Free The Irish Bride by Cynthia Bailey Pratt Page A

feel I should tell you that your father invited me to dine with him tonight.”
    “He did? When did you meet him?”
    “At a public house. David Mochrie introduced us.”
    “Mr. Mochrie?” Her brows came together in a puzzled frown.
    “Yes, we stopped in after meeting at your house. Your father was most pressing. May I come this evening?”
    “My father’s house is open to whomever he wishes to invite, naturally. I very much regret that I will not be present.”
    “Why won’t you?”
    “Really, Sir Nicholas ...”
    “Why not?”
    “I have another invitation, of long standing. Every Thursday evening.”
    “With whom?”
    She sighed again, her impatience growing plainer. “You are too inquisitive, sir. Why? Where? With whom? I am not accountable to you, nor to anyone save my father. I know why you take such an impertinent interest in me and I have no wish to further your scheme by answering your questions.”
    “Scheme? What scheme?”
    She threw him a scornful glance and walked away. Though he was certain she knew nothing of the plot he and David had hatched, he followed her, telling himself he only wanted to be certain.
    By the stairs, he caught her elbow. “Just a moment.”
    “Release me at once!” she demanded.
    He threw his hand back, holding them both in the air as if surrendering. “I won’t touch you again.”
    “Indeed you will not. Who do you believe you are? I don’t know you from Adam. You are trying to make a game of me and I will not have it!”
    Cold, her face was regular, attractive enough, and pale. In a rage, she was magnificent. Her green eyes burned with a flame while her prideful stance turned her into Aphrodite. Her voice rang clear and bright.
    He wondered if other men, knowing they could not win such a woman, had weighted her with cruel names to conceal their own cowardice. He was somewhat in awe of her himself. Yet he felt strongly that he could win her, given time to regain his equilibrium.
    “I have distressed you,” he said. “I’m sorry. But won’t you tell me what you meant by ‘scheme’?”
    A lock of her bright hair had fallen into her eyes in her anger. She pushed it back. “I know perfectly well that you mean to charm me into allowing you to come and go as you please at our house.”
    “That would be delightful.”
    Her sneer was not quite so effective as her anger. “I’m sure you would find it so, having gulled the older sister into believing you come to call on her while indulging in flirtation with the younger. It has been tried before this by a man of greater address than you possess.”
    “Who would do such a despicable thing?” Nick asked, thinking that somewhere a man needed his backside kicked.
    “That’s rather the pot calling the kettle black, isn’t it?”
    “He must have hurt you,” Nick said, ignoring his conscience.
    For an instant, something bleak and lonely looked out of her eyes. “Not at all,” she said, looking past him. “I knew he could not mean what he said to me.”
    Nick wanted to take back his vow. If ever a woman needed to be held, it was this queenly, passionate creature. Then she looked at him again and the full power of her dislike hit him.
    “I am going to collect my sister from the milliner’s and then visit the church, Sir Nicholas. I trust I will see you nowhere else today.”
    She dipped him a rather ironic curtsey and turned away. “Cat,” he said without heat.
    She turned back, her eyes narrowing. “I beg your pardon?”
    A mew from the staircase answered her. “I didn’t want you to step on the cat,” Nick said.
     

Chapter Five
     
    The parcel fromClarendon’s arrived an hour after she returned home.
    “What’s that?” Mr. Ferris demanded. “Another gift for Blanche, eh? The minx.”
    “No, Father. It is addressed to me.”
    Mr. Ferris looked surprised, then smug. “First lilies, now parcels. Is there something you want to tell me, daughter? An admirer, eh?”
    “No, sir, I have no one to tell you