Dream Lover Part 30

Emerald hesitated, not wanting to repeat the accusations he had flung. Sean cupped her shoulders with compelling hands. "Tell me."

"He said your soul is blackened with sin, yet you show no contrition."

Sean laughed, his voice sounding harsh. "He spoke the truth. What else did the old incense-swinger have to say?"

She did not repeat any of the deadly sins the priest cataloged, nor that he said Sean's G.o.d had become vengeance. She was afraid that Sean would freely admit it was all true. Emerald decided to close the subject. She went up on tiptoe and placed her lips against his. "He told me to use my influence on you."

"You do that every day and every night." His voice turned from harsh to husky.

"Ah yes, I have a vast influence on you, right down to your reading material."

Sean grinned at her and picked up two books from the night-table. One was The Inferno by Dante; the other was The Prince by Niccolo Machiavelli. Sean resolutely put the books down and picked up the one Emerald was reading. It was The Decameron. "Mmm, Boccaccio. Why don't you use your influence by reading to me?"

He threw the bed pillows down on the rug before the fire and began to disrobe. Emerald undressed and slipped a soft wool robe over her nakedness, not bothering with a night rail. Then she picked up her book and sank down before the inviting fire. Naked, Sean lay down beside her, propping his chin on one powerful fist as his dark gaze licked over her.

Emerald began to read, but her eyes kept straying from the page, drawn to the magnificent male body stretched out beside her. Firelight flickered over his taut belly, long, lean flanks, hard-muscled chest, and wide shoulders.

She returned to the book and read a few more paragraphs. Boccaccio was both sophisticated and candid about the love-laden essentials of romantic mastery.

From the corner of her eye she saw Sean's phallus, which lay along his thigh, awaken and stretch. The head came out of its cowl and Emerald abandoned the book, watching with fascinated delight as he lengthened and thickened.

The desire to touch him and taste him flared in her. Her hands ached to weigh his heavy, hot sac, her fingers wanted to encircle the thick shaft, and her lips longed to kiss the smooth, velvety head that the flames turned to carmine. His eyes had the look of a predatory male animal, which emphasized his tempting masculinity. He knew what she wanted to do.

"Come," he invited.

She saw his pulse beating in his throat, then her eyes traveled down his lithe, hard body to watch the pulse throb in the head of his long shaft. She knelt before him and cupped his whole s.e.x in loving hands. Then she brushed her lips across the velvet, sweetly kissing, then gently blowing on him until he began to quiver.

"Go on your knees for me."

He drew in a swift breath and raised himself so that he was on a level with her beautiful mouth. She began gently, delicately, with the tip of her tongue, touching the tiny opening, then swirling in ever widening circles until she licked the entire engorged head. Holding his testes in one hand, the root of his shaft with the other, she opened her mouth and took him inside the hot, dark cave. She alternately sucked and tongued him, making love sounds that were so erotic, he felt he must explode or die.

Sean tried to hold on to his control to make the exquisite pleasure last all night, but Emerald was so sensually provocative, his control shattered into a million shards. She tasted the first drops of his pearly climax before he arched backward in the throes of release, sending his white-hot seed spurting up across his belly.

Emerald opened her robe and pressed her b.r.e.a.s.t.s against his hard body until they were slick with his musky male essence.

Sean reached down between her legs to give her release and was amazed to feel her o.r.g.a.s.m into his hand the moment he touched her. "My little beauty, you give so generously." They lay before the fire wanting to stay in each other's arms forever.

Finally, she stirred from her drowsy dreaming.

"I have a gift for you, too, but first, let me bathe you."

"If you like," she murmured, touching his cheek.

"I like," he said, scooping her up and carrying her to the bathing room.

The warm bath water was delicious. He held her in his lap and soaped her lavishly, marveling at the satin texture of her smooth skin. "I adore the feel of you against me. You have the most tempting back in the world."

Emerald smiled. "My front is a little less tempting these days."

His hands slid over her luscious ripe b.r.e.a.s.t.s. "Not true, my beauty. I can't wait to dry you and rub your satin skin with the rose oil."

"I can't wait either," she admitted.

Sean wrapped her in a towel and carried her back to the fire. With infinite patience and tenderness he dried her with the soft towel, then warmed the oil for her ma.s.sage. When he was done, Emerald reached a languorous hand to caress his cheek. "That was the loveliest present I ever had."

He chuckled deep in his throat. "That's not your present." He got up and went to the drawer of his night table, then came back to kneel before her. "This is," he said, placing a velvet box in her hands.

She lifted the lid slowly, then gasped at the magnificent jewels within.

"Emeralds!" she breathed with reverence. The flames made the gems glow with green fire.

"Happy Christmas, sweetheart."

Her green eyes were liquid with unshed tears. "You shouldn't have."

"I should. No one deserves them more. Emerald, you have given me so much."

"I hope I can give you a son." As she put on the earrings and bracelet she did not see the shuttered look come into his eyes. He moved behind her to fasten the necklace about her throat. His voice roughened. "Cut some test, tomorrow will be a lull day."

On Christmas morning they dragged in the yule log, then it was time to give the staff their gifts. The tenant farmers and their families dropped in one after another, all bearing gifts and receiving the customary O'Toole largesse, which was a generous tradition. Midday, the Silver Star docked at the jetty and her crew was invited to Greystones's Christmas dinner; a feast beyond compare, where the family were joined by the staff.

Captain Liam FitzGerald brought the best Christmas present Sean O'Toole could have wished for. The newly appointed head of the British Admiralty, acting on tips from the FitzGerald captains, had intercepted two vessels belonging to the Montague Line smuggling in illegal French brandy. Because England and France were at war, the Admiralty seized the ships and were about to levy a crippling fine as well.

The captain also had brought a letter from Johnny Montague confirming the information. Sean tucked it into his shirt and went off to look for Paddy and Shamus, wanting to share the news with them immediately. It took him an hour to locate Mr. Burke, whose face looked haggard. Sean recalled he had been in high humor at dinner, sharing toasts and proposing one of his own.

"What's amiss?" Sean asked the steward.

"It's Shamus. I can't find him; he's gone missing."

"Strange ... he can't have gone far," Sean a.s.sured him, thinking of the condition of his father's legs. "Maybe one of the lads took him back to the watchtower."

They went together, searching the gatehouse and the tower, but found no trace of Shamus. "Christ, ye don't think he fell down the cellar steps?" Paddy asked with alarm.

"Come on. You check the cellars; I'll go upstairs."

Sean searched methodically through every room at Greystones, without success. Then, from an upstairs window overlooking the walled garden, he saw something that knotted his gut. His father's body lay p.r.o.ne on the ground.

Sean bolted down the stairs, then through the elegant receiving room's French doors that led to the walled garden. Judas, how long had Shamus been lying on the cold earth? Sean's steps slowed as he neared his father; the disquieting sounds he was making were terrible to hear.

Shamus lay beside Kathleen's grave, sobbing uncontrollably. Sean went down on his knees to him, reaching out strong hands to comfort him, but Shamus was inconsolable as he grieved for his beloved wife. Sean intended to carry him away, but the aging man was adamant. "No! I want to be here. I've failed her! I vowed to make Montague suffer for what he did to her sons. That broke her heart and she died from it."

"Father, you are upset because it is Christmas; you miss her more than usual at this time of year."

"Shut yer mouth! Don't you understand I miss her every day, every hour? She was the heart and soul of Greystones, the center of my life. They punished me through her. They used my woman to make me suffer; she was my only vulnerability."

As Sean knelt beside his mother's grave, guilt's savage fangs sank into his throat, almost choking him. He knew exactly what his father was talking about. When he first saw his mother's grave, Sean was so outraged at what their enemy had done, he swore a sacred oath on his knees that he would pay them back in kind. The Montagues would suffer through the woman at the center of their lives. Daughter to one and bride to the other, Emerald was the perfect vessel for his vengeance.

He took Shamus in strong arms and held him close in a powerful embrace. "I pledge you we won't fail Kathleen FitzGerald O'Toole, Father."

Shamus's heart-scalding sobs eventually wore him out. Sean picked him up and carried him to his bed in the watchtower. Paddy Burke put heated stones to his feet and Sean called Tara to administer a powerful sleeping draft that she distilled from whisky and the ground-up seed of the white poppy.

Christmas night Emerald tumbled into bed, exhausted but happy. Sean, Paddy, and Tara conspired to remain silent about Shamus to keep her from unnecessary worry, and Emerald fell asleep immediately.

Sean lay beside her, hands behind his head, slowly coming to terms with the fact that one period of his life was coming to a close. He had drawn it out as long as he dared. Now he must act decisively. He would not allow himself the indulgence of introspection or self-pity; both were pointless as well as pathetic.

Mentally, he had already withdrawn from the woman beside him, rationalizing that she no longer needed him. She was not the pa.s.sive, shy girl who had left England. Since coming to Ireland, he had taught her to be a woman who could hold her own against anyone. Though he had almost beggared her father, he had given Emerald a fortune in jewels to make her financially independent, and if she no longer wished to reside with the Montagues, she could remove herself to the town house in Old Park Lane.

When Emerald awoke, Sean was already bathed and dressed. He did not come to sit on the bed to talk with her, but strode to the window that overlooked the sea. Johnny's letter told Sean exactly where William Montague and Jack Raymond would be on the last night of their ill-fated year, and he knew he must use it to his advantage.

"I have business in England."

"You're not leaving today?" she asked mutinously.

"No, you may have a couple of days to prepare for the voyage."

Emerald's face brightened. "Gooda"if you were thinking of leaving me behind because of my delicate condition, I was ready to fight you tooth and nail!"

Sean slanted a black eyebrow, humor coming to his rescue. "Delicate? You have the teeth and claws of a wildcat."

Emerald was about to remark that he had the scars to prove it, but she could never tease him about scars, he had too many, both visible and invisible. She was mildly surprised that he was willing to take her with him on another voyage to England. She had fully expected him to put his foot down and order her to stay safely at home.

Still, there were far more doctors and midwives in London than lived near Greystones. The O'Tooles' doctor lived in Dublin, but she'd never seen him because Shamus refused his services. Emerald smiled to herself, fully understanding his att.i.tude. She herself had ignored Kate and Tara's advice to see the doctor and have him examine her. Emerald reasoned that she and Sean would be back long before their baby made an appearance. She just hoped she wouldn't suffer from mal de mer on the voyage. She waved her hand like a queen. "Order me a calm sea." "Don't forget to ask Tara for a good supply of her oils and the stuff that settles your stomach, just in case." He made a mental note to ask Tara for some of the sedative she had used on Shamus. He had an idea that he would need it. His plan would be far kinder than exposing Emerald to a confrontational scene.

"Do you think I'll be there long enough to see Johnny?"

"I'm sure of it," he said smoothly, leaving her to pack. "I'll send Kate up."

Two days later, as Sean helped her aboard the Sulphur, he was shocked to see how much she had expanded in the few short days since Christmas Eve. As her warm cape fell back, he wondered how her rounded belly could have doubled in size so quickly.

"Emerald, are you feeling well?"

"Perfectly well, thank you, my lord, in spite of the fact that Kate isn't speaking to me."

"Come to think of it, she snubbed me completely at breakfast this morning.

What maggot is eating her brain?"

"She's scandalized that I'm off to England in my flagrant condition. She believes I should conceal myself in my chamber where no one can see me. She thinks me an immodest baggage, and of course she's right!" Emerald laughed. "But, bless her, her heart's in the right place. She offered to come with me, and you know that stepping on English soil to Kate would be tantamount to walking through Dante's Gate of h.e.l.l."

"You didn't bring much luggage," Sean remarked, opening the cabin door to reveal the small trunk standing beside his own. He pictured her wardrobe filled with the clothes he had bought her.

"Well, I don't imagine I'll be attending any gala receptions with His. Majesty or masquerade b.a.l.l.s at Carlton House," she said lightly. Emerald didn't want him to see how short of breath she was or how clumsy her movements had recently become.

"Go up on deck where you belong, while I get settled in. You know I can look after myself!"

30.

William Montague was at his wits' end. The shipping line, his only means of income these days, was almost finished. Since Christmas he had even avoided the offices on Bottolph's Wharf, and instead roamed about the house in Portman Square, drinking himself into oblivion. To meet household expenses he would be forced to sell off the furniture, piece by piece. All London would know he was a pauper.

Jack was the only one who would tolerate his company. Johnny's visits were few and far between, and even the servants made themselves scarce.

"It's like swallowing bitter aloes! To think the Admiralty has seized our ships a"the sodding Admiralty! Your father and I ran the British Admiraltya"we were the Admiralty!"

Jack poured William another drink and one for himself. It was the last of the brandy and Jack knew no more would be forthcoming, because it could only be purchased cash on the barrel.

William raised red-rimmed eyes to his son-in-law. "Do you know how much it galled me to go hat in hand to my brother?"

Not as much as it humiliated me. I'm his b.a.s.t.a.r.d, for Christ's sake, Jack answered silently. When I married your f.u.c.king daughter and finally became a Montague, I thought my days of humiliation were over.

"I just don't understand how bad luck has dogged us, over and over. It doesn't make sense that all these losses are coincidence. I didn't think there was any connection between the disappearance of the slavers and the ships we lost in that gale, but I'm suddenly suspicious. One of your father's enemies, mayhap that son of a b.i.t.c.h Newcastle, informed on us!"

His hand gripped the gla.s.s so viciously, it shattered. A shard sliced into his thumb, and dark red blood bubbled up from the wound. William stared down at the thumb in fascinated horror. It stirred an unpleasant memory, long suppressed.

O'Toole. He did not speak the name aloud. It would be too much like invoking the devil.

"I wouldn't trust my father's friends, let alone his enemies. They are dissolute to a man. Who is supposed to be at this New Year's auction he's arranged?" Jack Raymond did not relish returning to the Pall Mall mansion where he had grown up as one of the many b.a.s.t.a.r.ds of the Earl of Sandwich.

"Quite an eclectic gathering, I understand: poets, politicians, earls. George Selwyn will be there, as well as Bute and March. Naturally the Prince of Wales and his cronies won't be able to resist. But I hope my brother gives me credit for some brains. I won't sell my collection to Prinny; his finances are shakier than ours, if that's possible. I'm counting on Francis Dashwood. He will pay any price for erotic drawings or sketches."

"I've heard some wild stories about Medmenham," Jack prompted, becoming aroused at just the thought of the lewd acts reputed to take place within the chalk caverns.

"An unusual place, to be sure. The gardens are filled with obscene statuary and phallic symbols. Even the pathways divide like female legs to give entry into bushy v.a.g.i.n.as!"

" 'Tis whispered they celebrate the Black Ma.s.s," Jack suggested.

"Well, it's a common enough practice to dress as monks and lay nuns on the altar. Who among us hasn't indulged that fantasy? But Dashwood carries it further.

He's a fanatic about defiling Christianity and has an addiction to anything blasphemous. That's why I think the bidding will be high for my caricatures of the twelve Apostles. They are so brutal." William chuckled.

"Personally, I prefer the p.o.r.nographic pictures drawn by Rowl-andson.

Sadism and sodomy don't do much for me unless women are depicted."

"You are tight, there is something compellingly arousing about females engaged in unnatural coitus." William's mouth hung loose at the thought. He knew he'd consumed too much drink to make it to the Divan Club, and in any case that was only putting money in his brother's pocket. His heavy sigh came out as a loud belch. He'd have to make do with one of the scullery maids again.

Sean O'Toole charted the voyage carefully so that they would arrive in London on New Year's Eve. The seas cooperated until the last night, when the English Channel was lashed with a vicious storm that threw bolts of lightning, followed by hailstones large enough to tear the shrouds to ribbons.

Needed both above- and belowdecks, O'Toole spent the night alternating between the two women who needed all his attention: Emerald and the Sulphur. No one aboard had slept, least of all Emerald, who cried that she should never have come. The storm had abated somewhat by morning, but the seas still roiled, and twice Sean had to order her belowdecks for her own safety.

Tears streamed down her face. "If I'm going to die, I want to be with you!"