Virginia Henley (30 page)

When he took her hand and they slipped into the pool together, they were transported to a magic realm. Emerald felt her skin tighten, her blood tingle with excitement, her body stir with arousal, and her heart overflow with love. Being here together was perfectly sublime … sublimely perfect.

Their mood became playful as they swam and splashed. She climbed upon his back, her arms clinging to his neck, as he dived deep, playing dolphin to her undine. Underwater, as they played and kissed, they felt the world recede, leaving them alone in their intimate paradise. Since neither had any fear of water, their play was both intemperate and incautious, plumbing the depths of joy and freedom until at last she threw herself with quivering abandon into his arms.

Sean lifted her onto the ledge and levered himself up beside her. As he enfolded her in his arms she felt such a heady bond of trust and love, she whispered, “Only you can hold me close and make me feel free.”

By mutual consent, but without the need for words, they left their clothes where they lay and emerged from the crystal cave into the hot sun. The coral sand beckoned and neither wanted to resist its pagan temptation. Emerald lay
down and stretched her limbs blissfully, letting the heat from the sand beneath her seep into her body.

She closed her eyes and knew it would be impossible to feel happier than she did at this moment. Sean FitzGerald O’Toole was her entire world. She could not imagine not knowing him, not watching the lithe way he moved, not hearing his deep voice murmur her name. Without him she had been lost; with him she felt complete. Surely a love this strong would last throughout eternity.

As Emerald lay on the sugary sand in the sunlight, a delicious sense of anticipation spiraled about her, dancing on the soft sea breeze that ruffled her dark curls. She felt a sense of joy that went beyond happiness, for she knew that soon, soon he would love her.

She kept her eyes closed until she felt a flutter, like a butterfly wing, touch the corner of her mouth. She smiled a secret smile and slowly lifted her lashes. He knelt before her, watching her intently, his dark pewter eyes brimming with laughter. Holding his gaze, she came to her knees slowly and knelt before him.

They needed no words, yet the longing to touch was like a hunger in the blood. At the same moment each reached out to the other to trace with their fingertips … a cheek, a throat, a shoulder. Emerald’s hand brushed his heart and felt it thud beneath her fingers. He was the perfect male. He was her Irish Prince.

He bent to capture her lips with his, and when he was a heartbeat away, Emerald began to whisper his name with heart-scalding hunger. “Sean, Sean.”

He set his mouth against her throat so that she would not stop saying his name. “Your skin feels like hot silk. I love to touch you and taste you when you are heated by the sun.” He ran his fingertips along the valley between her breasts, down to her navel, then dipped them between her legs to
touch her woman’s center. He lifted his fingertips to her mouth. “Taste,” he insisted.

She licked once, tasting herself, then watched with slumberous eyes as he sucked her honeyed essence from his fingertips. The things he did to her never failed to make her feel wild and wicked.

Sean laid her back on the sun-drenched sand and spread her hair about her heart-shaped face in a dark halo. His eyes were stained black with passion. He felt so possessive of her, it bordered on obsession. He told himself that it was because their time together would be fleeting. It compelled him to enjoy her to the full while he had her.

If only—he clenched his fists and stopped the thought before he could complete it. He forced himself to stop thinking. He could see and hear and smell and taste and touch. It would have to be enough. He must not complicate matters with his dark thoughts. She might not conceive for months, a year mayhap; he did not have to give her up yet.

He had taught her to live in the moment, to savor the here and now. They were together this minute. That was all that mattered. He would make them experience a thousand days and nights in one shining, unforgettable hour. Desire was running rampant through his blood, but he banked the fires so he could concentrate on Emerald’s pleasure.

He had not counted on her scalding passion. Her legs slithered high about his back, then she arched so high, she impaled herself upon his thick, pulsing shaft. He had taught her to take what she wanted without pause and it gave him deep satisfaction that she demanded everything he was capable of giving her.

He knew what she loved best so he plunged and withdrew, over and over, deeper each time, until she gasped and writhed and clung. Each time he withdrew, her body mourned the loss as the high peak of sensation receded. But
immediately he rebuilt it, so that each time she peaked higher.

Never had either of them been so hot as they made love upon the burning sand with the blistering sun beating down on their bare flesh. Both were burning on the outside, afire on the inside, their blood like a river of flame, running from one to the other until both were completely out of control in their raging need.

The brilliant gold behind Emerald’s eyelids flashed into flaming orange, turned to bloodred, then deepened to purple. She hung on the precipice of the volcano for long, exquisite minutes, then, when she could bear the intense pleasure no longer, they erupted together, both shuddering uncontrollably as he flooded into her.

They lay in each other’s arms for a full hour, kissing and whispering love words as if they were in a world apart. When Emerald closed her eyes to drowse, he studied her face intently, so he could remember forever what she looked like on this special day. They wanted it to last forever and stayed until the sun began to sink into the sea.

When they finally meandered back to the ship, the crew surprised them with a mouthwatering feast supplied by the ocean. They had built a fire of driftwood on the beach to cook the fish, shrimp, and lobster they had found in such abundance among the rocks. The sun, the sand, and the sea, combined with the broiled shellfish, ensured that their day ended on a perfect note.

The
Half Moon
didn’t reach Greystones until full dark that night. Sean and Emerald climbed the path that took them up to the big house slowly, their arms about each other’s waists, her head leaning on him, not quite reaching his shoulder. Neither of them wanted the day to end, but the sun and the sea air, their play and their passion, had exhausted the last ounce of Emerald’s energy.

Sean carried her upstairs and undressed her, while Emerald
could do no more than yawn her head off. He slipped into bed beside her and curved his long body against her back with one possessive arm firmly about her. As she drifted into sleep a smile curved her mouth; without a doubt Emerald knew she had never felt better.

    
E
merald couldn’t recall feeling worse in her entire life! She hung over the edge of the big bed, vomiting into the chamber pot. Kate Kennedy, hearing Emerald’s distress, hurried into the master bedchamber. The scene before her gave her pause.

“Yer breeding,” she announced in her direct way.

Emerald lifted a pale, woebegone face. “That’s what I’ve been thinking.” No sooner had she uttered the sentence than she was swept with another great wave of nausea. She groaned, lowered her head once again, and voided what remained of her stomach contents into the china pot.

When her sickness subsided, Kate changed the sheets and helped Emerald bathe. Though Kate’s tongue was sometimes sharp, her actions were usually kindness itself. In truth, she enjoyed having Emerald at Greystones. When Kathleen died, the heart and soul of Greystones seemed to have perished with her. Emerald had brought the big stone house back to life.

As Emerald nibbled on some dry toast and sipped a little watered wine, her heart soared. She was secretly elated at the thought of a child. The only reason she had allowed her father to coerce her into marriage, was so that she could have children. Knowing that it was Sean O’Toole who had planted the seed of a child made her heart dizzy with happiness.

The only thing that worried her was Sean’s reaction. He was an unpredictable man and a domineering one, who was only happy when he could control people and events. If a
baby was not in his scheme of things, perhaps he would be angered at the news.

The dry toast and watered wine made her symptoms miraculously vanish. Emerald chose one of her prettiest gowns, took great pains with her hair, then went down to Greystones’s library to sort through the books that had been brought over from Maynooth. The leather-bound volumes gave her a great deal of pleasure. She found that opening a book was like opening a window on the world. Perhaps in the afternoon when she visited Shamus she would take a book and read to him.

“So this is where you’re hiding.”

She looked up in surprise as Sean came into the library; she hadn’t even heard him approach. “You look very beautiful in yellow. The sun has turned your skin to gold and I believe those are authentic Irish freckles across the bridge of your nose.”

Emerald was dying to share her news with him, but didn’t quite know how to broach the delicate subject. “You were up early this morning.”

“You were sound asleep; I couldn’t bear the thought of disturbing you.”

“When I awoke, I was quite ill. Kate thinks I’m breeding,” she blurted.

“Utter nonsense!” Sean declared. “Too much lobster would be my guess.” He drew close with a worried frown and cupped her cheek. “Perhaps you have a touch of sunstroke.”

“Well, whatever it was, I’m feeling much better now.”

“Good. I want you to take it easy today. Our strenuous exertions yesterday were enough to undo both of us.” He winked. “I’m delighted to see that you also enjoy less physical activities such as reading.”

He wanted to see her blush and she obliged him. “I could stay in this library a year and still be entertained. There’s
simply everything here: mythology, fairy tales, legends, adventures, history, geography. Do you think your father would enjoy some of these?”

“I’m sure he would, especially if you accompanied the books. I believe he has developed quite an infatuation. Looking at a beautiful woman is much more interesting than looking through a spyglass all day.”

After Sean left, she pondered on his words and reaction. He was so totally convinced there was another explanation for her sickness, that she, too, was persuaded. When her nausea returned the next morning, however, and persisted with regularity every other morning for a week, Emerald began to reconsider.

The strange thing was that Sean arose early each morning before she awoke and, as a result, never witnessed her morning sickness. Every time Kate Kennedy alluded to Emerald’s condition, Sean refused to even entertain the possibility that she could be with child.

When Kate hinted about Sean’s reluctance to face the facts, Emerald grew fearful. Of course Sean would be displeased if she were pregnant! He would have no doubt the child was his—how could it be otherwise? But in the eyes of the law, the child would legally be considered Jack Raymond’s. He was her husband still, after all. Emerald could only imagine how fiercely territorial Sean would feel about his own child and how intolerable it would be to have another man publically acknowledged as the father.

Perhaps it wasn’t that at all. Maybe Sean didn’t even like children. Could it be that the news would displease him because he didn’t want to share Emerald? She would just have to give him time to get used to the idea.

Emerald smiled a secret smile. He could deny it all he wanted, but she knew without a shadow of a doubt that she and Sean FitzGerald O’Toole were making a baby together.

She decided to say nothing further. She would give him
extra attention and make sure he knew that she loved him to distraction and that he was, and would always be, the keeper of her heart. In a few months, when her breasts ripened and her belly swelled with the fruit of their lovemaking, Sean wouldn’t be able to deny the evidence of his own eyes.

Emerald sighed with contentment. She vowed to become a perfect mother. It felt so right, how could anything spoil this miracle their love had created?

W
hen the
Silver Star
, an O’Toole merchant ship, arrived at Greystones, her captain, Liam FitzGerald, brought numerous messages for the earl and also a letter for Emerald. Liam delivered them all to Sean; it was his decision whether his woman was allowed correspondence.

Sean weighed the letter in his hand, immediately recognizing Johnny Montague’s handwriting. His shrewd mind told him exactly why Emerald’s brother had sent her a letter. He found her coming from the garden, her arms filled with blazing chrysanthemums. “Hello, my beauty. What prompts your undying passion for flowers?”

“I never had a garden before. Our house in London was surrounded by gray pavement. Flowers only grew in parks, and when I was small I was severely chastised for picking them.”

“Well, if it makes you happy, you may pick every bloom that Greystones grows. Have you seen the meadow behind the stables? It’s purple with Michaelmas daisies.”