Chapter Twenty-Four #2
“It was Donal.” She held onto his hands as he frowned.
“Donal came for me in the park that afternoon. I hadn’t seen him since the night we parted, Christmas night, and I had no idea he was in London.
But he’d seen my photograph in the newspaper—you know, the one with the Prince of Wales—so he knew where I was.
He came to find me because Seamus had been badly wounded and they needed my nursing skills.
They had nowhere else to turn. I went with him, and treated Seamus, who almost certainly would have died otherwise, and then they needed to get out of London.
I went to Major Maguire for help with that.
That’s why I was with him at his hotel. He wasn’t happy, didn’t want to get involved, but he did agree to help, and then he put me in a taxi for home while he went off to deal with it.
I haven’t heard from Donal or Seamus since then, and tonight was the first time I’ve seen Major Maguire.
I pulled him out onto the terrace to find out what had happened.
He said he’d gotten them safe away, and he wasn’t ever helping in a matter of that nature again.
He told me to stay away from anything to do with the O’Reillys and the rebellion.
He said you were a good man, and I should settle into my life here, and be happy. ”
“He said that?”
“Yes.” So she’d left out the part about Bingle. That was the part that gave her nightmares. That was the part that could ruin
them all. For her sake, and Thomas’s, she’d told him as much of the truth as she felt she could. But she owed Donal and Seamus,
and particularly Maguire, who would never have been involved if she hadn’t involved him, something, too: her silence on the
most dangerous part of their secret.
“You went to Maguire for help? Why didn’t you come to me?”
“I didn’t want to get you caught up in it. With your father being who he is, and considering his views—well, the consequences
of involving you seemed far too great to risk. And Major Maguire is Irish. Even if he disapproved, which he did, strongly,
I knew he’d help, and keep his mouth shut about it. And he did. And he has.”
Thomas’s frown was clearing. “My God. What I’ve been through, imagining . . .”
“I’m sorry. I had no idea you were aware of any of this.”
“Rynn, my dear, your face is as transparent as glass. I knew you were lying about the dog while the words were coming out
of your mouth.”
“You should have said something.”
“I suppose I should have. I just . . . if you want the truth, I was afraid to say anything in case that pushed you into doing
something I didn’t want—I don’t want—you to do.”
“Such as?”
“Decide our marriage wasn’t what you wanted.
Ask to end it. I know you said I have your loyalty, and I believe you, and I appreciate that.
But I don’t just want your loyalty. I—” He broke off, looked intently at her and seemed to steel himself.
“I’m better now. I’m healing. I can almost walk again, and I think that by next summer I will be walking.
Without the sticks. And I’m better in other ways, too.
I can—I want us to have a real marriage. I want to be
your husband in every sense of the word. Do you understand what I’m saying? I want you. Forever. As my wife.”
Her heart clutched. “Thomas . . .”
“Don’t say anything. Don’t give me your answer yet. I want you to take some time and think about it. I’ve told you what I
want. But I want you to have what you want, too. So the question becomes, what do you want? To be my wife, or . . . I’ll give you your freedom, if that’s what you choose. Even if it breaks my heart to do
it.” That blazing look of adoration was back in his eyes, and then he raised her hands to his mouth and kissed them, one at
a time.
“Thomas—”
“Shh.” Dropping her hands to cup her face, he leaned forward and kissed her. It was a full-on kiss, a deep, hungry man’s kiss,
and it caught her by surprise. She didn’t know what her face looked like when he let her go, but when she didn’t immediately
say anything, his expression turned guarded. The smile he gave her was small and tight.
“Think about it,” he said again, and wheeled his chair around. He was almost at the door when she recovered enough to say
“Thomas. Wait.”
It was only as he looked back that she realized that her fingers were pressed to her lips where he’d kissed her. With his
gaze narrowing on her, she dropped them to her lap.
“Go to bed, Rynn.” The words were clipped, and he turned and continued out the door, closing it behind him.
Rynn sat there, staring at the closed door and pondering her future while a thousand thoughts and feelings and images chased themselves through her mind.
Her past with Donal, and the sweet intensity of their young love.
Her ever-deepening bond with Thomas, and what life could be with him.
What won out, funnily enough, was a kaleidoscope of visions of Bundoran that resolved into a single frame of herself standing atop the cliffs high above the Strand looking out at Donegal Bay and beyond, to the wild Atlantic Way.
She was pale and still, wrapped snugly in a fringed black shawl, with her hair loose and blowing in the wind and her heart aching at—what, the sheer beauty of the scene before her?
For an uncanny moment she could almost smell the salt in the air and feel the nip of the wind.
Far below, the roaring waves pounded the shore . . .
And then she was back, in her bedroom at Hartford House, heart still aching a little for what she’d left behind.
Home. She missed it, missed the life she’d had, missed herself as she had been before she’d married Thomas and run away, with a
fierceness that was almost a physical pain inside her. And she could have it back. She had only to say the word, and Thomas
would let her go. He would do what he could to make sure the cost to her was minimal, she knew. The one who would suffer would
be him.
To reclaim her freedom, she would have to turn her back on him, and on that look she’d seen for her in his eyes.
The question was, as he’d said, what did she want?
Once again it was time to choose.