Sean spent most of the day at the glovers recommended by the Savoy, who rea.s.sured him that the Prince of Wales and his great friend, George Bryan Brummell, would have their gloves made nowhere else.

He displayed his left hand and explained that when he put a glove upon it, he wanted it to look completely normal.

Two craftsmen were called in from the workroom and presented with the problem. They made sketches of his hand in every conceivable position. They measured it precisely from every angle. They compared it with his other hand and then they brainstormed ideas, encouraging the earl to make his own suggestions.

Finally, they made a trial pair that fit perfectly. Inside the thumb of the left glove a thumb carved from wood was glued into place. It came halfway down, and when O'Toole inserted his hand and stretched the leather taut, it was impossible to detect that the top portion of his thumb had been amputated. Sean O'Toole was so pleased with the glovers' product that he ordered two dozen pairs. Two pairs were to be made from gray kidskin, the rest from supple black leather.

He spent the rest of the day shopping. He bought Hobey boots, riding boots, breeches, and hacking jackets. He ordered shirts of silk and linen, vests and waistcoats, cravats, muslin neckcloths and top hats, and a many-caped greatcoat. He even took a fancy to a Malacca cane with an ebony top. He ordered all delivered in the name of Kildare to the Savoy Hotel.

As he strolled down Bond Street on his way back to the Savoy, he stopped to admire the pieces displayed in a jeweler's window. His eye was held by a silver dolphin brooch and he entered the shop to take a closer look. When the jeweler placed it in his gloved hand, Sean saw that it was made of sterling silver and that the eye of the dolphin was an emerald. It was the perfect gift for a woman named Emerald. He had the jeweler wrap it for him, then asked if he could have an extra box about the same size as the one that held the brooch.

When he surveyed his purchases at the end of the day, he saw that everything he had selected was either black or white. His mouth quirked with self-derision as he realized he could no longer bear aught but immaculate, snow white linen next to his person. The black he had chosen for authority. From this day forward he would be in charge of himself and in charge of anyone who came into his venue.

That night, Sean FitzGerald O'Toole took the severed thumb from the top of the wardrobe where he had concealed it, and placed it in the empty box from the jeweler's. He scrubbed his hands, then wrote out two small cards imprinted with the Savoy emblem. On one he wrote Bride, on the other, Groom; then he signed both: Earl of Kildare.

When Emma Montague awoke on her wedding day she experienced many emotions, but the predominant one was resignation. She had no objection to the fact that Jack and her father had agreed that the groom would change his name to Montague. She knew he had coveted the family name since he was a boy. It was his way of wiping out his illegitimacy.

What really upset her was that as a married couple they would be living in her father's house in Portman Square! She used every inducement to persuade Jack to live elsewhere. She explained that if he could not afford to buy a house, they could rent one. It need not be large; she would be happy in a small house, just so long as it was theirs. But of course Jack would never be content with a small house when he could live in the Montague mansion in Portman Square.

Emma gathered her courage and approached her father, but he was adamant that the newlyweds must live in the family home; as a great concession he suggested they turn the third floor into their private living quarters.

As Emma was being dressed for her wedding, it began to dawn on her that instead of removing her from her father's authority, marriage would impose two masters she must answer to. In the white gown with the white wreath and veil atop the powdered wig, she looked pale unto death. Even the ceremony was being performed at Portman Square, giving her the uneasy impression that her home was her prison.

The words said over her were a blur to Emma. Jack's loud response of "I will" made her jump, bringing her out of her introspective reverie. The minister was soberly addressing her now, but the only phrase that stood out in her mind was "Wilt thou obey him?" Her subdued "I will" was heard by very few.

Later, at the wedding reception, there was such a crush of people, Emma recognized only some of the faces. The wedding gifts were piled onto a long refectory table in the ballroom and when it came time for the couple to open them, they sat upon matching carved chairs on the dais, where all could see from the crowded floor.

The Earl of Kildare slipped his small gifts onto the table and retreated to the back of the room. His height gave him an unimpeded view of the newly weds. His pewter eyes first sought out William Montague. The man had aged slightly and was somewhat uglier, if that were possible, but he looked much the same as he had five years earlier.

Vengeance rose up so strongly in him, Sean could smell and taste it. He almost felt sorry for Wily Willie. Then his eyes traveled to the dais and rested upon Jack Raymond Montague, as he now called himself. The pupils of Sean's eyes dilated with pleasure as he contemplated his plans for the groom.

Almost as an afterthought his glance rested on the bride. Surely this small, pale, uninteresting girl could not be the wild, vivid creature he had met in the crystal cave! Perhaps his memory had played tricks on him, so that the female his erotic dreams conjured bore no resemblance to the actual Emerald. He felt no regret that she was unremarkable, in fact he felt nothing for her whatsoever.

None save Johnny Montague recognized the tall, dark man with the pewter eyes. The moment John saw him at the back of the room he joined him. "As far as Admiralty records are concerned, you never existed."

Sean's saturnine mouth curved in a half smile, then his glance traveled to Johnny's uncle. "I want to know the names of the Earl of Sandwich's enemies," he said softly. All Montague enemies are my allies.

"I understand," Johnny murmured, before he melted into the crowd.

Sean's patience was limitless as he watched the newlyweds unwrap their wedding presents. When his gifts were in the hands of the bride and groom, he saw a look of pleasure cross Emerald's face as she opened the small box. His full attention, however, was focused upon Jack as he unwrapped his present.

Sean waited only long enough to see him recoil, then blanch, as the Mood drained from his hue.

By the time the groom sought out his new father-in-law to share the contents of the grisly gift box, the Earl of Kildare had quit the premises.

Emma Raymond Montague sat nervously in bed awaiting her bridegroom.

Something had gone wrong in the late afternoon at her wedding reception that made her husband and her father shut themselves behind the library door for over two hours. She did not expect her father to discuss the trouble with her; she had learned long ago that women did not interfere in men's business. Perhaps when Jack came he would tell her what had happened to throw them into turmoil.

She slipped from the bed and took the small box from the night-table drawer.

When she lifted the lid her eyes lit up with delight. Her mind flew back over the years to the days she had ridden the porpoise in the crystal cave and that fateful day when her Irish Prince had discovered her.

She got back into bed still holding the small treasure. She touched the silver dolphin's eye with a fingertip. "Emerald," she whispered, delighting in the jewel, delighting in her real name. The card read Earl of Kildare, but Sean O'Toole must have chosen the brooch and given it to Edward FitzGerald to deliver. She could not remember having seen the earl this afternoon, but then most of the faces had blurred together in the overcrowded ballroom.

As she held the dolphin, her heart beat a little faster. She had not shown it to Jack, nor would she. He had been so preoccupied, he hadn't even asked her what was in the small box. She wondered again why her husband had not joined her, and was beginning to suspect he would not come at all. Emma yawned and slid down in the bed. She infinitely preferred to sleep alone anyway. She closed her hand about the brooch, tucked it beneath the pillow, and drifted into sleep.

She lay upon a stretch of sugary sand in the sunlight. A delicious sense of antic.i.p.ation 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 come to her. She kept her eyes closed until she felt a flutter, like a b.u.t.terfly wing, touch (he 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 br.i.m.m.i.n.g 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, but when he was a heartbeat away, Emerald awakened.

She recoiled from the man who held her close and was about to kiss her.

"Emma, what's wrong?"

"N-nothing, I was asleep . . . you startled me."

He pulled her to him again and covered her mouth with his. At the same time his hands began to remove her nightgown.

Emma stiffened at the bold a.s.sault. She was shocked to feel that Jack was completely naked and any second would have her in the same condition. "Jack, don't! Stop, please!"

"What the devil is the matter with you?" he demanded.

"This is wrong . . . it's wicked," she panted.

"Emma, you're my wife! I waited until we were married before I touched you, but I'll wait no longer." His hands were rough as he tore the nightgown from her body and covered her b.r.e.a.s.t.s with his hot hands.

A small sob escaped her and he let go of her in disgust. "My G.o.d, don't you even know what goes on between men and women?" he demanded.

"Well . . . yes . . . but it's so wanton. I'm not like my mother. I've been taught to be chaste ... to be a good girl," she said softly.

Drawing on a patience he did not feel, Jack said, "That is the way you should be until you are married. But with your husband it is different. I have the right to use your body whenever I wish. If you will stop acting like a child, you will enjoy what I'm about to do to you."

Emma doubted that with every fiber of her being.

"Lie still and stop pushing me away."

Emma wasn't completely ignorant. She knew that a man and a woman must join their bodies together in order to make a child. Slit-simply hadn't realized how unpleasant it would be. Resolutely she closed her eyes and lay rigid.

Jack's a.s.sault was as distasteful as it was painful. When he was finished and he lay panting from his exertions, Emma felt violated, yet she also experienced overwhelming relief that it was over.

Jack leaned over her. "You're a cold little creature, but I'll change all that, never fear."

As her new husband lay snoring beside her, silent tears crept down her cheeks. I hate and detest all men. She wished she could escape into sleep, but blessed sleep seemed a thousand miles away. Emma had felt trapped for a long time, but now the walls of her cage seemed to be closing in on her. A wave of nausea swept over her as she realized that tomorrow night could be a repet.i.tion of tonight.

In her innocence she had thought marriage would be some sort of escape; instead it was a lifetime sentence.

13.

Sean O'Toole went down to the Pool of London to secure a pa.s.sage to Ireland. While he was there he made it his business to learn all he could about the Montague Line. They owned eight private merchantmen, and though none of them was in port at the moment, Sean learned the names of the vessels, their size, and on which trade routes they sailed.

He waited at the end of Whitehall's tiltyard, close by the Admiralty Office, until Johnny Montague had finished his work that day. John handed O'Toole a list of names that cataloged the enemies of the Montague brothers. As Sean scanned the list he did not recognize all of them, but some were so politically powerful, they were familiar to everyone.

"How can I contact you?" Johnny asked O'Toole.

"You can't," Sean said quietly. "When I want you, I'll find you."

John Montague did not doubt his word for one moment.

The Earl of Kildare, along with a considerable pile of luggage, sailed the next morning on the mail packet to Dublin. As Ireland's misty coastline came into view, Scan O'Toole thought he'd never before seen anything so heart-stoppingly beautiful.

His eyes shone silver as he sailed into the horseshoe shaped harbor. Then he lifted his gaze to the fields and hills beyond, which were lushly green after the winter rains.

He hired a horse from the stables of the Brazen Head and paid to have his luggage taken by wagon to Greystones. He was filled with both antic.i.p.ation and dread to be going home. He felt like the prodigal son. Would his father kill the fatted calf when he arrived? Without Joseph at his side, he gravely doubted it.

The first one to see him at Greystones as he rode over the short causeway, then beneath the arch of the gatehouse tower, was Paddy Burke. The steward knew him immediately, though he was vastly changed.

"Glory be to G.o.d!" Paddy said, crossing himself, then he took hold of the horse's bridle to hold him steady. "Welcome home, my lord."

"Mr. Burke, G.o.d had nothing to do with it. 'Twas the devil allowed me to escape so I could wreak vengeance."

"Amen to that."

"How did you know me?" Sean asked, amused.

"I felt your presence. I did not recognize you with my eyes. You are older, taller, leaner, harder, and your back is straight as a ramrod."

Sean's mouth curved in a half smile. "The more they heaped humiliation upon me, the straighter I walked. Where is my father?"

Paddy Burke hesitated only a moment. "He's in the gatehouse tower, my lord."

Sean took the steps two at a time. Shamus O'Toole was sitting at a window with a gun resting across his knees.

"It's Sean, Father. I'm home."

Shamus stared at him for long minutes before he spoke. "Forgive me. I tried everything to get you released, but the Montagues held the whip hand."

"They hold it no longer." Sean lifted his head high as he spoke. "Father, I did not kill Joseph, you must believe that."

Shamus held up a forbidding hand. His eyes burned like the coals in the hobs of h.e.l.l. "You think you need tell me that? I know who murdered Joseph and also deprived me of you for five years. English vermin!" He spat. "Now that you are free, we shall even the score."

"Never doubt it," Scan pledged. "Where's Mother?"

"She's out in the garden. You know how she loves it." Again Sean O'Toole took the tower stairs two at a time, then strode purposefully to his mother's lovely walled garden. His gaze traveled over the beds of spring flowers, looking for the woman he loved most in life. He didn't see her for a minute or two, but as his eyes looked beneath the weeping willow, he found her.

His heart stood still as he went down on his knees before the small gravestone.

Kathleen FitzGerald O'Toole Loved Forever Sean O'Toole thought he had plumbed the depths of hatred, but as he knelt at his mother's grave, he learned otherwise. For five years he had plotted revenge for the two lives the Montagues had stolen, never dreaming they had taken a third life.

Kathleen was the heart and soul of Greystones; the precious female they all cherished. He would not know a moment's peace until he had avenged her. On his knees he pledged a sacred vow to his beloved mother.

Paddy Burke placed a hand on Sean's shoulder in a vain attempt to comfort him. " 'Tis heartbreaking entirely. She's been gone two years now. Shamus lives in the gatehouse with me. He cannot abide the big house without her. Himself nearly went mad when he lost her. He suffered a stroke an' his legs are very weak. He sits up there with the gun, waiting to put a bullet through William Montague when he comesa"an' he swears he will come, one day."

"Death is too kind for William Montague, Mr. Burke. First he must drain the cup of life to its bitter dregs."

Sean spent the next day in solitude aboard his ship, the Sulphur. When he again joined his father in the gatehouse tower, he listened with amazement as Shamus, too, revealed he had a plan for revenge.

"I've not wasted my time while you were indisposed, Sean, my lad. I've worked for five years against the day ye'll avenge us. There's a FitzGerald sails on every private Montague vessel afloat, as well as on most of the English Admiralty ships."

Sean's mouth curved with wry amus.e.m.e.nt. That certainly saves me a lot of time. You are the shrewdest man who ever lived, Father."

The servants at Greystones could not get over the change in Sean O'Toole.

He was now the Earl of Kildare, of course, and they treated him with great deference, but their tongues wagged endlessly, cataloging the changes in the man.

Kate Kennedy, sharing a dish of tea in the big kitchen with Mary Malone, said, "He's not the same fun-loving boy who left here. Castle Lies used to be filled with mirth and merriment, clatter and clamor, disputin' and gnashin' of teeth."

"Don't I know it? He's that quiet, he comes into the house like a drop of soot.

My heart's scalded for him, so it is," Mary replied.

"He's that fastidious, he changes his linen three times a day. I've had to hire a special woman just to wash and double-starch his shirts. An' he never removes his glovesa"it's as if he cannot bear to dirty his hands."

"That's not the half of it, Kate Kennedy. When he comes to the table it's like a ritual. The cloth must be white as driven snow an' he'll dine off only the finest porcelain an' lead crystal. An' if yer thinkin' he's particular about what the table looks like, 'tis nothing compared to his food. He's a fanatic about the food."

When Sean went over the books, he saw that between his father and Paddy Burke, their shipping business was flourishing. He heaved a sigh of relief that he need expend little time or effort in that direction and could use their fleet to ruin the Montagues.

He joined Shamus and Paddy in the gatehouse one evening after he'd been home about a week. They told him of the terrible uprisings after his grandfather was killed, and the brutal British troops who had been sent to beat the Irish into submission.

"That b.a.s.t.a.r.d William Pitt keeps proposing an Act of Union, to transfer legislative control of Ireland from Dublin to Westminster. He'll buy the b.l.o.o.d.y votes with bribes!" Shamus said with disgust for his fellow Irishmen.

Sean said quietly, "I'm sorry to be leaving again so soon, but I've pressing business in England."

"Now that yer the Earl of Kildare, I suppose ye'll be takin' up the cause where yer grandfather left off," Paddy mused.

Sean's jaw hardened. "Ireland can wait, Mr. Burke, I've my own agenda to accomplish."

"Quite right," Shamus agreed. "May the strength of three be on your journey with you."

With a stout crew of FitzGeralds, Sean O'Toole sailed his own ship, the Sulphur, back to London. On the voyage he perused the list of enemies Johnny Montague had supplied and singled out a few names. Sir Horace Walpole and his son were both clever politicians who opposed everything that John Montague, Fourth Earl of Sandwich, stood for in the House of Lords. Sandwich had received his Admiralty commissions through his great friend the Duke of Bedford, and when the two joined forces, their influence in the House was hard to beat.

Sean O'Toole smiled at a notation Johnny had made against the name of the Duke of Newcastle. Johnny Montague was far shrewder than he appeared. He had made special note of the fact that the Duke of Newcastle was the archenemy of the Duke of Bedford.