rory. Ruth Langan

to see for myself if there is a problem.”

      “Rest assured there is a problem.” The elderly Lord Davis, seated beside their hostess, spoke in hushed tones. “And it grows more serious with each day.” He glanced around. “Any word on that wounded Irish warrior? The one they call the Blackhearted O’Neil?”

      AnnaClaire went perfectly still, hardly daring to breathe.

      Dunstan snorted with disdain. “Warrior? Court jester would be a better name. As far as I can determine, he is nothing more than a peasant leading a small band of ruffians, hoping to become a hero to the locals.”

      “I saw with my own eyes how that ‘peasant’ and a few of his swordsmen could rout an entire battery of English soldiers.” Lord Davis drained his goblet and paused while a hovering servant filled it. “There is nothing more dangerous than a zealot who appeals to the heart of the masses. Mark my word, Dunstan. The man is stirring a cauldron of simmering passions. Very soon now, they’ll come to a boil. And Her Majesty might find herself with the one thing she has sworn to resist.”

      “And what might that be, Lord Davis?”

      “A war that drains England’s coffers.”

      “War?” Dunstan gave a snort of disdain. “With these peasants?” He threw back his head and chuckled, and one by one the others around the table followed suit. “Queen Elizabeth is no fool. If this so-called Blackhearted O’Neil should begin to take himself seriously, our queen will simply send over a company of her finest soldiers. Believe me, Lord Davis, our swordsmen could put down any rebellion led by an illiterate peasant and his band of lackeys.”

      He turned to AnnaClaire. “You’ve grown quiet, my lady. Does all this talk of war upset your delicate sensibilities?”

      “Aye.” AnnaClaire swallowed, uneasy at having the attention shifted to her.

      “Forgive me, my dear.” Lord Davis pushed from the table and walked to her side. With a hand on her shoulder he said gently, “How inconsiderate of me to have forgotten. AnnaClaire was forced to witness that bloodletting at the docks yesterday. I’m sure it was most upsetting for her.” He leaned close. “Would you care to take your leave, my dear?”

      It was the excuse she’d been hoping for. She placed her hand in his. “Thank you. I would indeed.”

      “Oh dear.” Lady Thornly touched a fine lace cloth to her lips. “I had so hoped we could keep you here a while longer, AnnaClaire. Lord Dunstan has so little time before he returns to London.”

      “I’d be happy to accompany Charles and AnnaClaire to their homes,” the handsome Englishman said gallantly.

      It was on the tip of AnnaClaire’s tongue to refuse. But there was no way she could do so gracefully. And so she found herself bidding her hostess good-night and climbing into a carriage with her father’s old friend and a young man whose arrogance was as unsettling as his ignorance.

      “How long do you hope to remain in Ireland?” Lord Davis settled himself comfortably across from the young couple, and their carriage started off through the streets of Dublin.

      “I had hoped to be here no more than a few days.” Lord Dunstan turned to smile at the young woman beside him, whose face was shrouded in shadow. “But now, I think I might be persuaded to stay a while longer.”

      AnnaClaire groaned inwardly.

      “Excellent.” The old man smiled in the darkness. His friend, Lord Thompson, would be delighted to hear that his daughter had caught the interest of someone as important as this young friend of the queen herself.

      “Shall I have my driver take you home first, Charles?”

      Before AnnaClaire could issue a protest, the old man was nodding vigorously. “I was about to suggest it myself. I’m feeling a bit weary after all that food and stimulating conversation.”

      AnnaClaire knew exactly what her father’s old friend was up to. And though his meddling was galling, there was nothing she could do about it. He was as determined as her father to see that she made a good match.

      Dunstan shouted an order to the driver. At once they changed directions and were soon at the old man’s door.

      “Good night, Lord Dunstan.” The older man touched the tip of his hat, then leaned across the seat and brushed his lips over AnnaClaire’s cheek. “Good night, my dear. I can rest easy, knowing I’ve left you in such good hands.”

      “Good night, Lord Davis.” AnnaClaire watched him climb from the carriage and ascend the steps of his mansion.

      At a command from her companion, the driver urged the team forward and they were once again making their way through the darkened streets.

      When the carriage veered to the right and started up a slight incline AnnaClaire found herself pinned against Dunstan’s side. Though his movement was subtle, she felt his hand brush her breast. She stiffened and pushed away. But when she glanced over at him, she could see the smile playing on his lips. His insensitivity was vexing. She experienced a wave of relief when they started up the drive that led to her home.

      Lord Dunstan turned to study the graceful curve of courtyard, the warmth of candles glowing in the curtained windows. “So this is where you stay when you are in Ireland. What is it called?”

      “Clay Court. It was my mother’s ancestral home.”

      Something about the way she spoke the words had him turning to look at her. “I would be careful if I were you, my lady. Some might think you consider this place more home than England.”

      At his words AnnaClaire felt the trickle of ice along her spine. He had taken no pains to mask the warning. “I’ll remind you, Lord Dunstan, that my father is a respected member of the queen’s council. And though I am of mixed heritage, my loyalty has never come into question.”

      “Nor should it, my lady. But there will always be some who will wonder at your allegiance to your mother’s people.”

      Lord Dunstan climbed down, then turned and offered his hand to help her from the carriage. She had no choice but to accept his assistance.

      At the door she managed a smile. “Thank you for seeing me home, Lord Dunstan. I’ll say good night now.”

      When she started to close the door he startled her by stepping inside. “It wouldn’t be wise to see you home and not see you safely settled, my lady.”

      “I have loyal servants to see to my safety.”

      “Ah. That is reassuring.” He glanced around, noting the highly polished stones of the foyer, the crystal chandelier in which blazed dozens of candles. “I would have expected such loyal servants to meet you at the door.”

      “They have their chores to see to. Tavis will be above stairs, no doubt, laying a fire to warm my bedchamber.”

      “Tavis, is it? If you but asked, lovely lady, I could do the same. And I would need no wood nor torch. The touch of your hand on mine would be enough to set the blaze between us.”

      She hated the smirk on his lips. Hated more the heat that rose to her cheeks at his insinuation.

      She kept her voice even, as though dismissing him. “My little housemaid, Glinna, will be waiting to help me undress.”

      “A most pleasant chore, I would think. And one I would be most pleased to undertake in her stead.”

      She itched to slap him and knew that she had to tread very carefully around this man. She would, instead, ignore him. Something he’d seldom experienced, she surmised.

      “And Bridget is most probably in the kitchen, preparing tea before I retire.” She lifted a hand to her lips and forced a yawn. “Forgive me, Lord Dunstan. It has been a long day, and I fear I must bid you good night.”

      “Of course.” He caught her hand and lifted it to his lips, lingering until she forcefully withdrew it