The Betrayed (Echoes from the Past Book 7) Page 18

  Rafael felt heat rising in his cheeks. “I can’t imagine what you must think of us, especially after…”

  Aisling smiled up at him. “Do ye think Irishmen are any different? Men are men—slaves to their carnal urges. As a woman, I must see to my own safety. Eilis knew better than to go off on her own. She has no one to blame but herself.”

  “Don’t say that. She’s just a child.”

  “A child who can be abused as a woman,” Aisling retorted.

  “You must have a great deal of faith in me, to be alone with me like this,” Rafael observed.

  “Ye’re nothing like that other man,” Aisling replied. “Ye’ll not harm me.”

  “How can you be so sure? You hardly know me.”

  “I know enough,” Aisling replied cryptically.

  She continued to collect the chestnuts, her expression as serene as if they’d been discussing the weather. The basket was half-full, and soon they’d have to return to the castle. Rafael wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but he was taken aback by the turn their conversation had taken and puzzled by the young woman next to him. She was direct and unashamed to speak of things that women of his acquaintance would never dare to broach. No one ever spoke of carnal acts or the nature of men. The women were kept in ignorance, and even after marriage, the intimate relations between husbands and wives were governed by the dictates of the Torah. He tried to imagine having such a frank discussion with Mira and nearly laughed out loud at the thought.

  “What’s funny?” Aisling asked, his chuckle not unnoticed.

  “You are like no woman I’ve ever met.”

  “And have ye met many women?” Aisling asked, looking at him with interest.

  “No,” Rafael admitted.

  “I didn’t think so.”

  “Is it that obvious?”

  “It is to me.” She stopped walking and looked up at the lone bird wheeling overhead. Her good humor seemed to evaporate like morning mist. “I’m to be married soon,” she announced. “Uncle Brian has chosen a husband for me.”

  “Do you not like the man he’s chosen for you?”

  Aisling shrugged. “He’ll never let our children starve.”

  “Is that a good enough reason to marry someone?” Rafael asked, silently berating himself for being so forward.

  “It is in Ireland. Love doesn’t survive long on an empty belly.”

  Had he heard a statement like that a few months ago, he might have argued against its validity, but having spent several weeks with barely enough to eat to keep him alive, Rafael understood the sentiment only too well. He hadn’t seen much of Ireland, but the villages they’d passed and the peasants they’d come across looked impoverished and downtrodden. Even life in the castle of the chieftain wasn’t as luxurious as he might have imagined. There were few comforts outside of a warm fire and regular meals, but the fare was simple, and the rooms hardly more than stone boxes.

  “Is that the man I saw you with on Michaelmas?” he asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.

  “Aye. He’s the reeve, so he was here for the feast as part of his duties. He brought a bonnif for Uncle Brian, as a gift, the sleveen.”

  “I’m sorry, but I have no idea what you just said,” Rafael replied, embarrassed by his ignorance.

  Aisling laughed. “What I said was that he’s a tax collector who brought a pig as a gift for my uncle. He’s clever and knows how to get on Uncle Brian’s good side.”

  “Ah, I see. You seemed angry with him,” Rafael observed.

  “He asked my uncle for permission to marry me. He should have asked me first.”

  “Would you have said yes?”

  “No. I made my feelings plain enough before, but he’s not a man to be thwarted. He’ll have what he wants, one way or another.”

  “I’m sorry. I know what it’s like to have no say in your own life. My father has arranged a match for me as well,” Rafael confided.

  “Ye don’t love her? Surely a man has more options than a woman,” Aisling said, looking up at him.

  “Not always.” Rafael glanced away, peering at the sky-blue water beyond. How could he explain to Aisling that there were few Jewish girls left in their town and that in order to marry within the faith he had to forego any dreams of love? His father had assured him that he’d grow to love Mira, and perhaps he was right. Mira was a young woman worthy of love.

  “I must honor the wishes of my father,” Rafael finally said.

  “Do ye always do what yer father tells ye?”

  He nodded, suddenly ashamed. He’d never defied his father in anything. Until this moment, he’d thought that was something to be proud of, but Aisling had made him feel like a child who didn’t know his own mind and needed his father’s guidance to make life’s important decisions.

  “Yer father isn’t here,” Aisling said as she approached him and took the basket from his hands, setting it on the ground. She lifted her face to his. Her blue eyes were dancing with mischief and a playful smile tugged at her lips. “I dare ye to kiss me,” she whispered.

  Longing quickly replaced shock, and Rafael lowered his head and kissed Aisling’s pouty lips. She slipped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer, inviting him to deepen the kiss. He’d never kissed a girl, had never held one so close, and the feeling was heady. His body’s response was immediate. Aisling pulled away and took a step back, her eyes wide with surprise.

  “Forgive me,” Rafael muttered, mortified.

  “There’s nothing to forgive,” Aisling replied. Her face was flushed and her lips slightly parted, but what nearly undid Rafael was the look in her eyes. It was soft, yet unbearably sad. “I wished to know what it was like to kiss someone I actually like.” She grabbed the basket and ran toward the castle, leaving Rafael aroused and confused.

  That night, Rafael had a tough time getting to sleep. Alfonso was snoring happily next to him, his round face relaxed in repose, but Rafael wasn’t at peace. It wasn’t just the memory of the kiss that kept him awake. His body thrummed with unfamiliar sensations, his passion stoked by his first physical contact with a woman, but it was his mind that drove him mad, his thoughts going round and round until he was too wound up to lie still. He slid out of bed and huddled on the narrow window seat, his arms wrapped around his knees. An icy draft seeped in through the window frame, but the cold helped to cool Rafael’s ardor and allowed him to think more clearly.

  Had Aisling been having a bit of fun at his expense? She’d said she liked him, but perhaps her desire to kiss him had been driven by defiance, a need to thwart her uncle and humiliate her betrothed, even if they’d never learn of her transgression. Were women driven by the same passions as men, or was Aisling as unique in her nature as she was in her appearance? She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, and the most baffling. Aisling had looked at him full in the face and conversed with him as a man would. She wasn’t afraid to speak her mind or tease him. He liked that. It made her more real, more interesting. She wasn’t a blank slate for her husband to write on, she was already perfectly formed in both body and mind. And what did she expect would happen now? Was he to forget the magical kiss they’d shared, or did she hope to do it again? It would be wrong of him to make advances to another man’s betrothed, but he hadn’t been the one to make the first move. Aisling had dared him to kiss her, and she’d pressed her body against his and returned his kiss with a hunger that took his breath away.

  Rafael exhaled deeply and abandoned his frigid perch in favor of the warm bed. He couldn’t predict what Aisling would do, but he knew what was expected of him. His father had raised him to be an honorable man and to treat the fairer sex with kindness and respect. Having made his decision, Rafael was finally able to rest.

  “Rafael, I’m beginning to fear for my virtue.” Alfonso’s voice drifted into Rafael’s sleepy brain.

  “What?” he mumbled as he tried to force his eyes open.

  “You keep poking my backside, and I could have sworn you
called me ‘mi amor,’” Alfonso said, barely suppressing his mirth.

  Rafael’s eyes flew wide open as the meaning of Alfonso’s words finally penetrated. His prick was as stiff as a ship’s mast, and he’d been lying on his side, probably pressed to Alfonso’s back in his sleep. He must have been dreaming of Aisling. Rafael’s face suffused with lava-like heat and he rolled onto his belly, deeply ashamed of his condition.

  “It’s all right, amigo,” Alfonso said, smiling at him with sympathy. “I’ll leave you in peace to take care of it.”

  “What do you mean?” Rafael demanded, turning his head to look at Alfonso.

  Alfonso rolled his eyes and chuckled. “Would you like me to show you?” He made a lewd gesture with his hand and laughed uproariously when Rafael made a chocking sound and buried his face in the pillow. He didn’t look up until Alfonso left the room and shut the door behind him.

  Chapter 34

  May 2015

  London, England

  Jo took a sip of wine and tried to relax, but the alcohol did little to soothe her frayed nerves. She hadn’t really been in the mood for Quinn’s dinner party, but it would have been rude to cancel at the last minute, and Quinn had clearly put a lot of effort into the evening. The lights were low and soft music played in the background, but the company could have done with some improvement. Brian Camden was likable enough, if a bit bland, but behind her forced smile, Jill appeared to be seething. Her dark gaze caught Jo’s several times during the meal—appraising, judging, possibly even warning. She supposed she could understand the woman’s insecurity. Quinn had been her closest friend since childhood and Jill felt threatened by Jo’s sudden appearance.

  Quinn made no secret of her feelings and gushed about their reunion to anyone who’d listen. Jo was flattered but also a little annoyed, since Quinn was dragging her into the spotlight, where she had no desire to be. She wasn’t comfortable with the stares or the questions, or the inevitable exclamations of, “What on earth were you doing in Afghanistan? Didn’t you know how dangerous it was? You might have died.” Yes, she’d been well aware of the danger, and now knew how perilously close she had come to death. She had no desire to rehash those awful weeks in Germany, nor the painful details of her adoption. She valued her privacy and needed to retain some measure of control over what people knew of her private life.

  And now, looking at Jill across the table, an uncomfortable thought took root in her already suspicious mind. Did Jill know about the baby? Had Drew shared the details of the case with his cousin? Jo didn’t think Drew would break a professional confidence, but people often blurted the most inappropriate things when with family and after a few pints. Jill’s relationship to Quinn made her fair game and opened her up to the type of scrutiny she’d tried her whole life to avoid.

  Jo smiled and answered yet another inane question from Brian while trying valiantly to keep her temper in check. She shouldn’t have come, especially since annoyance was not the only emotion to plague her this evening. Gabe sat on her left, his nearness causing her acute discomfort. The man took her breath away despite her best efforts to ignore the flame he ignited within her. A glowing orb of desire had settled in her lower belly, making her ache with need. What she wouldn’t do to feel those elegant hands on her body and to give herself up to the sheer ecstasy of having him inside her. She wasn’t the most giving of lovers and more often than not focused on her own pleasure, but she’d do anything to satisfy Gabe. She’d gladly go down on her knees and stay there until he was spent, her own needs fulfilled just by pleasing him.

  An unwelcome heat suffused Jo’s cheeks. She tried to douse the fire by focusing on Jill, who was grilling Rhys about the fifth episode of Echoes from the Past, which was currently in production. Rhys eagerly regaled them with tales from the set, mimicking the horrible accent some of the actors tried to put on to get the part of the Russian characters and making them all laugh.

  “We’ve had to hire a consultant,” Rhys said, smiling at his audience. “You can’t imagine how difficult it is to get all the little details just right, and what it takes to get an English speaker to pronounce Russian words. Our British tongues just can’t seem to bring forth certain sounds.”

  “So, who’s this consultant you hired? Is he a self-styled Russia expert, or the genuine article?” Quinn asked.

  “Her name is Ekaterina Velesova. She’s the daughter of Russian immigrants and has a PhD in early twentieth century Eastern European history. Katya is very knowledgeable.”

  “Oh, so it’s Katya, is it?” Gabe joked. “Has she been giving you private tutorials on the socioeconomic and political impact of the Russian Revolution?”

  Rhys blushed like a teenage girl. “She’s really lovely, actually,” he muttered.

  Quinn’s gaze flew to Jo, but if she expected to see hurt, she’d be disappointed. Jo felt nothing akin to jealousy. It wasn’t Rhys she wanted, she’d realized, despite Quinn’s obvious hope that they’d get together. Rhys, for his part, had been charming but aloof all evening, treating Jo no differently than he treated Quinn or Jill, who was glaring at her again.

  “Jill, can I pour you some wine?” Gabe asked, solicitous as ever. “Surely you’re getting tired of mineral water.”

  “Thank you, no,” Jill replied, her eyes sliding to her still-full plate.

  Brian leaned toward her, as if offering silent support. Jo turned her attention to Quinn, wondering if she’d noticed that little maneuver.

  “We have some news,” Jill said, her voice so low everyone had to lean in to hear her. “We’re having a baby.”

  “Oh, Jilly, that’s amazing news,” Quinn exclaimed, and instantly came around the table to give Jill a hug. “Brian, we are so pleased for you.”

  “I’ve asked Jill to marry me,” Brian announced, beaming around the table. “The proposal is a long time overdue, I know, but I had to get my courage up.”

  “Seeing as you have no difficulty getting other things up, it should have been a piece of cake,” Rhys replied, making Jill laugh happily.

  “We are so excited,” Jill said. “You are the first to know. We haven’t even told our parents yet. We wanted to wait until after the first scan, but I don’t think we’ll be able to hold out that long.”

  “How far along are you?” Quinn asked.

  “Six weeks.”

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Bloody awful,” Jill replied. “I’ve been sick every morning for weeks. I can’t wait for the second trimester. They tell me it gets easier then.”

  “It does,” Quinn agreed. “Oh, I can’t wait to meet this baby. I’m so chuffed for you both. When’s the wedding to be? Before or after the baby arrives?”

  “That’s up to Jilly,” Brian replied. “We will do whatever she wants, whenever she wants.”

  “Wise decision, old boy,” Gabe said, nodding in agreement. “From this point on, what you want is completely irrelevant. You’ve done your bit.”

  Quinn elbowed Gabe in the ribs, making him laugh. “I’m sorry to hear your life is filled with suffering and sacrifice.”

  “My life is filled with love,” Gabe replied without missing a beat. “And nappies. Lots of nappies. I’ve also learned how to braid hair and make pigtails. If anyone is in the mood for a new hairstyle, I’m your man.”

  “Is that what I’ll be doing if we have a girl?” Brian asked, putting his arm around Jill.

  “That and so much more,” Gabe replied. “I’m Emma’s living canvas. I actually look very fetching in pink lipstick and blue eyeshadow,” he shared, grinning. “I love having a daughter,” he said, a blissed-out expression softening his face.

  Rhys bowed his head, but not before Jo noticed the pain in his eyes. Did Rhys have children? He hadn’t mentioned any.

  Quinn must have noticed his discomfort as well because she sprang to her feet. “Shall I start clearing up?” she asked.

  “I’ll do it,” Gabe replied, standing and putting a gentle hand on her shoulder to keep h
er seated. “Relax and spend time with your guests.”

  “Let me help,” Jo said, rising to her feet. She gathered several dirty plates and brought them to the kitchen.

  “Thanks for helping,” Gabe said as he took the plates from her. “Quinn won’t admit it, but she’s knackered. She worked hard to prepare this dinner. She wanted to impress you; I think.”

  “Well, she has. It was lovely. I can’t cook worth a damn.”

  “Me neither, but I’ve mastered boiling eggs, making toast, and heating up baby formula.”

  “Good man,” Jo said, smiling in encouragement. She hadn’t realized it, but she’d moved closer to Gabe. She breathed in his masculine scent, wishing she could wrap her arms around him and press her cheek to his chest. She wanted to feel his heartbeat and know that it beat only for her.

  Gabe took a step back, putting distance between them. “Right, let me get the rest of the plates. Would you be a love and put the kettle on?” he asked, leaving her in the kitchen.

  Jo leaned against the worktop and let out a tortured breath. What did she think she was doing? Her behavior, her very thoughts were completely beyond the pale and had to stop this very minute. She filled the kettle and put it on the hob before returning to the dining room. Perhaps next time Quinn invited her to dinner, she’d make up a prior engagement and spare herself this needless suffering.

  “I’m sorry, but I think I’ll get going,” she told Quinn. “Thank you for a lovely evening.”

  “Won’t you stay for dessert?”

  Jo smiled apologetically. “I’m rather tired.”

  “Right. Of course. You’re still recovering. I’ll ring you tomorrow.”

  “Shall I order you an Uber?” Gabe asked.

  “No, I’ll catch a taxi. I’ll be fine. Goodnight, all.”

  Jo grabbed her coat and stepped out into the fragrant spring evening. Her face felt unnaturally warm and there was a throbbing in her lower belly that she tried to ignore.

  “Put Gabe out of your mind,” she told herself viciously as she walked toward an intersection to hail a taxi. “He can never be yours.”