Epilogue
Aidan couldn’t really take his eyes off Catherine. The last night lingered — his skin still tingled where her fingers had touched. And there she was, up with him before dawn, seated right across from him at the table in the salon.
Immaculate hair. Perfectly dressed.
Her lips were curved into a faint smile, her gaze flickered up to meet his every so often. The delicate blush tinting her cheeks when Mistress Jones entered to serve tea and porridge warmed his chest.
She was busily studying a journal. Aidan’s eyes narrowed. He cleared his throat carefully.
“You seem quite entranced with your reading,” he remarked.
Catherine slowly lifted her eyes. Aidan knew that look all too well. Her defiance surged swifter than a hawk stooping to its quarry.
He hadn’t yet sipped his tea, but carefully set the cup down and tugged the journal toward him. The Shipping Intelligence. His eyebrow rose.
Catherine’s lips tightened to a thin line. Then the corners of her mouth started to twitch.
“Habit. My husband used to avoid me, you know?”
Aidan gave the journal back.
“Fool,” he muttered, reaching for his tea again.
Catherine’s voice rang out again. Slow. Hesitant.
“I wondered just how many friends you have in your… gentlemen’s club.”
He jolted upright.
Then he exhaled. Slowly. He reached out, covering her hand with his, their eyes locking. Understanding flickered in her gaze suddenly, and she flushed.
“Aidan!” she shook her head.
“Why?” he asked back, curious now.
“Well — the week after…” her face turned very focused suddenly, the unfamiliar syllables rolling from her tongue with an adorable accent, “…Lunasa, the first free ships will arrive.”
He nodded. “Aye. We’re prepared to buy the moment they dock.”
Something was working in her face. Aidan rubbed his thumb against the back of her hand encouragingly.
“What if you don’t buy the moment they dock?”
Aidan studied her closely.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“The fine Captains sail for Kilkenny because they know they’ll find eager buyers. I checked the grain prices, and they are climbing every day.”
He had a feeling he knew what Catherine was hinting at. He let her continue.
“If they didn’t find a desperate buyership… if they sat on their goods for a week or two…”
“They are hungry, bean bheag. Some are starving. Can I afford to gamble when lives are on the line?”
Catherine nodded, her voice softened.
“It’s not a game to me, Aidan.”
“What if we wait and then there’s nothing left?”
The corner of a beautifully sculpted mouth lifted.
“That’s why I asked how many gentlemen there are. If enough gentlemen were unwilling to buy — and the Captains received a single buyer’s offer for all goods… I’m just saying it’s worth a thought.”
Aidan just looked at her for a long time. Her face flushed with excitement. Her eyes sparkling. So alive and inside her element it hurt. Their morning after. And he was discussing grain prices and economic warfare with his wife before he even had his first tea.
Catherine flinched under his blatant stare, then stuck out her chin, utterly willing to stand her ground.
He had rounded the table faster than a candle-wick could sputter.
“Aidan, what—”
He cut her off, sealing her mouth with his own.
“It is a gamble,”
he told her, voice desperate.
“But it might work. You’re… I don’t know what you are, but I love you, Catherine O’Donell!”
The End?