He gently began to tug up her hood, then leaned forward and whispered, “So that no one recognizes you.”
“Oh aye.”
His nose brushed her ear. “And so that I’m not tempted to kiss you again.”
Tingles raced along her spine. Saints above. Just the mention of his kissing made her want to shift in the saddle and pull him down for another kiss. But she finished pulling up her hood and forced herself not to give in to the need to fall against him.
Thankfully, the ride to the Shanahan home on Third Street wasn’t long, even though Kiernan explained that he was going a roundabout route through the side streets that were deserted at the late hour, so that hopefully no one would see them.
When they arrived at the back door, Kiernan dismounted first, then helped her down. As he situated his hands on her waist, her blood began to hum with warmth, especially because she felt the pressure of his fingers as if he were touching her skin without her wearing anything at all.
She didn’t want to envision herself in such a state with Kiernan. It was lustful and wanton and shameless of her. If a few simple kisses could turn her head so quickly, she had to be more careful.
The back door opened to reveal an older servant. Kiernan introduced him as Winston the butler. As Winston ushered her inside, she was once again loathe to leave Kiernan’s side, but he didn’t follow and instead guided his horse toward the coach house.
Winston led her quietly through the Shanahan home. With each new room they passed, she was in awe of the grandeur. Although Oakland was spacious and elegant, the city home had clearly been built to impress and entertain guests.
As Alannah started up the grand marble staircase, Kiernan’s list of requirements for a wife pushed to the forefront of her mind. He wanted a well-bred, poised, and polished woman who could manage a home like this and who would be able to impress and entertain his important friends.
The truth was, she fell completely short of his standards and would never be comfortable overseeing a large household. In fact, she shouldn’t be trailing after Winston as if she were a gentlewoman. She ought to be using the servants’ staircase and offering to help him since he was her superior.
The old proverb said it best: Put silk on a goat, and it is still a goat.
She didn’t belong here in the Shanahan mansion, and shecouldn’t stay in Zaira’s room as if she were one of the family. Maybe she would suggest remaining with Torin and taking care of him until he was healed.
When Winston stopped at one of the family chambers, he opened the door for her and then waved for her to precede him into the room. She hesitated a moment until her gaze landed on the unmoving form of Torin on the bed.
Right now, nothing else mattered except seeing her brother and making sure he survived. She would have time later to sort out everything else.
28
Kiernan sat by Torin’s bedside, elbows on his knees, head bent.
He’d been praying for God to show mercy on the young man. But the fever had been taking its toll—a fever from one of the wounds that had become infected. For the past three days, Torin had wavered in and out of consciousness. No matter what anyone had done, he’d slipped further into delirium.
Alannah kept a vigil over Torin, sleeping in the chair and tending to him day and night. Finally last night, Kiernan had threatened to pick her up and carry her away. Only then had she gone to Zaira’s room and slept in the bed.
She’d been asleep for over twelve hours, and Kiernan didn’t intend to wake her, not unless Torin worsened significantly.
Kiernan whispered another prayer, this one for Alannah, that she wouldn’t blame herself as she’d been doing the past few days. She wouldn’t have been able to stop Shaw, even ifshe’d handed herself over. The gang leader had made that clear enough by coming after her even though he’d tried to have Torin murdered.
At least Shaw didn’t know Alannah was staying with him here at the house. Kiernan had done his best to go on with his life as normal, heading out to the brickyard every day, overseeing the cleanup, and meeting with his accountant about his options.
The only option he had was the one thing he hadn’t wanted to do—sell his glass factory. He would have to take whatever he could get and then invest it into the brickyard. Even then, it was doubtful the brickyard could ever be successful the way he’d hoped.
The fixing and rebuilding would take time. Even if they got everything back in working order soon, how would they be able to sell enough bricks to compensate for the losses? Especially with most businesses in St. Louis remaining at a halt.
Kiernan had tried to figure out how to salvage the predicament, but he always seemed to arrive at one conclusion—he’d failed. He’d been too ambitious, hoping he could make a name for himself and make his da proud. But he would end up looking like a fool instead.
With a sigh, he sat back in the chair. Morning light filtered in from the slit between the curtains. He would need to go soon.
At a rustling from the bed, Kiernan stood and reached for the glass of water. He started to bend over Torin to encourage him to drink only to find the fellow’s eyes wide open and staring up at him.
Without his spectacles, Torin’s eyes were more visible.They seemed clear and lucid, the glassiness from the past few days gone. His face was pale and scruffy from the lack of shaving. A deep gash on one cheek with the sutures was a ghastly purple, and the skin under an eye was bruised a faint black.
“Mr. Shanahan?” Torin croaked the words as he gazed around at the bedroom.
“Kiernan. Call me Kiernan.” He placed the glass back on the bedside table and rested a hand on Torin’s forehead. The skin was clammy to the touch, slightly damp, but the heat was gone. Had the fever broken?
