Grace scrubbed her dinner plates and other items in the large kitchen sink. For the past two months, when the plumber, his assistant, the land manager and his crew went home after work, she’d enjoyed her solitude. She’d not recognized how lonely she was until the last week or so, when it hit her Luc had been absent for longer than she’d known him. He said he’d be gone for a month or more. She’d known him for roughly three days out of her first week or so at the house. Yet—despite her resolve to remain solitary—the Irishman had managed to insert himself into her thoughts on a near daily basis. More so at night, when she had little to occupy her mind before sleep. He’d even intruded on her dreams.
Several times, she’d dreamt of him fighting on the deck of a ship. A Baltimore clipper which she must’ve included from reading the old ship’s log. A few times, she’d dreamt he was laughing with sailors and flirting with the wenches in some tavern. The strangest dream had been last night. Grace had dreamt twice now, that she was someone called Grainne. The woman who had been given the music box along with an engagement ring. That first dream had been most strange, because the setting, the box, the man, including her own calloused hands felt familiar…normal. Even then, before she’d spoken to Flynn much, he’d made enough of an impression to intrude while she slept. The sense of familiarity remained in the second dream, as she recalled. Nonetheless, it had been unsettling, because she—Grainne—and Luc had been lovers. The scene came back to her in a rush.
The heady mix of ginger and hashish rose from the potpourri dish he’d placed near the brasier.
From the four-poster bed where she lay, Grainne watched her lover close the curtains of the sleeping alcove in his cabin. Shadows caused by the flicker of oil lamps played over his body as he stripped. He’d been gone for months, running the British blockade to bring goods to New Orleans after delivering escaped slaves tovarious ports on the coast of Mexico. She’d missed him greatly. So greatly, she’d finally decided to yield to his pleas and become his lover.
Of course, Luc had promised to eschew all other women while their affair lasted, and despite his reputation as a rake, she’d believed him. He’d never lied to her. Even when she’d asked about his other women, he’d answered honestly. Why wouldn’t he?
They’d been friends since childhood, more than twenty-five years. Only recently, years after she’d been widowed and left Ireland, had their friendship renewed and desire bloomed.
“You’re taking your time tonight,” Grainne said.
Finally nude, he turned to her. “Darlin’, I know you are eager, but believe me, on this occasion, it is best to proceed slowly.”
He stood before her at the side of the gauze draped bed, straight, tall, muscled, lean and tanned all over, from his years at sea. His black hair curled at the ends, and one lock dipped toward an eyebrow. His changeable blue eyes—sapphire one moment, night dark the next, and sky bright another—laughed with the smile he gave her. The sight of him took her breath. It always had. Even after she’d married and he left Ireland for London, she’d envied the women who captured his attention. There had been so many. She’d read about each of them, wishing for a different life than that which fate had handed her. If he had made promises to any of them, she would’ve despised him, but he did not. Luc may deceive others or break the law, but he always kept his word.
He lifted the bright red quilt and white sheets, folding them back to the bottom of the bed as he joined her. Shifting to his side, he caressed her cheek, turning her face to his for a kiss.
Nothing could have been sweeter. Grainne closed her eyes and savored each sensation. She wanted more. Much more.
“Please,” she murmured against his lips then licked into his open mouth.
“Yes,” rumbled back from him.
He caressed her hair, stroked her arms, her shoulders. Sent thrills coursing through her body. She pressed closer. Her hands roamed his sleek muscles, squeezed his resilient buttocks. Luc settledbetween her thighs. She tilted her hips, driven by a yearning more intense than any she’d ever experienced.
“Patience,” he whispered. Then his kisses roamed her face and neck settling at long last on a turgid nipple. Grainne sighed, letting the pleasure of his licking, and suckling spear through her.
His fingers played at her other breast, inciting an even stronger longing.
She shifted her hips, wanting, needing him inside her. “Now,” she begged.
“Soon,” he promised. He reached between their bodies and teased that nether spot, driving her to physical madness.
Desire robbed her of words, and she moaned.
The sound of the alcove curtains rattling apart scarcely registered.
“Mon Coeur.” A woman’s voice, heavy with fear. “I am here. You are safe now, my love.”
Pleasure mixed with shock. Not me. Not my voice. Someone else is here.
Grainne’s eyes flew open.
Her lover lifted his head from her breast.
A scream of rage and pain rent the air. Grace looked beyond her lover’s shoulder.
She was dreaming. She wasn’t really in bed with Luc. But who was? Who was the other woman?
The one dressed in red?
Fury twisted the face of the dusky-skinned woman standing in the alcove entrance. Three people stood behind her.
“You must go to her, Luc, my love. She is in pain,” Grainne urged.
The dark woman reached within the body-hugging red garment she wore, drew out a kerchief wrapped object with one hand, and retrieved a wicked looking dagger with the other.
