She would be expected—just like her two older sisters—to get married and have babies. Not that she was opposed to getting married and having babies. She just wasn’t ready quite yet. She wanted time to write and publish first, before her life became busy with everything else.
The truth was, if her parents knew she was starting an actual career as a published author, they wouldn’t approve. Such aspirations weren’t acceptable for a lady of an upstanding family like the Shanahans. And after the trouble her other siblings had caused over the past six months, Zaira refused to burden them with additional scandal.
For now, it was best to let them believe she was their “easy” daughter, the one who “complied” and “never caused trouble.” Those assumptions allowed her to go unnoticed much of the time and have freedom to do as she pleased. Maybe they would never have to know about her publishing. Maybe she could keep her pseudonym forever.
Whatever the case, she needed Bellamy to understand that if he didn’t respect her privacy, then she wouldn’t be able to respect his.
His brooding eyes held hers.
She wanted to stay irritated, but the longer those dark eyes peered at her, the tighter her lungs grew, until she felt breathless. My, but he had such beautiful eyes, so expressive and rich, especially with such thick lashes surrounding them.
“So ...” He was the first to break their intense connection by looking away.
She tried to draw in a breath, but as his gaze landed upon her bare feet and legs, her lungs squeezed shut again.
He ought to cast his sights someplace else as any gentleman would do under the circumstances. He should give her time to pull down her skirt and petticoat to hide her indecent exposure, especially since he’d caught her unaware.
But Bellamy McKenna was no gentleman. He was a rake, and he did as he pleased by taking his time in perusing every inch of her exposed legs.
She wanted to be outraged or, at the very least, scold him for his lack of good manners. But as his attention lingered over her pale skin, a strange warmth fanned to life low inside—a warmth that spread, a warmth that filled her with pleasure, a warmth that she didn’t want to stop.
Was this similar to the feelings Mr. Knapp had referenced? If so, she clearly needed to experience more of it, and Bellamy was the perfect candidate to help her. She’d already decided that yesterday after their encounter. The attraction she felt for him was too undeniable and too delicious.
The trouble was, Bellamy would never agree to help her with research for her stories ... unless they could strike a bargain—a bargain in which they both got something they needed.
And she knew exactly what he’d come for.
She couldn’t keep a smile from tilting up her lips. “So, Bellamy McKenna. What brings you out to visit me on this lovely summer day? I gather it’s not so you can ogle me, although you’re doing a fine job of that so far.”
He smirked in response. “Oh aye. I am doing a fine job, am I not?”
Too fine if the warmth continuing to flow through her was any indication. If he refused to be a gentleman and stop looking, then she had to put an end to the indecency. She lifted first one foot and then the other, setting both into the grass, and then pulled her skirt down over them.
As she did so, he finally lifted his gaze to meet hers. For just an instant, the dark brown of his eyes glowed with a barely banked heat—a heat that reached across the distance between them and sparked against her, sending tiny flames skittering over her skin, just like it had done yesterday and on other occasions she’d been near him.
Did he feel the heat too? Or was she just so enamored with him that she would take any look or word he was willing to give her and add more meaning to it than he intended?
She tucked her skirt more firmly around her legs. “What can I do for you?”
“I think you know.”
“Do I?” She tilted her hatless head, her braid dangling over her shoulder and down her chest. Of course she knew he was there to get information about Deirdre Whitcomb. But Zaira wasn’t about to make this easy on him. He deserved to work for whatever she gave him.
He scanned the surrounding woodland, thick with the foliage of brambles and briars and wild berries. Would the picturesque landscape end up in one of his paintings?
His gaze touched on each lily pad in the pond and the long cattails growing along the far end before settling on a log near the pier and a turtle sunning itself there.
“You told me you could help me with Deirdre.” His voicewas soft and free of the arrogance that usually filled it. “I’m sorry I turned you down. I could use your perspective, if you’re willing to give it.”
A tiny needle of guilt pricked Zaira. She should help him because it was the right thing to do, not because she needed something in return. But she had only three days left to rewrite the next segment of the story that included the kiss. And she had to get everything right or perhaps lose out on her chance to continue publishing.
Slowly she pushed up, shaking out her now-damp skirt. She didn’t hassle with donning her stockings and shoes, but she did make a point of tucking her feet out of sight underneath the hem of her skirt. She wasn’t sure why she was bothering, especially now that he’d already seen not only her feet but also her calves.
“You do actually know who Deirdre cares about, do you not?” His voice contained a note of exasperation. “I’m running out of time to make the match, so if you’re not knowing, be kind enough to say so.”
“I said I’d help you, Bellamy.” She took a step closer. What should she ask him for first? “And yes, I know who Deirdre admires.”
“Who?”
