Irish Rose Page 12

  "Of course I do, it's like something out of a palace. I think I'm afraid to wear it."

  He laughed at that and turned her toward the mirror. "Don't be silly. It's made to be worn. See?" He held it up around her throat. The sapphire gleamed dark against her skin and the wink of diamonds. "What good are pretty stones if a woman doesn't wear them? You'll need more than this before it's done. We can pick up some things on our honeymoon." He kissed the curve of her throat. "Where do you want to go? Paris? Aruba?"

  Ireland, she thought, but was afraid he'd laugh at her. "I was thinking maybe we should wait awhile for that. After all, this is one of the busiest times of year for you, with the Derby coming up. Could we wait a few months before we go away?"

  "If you like." He placed the necklace back in the box before turning her to face him. "Erin, what's wrong?"

  "Nothing. It's just all so new and… Burke, I swear to you I won't do anything to cause you shame."

  "What the hell is this?" Patience gone, he took her by the arm and set her on the bed. "I want to know what you've got into your head and how it got there."

  "It's nothing," she said, furious with herself that she was always an open book to him while she could never dig beneath the top layer. "It's just that I realized today that I don't really fit in with your people and life-style."

  "My people?" His laugh wasn't amused and had her tensing. "You don't know anything about my people, Irish, and you can consider yourself fortunate.

  If you mean the people who were here today, two-thirds of them aren't worth the snap of your fingers."

  "But I thought you liked them. You've friends among them, and associates."

  "Associates, for the most part. And that can change at any time. We can go to parties, and you can join any clubs or committees you like. But if you want to thumb your nose at the lot of them, it wouldn't matter to me."

  "You're part of the racing world," she insisted. "And married to you, so am I. I won't have anyone saying you married some little nobody who can't fit in."

  "And someone did," he murmured. She didn't have to confirm with words what he could see so clearly in her eyes. "You listen to me. It only matters what we think. I married you because you were what I wanted."

  "I'm going to be." She lifted her hands to his face. "I swear to you." She brought her mouth to his with all the passion, love and longing she had.

  She wanted the night to be special, but that meant more than champagne and white lace. It meant showing him what was in her heart, what she was just beginning to understand for herself. That she loved him unrestrictedly. With her arms around him, her mouth on his, she lowered onto the bed. Their marriage bed. He had shown her what loving could be. Now she hoped she could give some of that beauty back to him. Since experience wasn't hers, she could only act on what was in her heart. She had no idea if a man could feel more than need and satisfaction, but she wanted to try to give him some of the sweetness, some of the comfort he had given to her.

  Hesitant, unsure, she pressed her lips to his throat. His taste was darker there, potent, and she could feel the beat of his pulse beneath her mouth. Its rhythm quickened. She smiled against his skin. Yes, she could give him something.

  She liked the way he felt under her hands, the muscles that bunched and flowed as she moved her fingers over them. Tentatively she parted his robe. When she felt him tense, she retreated immediately, an apology forming on her lips.

  "No." With a half laugh, he took her hand and brought it back to him. "I want you to touch me."

  He kept his own hands gentle, though each hesitant stroke of her fingertips drove him mad. He was already caught in the innocence and passion of her, in her willingness to be taught, her eagerness to please and be pleased.

  So they loved slowly, taking time to teach, to learn. There was no shyness on her part when he drew the lace from her shoulders, but rather a wonder that he found her so desirable. In answer, she slipped his robe away and let herself marvel at the strength and beauty that was her husband.

  Perhaps it didn't make sense, but it was more exciting now that he belonged to her. The hard fist of need hadn't lessened, the trembles of anticipation and anxiety were just as sharp. But now, along with desire, was the simple joy that the man who held her was the man who would hold her night after night. This was only the beginning, she thought. Laughing, she rolled over him.

  "Something funny?" he managed. He felt as though his body was stretched beyond the breaking point.

  "I'm happy." She brought her mouth down hard on his, then, incredibly, felt her bones liquefy. With a soft moan, she took him into her. When the whirlwind started, she could only hold her breath and grip his hands tight. Her body took control now, moving with his instinctively as pleasure built and crested and built again.

  Her head was thrown back. He thought she looked like a goddess, red hair streaming over white shoulders, her slender body strong and agile as it merged with his. He wanted to hold her like this, to see her like this again and again in his mind's eye. Then the pleasure was so complete that it blinded him.

  Erin woke on her first day as Mrs. Logan to a gray morning lashed by spring rain. She thought it was beautiful. Smiling, she shifted over to reach for

  Burke. And found him gone. Terrified she'd dreamed it all, she sat straight up.

  "Do you always wake up like that?" Across the room, Burke hooked his belt and watched her.

  "No, I thought…" It wasn't a dream. Of course, it wasn't. She laughed at herself and shook her head. "Never mind. Where are you going?"

  "Down to the stables."

  "So early?"

  "It's seven."

  "Seven." She rubbed her hands over her eyes as she struggled up. "I'll fix your breakfast."

  "Rosa'll see to it. You should get some more sleep."

  "But I—" She wanted to fix his breakfast. It was one of the small and very vital things a wife could do for her husband. She wanted to sit in the kitchen with him, talking of the day to come and remembering the night that had passed. But he was already pulling on his boots. "I'm not tired. I could go down and start on the books."

  "You've gotten them in good enough shape to take a couple of days off. In fact, we haven't talked about it, but you don't have to continue with that if you don't like."

  "Well, of course I'll continue with it. That's why I came here."

  He lifted a brow as she tugged on a robe. "Things have changed. I don't want my wife to have to close herself up in an office all day."

  "If it's all the same to you, I'd like to work." Uncomfortable, she began to tug on the sheets. "If you don't want me to be doing your books anymore, I'll find another job."

  "I don't care if you work on them or not, I just want you to know you have a choice. What are you doing?"

  "I'm making the bed, of course."

  Crossing over, he caught her hand in his. "Rosa takes care of the bed-making, as well."

  "There's certainly no need for her to make mine—ours."

  "That's her job."

  He kissed her brow, then changed his mind and drew her close against him. "Good morning," he murmured against her lips.

  Hers curved just slightly. "Good morning."

  "I'll be back in a few hours. Why don't you take a swim?"

  When the door closed behind him, Erin crossed her arms. Take a swim? On her first day as a wife, she wasn't supposed to cook breakfast or make a bed but to take a swim? Walking over to the mirror, she stared at herself. She didn't look so very different. But feelings didn't always show. Wasn't it odd that she'd refused to be Burke's mistress, but now she was feeling more like that than a wife?

  Married him for his money.

  Erin pushed away from the mirror. The hell with that. It was past seven and she had work to do.

  Rosa wasn't any more cooperative than Burke. There was no reason for the senora to do that. There was no reason for the senora to do this. Perhaps the senora would like to take a book into the solarium. In other words, Eri
n thought, you're of no use here. That was going to change, she decided.

  She threw herself into her paperwork. When Burke didn't return for lunch, Erin took matters into her own hands. Filling a pail with hot water and detergent, she took it and a mop to the atrium. Glasses and plates had already been cleared away, but Rosa hadn't yet gotten to the tiles. Erin felt a stab of satisfaction at having beaten her to it.

  This is my house, she told herself as she sloshed out soapy water. My floor, and I'll damn well wash it if I like.

  Burke strode through the streaming rain, thinking that the horse he had entered at Charles Town that night would have an edge on the muddy track. His second thought was that Erin might get a kick out of taking the trip to West Virginia to see the run. It would give him a chance to show her off a bit.

  God, she'd looked beautiful that morning, all heavy-eyed and dewy-skinned. He was far from certain he'd done the right thing for her by rushing her into marriage, but he was more certain than ever that he'd done the right thing for himself. He couldn't remember ever being at peace before or ever feeling as though each day had a solid purpose to it.

  He could give her the things in life she'd always wanted. The money didn't matter to him, so he didn't give a hang how she spent it. In turn she was giving him a solid base, something he hadn't known he'd wanted.

  Inside, he shook the rain out of his hair and went to look for her. When he entered the atrium, he stopped. She was on her hands and knees, scrubbing. Even as she heard his steps and glanced up, he was dragging her to her feet.

  "What in hell are you doing?"

  "Why, I'm washing the floor. It took a beating yesterday. You'd be amazed what people can drop and what they don't bother to pick up again. Burke, you're hurting my arm."

  "I don't ever want to see you down on your knees again. Understand?"

  "No." Studying him, she rubbed her arm. She knew real anger when she looked it in the face. "No, I don't."

  "My wife doesn't scrub floors."

  "Now wait a minute." As he turned on his heel, she caught him. "She'll scrub them if she pleases, and she won't be called my wife as though she were something shiny to be kept in a box. What's the matter with you?"

  "I didn't marry you so you could scrub floors."

  "No, nor that I could cook your breakfast or make the bed, that's plain. Just why did you marry me, then?"

  "I thought I'd made that clear."

  "Aye." She dropped her hand from his arm. "I suppose you did. So I'm to be your mistress after all, it's just a matter of being a legal one."

  He made an effort, an enormous one, to block off the anger. It didn't work. "Don't be a fool. And leave that damn bucket where it is."

  "You'll remember the word in the ceremony was changed from obey to cherish." Scowling at him, she gave the bucket a kick and sent soapy water pouring over the tiles. "But I'll be happy to leave it just where it is."

  "Where the hell are you going?"

  "I don't know," she said over her shoulder. "Surely I can walk through the house even though I'm not allowed to touch anything in it."

  "Stop it." He caught her as she stormed down the hall, but she only shook him off and kept going. "Damn it, Erin, you can touch whatever you like, just don't clean it."

  "I can see it's time we had the rules straight." She pushed through the doors into the solarium. The heat was like a wall and suited her mood perfectly. "Touching and looking are allowed."

  "Stop acting like an idiot."

  "Me?" She turned on him and nearly upset a pot of geraniums. "It's me who's an idiot, is it? Out there it's a fool I am and in here an idiot. Well, it wasn't me who went into a rage because the floor was getting washed."

  "I thought you came here to get away from that, because you wanted more out of life than washing dishes."

  Slowly she nodded. "Aye, I came to America for that, but it's not why I married you. Maybe I can handle others thinking I married you because of your money and your fine house, but not you. I told you yesterday that I loved you. Don't you believe me?"

  "I don't know." He ran a hand over his face and struggled for calm, for clear thinking, for the kind of controlled logic that had always brought him out on top of any game he chose. "Why does it matter?"

  She had to turn away because it hurt too much to face him. "I didn't lie when I said it, but you can think whatever you like. It doesn't matter at all." Very deliberately she picked up a pottery bowl and sent it crashing to the tiles. "You needn't worry, I won't clean it up."

  "Are you finished?"

  "I haven't decided." Crossing her arms, she stared at the clear water of the pool.

  He put his hand on her shoulder. Perhaps she did love him a little. It would take a bigger fool than he to push her away. "My mother spent more than half of her life on her knees scrubbing other people's floors. She was barely forty when she died. I don't want you on your knees for anyone, Erin."

  When he started to draw his hand away, she clasped it in her own. "That's the first thing you've trusted me with." She turned to put her arms around him. "Don't you see you'll drive me mad if you shut me out?"

  "You agreed to take me for what I am."

  "I have. I will. I do love you, Burke."

  "Then let me see you enjoy yourself."

  "But I am." Tilting her head back, she grinned at him. "I like to fight."

  He ran a finger down her nose. "Then I'm glad to oblige you. Did you take that swim?"

  "No, I had the books, and then I argued with Rosa for awhile."

  "Busy day. Let's take one now."

  "I can't."

  "More arguing to do?"

  "No, I've done with that, but I don't want to swim."

  "Can't you?"

  Her chin angled as he'd expected. "Of course I can, but I don't have a suit."

  "That's okay." Lifting her up, he walked to the edge as she giggled and shoved against him.

  "You wouldn't, and if you try, by God, you'll go in with me."

  "I never intended it any other way." They went in together, fully dressed.

  Chapter 9

  Before she had been married a full month, Erin had taken trips to New York and Kentucky and back to Florida. She grew used to the look and feel of the racetracks, whether they were earthy or glamorous. She grew used to, but never less fascinated by, the people who inhabited them, from the young grooms still shiny with ambition to the older hands who lived from race to race and bet to bet.

  The contrasts were a constant curiosity. From her box she could watch the other owners, their families and friends. Seersucker suits and picture hats. While against the rail, elbow to elbow, were the masses who came for the fun or the money. She learned that wagering had its own scent, often a desperate one, always a little sweaty. Away from the stands were the horses, the scales, the tack and the riders. Only a few who watched knew the thrill and the anxiety of ownership.

  In Lexington she visited horse farms with Burke and saw stables grander than she had ever thought any house could be. She saw the races of the thoroughbred world, grew to know the people whose lives were tied to them, and she learned.

  At cocktail parties, dinner parties and small celebrations she listened to discussions on breeding, on training, on strategy. She grew to understand that owners often thought of their horses as possessions, while trainers more often than not thought of a horse in their care as an athlete to be disciplined and pampered in the peculiar way of the sportsman. But above all the horse was the focus, for envy or for pride.

  After a time she drew together the courage to go as far as the paddocks, where she could watch the horses being examined and saddled for the races. Though the scent and sounds of horses still disturbed her, she was determined that Burke's associates would never twitter about his wife being afraid.

  She grew more accustomed to the parties, the lavish ones, that only the successful and the privileged could attend. The talk there was of horses and the people who owned them. Not so different from Skibbe
reen, she began to think. Certainly this life was more glamorous, but at home the talk had often been just as narrow.

  She studied, poring over books on Thoroughbreds, racing and the history of both. She learned that every Thoroughbred descended from three Arabian studs and that the most expensive horseflesh in the world was to be found in Ireland at the Irish National Stud. She'd had to smile at that, not only from home pride but because two such horses were in Burke's stables.

  She learned to wager wisely and to win, a skill that never failed to amuse her husband. He'd been right when he'd said she would make him laugh. Erin found more pleasure in that than in all the pretty stones he bought her or the new clothes that hung in her closet. She'd discovered something in a month of marriage. The things she'd thought she'd always wanted weren't important after all.

  And she was pregnant.

  The knowledge both thrilled and terrified her. She was carrying a child, Burke's child, one that had been conceived on their first night together. In a matter of months they would no longer be just husband and wife but a family. She couldn't wait to tell him. She was afraid of what he would say.

  They'd never discussed children. But then, there had been time to discuss little. She hardly knew more of him now than she had when she'd married him. True, she had come to understand that unlike many of his associates his horses were neither possessions nor pets. Nor were they the game of chance he claimed them to be. They had his pride and his affection, and Erin came to see that they had his admiration for simply being what they were. It wasn't just the winning but the heart that made champions.

  There was this and little more she had learned of him. He'd never spoken of his mother or his family again. Though she'd tried to question him gently, he'd simply ignored her. Not evaded, Erin thought now, just ignored.

  It didn't matter, she told herself as she went to find him. She'd seen him with Dee's children, and he'd been gentle and kind and caring. Surely he would be only more so with a child of his own. She would tell him and he would hold her tight and tell her how happy he was. They would laugh and she would show him all the pamphlets the doctor had given her on childbearing classes and diet. Then they would plan the nursery, all pinks and blues like a sunrise.

  She found him in the library and had to bite back an impatient oath when she saw he was on the phone.

  "I'm not interested in selling," he said as he gestured her in. "No, not at that price, not at any. If you want to get back to me in a few years and talk stud fees… Yes, that's a firm no. Tell Durnam none of my stock's for sale at the moment. Yeah, you'll be the first to know." He hung up and pulled a hand through his hair.

  "Problems?" Erin crossed over to kiss his cheek.

  "No. Charlie Durnam's interested in buying one of the new foals. Makes me think he's the one with problems. So what did you buy?"

  "Buy?"

  "You said you were going shopping."

  "Oh, yes. I didn't buy anything." She rested her cheek against his hair a moment. "Burke, I've something I want to tell you."

  "In a minute. Sit down, Erin."

  It was the tone that had her retreating. He used that odd flat voice when she'd annoyed him. "What's wrong?"

  "I've had a letter from your father."

  "From Da?" She was up again almost before she sat. "Is something wrong? Is someone sick?"

  "No, nothing's wrong. Sit down." He swiveled in his chair, and for the first time in a month she felt as though they were back on terms of business. "He wrote to welcome me into the family and to express what I suppose is fatherly concern that I take good care of you."

  "What nonsense. He knows very well I can take care of myself." She relaxed again, unconsciously resting a hand low on her stomach. "Was that all?"

  "He also thanked me for the money you've been sending over. He says it's been a great help." Burke paused a moment as he flipped through the papers on his desk. "Why didn't you tell me you've been sending more than half your money over to Ireland?"

  "I never thought of it," she began. Then she stopped. "How do you know how much I'm sending?"

  "You keep excellent and very clear books, Erin." He pushed away from the desk to pace to the window.