Dream Lover.

Virginia Henley.

1.

As the perfectly formed, timeless shape of the rounded head emerged, still glistening with wetness, Emerald couldn't take her eyes from it. Then came the rest of it, hard, silky, and cylindrical in shape.

He was extremely playful today, sliding up and down with an occasional backward thrust, defying gravity. He moved closer until they almost touched, begging, teasing, taunting, daring her to take him lor the ride of her life.

Emerald could not resist the temptation to touch him for another moment. As she reached out and gently slid her fingers down his glistening skin, just under the head, without warning he sprayed her face. The- warm, salty taste was so familiar, it delighted her. With one hand still holding tightly, she hoisted up her shift and lifted her body on top, straddling him with her bare legs.

They'd played this game many times before and he knew exactly what to do.

He immediately rolled with her, putting her on the bottom, and himself on top, then rolled around again. He waited just long enough for her to catch one great breath, then with a powerful thrust he dived deep into the dark, wet, secret depths.

It was all Emerald could do to stay on the dolphin's back while he plunged to the bottom of the cave's deep tide pool, playing and sporting as they had done every clay since they'd discovered each other.

Sean FitzGerald O'Toole stood mesmerized at the entrance to the cavern.

What he saw took his breath away and sent his imagination on a flight of fancy. The exquisite young female riding the dolphin must be an undine from a fairy tale who dwelt in this glittering crystal cave.

At first glimpse he thought her a child with her heart-shaped face surrounded by a cloud of charcoal smoke, which he finally realized was her hair. Then the short white shift she wore turned transparent as the sea drenched her, revealing her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, which looked to him like delicious firm fruit. It was then he decided the small-boned female must be close to sixteen because, though she was not yet a woman, she was tempting enough to physically arouse his firm young body.

When her laughter rippled around the high walls of the cavern like a cascade of silver bells, he thought he had never heard a more entrancing sound. The mythic pair obviously had a bond of love and trust and joy such as he had never before witnessed. He was filled with awe that he had chanced upon this place . . . this scene. Suddenly, the girl and dolphin disappeared beneath the water and he doubted the creatures had been anything but imaginary.

Sean's dark eyes lifted to gaze upward, spellbound by the beauty he had stumbled upon. The high-vaulted cave glittered with iridescence, scattering myriads of rainbows across the surface of the water, turning it into a magic pool. Then his innate intelligence overruled his imagination as he realized he was on the Island of Anglesey, Wales. This mineral must therefore be anglesite, sulphate of lead in white prismatic crystals that were semitransparent, giving off an adamantine l.u.s.ter that resembled the sparkle of diamonds.

His natural curiosity came into play as he moved into the cave to examine its crystal walls more closely. Understanding what gave the cavern its aura of enchantment did not diminish its beauty for him in any way. Rather, his silver eyes gazed upon its iridescent loveliness with the appreciation of a connoisseur.

Suddenly the spell was broken as the young nymph came spluttering to the surface, her long black hair plastered to her head and shoulders. She jumped off the sea creature's back and swain to the edge of the rock pool, clambering onto the ledge, unmindful of sc.r.a.ped knees and her resemblance to a drowned rat. She was naught but a mortal la.s.s. Sean blushed at his own foolishness.

As she impatiently swept her hands up to sleek the hair back from her eyes, her gaze fell upon the intruder. A pair of green eyes widened in the delicate, heart-shaped face as she stared at him with wonder. Her glance slowly moved over each feature of his face, then slid to his neck md wide shoulders. Her gaze moved across his bare chest as if she were tracing every muscle he possessed. Her emerald eyes examined him minutely, as if he were the first man she had ever seen.

Sean O'Toole was used to the sidelong glances of females who obviously liked what they saw when they cast their inviting eyes in his direction. But he was totally unused to being openly examined as if he were a young stallion at Puck horse fair.

"Who are you?" she demanded as if she were a queen on a throne in her crystal kingdom.

She watched his head go up with natural pride as he answered, "Sean O'Toole."

Her face was transformed with delight. "Ooh," she breathed, "you are Irish."

She said it with reverence, worshiping his face and form with her jeweled eyes. "My mother is Irish. I adore her! She's a FitzGerald from Kildare and the loveliest lady who ever drew breath."

Sean grinned at her. He knew who she was now. "My own lady mother is a FitzGerald. We are related by marriage." He sketched her a bow.

"Oh, how wonderful for you. That explains your great beauty!"

"My beauty?" he choked. And again, the nymph raked his body with her eyes.

Emerald examined that beauty again. She had never seen an un-clothed male before. His torso was heavily muscled, but his sinew was covered with firm, youthful flesh. Her discerning eye appreciated the graceful curve of young cheek, wide shoulder, and lithe back. His skin was naturally olive, then tanned even darker by exposure to the sun. His white canvas breeches, cut off at the knees, were a stark contrast to his swarthy skin. His coal black hair was a riot of curls and his eyes were a strange pewter color that shone silver in the cave's unusual light. She had never seen anyone more beautiful in her young life and she was completely entranced by him.

"Let's go into the sunshine where I can see you better."

Bemused, Sean agreed, thinking it a fair exchange. He'd be able to see her b.r.e.a.s.t.s to much better advantage. As they walked from the cave side by side, he towered over her a good ten inches. When they stepped out onto the beach, bathed in full sunlight, Sean was suddenly ashamed of his impure thoughts. The exquisite young girl was totally unselfconscious about her body. She had no notion that her white shift became transparent when wet. Her natural innocence was that of a child, but by the way she looked up at him with adoring eyes, he sensed that the first flutter of womanhood was upon her.

Like pagans they stretched out on the sh.e.l.l-strewn sand in the hot sun while they conversed. "You've ridden that dolphin before." He said his thoughts aloud, still amazed at the performance.

"It's a porpoise."

"Same thing. Which only goes to show the English don't know everything; they just think they do," he teased.

"I'm only half English," she said vehemently.

"And half mermaid. I've never seen dolphins in these waters before. They like warmer places like the waters off France and Spain."

"This one obviously followed the Gulf Stream. Anglesey has extremely mild oceanic climatic conditions, which account for its early, warm spring."

The corner of his mouth lifted. "You talk like a penny-book."

"Encyclopedia," she corrected.

Sean hooted with laughter, exposing white teeth. "You've swallowed that, all right, English."

"My name is Emerald FitzGerald Montague. I'm half Irish!" she insisted pa.s.sionately. The sun had dried her cotton shift and the tendrils of dark hair about her face were beginning to turn back into a cloud of smoke.

Sean laughed with genuine amus.e.m.e.nt. "Better not let your father hear you say that."

It was as if a dark shadow crossed her face. "You know my father?" She shuddered slightly without even knowing she had done so.

Know him? He's been my lather's partner in crime since before I was horn.

Our sires are inextricably bound together, not only by marriage, but by an unholy alliance of smuggling, theft, piracy, and every other type of chicanery from bribery to treason.

"Are you afraid of him?"

"He terrifies me," she confessed, then added a solemn justification. "It's not just me, he terrifies my brother, Johnny, even more."

The admission touched a soft spot of compa.s.sion deep within. How in the name of G.o.d the Father, G.o.d the Son, and G.o.d the Holy Ghost had William Montague ever sired this exquisite elfin creature? Though she was eager to confide in him, Sean was on his guard. This was the daughter of Montague, an English aristocrat, and therefore natural-born enemy of the Irish. Though the O'Tooles and the Montagues had dealt together on a continuous basis for twenty years, it was for profit alone. Sean knew instinctively the two men couldn't stomach each other.

"But my mother's an angel. She protects us from his wrath. He gets so angry, he turns purple in the face. That's when she takes him upstairs to soothe him. She must cast some sort of an Irish spell over him, for when they come down he's always appeased."

Sean could only imagine the acts the beautiful young Amber FitzGerald must perform to protect her children. "You cannot appease a tyrant," he said with disgust.

"He is a tyrant. He will never allow her to go back to Ireland for a visit, but she did manage to beguile him into letting us come to Anglesey for the early summer, while he conducts Admiralty business in Liverpool. It's only a couple of hours away.

The house is wondrous; it has a lookout tower. My mother spends hours there looking across to her beloved Emerald Isle, watching the ships. How far is it?"

"Dublin is straight across from here, maybe fifty or sixty miles ... we sailed it in record time today."

"Are you here on Admiralty business?"

We're here on monkey b.l.o.o.d.y business, he thought. "Business, yes," he conceded. He wondered if she knew about the smugglers' caves that lay beneath the big house. He hoped not, for her own safety. He glanced toward the house, up on the cliff. Amber must know about the illegal cargoes. From her lookout tower she must see the ships come and go.

His brother, Joseph, had made the last run to Anglesey, while Sean had gone to Liverpool. Today, both then backs had been needed to hump the heavy contraband, and a cooler head than Joseph's was necessary to outwit the customs men. When they were done unloading one cargo and replacing it with another, Joseph had suggested that Sean look about the island. "Take your time. The crew has worked so hard, I think we should let them have an hour's swim before we em- bark for home. Spring is hot as summer here."

A finger of suspicion stabbed into Sean's solar plexus. What the h.e.l.lfire was Joseph doing while the lads swam and he explored the island? Sean sat up quickly.

"Is your father expected today?"

"No, heaven be praised. If he were I wouldn't dare be playing at the cave, and Mother wouldn't be singing and adorning herself in her silken robe."

Sean's suspicion hardened into certainty. Joseph must have met Amber on a run to Anglesey when her husband was away. Joseph was his elder by two years, but he hadn't the G.o.dd.a.m.n brains he was born with. Sean shot to his feet and started to run. Perhaps he'd be in time to prevent damage being done.

"Where are you going?" Emerald cried in dismay.

"To put out a b.l.o.o.d.y fire," he called back over his shoulder.

Emerald laughed. He said the most amusing things. This really was a magical place where wishes came true. Her prince had appeared and he was Irish. Exactly as he should be, she told herself. One perfect day he will come in his big ship and we will sail off to Ireland where we shall live happily ever after. Emerald dipped her toes into the sea and shivered deliciously.

Amber FitzGerald, too, shivered deliciously as Joseph O'Toole dipped her toes into his mouth and sucked on them playfully. They lay sprawled in the big bed, resting from their wild gyrations.

"Greedy boy," she purred, "would you eat me, then?"

His Kerry-blue eyes darkened intensely. "I'll eat you," he vowed, moving his dark head between her creamy thighs.

Amber moaned. "I dreamed of you last night, Joseph."

"Then you're as greedy as I am."

"Is it any wonder, after eighteen years of a loveless marriage?"

Joseph, with his hot mouth against her pretty cunny, demanded, "Tell me again I'm your first lover!"

" 'Tis true. He's so jealous and suspicious, he guards me like a dragon; watches me like a hawk."

"Old Montague looks more like a vulture than a hawk."

Amber shuddered, and this time not from Joseph's beautiful mouth. Montague was a vulture who devoured her, body and soul. But before he devoured her, he punished her. Punished her for being beauti-ful, punished her for being young, punished her for being Irish.

Her intense words, filled with loathing for her aristocratic English husband, made Joseph's c.o.c.k turn to marble. It delighted him to cuckold the evil old bull. The pair of horns suited him. Montague f.u.c.ked the English, f.u.c.ked the Irish, and any other nation that made him money. So this was payback; it was f.u.c.king Montague.

But Joseph forgot all about the man as he covered Amber's luscious body with his own. She was so lovely, so in need, and so very, very ripe.

As her lover thrust his hard young body into hers, Amber tried to make it last as long as she could. For all she knew, this loving might have to last her a lifetime.

But Joseph was too young and virile to draw it out. He was plunging fast and furious, then his neck arched back as he delivered three savage thrusts before he exploded. Amber gave herself up to the commands of his young body. As her woman's center convulsed, erupted, then pulsated, she dug her fingers and toes into his back and cried, "Joe, Joe, Joe!"

Sean, about to burst through the bedchamber door, heard that cry and knew he was too late. The damage had been done. There was nothing he could do except leave them undisturbed while they enjoyed their last throes of pa.s.sion. He wanted to beat the stuffing out of Joseph for the risky thing he'd done, but the young woman's cries of pleasure were so heart-scalding, he could tell such ecstatic moments were few and far between. What harm? What harm in her seeking a moment's joy in a lifetime of servitude?

He quit the house and walked out onto the long stone jetty where the Half Moon was docked. When the crew saw him, they came aboard. They were all related through marriage. All nephews, uncles, or second, third, and fourth cousins.

Sean's maternal grandfather was Edward FitzGerald, Earl of Kildare. He had been one of twenty-three offspring. Three generations of FitzGcralds made up an entire clan in their own right. Most of the males crewed the OTooles' fleet of merchant ships.

"Danny, Davie, you two lads come below. We'll just check the cargo."

Command came easy to Sean O'Toole. He'd been groomed to take over the family shipping business since he was twelve. His father, Shamus, said Sean's temperament was more suited to handling men than Joseph's, because Sean ruled them with humor. He could almost always defuse a touchy situation with his natural charm and wit. Joseph was being groomed for Irish politics, which called for different skills.

Shamus O'Toole had one of the craftiest minds in Ireland. To avoid the penal laws, he'd registered them all as Protestants, though they were no such thing.

Greystones, his magnificent Georgian home, was known as "Castle Lies." The reasons for the name were numerous, not the least of which was the Catholic Ma.s.s celebrated in its chapel every morning that G.o.d sent. The one piece of advice Shamus always impressed upon his sons was: Always do what's expedient and ye'll never go far wrong!

Belowdecks, Sean tested the ropes that secured the brandy casks, then directed the lads to cover them with the barrels of herring they'd used on the voyage over to conceal the casks of smoky Irish whisky. Drink was the foremost vice of the eighteenth century, G.o.d be praised. The O'Tooles had made one fortune smuggling out illegal Irish whisky, and another fortune smuggling in illegal French brandy to satisfy the insatiable demands of the wealthy Anglo-Irish who ruled the land, or thought they did.

When Joseph finally came aboard, the crew needed no orders to weigh anchor and hoist sail. Before he reached the cabin, where Sean was falsifying bills of lading, the vessel had slipped from the stone jetty and into the mouth of the strait that opened into the Irish Sea.

"Sorry I didn't get around to the papers, but you're far better at it than I am."

Sean drawled, "You've been dipping your quill, but not in ink."

Joseph bristled instantly. "What the h.e.l.l's that supposed to mean?"

Sean's pewter eyes looked directly into his brother's and held his defiant gaze.

"Exactly what you think it means." Sean's eyes dropped to the neck of Joseph's unlaced shirt. "You've bite marks on your throat."

As his fair skin flushed a telltale pink, Joseph laughed. "A maid up at the house couldn't keep her hands off me."

Sean's eyes locked with his brother's once more. "Lie all you want to yourself, Joseph, but never make the foolish mistake of lying to me. How the h.e.l.l can I cover your back if I don't know what you're up to?" Sean looked at his brother in amused exasperation.

"If you saw her, you'd understand."

"I don't need to see her. She's a FitzGerald la.s.s, and that says it all." Sean sighed and gathered up the papers. "What's done is done and can't be undone, but next time you're tempted, think what Montague will do if he finds out. At the Admiralty he has a network of spies at his disposal, and servants' tongues never stop wagging."

Joseph swallowed hard, imagining castration. Then, with typical bravado, he laughed. "I'm not afraid of that old swine!"

Then you should be, thought Sean, for the man has no soul. He masked the fear he felt for his brother and clapped him on the shoulder. "You thoughtless young devil, my concern isn't for you, it's for Amber FitzGerald."

When the O'Toole merchantman sailed into Dublin harbor, which was supposedly owned lock, stock, and barrel by the English and ruled by the British Admiralty, Sean made short work of getting the cargo through customs. He swung back over the rails with the falsified papers in his hand. "Take that worried look off your face, Joseph. The customs man was in Montague's pocket. For the price of a jar of ale he offered to sell me his musket and throw in his sister, to boot," Sean joked.

As the Half Moon headed toward Greystones's own harbor, just north of Dublin, Joseph said, "Father will be pleased with this day's work."