Wild Irish Girl Page 2

  “Believe me,” I said beneath my breath. “You would be bored to death if you could understand anything these people said.”

  He nodded politely, his eyes never leaving my face.

  “Don’t get me wrong,” I continued. “I love the lights and the beauty, but sometimes I feel so very far from home here.”

  The sultan twirled me again, and he embraced me for a brief moment, his fingers trailing down my back. Heat bloomed in my face, and my heart pounded. His arm flexed under my hand, hinting at his muscled physique beneath the embroidered silk costume he wore.

  “I’m from Ireland, and our dances are a bit different there, you know.” I laughed beneath my breath, thinking of my father’s wild antics amongst the gentry. His fame in Dublin was our ticket to some of the best parties.

  But all that fame came at such a cost.

  “And the music is much, much better.” I sighed.

  I glanced across the room as Saeed whirled me around, spying Christine in close conversation with Lord Weston. I longed to speak to the poet, learn his writing secrets, but the way Christine’s eyes glittered, I knew she would hold his attention forever if she could. Lord Weston would be another conquest for her in a string of heartbroken lovers, but at least he might write some excellent poetry out of the experience. Maybe then Christine would actually bring herself to write again, as well. She hadn’t penned a thing since Lord Elliot left.

  “You see,” I said, my attention returning to the handsome sultan. “I came to London to become a writer.” I shook my head. “I mean, I am a writer. I’m just a poor one.”

  I laughed and the sultan cocked his head, pretending to listen. It felt good to pour out my secrets to someone, and once I started talking, I found myself unable to stop.

  “My father has debts, you see, from his theatre. And from gambling.” I shrugged. “And drinking. Mostly it’s from gambling and drinking. And my sister…”

  With the thought of Lyddy, I missed a step and cursed myself. The sultan took my hand and guided me back into the line with the other dancers.

  “Thank you. Forgive me,” I said, giving his arm a squeeze. Good heavens, the man was built like a house. “My sister is frail and cannot seek employment in her state. She simply isn’t well enough, so I’m hoping with this book I’ll be able to support her. There is no one else.”

  The sultan smiled, his deep brown eyes warm and inviting. Even though he never said a word, my spine melted against his strong hands at my back, at my waist. I wondered if he had a wife at home, or a whole harem of wives. I had read so many silly romances about the devious sexual appetites of sultans, and while I knew it was just colonial claptrap, the thought sent a rush of blood to my head. My fingers grazed up his arm, and his eyes flickered to my hand, heat pulsing from his body. I edged closer to him, longing to connect with someone, to tell all my secrets.

  “The fact is,” I whispered. “I’m not a Celtic princess. Not even close. The costume is a pretense. No one is interested in buying books from a frumpy lady’s companion.”

  I laughed and Saeed’s beard twitched as he grinned wider, nodding with blind understanding.

  “The Chieftain’s Daughter needs to take London by storm, or my family is done for. I never wanted to marry, but I suppose that’s all there is for it.” I gazed over his shoulder at Christine and Lord Weston, drinking and laughing together, not a monetary care in the world. What it must be like to be so rich, so reckless, so devoid of responsibility. For just one night. Alas. I would kill to feel that much freedom for just one night.

  “I suppose I can always find a rich sultan,” I said, batting my lashes up at the mysterious man twirling me across the room.

  Saeed’s grip tightened across my waist, and I gasped, a shot of desire sweeping down my spine and settling deep in my core. He stared down at me, his breath grazing across my cheek, his eyes boring into me. My lips parted and for a moment, I thought he might kiss me in front of God and everyone.

  A rough hand gripped my shoulder. “Excuse me, Miss Byrnes.”

  My heart sank, and I realized the song had ended, and the sultan and I were standing alone on the ballroom floor, the dancers all scattered. I turned to face our intruder.

  “Lord Castlevane,” I murmured with a curtsy. Revulsion bubbled up in my throat, and I swallowed the invectives I longed to throw at the horrible man standing before me. “I hadn’t realized you had left Dublin.”

  Castlevane towered over me, and I edged back toward the sturdy block of manliness that was the sultan. He reached out and placed a protective hand on my arm.

  “You didn’t hear about it?” Castlevane said. “It was in the papers. I’m finally taking my seat in Parliament.”

  “Ah, excellent.” I flashed him a polite smile. “So you can stamp out more rebellions and slaughter even more dissidents to the empire.”

  Lord Castlevane frowned and pressed a hand to his chest. For such a large, hulking man, he had freakishly small hands. “I’m shocked at such sentiments. It wasn’t so long ago I could count you amongst my dearest friends.”

  “My dearest friend would never have betrayed a promise.”

  Castlevane stared down at me through his pale blue irises, a vein on his forehead pulsing and ready to pop. He took a deep breath. “I wish you would grant me the honor of the next dance.”

  I turned away, nudging closer to the sultan. “I believe I would rather face one of your firing squads than dance with you, Lord Castlevane.”

  “I need to talk to you.”

  “I don’t care about anything you have to say,” I called over my shoulder.

  “It’s about your father.”

  I stopped. Ice water filled my veins, and the room tilted. Saeed’s hand cupped my elbow, and he made a low sound in his throat. I waved him away and turned around, rage flaming through my chest.

  “What about my father?”

  The music started up again, and Lord Castlevane bowed. “Dance with me.”

  I uttered a most unholy Irish oath beneath my breath and took a step toward him.

  The sultan grasped onto my hand and looked down at me with a concerned stare. I gave him a warm smile, and patted his firm chest.

  “Thank you, sir.” I stood up on tiptoe and whispered in his ear. “But if anyone should fear for his life, it’s this low-life bastard here.”

  His eyes shifted between Lord Castlevane and me, and then he took a deep bow, his hand placed over his heart. The sultan turned on his heel, and I retreated to my nemesis. I stole a glance over my shoulder, watching my last partner as he rejoined Lord Weston in his corner. His eyes locked onto mine, and I looked away, shivering beneath my heavy green mantle.

  My heart leapt into my throat, and I felt the sudden urge to run back to him, to hide behind his large frame, allow him to shelter me from the many horrors of Castlevane. I shook my head, returning my attention to the man in question. I didn’t need anyone’s protection, and I certainly didn’t need some sultan from some tiny country at the other end of the world fighting my battles for me.

  I bowed to Castlevane, and allowed him to sweep me across the floor to join the other dancers.

  “Interesting choice in attire this evening, Miss Audrey,” he said.

  My palm sweated, and I wished more than anything to tear it away from Castlevane’s grasp. He reeked of mothballs and stale tobacco.

  “Just playing my part,” I said.

  “Indeed.” He weaved in and out of the line and caught my hand again. “I must congratulate you on the recent success of The Chieftain’s Daughter. I had no idea when I lent you my carriage to meet with the publisher that your little book would come to see such wide critical acclaim.”

  I cringed at his choice of words. It was always the way with Castlevane. Your little book. Your silly novels. I put up with him only because, as father said, we must keep our enemies closer. But I had spent most of my adult life running from this despicable man. It seemed not even London would be far enough. Arismia per
haps? I stifled a giggle, and my eyes flitted across the ballroom, seeking out the mysterious foreigner. He leaned against the wall, his arms crossed tight against his broad chest. As if sensing my gaze, he turned to me, and his dark stare blazed with heat. The skin on the back of my neck prickled, that urge to run back to him rushing through my limbs.

  Clearing my throat, I returned my attention to Castlevane. “Let’s drop the social niceties, my lord. What is wrong with my father?”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Did you know he has a new play out in Dublin?”

  I nodded, twisting my body in an unnatural angle to avoid Castlevane’s brief embrace. “My sister relayed this information to me, yes.”

  “Ah, then you’ll know the controversial nature of the subject matter.”

  My mind raced to recall what Lyddy had described in her letter. She always neglected key details.

  “My father has never been a stranger to controversy,” I said.

  “The title of the play is The Rebel Sons, about a young Irishman who rises up against his English lords.”

  I shrugged, but inside my heart pounded. Castlevane was leading up to something.

  “It’s a silly play,” I murmured. “You know how Father is.”

  “That silly play started an all-out riot.” He leaned in, his breath hot against my ear. “He’s under investigation for sedition.”

  He released my hand, and I spun across the line of dancers, my knees weakening. I returned to Castlevane in a daze, my movements automatic.

  “And that means,” he whispered in my ear, “by extension, so are you.”

  I paused and a dancer shoved into my shoulder, mumbling a pardon. I still didn’t move, Castlevane’s words paralyzing my limbs completely.

  “I’ve done nothing wrong,” I said. “And my father is harmless. You know that.”

  Castlevane grasped my elbow and half-dragged me back in line with the other dancers.

  “Of course I do, but these are interesting times, Miss Byrnes.” His arm wrapped around me as part of the dance, and my breath hitched as his thick French cologne filled my nostrils. I coughed and he pulled me closer.

  “What do you want?” I said in a low voice. That despicable man always had an agenda.

  He faced me, whirling me around until I thought I would sprawl across the marble floor in a mess of silk and velvet.

  “Your family needs protection, Miss Byrnes.” He leveled his pale eyes at me. “You need protection.”

  I narrowed my gaze. “The only person I need protection from is you.”

  He dug his fingers into my palm and brought me close against his chest. “My marriage proposal still stands.”

  I wrenched my hand away. “And my refusal still stands.” Backing away, I pressed my hand against my forehead. “Excuse me, my lord. I feel dizzy and require some air.”

  Before Castlevane could utter a word, I raced away from him, swallowing the scream bubbling up into my throat.

  Chapter 2

  Audrey

  Darting across the verandah, I breathed in the cool spring air, the evening dew soothing to my skin. I slipped down a garden path, away from the noise of the dance, listening to the breeze rushing through the giant oaks, the sound reminding me of our cottage outside Dublin. A pang of homesickness shot through me, a sob catching in my throat.

  I came across a hermit’s retreat and slipped inside, stifling a bitter laugh at the conceit even through my tears. How much money did someone need to have to create something so worthless and silly? At least it didn’t come with its own bearded hermit. I settled on a bench and held my head in my hands. The cold, damp stone enfolded me in silence while I breathed in and out, letting the panic dissolve with each exhale. Lord Castlevane would stop at nothing to bind me to him. The sedition investigation was probably something he concocted himself and stoked for the sheer pleasure of it. If he couldn’t have me, he was bound and determined to make me miserable. He had made that clear enough in the past. I blinked back my tears, wiping my face with the back of my hand.

  Those memories wouldn’t do.

  Not here. Not now.

  Charles. Always Charles. So young and idealistic. He never stood a chance against Castlevane’s horrible ambition.

  The air stilled and footsteps sounded across the floor of the tiny hermitage. I glanced up.

  “Who’s there?”

  The moon broke through a cloud, and the towering figure of the sultan stood in the doorway.

  I stood, my heart fluttering at the sight of him. The urge to run to his side, to let him cage me inside those big arms, filled me, and I gave an awkward curtsy, my shoulders trembling.“My lord Sultan,” I said. “You will miss the party.”

  He stepped forward, and even though I knew I should leave, I stood my ground, letting him take my hand. He led me back to the bench, and we sat together, his gaze never leaving my face. Bringing his palm to my cheek, he made a low sound in his throat as he brushed away a tear.

  I looked down, ashamed, but he lifted my chin with his finger, forcing me to meet his stare. Anger blazed in his dark eyes, and I grabbed his hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

  “It’s quite all right.” I smiled, sniffing away the deluge of tears behind my eyes. I needed to pull myself together. “I’ve come to no harm.”

  I leaned back, staring up at the stars through a skylight. “Lord Castlevane would never hurt me. He just finds ways to hurt the people I love.”

  I looked over at the sultan, and the sympathy in his brown eyes arrested me. My lungs contracted, and I looked down, realizing we were still holding hands. His thumb pressed softly into my palm, and the effect on my body was immediate. Heat bloomed in my core, and I swallowed hard, imagining those hands around my waist, smoothing over my skin. I closed my eyes, letting the image wash over me. What did it matter what this strange man thought of me, wanton and nearly panting for his touch? I was Roisin, right? The “wild Irish girl”? Isn’t that what all the papers said?

  “Have you ever been in love?” The question fell out of my mouth without thinking.

  He leaned closer to me, his breath close on my neck.

  “You don’t have to answer that,” I said, playing with the edge of my mantle, fingering the green, swirling embroidery. I let out a chuckle, remembering he couldn’t answer if he wanted to. He laughed with me, low and thick. My body responded to the incredible sound, and I took a deep, staggering breath.

  “I must say, not having to listen to some dull Englishman prattle on all night is quite an improvement to my evening.” I stared deep into his dark eyes, our lips almost touching. I didn’t know what I was doing. I didn’t care. Painful memories stirred in my heart, and I wanted to escape them, hide inside this mysterious man’s spell for a moment. If it hadn’t been the sultan, it would have been some ridiculous dandy.

  I was glad it was him.

  “I was in love once.” I sighed, pressing my other hand to his beard, tracing the line of his jaw beneath the wooly hairs. “And Castlevane took it all away from me.”

  The sultan’s hand gripped tight on mine, his muscles tense. The incredible maleness of him sent a rush of heat through my body, and I felt so small next to him. I shifted closer, breathing in the smell of clove and cardamom, of strength and power.

  “So I vowed I would never love again.” I brushed my lips against his. “But I do find pleasure in other things.”

  I wasn’t as flagrant as Christine, but I had taken lovers these past few months. London was full of married gentlemen who didn’t mind a casual fling in the backrooms of balls every now and again. Christine had shown me how to prevent pregnancy, and I saw no harm in it. And I certainly found no harm in finding solace in the arms of this sultan from a country I could barely pronounce and probably couldn’t find on a map to save my life. The fact he spoke no English was a boon. Foreign men could tell no tales.

  He ran his hand down my arm, cupping my elbow and drawing me closer. He said something in his language, and my insid
es flipped, my thighs dampening at the sound of his low voice. With a throaty moan, he crushed his lips to mine, and I met him with a deep, pressing hunger. I dug my nails into the back of his neck, and he invaded my mouth with his tongue, forceful and seeking. His arms gathered me close, and I panted, gasping for breath as he broke the kiss, his lips searching for my neck, my collarbone.

  With an exasperated sound, I tore away the harp pin holding up my mantle, letting out a deep exhale as the night air hit my chest. The green velvet fell to the floor of the fake hermitage, and the sultan pressed hot kisses on the upper curves of my breasts. Reaching down into my bodice, I freed one nipple, and he clamped onto it with a groan. My hands fisted his hair, pushing him closer against my chest, my body writhing as he sucked harder, wetness rushing from me as he stretched the pink bead from my flesh, nibbling it with the edge of his teeth.

  The sensation sent bolts of pleasure straight down to somewhere deep in my abdomen, and I whimpered, parting my thighs. His hand slipped down, cupping my mound and rubbing hard against the delicate silk fabric. Without a thought, I pulled up my skirts and guided his hand to my slit, letting out a sharp gasp as his fingers pressed into me.

  “Yes,” I whispered.

  He curled them slightly, the sucking sound and our heavy breathing filling the tiny hermitage. With his other hand, he pulled my other breast free, massaging the delicate flesh, and pinching and pulling with an expert rhythm. The sultan was no selfish schoolboy, but confident and firm. In control. He teased my body; his only giveaway to his discipline was the raging erection pressed into my hip. I longed to free his cock, to feel him in my hands, but when I tried, he slammed my wrist against the wall, imprisoning me.

  His hand moved faster, and he said something hot and foreign in my ear, his breath tickling the back of my neck. My hips thrashed beneath him, my body shaking as he leaned forward caging me to the wall with his strong arm. I buried my face into his chest and choked down a sob as he teased my orgasm from me until I finally collapsed against him.