Dark Hero; A Gothic Romance (Reluctant Heroes) (4 page)

And wasn’t the proof of her conviction in her hand? She
clutched the small packet in her fist, bought from her pay for laundering
shirts for the bachelors in town. They couldn’t afford a real feast in honor of
the Celtic god Lugh but tonight Granny Sheila would have sugar in her tea!

Captain Fletcher provided them with a roof over their heads
and that was all they could say about the dilapidated cottage he took them to
years ago on that cold December night. It turned out that Sheila O’Flaherty
provided the perfect foil for the captain’s schemes. He could hide in the
country without fear of the authorities ever finding him, for what connection
would an old Irish woman and her two grandchildren have with a notorious
gambler wanted for murdering a viscount’s son?

The captain came home a sparse few days out of each month,
when his luck ran out. The arrangement gave the siblings a measure of freedom
that few could boast of at such a young age. Sheila taught Elizabeth how to
cook. They raised a garden and kept a few chickens to sell the eggs. They took
in laundry and mending. Michael acquired odd jobs with the blacksmith and the
butcher. Recently, he’d been given a position as stable boy at the Hamilton
Estate up the road.

Ah, life might even be called good. Except Captain Fletcher
was scheming again. As Elizabeth came of an age to be properly married, he was
busy trying to secure a match for her from among his gaming associates in the
hope of settling some of his debts.

Elizabeth was determined to evade his snare. She had it all
worked out in her head. She’d run away before she’d agree to such an unsavory
match. She would take Sheila and head for London, become a lady’s companion or
a governess. Her mathematics might be atrocious as her schooling ended when
mama died, but she could play the pianoforte better than most and that one
talent might secure her a position tutoring wealthy merchant’s children in
their homes. She could also teach the merchant’s daughters comportment and
manners, prepare them for entering society since her mother had been a lady.

Preoccupied with her plan of escape, Elizabeth walked right
past the fine roan stallion tethered outside their cottage without caring how
it got there. Michael must have taken it for a stretch of the legs, she
assumed, as she opened the front door. He often did so with Lord Hamilton’s
stock, and then stopped at the house to brag a little. He was mad about horses,
but what lad of fifteen wasn’t? Elizabeth untied the strings of her bonnet and
hung it on the peg.

True to form, Michael was standing next to Sheila’s chair,
facing the door with a pleased smirk on his thin face. “Ah, Liz, we were just
discussing your tardiness!”

“I see you’ve stolen a horse again for the afternoon.” She
teased, and then scolded him. “Quit preening like a lord and go get some wood
so I can warm your dinner.”

“Is that any way to talk to me on your birthday?” Michael
returned in a high good humor. “I shan’t give you your present.” He affected an
adorable pout, dimples and all.

“You haven’t the means to buy me a present, and even if you
did, I’ve told you I have need of nothing, except good companionship and
pleasant conversation.”

“You’re lack of faith in me is disheartening, Mademoiselle.
I’ve brought home a companion to entertain us in exchange for dinner. But after
hearing your acid tongue I wager he’ll be making his excuses and heading for
the door.”

A dark haired man rose from the high-back chair he’d been
sitting in that faced away from the door at Michael’s nod to him. He turned to
face Elizabeth with an amused smile.

“My brother doesn’t steal horses, sir, it was a jest." Elizabeth’s
face grew hot.

“Liz!” Michael raised his hands. “Donovan is my friend. You
needn’t worry about him sending the sheriff after your wicked tongue.”

The stranger’s smile widened. He had a complexion that had
been kissed by the sun. His hair was as black as midnight, secured behind his
neck with a black bow. And such blue eyes!   

“This is Mr. O’Rourke. Michael invited him to dinner.”
Grinning, Old Sheila made the introductions. “And this is my grandchild, sir,
my darlin’ lass, Miss O’Flaherty.”

“A pleasure, Miss O’Flaherty.” The man stepped forward to
make a formal bow. The parlor echoed with a distinct crunch. His gaze dropped
to the small packet lodged beneath his boot. The stranger bent to retrieve it
and held the packet out to her with a beguiling smile. “Your sugar, Miss, I
believe you dropped it.”

“Yes, Mr.?” Elizabeth stammered, uncertain of his name.

“O’Rourke, Donovan O’Rourke, Miss, at your service.”

“Thank you, sir.” She struggled to retrieve her addled wits
as she took the packet from him. “I’ll not need to break the lumps now. You’ve
done that for me.” She attempted a smile.

The Irishman nodded and smiled back. Elizabeth was taken
hostage by the lively interest in those dazzling blue eyes, such a pale shade,
the color of the sky on a cloudless day.

Uncomfortable with his frank, open regard, she dropped her
gaze to his boots. Tall brown top boots. She noted the unusual color, as most
men wore black ones with brown trim. His were just the opposite. Her eyes
ambled up long, muscular thighs molded into buff doeskin breeches that fit him
like a second skin. Brown leather gloves encased hands resting jauntily on trim
hips as her vision moved steadily upward. A leather work vest protected O’Rourke’s
shirt from his labors. A sloppy neck linen hugged his tan neck. His cotton
shirt was discolored from frequent wear, a soft ivory rather than white. The
sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing tanned, corded forearms that
made her pulse jump like a colt kicking up its heels gleefully in the pasture.
As her gaze moved to his face, the smile creasing his lips conveyed the silent
message that her inspection hadn’t escaped his notice. He had the audacity to
wink at her.

Flushing crimson, Elizabeth fled to the kitchen. She should
be outraged by his forward behavior or shamed by her own. Instead she was at
once giddy, nervous, uncertain and weak at the knees--all in the space of five
minutes!

Oh bollocks
, Elizabeth stepfather’s favorite swear
word came to her mind. Elizabeth looked toward the parlor guiltily. She could
at least think the word without getting in trouble. Granny Sheila couldn’t hear
her thoughts.  
How I am to make it through the rest of the evening?

Elizabeth remained silent throughout the meal, not trusting
herself to speak with her wits jumbled about. Michael and Sheila kept the
conversation flowing with the enchanting Irishman. She found herself
continually drawn to the pale blue orbs that studied her from the face of a
bronzed god. She tried to be sly about her admiration of his masculine beauty,
but she was caught staring by him time and again. Each time their eyes met, she
blushed and looked away.

“Am I correct in assuming your father is working away from
home, Miss O’Flaherty?” O’Rourke asked when she was caught on one forbidden
foray.

“Ha. He’s never found work to be profitable.” Michael
answered for her, and set to chewing a piece of sinewy meat with extra vigor.
“Good stew, Liz. Is it chicken again?”

Elizabeth nodded and smoothed an imaginary wrinkle from her
skirt, keeping the truth to herself. Or so she thought until she noted the
smirk on the face of their guest. O’Rourke knew it was rabbit, poached rabbit, more
to the point, a crime for which she’d face serious charges if caught—and yet,
her little brother had to have meat to eat.

“Our father is out seeking his fortunes. He doesn’t trouble
himself much over ours.” Michael added pouring more milk that had come to them
in exchange for Sheila watching the neighbor’s babe this week so the farmer’s
wife could help him bring in the grain harvest.

There was a price for every morsel they ate. Elizabeth was
always keenly aware of it. Tonight she felt it more than usual. Lucy, her
favorite amongst the bevy of stray cats that congregated at their cottage,
jumped onto Elizabeth’s lap. They couldn’t fall much lower, when having a guest
made her worry where their next meal would come.

Michael poured a portion of his milk onto a chipped tea
saucer and pushed it in front of Elizabeth. Lucy promptly stood up on her lap
and lapped the milk from the saucer with her pink tongue, purring loudly.
Elizabeth stroked the calico’s neck as she chanced a look at Mr. O’Rourke. They
wouldn’t dare indulge Lucy so in Papa’s presence. It would earn them both a
harsh cuff alongside the head and the cat would be thrown across the room.

Mr. O’Rourke didn’t arch a brow as he gazed serenely at
Elizabeth. “Ah, hoping to provide coin to ease the burdens of his family, no
doubt.” He said, gallantly dismissing Michael’s impertinence as easily as he
had the cat’s presence at the table.

“Easing no one’s cares but his own.” Sheila’s fist slammed
down with such force the sugar bowl danced to the edge of the table and
shattered when it met the floor. It christened the rough boards with tawny
granules. Lucy ran out the door, her tail bristled. “He’s out drinking and
gambling away every last ha’penny, while his son here mucks out stables and my
darlin’ lass is reduced to taking in laundry so we can eat. And their mama was
the daughter of an Earl!”

“Pray excuse her, sir. She forgets herself.” Elizabeth
jumped up to fetch the broom, and then knelt to brush up the mess before it
attracted pests.

“Perhaps I might be able to assist you. Lack of coin isn’t
one of my flaws.”

Elizabeth started at the sound of that lush, rich voice
beside her. Mr. O’Rourke was crouched behind her. He took up the broom pan from
her and angled it so she might sweep the sugar and shattered porcelain into it.
It was a simple gesture, yet her heart beat a swift tattoo at not only his
nearness but his eagerness to help her in such a menial chore. She had to gain
control of her wild emotions and remind him that she was not an easy mark.

“I’m not in the habit of accepting money from strange men
under the guise of charity.” Elizabeth rose and tossed the contents of the
broom pan into the pail at the kitchen door. She turned on her heel to confront
the man. “If you wish to assist us you might see if your employer has need of a
scullery or maid of all work. I’m not particular, as long as its honest
employment.”

Those crisp blue eyes widened. “Miss O’Flaherty, you
misunderstand my intentions.” He gestured broadly toward the table. “Surely you
don’t believe I’d make an illicit offer to you in front of your grandmother and
your brother?”

Oh, wasn’t he the quick and clever fox? Assuming perfect
innocence while implying she was the one with improper thoughts. Well, perhaps
she was, at that.

“Have you not shared this delightful stew with me?” He
continued, with the veracity of a preacher warming to his sermon. “Not
expecting coin or other forms of compensation? You did it out of the goodness
of your heart, did you not?”

Flustered, Elizabeth crossed her arms before her and ceded
his point with a terse nod.

“Well, is it wrong for me to wish to share a portion of my
own bounty with such generous friends?” He replied, and his warm smile
dissolved the remains of her anger.

*******

 Mr. O’Rourke dropped by frequently in the following weeks,
nearly every day.

He sat and listened patiently to Old Sheila ramble on when
Elizabeth was busy tending chores. Seeing the tonic the Irishman had on her
grandmother’s spirits, Elizabeth didn’t mind sharing their meager fair with
him.

His offer of assistance was never voiced again. Instead,
they began finding coins in the strangest places; under the tea kettle, in the
pocket of the apron left hanging on a peg in the kitchen, or in the bottom of a
basket. Granny Sheila nearly broke a tooth one morning when she bit into a coin
that had been cooked in their breakfast oats.

O’Rourke entertained them with tales of life in the West
Indies. He spoke of hurricanes, fierce pirates and shark attacks to entertain
Michael at dinner. With Elizabeth and Sheila he boasted of brilliant sunsets,
exotic flowers and birds that made up the wild landscape he likened to
paradise. He was attached to a French nobleman who had fled France during the
Terror and owned a sugar plantation near St. Kitts. As the count’s agent,
O’Rourke was in England negotiating with Lord Hamilton on the purchase of some
fine breeding stock for his master’s stables, which is where he met Michael. He
insisted on being called Donovan, and had such an easy manner he made it seem
as if they had been friends for ages instead of mere weeks.

He held Elizabeth’s hand as they strolled in the August
twilight each evening after dinner, just the two of them. On a particularly
warm night, Donovan attempted to point out the constellations. He claimed it
was easier to find them in the Indies, as the skies were so cloudy here from
the factories. To encourage his efforts, Elizabeth took him on a familiar path
deep into the woods. They stood in the center of a small clearing ringed by oak
trees Sheila called The Sacred Grove. The old woman believed that it was
guarded by nature spirits, imbued with magic.

Elizabeth gazed up at the expansive sky. “The fireflies are
dancing among the flowers, the crickets are singing lullabies to their little
ones and the trees stand by as ancient sentinels, guarding this sacred place
from the prying eyes of the outside world. Isn’t it beautiful?”

“Aye.” Donovan whispered in a voice that slid down her spine
like warmed honey. He leaned close, his head dipped and his lips brushed her
mouth in a brief, gentle caress. It happened so fast, and it was quite
unexpected. Elizabeth remained still, her head inclined upward, encouraging him
to kiss her again. She was not disappointed. The second time he lingered, coaxing
her lips to join his in an intimate dance of lovers. His kiss brought a
pleasant tingle to her lips and made her insides swell. She felt all soft and
fluid inside, like jelly that hadn’t set properly. Donovan was the one to pull
away. He stepped back and looked up at the stars as if nothing unusual had
happened while she stood reeling in amazement at the delightful and all too
brief kiss she experienced for the first time.