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“F laherty! Get yer arse over here!”

Flaherty lifted his head and glanced over his shoulder. “Have ye lost yer mind then, Sean? Ye just told me to switch shifts with Dermott.”

Sean O’Malley crossed his arms and glared at him, his typical stance when waiting for Flaherty to comply.

Mumbling, Flaherty wondered aloud, “Why in the bloody hell did His Grace decide only O’Malleys would be in charge at each of his estates?”

He must not have been using his inside voice, because Sean replied, “His Grace needed men known for having a clear head in the middle of chaos.”

Flaherty snorted. “Oh, aye, and whose head was clear when yer lovely wife Mignonette was in danger?” Before Sean could answer, Flaherty reminded him, “As God is me witness, it wasn’t yerself.”

His cousin ignored him. Flaherty knew he had no choice but to obey orders—he’d taken an oath. An oath he would die to uphold.

“What has ye barking at me now? I’m making progress with the footmen I’ve been training, especially Sterns. He’s one of the youngest in the bunch, but has an eagle eye. Rarely misses the center of whatever target ye set up for us.”

“That’s all well and good, but ye’re needed.”

“Mrs. O’Toole’s next batch of scones is out of the oven?”

O’Malley chuckled. “Nay, a summons from Chattsworth Manor. Mary Kate’s asking for ye.”

Flaherty felt the blood drain from his head to his toes and fought to lock his knees in place. He cleared his throat. “Did the missive say anything else?”

Sean shrugged. “’Twasn’t a missive. One of the stable lads was instructed to give me the message and to return immediately to Chattsworth.”

“I’d best report to me shift first—I can go over later…”

“Ye’ll go now.”

“But I—”

“Won’t argue with yer older, wiser cousin-in-charge,” Sean told him.

“Ye only have eleven months on me…and barely an inch in height. I’ll argue any time I feel ye need it.”

Sean’s face lost all expression, and Flaherty knew he’d pushed his cousin too far.

He was only trying to make light of a situation that could control his future—and Mary Kate’s.

Leave it to an O’Malley to push Flaherty to submit to his orders.

Well, normally, if he wasn’t twisted up into knots over the lass, he might have done so without a qualm.

Bloody hell, he’d been worried the lass would never deign to speak to him again, let alone let him hold her against his heart and brush the tears from her cheeks, kiss her supple mouth until she breathed out that little sigh she’d made the last few times he’d kissed her.

His guts tied into knots when he remembered the sound, and her capitulation, as she melted into his embrace.

He squared his shoulders, nodded to Sean, and spun on his heel. Striding toward the stable, he wondered if she would be telling him she’d forgiven him…or would she be slamming the door into his arse after she booted him out of the manor house and her life?

Flaherty was not a coward—he’d face whatever the Lord had planned for him regarding the lovely lass. Though he wanted to marry her—and just when had that thought become so important?—he knew he would not try to coax her to change her mind if it was set against him.

Sean must have sent word to the stable master, because a gelding was saddled, ready to take him to Chattsworth Manor and his future.

He settled on the horse’s back, held the reins in his hand, and rasped, “We’ve been summoned, laddie.

Best take me to the lass and pray that she’ll forgive me and have me for her husband. ”

The gelding’s whinny of agreement soothed the sharp edge of Flaherty’s worry.

With each bend in the road, each copse of trees that he rode past, the dire feeling that had nearly frozen from his feet to his knees spread ever closer to his heart. Pushing thoughts of banishment from his mind, he whispered a prayer: “Lord, ’tis Seamus again…please let the lass forgive me.”

Pulling up in front of the viscount’s stables, he dismounted and handed the reins to one of the stable lads.

“He’s been lounging around all morning, so he won’t be needing an apple or carrot—” The gelding’s short, sharp snort had Flaherty chuckling.

“Faith, ye know I always reward ye for carrying me on yer back, laddie.” Stroking the animal’s neck, he soothed the beast, then said, “If ye have a spare apple or carrot, the lad deserves a treat.”

He left his mount in the stables and followed the path to the rear entrance. A footman was waiting to show him into Lady Calliope’s sitting room, where the woman who had been on his mind and in his heart longer than any other sat looking out the window that faced the gardens.

“Ye wanted to see me, lass?”

Her head whipped around so fast, he was afraid she’d be dizzy from the movement. “I was not sure that you’d come.”

“And why wouldn’t I come when the lass I’ve been courting summons me?” Mary Kate rose from her seat, and he motioned for her to sit back down. “No need to stand up. I’ll join ye, if ye don’t mind.”

She met his gaze and settled onto her chair. “Thank you for coming so quickly.”

He did not say anything when his orders had been to come “at once.” Surely she remembered making that demand. Didn’t she?

She lifted the teapot and held it poised over his cup. “Er…tea?”

“Aye, thank ye, lass.”

“No sugar, just cream?”

Ah, so she did remember, though they hadn’t taken tea all that many times together. Not trusting his voice to give away the emotions colliding inside of him at his being this close to her, he nodded.

“Mrs. Romney made lemon and lavender scones. Would you like one of each?”

Flaherty’s stomach chose that moment to announce itself. He shrugged as Mary Kate giggled.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” She served him his tea and scones before pouring herself a cup.

“Are ye not having anything to eat?” He wondered if she was suffering to the same extent as he had been.

Plagued with lack of sleep, awake and replaying a scene he had no memory of, so he was not certain if he really had barked at her, or if his voice had been stern.

Why in the bloody hell could he not recall?

“Lass?” When she did not look up right away, he sighed and said, “ Mary Kate , how are ye feeling today?”

Her teacup rattled against its saucer until she set it on the table and placed her hands in her lap.

“Ye look pale to me. Are ye not sleeping?”

The emotions in her gaze tugged at his heart and heaped a pile of worry onto his head. He had caused her to fall into this melancholy. ’Twas his fault she was despondent and not carrying on her half of the conversation.

This shite had to end. Now! He rose to his feet, reached for her hand, and pulled her into his embrace.

“Lass? What’s wrong?” She trembled against him.

“Can ye not tell me?” He felt her shake her head against his chest. He nearly chuckled, then remembered what he was supposed to do and the need to laugh evaporated.

“Mary Kate, will ye accept me heartfelt apology? I do not recall telling ye to leave, nor saying such terrible things to ye.”

Her trembling slowed until she was eerily still in his arms. “Never would I willingly hurt yer tender sensibilities, lass. Ye mean too much to me.”

Still she did not speak, and thereby refused to accept his apology. What could he say to convince her? He racked his brain until it ached, and then it hit him—he’d respond in kind.

Easing back, he gently placed his knuckle beneath her chin and lifted her beautiful face so he could gaze into her blue-violet eyes.

She blinked, and he claimed her lips, pouring every ounce of regret that she’d suffered because of him into the kiss.

When her mouth softened beneath his, he coaxed her to kiss him back with a quick nip of her lips followed by his tongue soothing where he’d nibbled.

Her soft sigh was music to his ears. Not wanting to risk conversation yet, when she still hadn’t responded, he continued to kiss her. Pleading his case without words, he placed a hand to her waist, encouraging her acquiescence with the pressure of his lips and heat of his body.

Drawn to him like a moth to candle flame, she burrowed into his arms until he groaned with need, as every bit of her curves molded to the hard planes of his body, awakening the desire he felt for the lass.

Her soft gasp had him easing his hold on her.

Rather than point out the obvious, not willing to have that particular conversation with her until she’d forgiven him and until after they said their vows, he brushed an errant curl from her cheek, tucking it behind the tiny shell of her ear.

Needing her to be the one to speak first, as she had yet to reply verbally, he waited. ’Twasn’t as awkward as he thought it might be, the waiting.

Finally, she drew in a deep breath and slowly exhaled. “I do.”

“Do what?”

She frowned, then sighed. “I forgive you, Seamus.”

“Ah, if ye’re back to saying me name, then ye must forgive me.”

“You hurt me.”

He groaned. “I would never hurt ye like that. Ye need to believe me. ’Twas the—”

“Wound fever. Calliope and Melinda both mentioned their experiences with their husbands saying and doing things totally out of character when they were injured.”

“Then ye know ’twasn’t what I wanted at all to send ye away.

” Her eyes darkened to the deep, bluish purple of a midsummer night as he stroked her cheek.

When she leaned into his hand, he pulled her against the breadth of his chest, marveling at how right it felt to be holding her like this.

God in Heaven! How much time had he wasted believing the lovely lass in his arms held any amount of affection for Garahan?

Too many days wasted…too many nights. When they could have been wed by now and spending them locked in one another’s arms.

“Seamus?”

He kissed a path from beneath her ear along the line of her jaw before answering, “Aye?”

“I’m sorry that I wasn’t able to speak to you that day you came to see me.”

“Are ye now?”

“I just said I was.” He soothed her temper with a mind-numbing kiss. “Is that all?”

She sighed and kissed him back. “I should not have avoided you for so long.”

“True.”

“Can you find it in your heart to forgive me?”

He wrapped her in his arms and held her to his heart—surely she could hear the way his pounded. He was unable to speak for the wealth of emotion exploding inside of him.

Finally, he managed, “Aye, lass, though ye have no need to ask for forgiveness. Ye’ve done nothing more than grant me the time to come to me senses and to ask more than one person what happened when I woke from that fever.”

The knock on the open door had him breaking the kiss to glance over his shoulder. “It seems we’ve been left alone for too long, lass.”

She blinked, and it was pure pleasure to watch her cheeks pinken with embarrassment as his words sank in. She tried to hide her face, but he eased back and once more tilted her chin so he could gaze into her eyes. “Ye have nothing to be embarrassed about. I need to ask ye a question.”

Mary Kate bit her lip and waited.

“Will ye marry me, lass?”

“I will.”

“Right now?”

She stared at him for a moment before answering, “I’d have to change my gown.”

Flaherty roared with laughter. “Faith, I knew ye were the woman for me the moment I plucked ye out of the duke’s carriage.” Turning toward the doorway, he should not have been surprised to find Garahan and O’Malley standing there with grins plastered on their faces. “We’re to be married, lads.”

Garahan frowned at him. “’Tis about time ye got over yer tearing rage and realized the lass only has eyes for yerself.”

Flaherty hesitated, then decided to say what was on his mind and in his heart. “But her smiles—”

“Are a gift she graces each and every one of us with every day, Flaherty,” Michael said. “Accept it, and be grateful for it.”

His cousins’ words filled him to bursting before knocking him on the back of his head until he understood the sense of them.

“’Tis grateful I shall be for the rest of me life.

” He pressed a kiss to her forehead and twined their fingers together.

“If tonight’s too soon to marry me, we can wed tomorrow. ”

“A wonderful idea, Flaherty!” Viscount Chattsworth boomed from where he, too, now stood in the doorway.

“Thank ye, yer lordship. I’d best be going, then. I’ll need to speak to his lordship about having one of the lads cover me shift.”

Chattsworth walked into the sitting room and smiled. “Congratulations.”

Lady Calliope joined them a few moments later, hugging Mary Kate first, and then Flaherty. “You two will be so happy. I cannot wait until the vicar marries you. If you wait for a few moments, Flaherty, I need to send a note to Aurelia.”

“Of course, yer ladyship. I’ll wait for ye—besides, there are some scones left.”

O’Malley snorted with laughter and the others joined in. His heart full, Flaherty stared down at the woman by his side and knew he would always be grateful to the Lord for granting his prayers.