The Irish Bride (29 page)

Aidan who had been a bit preoccupied
until that moment, snapped up his head to look at her. “Ye
did?”

She knew she wore a sly smile. “Aye,
three times. Twice while Marigold was here, and one more time
after.”

He grinned and reached over to squeeze
her hand. “He’s a little mischief-maker with his fists,
aye?”

Farrell lifted her brows and
pointed her fork at him. “
She
might have just been shifting in her sleep. That’s
what Marigold told me.”

He returned her sly look, one that
said, think what you like.

“
Aidan, that reminds me.
Marigold has a gorgeous little horsecart that she can take
everywhere. Her pony is as gentle as an old dog and she whisks
around fine. I haven’t asked for much, but that’s something I’d
truly like. I could get about on my own for visiting and
such.”

“
Not now, little red one.
Maybe after the babe comes.”

“
Why not?”

“
I don’t like the idea of ye
out there alone in one of those little contraptions. Gentle or not,
the pony could pull up lame too far from help. Or worse, the cart
could overturn and you could hurt the baby, or be injured yourself.
I don’t like the sound of it.”

“
But—”

“
After the babe is born and
the weather improves, we’ll talk about it again.”

She put down her fork. “Aidan, you’re
away so often and I’m lonely here, especially at night.”

He gave her a horrified look. “Christ,
woman, ye wouldn’t go about at night in the thing, would you? No
man worth his boot polish would allow his wife to do something so
foolish and dangerous.”

“
Well, no, I suppose not,”
she agreed.

“
Hmph.” He made a satisfied
sound. “I wouldn’t think so. I promise I’ll try to be home more
often now that you’re advancing in your—your condition.”

She smiled, obviously pleased with
that. “Then after the baby is born—”

“
Yes, then. But you won’t
have a cart. Maybe a phaeton or something else more
substantial.”

After dinner, Aidan led Farrell
upstairs to bed, anxious for sleep himself. These were long, hard
days. But Farrell had other ideas. Some women, he’d heard, had no
interest in making love after they became pregnant, and wouldn’t
even allow their husbands to cast eyes upon them when they were
barefoot. Not his wife. She permitted him to see her sweetly
rounding body in the candlelight, and she was shyly eager to be
with him, to touch him.

When she joined him in bed, the sweet
scent of her surrounded him, making him feel as if he were walking
through a garden, rife with wild lavender. He didn’t know if it was
a perfume she wore, the soap she used, or just an essence entirely
her own that emanated from her skin, but the fragrance intoxicated
him. One thought moved through his mind, that he wanted her—needed
her. Just the idea of burying himself in her moist heat made his
body harden.

At first he had worried that he would
hurt the child, but she’d assured him that he wouldn’t and had
taken charge of matters. Now, once more, he found himself helpless
on his back, with her straddling him and driving him beyond the
bounds of any passion he’d ever known before. Her hair, Christ help
him, fell like a silken curtain streaked with fire, warm where it
pooled on his chest, electrical as it slid like a caress over his
skin.

Aidan knew he was a lucky man. He had
everything he’d ever dreamed of, everything he’d ever hoped for. He
lifted his hips to enter her, praying as he did that all would go
well when she bore his child. Then with one shift of her own hips,
she drove the worry and every other thought from his mind as spasms
of excruciating pleasure shuddered through his body, one upon
another.

Afterward, as he gathered her close in
his arms, he wished to feel the baby move, but the wee thing was
evidently asleep.

No matter, Aidan thought as sleep
closed over him. He already held the entire world in his arms. How
could he yearn for anything more?

* * *

Aidan came downstairs for breakfast to
find Farrell doing laundry in the tub she kept on the back porch.
She’d left the door ajar and he paused in the entrance to the
kitchen to watch her. He could see steam rising from the water as
she rubbed one of his shirts on the washboard. Her apron was tied
about her waist, revealing the soft swell of her belly. Although it
was a chilly autumn morning, the work was hot and made loose
tendrils of her hair curl like burnished copper springs around her
face. She’d rolled up her sleeves to her elbows, and the muscles in
her pale, slender arms flexed with the effort of the job. He didn’t
like to see her working that hard, especially in her condition. And
yet . . . there was something arousing about
the picture she made, a sturdy, finely-made Irish lass, carrying
his child beneath her heart, and framed by the pewter-gray
sky.

“
Ye look quite fetching out
there, Mrs. O’Rourke,” he said, coming out to talk with
her.

She looked up at him, and he saw that
either the hot water or the brisk air had put roses in her cheeks.
The sparkle in her green eyes, he knew, was hers alone. “Do I now?”
she asked, a coy note in her voice. “So you have a taste for
washerwomen, then?”

“
Maybe. I used to like
milkmaids and shepherd girls, too.”

Sticking out her tongue at him, she
slashed the water with the edge of her hand. He jumped, but not
quickly enough, and he was wet from chest to knees. “Used to. Now
it’s just washerwomen.”

“
Ah, no, not all of them.
Just one,” he replied. He closed his arms around her growing waist,
and nuzzled her neck.

“
You’ll have no clean shirts
if you don’t let me finish here,” she said, without much
conviction.

“
I’d rather have my
breakfast—in bed.”

She gave him a scandalized look, and
then laughed. “You are wild and unrepentant, Aidan
O’Rourke.”

“
Aye, that I am,” he agreed,
letting his hands run up and down her damp arms, raising gooseflesh
as he went. “And that’s why you love me.” He threw that out and
held his breath, not knowing how she would respond.

“
That must be why. D’ye
think I’d wash just any man’s shirts if I didn’t?” She turned into
his embrace and kissed him, her warm breath fanning his
cheek.

His blood turned to fire. She hadn’t
come right out and said she loved him, but Aidan, starved for any
sign of devotion that she might give him, grabbed onto her response
like a drowning man reaching for a lifeline. He pulled her away
from the tub and held her against the length of his body. “Damn the
clean shirts. I’d rather have you instead.”

She stepped back and looked up at him
with a mischievous glint. “But you’ll have to catch me.” Squealing,
she ran back through the kitchen and down the hallway. He gave her
a bit of a head start to add to the fun, but when she got to the
top of the stairs, she was winded. He picked her up and carried her
to their bedroom, kicking the door shut behind him.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Ten days before Christmas, Farrell
stood in the kitchen peeling potatoes and onions for the supper
stew she was cooking when three of Aidan’s mill workers came to the
front door. One of them she recognized as Tom Fitzgerald. He
introduced the others to her, Pete Dorsett and James Cole. As
strong and broad as Tom, they nodded at her and mumbled a
greeting.

“
If you’re looking for Mr.
O’Rourke, he’ll be down at the mill,” she said, wiping her hands on
her apron.

“
Yes, ma’am, he sent us up.
He asked us to bring this to the house.” He gestured over his
shoulder and she saw a horse-drawn wagon with crates in the
back.

“
What is that?”

“
I don’t know, but we’re to
unpack them and bring them in. Oh, and before I forget—” He reached
into his pocket and handed her an envelope that bore her name,
written in Aidan’s hand.

She watched as they pried open the
crates and carried in a large dining room table, twelve chairs, and
one smaller item that was wrapped in burlap.

“
What in the name of St.
Patrick—” she began, rubbing her arms to warm them in the cold
December breeze that blew through the open door. By the time they
were finished, they’d set up the new furniture and carried the old
set to the attic.

“
Is there anything else we
can do while we’re here, Mrs. O’Rourke?” Tom asked.

“
No, not that I can think
of. Would ye like some hot tea or coffee before you go back? Cakes?
Maybe a sandwich. It’s a raw day outside.”

Tom shifted uneasily. “Um, no, ma’am.
But thank you. Mr. O’Rourke said we weren’t to dawdle.”

“
Oh. Well, thank you for
your help. I hope all of you and your families have a happy
Christmas.”

As they went down the front stairs and
climbed back into the wagon, she heard one of them say, “She’s a
sight nicer than her old man, that skinflint bastard. Too bad he
ain’t got the kindness that old Mr. Brother had. Firing Jacob just
for taking a little drink—”

There was a shushing sound when one of
them turned and realized she was still standing in the open
doorway. Slowly, she closed the door, embarrassed and disappointed
that her husband was viewed so poorly by his own employees. Just
from things Aidan had said to her, she suspected that they had good
reason to grumble, and that bothered her even more.

She wandered into the dining room to
look at the new furniture. It was beautiful and she knew it must
have cost a lot of money. But there had been nothing wrong with the
table and chairs they’d bought with the house. The table hadn’t
been as big but it was a nice piece. What was Aidan up to? she
wondered. What compelled him to spend money on these trappings and
drive his workers so hard that they called him names and complained
bitterly about him?

Remembering the burlap-wrapped bundle
left in the parlor, she went down the hall and untied the cord that
held the rough covering in place. “Ohhh,” she said aloud, and sat
on the floor beside it, her annoyance forgotten. Inside was a
lovely cradle with a soft feather tick and a satin blanket. She ran
her hand along the edge of the dark, polished wood, wondering again
about the man she’d married. “Oh, Aidan.” Tears filled her eyes
when she imagined their sweet child sleeping in this cozy bed. She
did love him, she realized, she loved him so. And she was happy
being his wife, happy with everything, except the way he worked
himself.

The note, he’d sent a note. She
reached into her apron pocket and opened the envelope.

Dear Farrell—

I hope ye Enjoy the early
Christmas presents I am sending to the house. I think the Cradle
will fit nicely next to our bed.

And since I Have delivered
you some nice gifts, I am hoping you will not Be too angry with me
for missing supper tonight. I have a meeting with one of my
Customers about a rush order. Please know that it is important, for
nothing else could take me from your side.

I will Make every Effort to
be home before you are asleep. I love you, céadsearc.

Your Husband,

Aidan

Important. Farrell lowered the note to
her lap and she sighed. He loved her, he said, but that accursed
mill took him from her. It even prevented him from expressing his
love for her to her face. She was beginning to detest it. It took
Aidan away from her at night, it had made him acquisitive, and
although he was good to her, his employees him found to be an
unkind taskmaster. Of all people, Aidan, who had suffered under the
yoke of another man’s oppression, should know better and have
empathy.

“
Sometimes he makes me think
of old Lord Cardwell himself. Maybe he bought that blasted table
and chairs so we can have grand parties, the kind we all sneered at
back home,” she muttered aloud, then realized what she had said and
how disloyal it was. But what was she to think? His obsession with
work and success was growing worse with each passing
week.

She hoisted herself from the floor, a
task that had become more difficult lately with the shift of her
weight. That stew she was cooking wouldn’t go to waste as had some
of her other suppers. She’d finish it and if Aidan got it for
breakfast, he’d damned well better not complain.

* * *

Just as Farrell sat down to
eat, she felt the first twinge. Ah, it was just the babe settling
more comfortably, she thought. She took a bite of the stew and was
pleased with the way it had turned out. She smiled to herself.
Maybe Aidan wouldn’t
mind
having it for breakfast. Looking down the length
of the lovely dining room table, she thought of the men who had
brought it. Aidan was driving them, but who or what was driving
Aidan? What made him want to buy all of these—

She felt another twinge, followed by a
pain sharp enough to make her drop her spoon. Dear God, what was
that?

She got up from her chair and felt a
flooding warmth between her legs. When she looked down, she saw a
large bloodstain on the upholstery of the new chair.