The Earl of Kildare decided to invite the people on the list to dinner at the Savoy Hotel. When he was finished revealing the acts of treason the Montagues had perpetrated against their king and country, he doubted they would keep their stranglehold on the Admiralty for much longer.

After her wedding Emma Raymond Montague drifted from day to day in a sort of vacuum. She had had years of practice at hiding her feelings and emotions so that her existence might be bearable in the ugly brick mansion in Portland Square.

A disturbing pattern had formed in her life. Each day at precisely four-thirty in the afternoon she was swept with a wave of nausea and a feeling of dread. At first she did not understand the source of her feelings, but then one day she realized that four-thirty was the time he left the Admiralty each day, and at that dreaded hour her safety and security were stripped away. To combat the stilling feeling of suffocation Emma fell into the habit of grabbing her cloak and going for a quick walk. She shunned the company of a maid in her desire to escape from the Portman Square mausoleum into the fresh air.

Today, Emma felt particularly trapped. Last night, after Jack had tried to make love for two hours before he accomplished his goal, he became so frustrated he told her bluntly how unsatisfactory a wife she was.

"You're not just cold, you are frigid! There is something wrong with you, Emmaa"you're not normal!"

"You should never have married me," Emma said miserably, wishing with all her heart that he had not.

"It cannot go on like this. Starting tomorrow night things are going to be different around here. I want no more of your tears. You will respond to me, Emma, show me some warmth! I might as well be making love to a corpse!"

At precisely four-thirty p.m., swept with the usual wave of nausea and dread, Emma grabbed her cloak and flung from the house. Instead of walking around the square, Emma's steps carried her into Baker Street, where occasional horse-drawn cabs and pedestrians lent the thoroughfare a less confined air than Portman Square.

Suddenly, Emma became aware of a carriage that drew up to the pavement and stopped beside her. It momentarily distracted her from her troubled thoughts as she stopped to see who had followed her. The carriage door opened and a man stepped out into her path. A pair of green eyes widened in the delicate, heart-shaped face as she stared at him with wonder.

"Emerald."

Her glance slowly moved over each feature of his Celtic face. Sharp cheekbones slanted against his dark visage and she saw that his pewter eyes missed no finest detail. He was in black and white. Black thigh-high boots topped tight black breeches and a black cloak sat upon impossibly wide shoulders. Immaculate linen and black kid gloves completed the picture.

"Sean," she said, knowing it could be no one else.

He held out a black-gloved hand. "Come. Ride with me, Emerald."

She hesitated. She knew she should not. She was a married woman; this was simply not done. She had not seen Sean O'Toole in over five wars. He was Irish; everything she had been taught to hate and despise. She felt so timorous standing there before him. Did he not realize they were different people now? He was different, she was different, circ.u.mstances were different; things could never again be the same.

She looked at his outstretched hand and placed hers in it.

Without a word he helped her into the carriage and tapped the roof with an ebony stick to signal the driver.

Questions crowded her mind. He had undergone a complete metamorphosis.

His youth was gone. He had a man's face now, boldly masculine and dangerous.

Everything about it was sculpted and hard, even his mouth that had kissed her so many times in her dreams. His body, too, was lean and hard, exuding strength and power.

"Come with me to visit the Sulphur, Emerald."

"I'm called Emma now."

With his silver eyes on hers he said, "No, you are called Emerald now. You will be Emerald forever. It is a beautiful name."

She, too, thought her name beautiful, especially when he said it. She suddenly realized how much she had resented being called Emma; it was so plain and ugly-sounding. "I shouldn't go down to the Thames. ... I have to go home."

"Why?" he asked softly. "Is there someone there waiting for you?"

Emerald thought about Portman Square and inwardly shuddered. She was in no hurry to go home, yet she knew if she stayed out, she would be in trouble.

As if he read her thoughts, he said, "You may as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb."

She wondered if she dared visit the Sulphur and realized miraculously that she did dare with Sean O'Toole beside her. When the carriage stopped she glimpsed ships' masts through the window and heard the raucous cry of gulls as they wheeled above the herring boats.

Again he held out a black-gloved hand. "Will you come, Emerald?"

She allowed him to a.s.sist her from the carriage to the dock. He did not let go of her hand until she was safely aboard his ship. He watched her head lift and her nostrils quiver at the salt rang of the sea. She breathed it in as if it were the elixir of life; as if she had just been given her freedom. Sean did exactly the same these days, and he recognized the gesture in Emerald.

He watched her intently, never taking his gaze from her. He saw the dullness in her eyes vanish at the simple pleasure of watching the traffic on the river. He saw her hand caress the mahogany rail as she descended belowdecks and watched her cheeks flush as she remembered catching him with a very naked Bridget FitzGerald.

"I remember everything as if it were yesterday."

"It wasn't yesterday, Emerald. It was five years ago."

She turned to look up at him. "I thought I'd never see you again. After my mother . . . died . . . my father moved us back to London and we've lived a very different kind of life. I don't know anything of your family. Where were you for five years? What have you been do-ing?"

He looked at her through narrowed eyes, then turned to her and said, "I'll tell you all about it on our voyage to Ireland."

"What! You can't meana"" She became aware that the ship was moving and ran up on deck to see that the Sulphur was taking on sail. "What are you doing? I cannot let you take me to Ireland!"

His eyes filled with amus.e.m.e.nt. "I'm stealing you, Emerald. You have absolutely no choice in the matter."

"Are you mad, Sean O'Toole? I'm married!"

His amus.e.m.e.nt increased. "Yes. You are married to my enemy, Jack Raymond. My other enemy is William Montague, your father. They have something in common, something they prize highly that I intend to deprive them of."

"What?"

"You, Emerald."

"You are mad! You cannot do this!" she cried.

"I have done it, Emerald."

She ran to the rail in time to see the Sulphur slip from the mouth of the Thames.

Without taking his dark eyes from her, Sean walked a direct path to her side.

Her green eyes widened in alarm as he reached out a black-gloved hand to her head.

He plucked off her powdered wig and let the wind s.n.a.t.c.h it from him. Her black curls were wildly disheveled as she stared after the wig with disbelieving eyes. Then suddenly she laughed.

I'll wager that's the first time she's laughed in five years. He wanted to see Emerald unfold her feelings and begin to enjoy her freedom. He recognized every detail of her emotions, because he had felt them when he was released from prison.

Textures were so rich, you had to touch them, colors were so vibrant, they made everything seem opulent, fertile, lavish. The beauty of simply looking brought tears to the eyes. He knew.

"The Montagues turned you into a pallid and pathetic English lady. I intend to strip away every layer until you are transformed back into a vibrant Irish beauty."

"But the Montagues hate and despise the Irish." Sean's grin was wide. "I know. Such sweet revenge."

Full realization came to her that he meant exactly what he said. He was stealing her; taking her with him to Ireland. And as he said, he was giving her no choice in the matter. Thoughts from the past came crowding in on her. The first time she met him she remembered thinking that one perfect day he would come in his big ship and they would sail off to Ireland, where they would live happily ever after. That had all been make-believe, and yet the day had arrived, and it was today!

Sean O'Toole was a devil! He was actually doing this maddening, impossible, outrageous thing. And yet, at her heart's core, she was relieved that she did not have to return to Portman Square tonight and face the Montagues who inhabited the mausoleum.

14.

"Emerald?"

She jumped as he spoke her name. She had been aboard two nights, yet she had hardly seen him. "What do you want?"

"I want you to stop jumping at shadows. I want you to let go of your fear. It is a demon that sinks its sickening claws into you and chokes your breath." He made no effort to touch her, so she had no excuse to back away from him. His arm swept over the vista of sea and sky. "I want you to appreciate Ireland and what it is to be Irish."

She could see the island clearly now, rising from the mist.

"This is where the storms of the sky and the wild seas beat without ceasing from generation to generation. It is a romantic, mystical isle; a unique place out of time. It is Paradise and h.e.l.l. Drink in its beauty. It will live forever in your blood.

Inhale deeply, Emerald. Do you smell it?"

Emerald's nostrils quivered as she filled her lungs. It smelled green, lush, piquant, mysterious. "Yes . . . what is it I smell?"

"Freedom. The most glorious smell in the world."

She took another lungful as the sky above her constantly changed. F reedom, yes. I do feel free, like I've been let out of jail. Emerald turned her eyes upon Sean O'Toole. "Have you been in prison?" she asked incredulously.

"I have." His dark eves never left her face.

"Did my father and Jack have anything to do with it?"

"They put me there."

She was shocked, yet not. Her father was capable of anything and Jack his fawning slave. So that was the reason he had stolen her, to punish them! A bubble of laughter escaped her lips. Ironically, it would punish them; not because they loved her, but because he had stolen their property.

As he watched her, Sean realized she was so vulnerable, he would be able to seduce her in a heartbeat. But for his own dark pleasure he would draw it out and savor it. He had no interest in seducing Emma, the little English mouse. He wanted the challenge of a full-blown Irish beauty. He wanted her contentious and delightful, imperious and playful. He wanted her carefree and reckless, bold and beautiful. And then he would seduce her. Gloriously!

Emerald sat patiently upon a coil of cable as the Sulphur docked at the stone jetty and the ship's anchor was lowered through the hawse-hole. Sean approached Emerald and again held out a black-gloved hand.

"Come. Castle Lies awaits you."

She placed her hand in his and allowed him to escort her from the ship. He led her up the causeway, beneath the gatehouse tower, and across the wide green lawns to the entrance of the magnificent Georgian mansion known as Greystones.

In the entrance hall Kate Kennedy, Greystones's housekeeper, sketched the master a curtsy. "Welcome home, my lord."

Without taking his eyes from the female at his side, Sean said, "This is Emerald FitzGerald, Kate." His mouth curved. "She has come to live with us."

Emerald tried to withdraw her hand in embarra.s.sment, but Sean would not allow it. Instead he threaded his fingers through hers possessively and squeezed to give her courage. He was gratified when Emerald curled her hand in his and lifted her head with an inner pride.

"She shall have the bedchamber that adjoins mine." He took his eyes from Emerald only long enough to wink at Kate. "Purely for the view, you understand."

His mouth curved even deeper. He moved toward the grand staircase and Emerald had no choice but to ascend with him.

The room was primrose yellow, giving the illusion of sunshine. Leaded cas.e.m.e.nt windows from floor to ceiling overlooked the fragrant garden and the woods behind. Rising beyond all were verdant, rolling hills that led to towering purple mountains.

With Kate trotting behind, Sean led Emerald through the connecting door into his own bedchamber. "And if you get tired of your view, you must come in here."

He swept her over to his own windows, which overlooked the wild sea with all its differing moods. He watched her face, seeing her in diminutive detail.

He never seemed to take his eyes from her, and it made Emerald aware of herself. She stood taller and had the urge to toss her disheveled curls about. With pink-tinted cheeks she extricated her hand from Sean's and walked back into the primrose chamber. For the first time she noticed there were mirrors everywherea"

along the walls, beside the bed, above the dressing table. Her reflection showed her plainly how colorless and unremarkable she looked in the prim English dress. She lowered her eyes as she was accustomed to do.

Sean was again towering at her side. She looked up at him and blurted, "I've no other clothes!" Her face went scarlet as she realized how that must sound to Kate.

Sean laughed aloud. "And no doubt you are offering up thanks that you have no others like the ones you're wearing. At Castle Lies we have cloth smuggled in from all over the world. Tomorrow you can take your pick. We have silks, velvets, laces in every hue and shade; some you've never yet dreamed of."

"I can't let you clothe me," she announced primly.

He shrugged. "Then you'll have to run about naked, for I intend to burn those a"unless, of course, you'd like the pleasure of burning them yourself?"

"Oh, I would!" Emerald spoke spontaneously.

Sean smiled at her with total approval. "Then naked it is."

"For shame, my lord! Keeping the la.s.s in perpetual blush for yer own wicked amus.e.m.e.nt," Kate scolded.

Sean rolled his eyes and winked at Emerald. "I am beset by women. I must be out of my mind to go out and steal one."

"You stole her?" Kate gasped.

Sean's eyes lingered on Emerald's lips, dipped to her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, then lifted to her green eyes. "I simply couldn't resist," he said, disappearing into his own clumber and shutting the door.

To cover her confusion Emerald moved to the long cas.e.m.e.nt windows, saw the wisps of opal vapor rolling through, and gently closed them. "Where's the mistress?" she asked timidly. Kathleen O'Toole was most conspicuous by her absence.

"In her grave, G.o.d rest her soul. I'll be back in a whisker to plenish yer chamber, ma'am." Kate disappeared through the other door.

When she was alone, Emerald felt her legs tremble and knew she must sit down before she collapsed. She sank down on the soft, wide bed, her thoughts in total disarray. Her emotions warred against each other as if she were two completely different people: one Emma, the other Emerald.

Whatever are his intentions? Emma asked.

You know very well what his intentions are! Emerald answered.

I know no such thing, Emma said primly.

He wants you to run about naked! Emerald declared. She got no further with her argument. The thought made her go weak all over.