Limerick, Ireland
1858

CHAPTER ONE

"She’s ready when ye are, Captain Reilly."

Bryan Reilly winced as his honorary title rang out across the docks from the Caithream. The courtesy never failed to serve as a painful reminder of the dreams he’d lost through his own reckless folly.

He brushed by a young widow standing alone on the pier and nodded to Michael, the sloop's true shipmaster, signaling permission for imminent departure as his gaze ran the ship’s length. Though small, she was a beauty from her foremast to her stern. He surveyed her sleek hull against the shifting sway of the river in Limerick’s harbor. Swiftest of their small fleet, graceful and clean, the Caithream was Reilly born and Reilly built, just as he was--a symbol of everything he once aspired to master and now sought to protect with all the persuasive acumen he possessed. If only his mission to England would go as smoothly as she sailed. If only.

A cry from behind him caused him to turn just as he stepped foot on the gangplank.

"Darling, you're safe afterall. Thank goodness!"

A woman only slightly taller than his shoulder, dressed in full mourning black, flung herself into Bryan’s arms. Her embrace engulfed him in the fresh scents of lemon and freesia, at odds with the heavy tang of the docks.

Before he could recover, she pressed herself tightly against him, molding tempting curves against his worsted suit as she whispered in his ear. "Please, help us, please."

The desperation in her plea quivered through him. Her distress manifested as a near-palpable thing in the gray light of early morning. The silk of her gown sighed as she pressed closer and his body tightened in response to hers. Damn. The feel of her in his arms evoked emotions best left unstirred and betrayed a promise he’d made to himself long ago. He'd no time for delay caused by a stranger's troubles. And however desirably packaged this woman might be, she was definitely trouble.

Whoever she was and whatever her motives, she’d cracked his solicitor’s prudence in an instant. As he held her closer, he sensed he had to get rid of her as quickly as possible before his life changed in ways beyond imagining.

"Shhh, it is all right, lass." He’d only a hazy impression of dark blue eyes and full lips beneath the brim of her bonnet. He tried to pull back from her embrace, but she wouldn’t release her hold of him and he didn't wish to draw any further attention.

"Husband, what must you think of your silly wife, believing you'd drowned?"

She spoke loud enough for the entire quay to hear and clutched his shoulders with her gloved hands so tight she made him wince as much from her grip as her words.

"Are you daft?" He bit out. Heads turned as the inhabitants of the busy docks paused to observe them. The normal bustle of ships being loaded and unloaded seemed to pause as if listening to what she’d just proclaimed. What game could she be playing?

"Kiss me." She begged, terror bordered her hushed tone as it quavered against his ear. "Kiss me as if you truly mean it."

He held perfectly still, stunned as much by her request as his sudden wish to comply. What kind of fool allowed dallying with a wayward tart to take precedence over urgent business?

"Please." Her gaze, an unwavering lapis blue that breached his soul, threatened any ounce of resolve he’d ever claimed to hold.

He had the sudden unnamed certainty that he could not ignore this woman, no matter that logic demanded he set her aside. The sharp sting of desire pierced him, this time in a red hot haze, blotting out everything else. He wanted to kiss her, hang the consequences.

"Gladly."

He anchored a hand in the cloud of soft blonde tresses gathered at the nape of her neck, then dragged her lips to his.

"Oh."

The sound escaped her as he covered her waiting mouth and drank in her soft, sweet warmth. The honey and cream taste of her sang through his blood. Music rippled over his mind and heart. Lilting strains of an unseen harp. A melody he'd never heard before, yet recognized on so deep a level, he shuddered. The notes shivered through his soul and roared through his limbs in sweeping chords of fractured color and fragmented light.

It was the Reilly Blessing, to be sure, held securely in his embrace. He’d thought he'd fallen afoul of that legend long ago. He groaned. Every story he’d ever heard echoed through his thoughts in a wild blur. Past regrets, ancient guilt, and years of carefully constructed defenses sluiced away like sea salt after a cleansing rain, leaving him vulnerable to this family fable reborn in the feel of her lips. To salvage his future he should thrust her away, but to save his sanity he could do naught but pull her closer still.

She stiffened in his arms as though his onslaught was more than she expected in response to her demand. Then after a moment she melted against him and made a little moan in the back of her throat. He tasted raw desperation and unnerving desire on her soft lips. The fiery clamor of The Blessing deafened him to all rational concerns.

"Muirneach." The Gaelic endearment pushed from his depths. Passion flared between them, so bold and hot Bryan could easily imagine it burning away the very docks beneath their feet.

Wouldn’t that be a sight for all of Limerick to see?

The thought dumped a bit of cold lucidity over him. He released her from his hungry kiss and tilted her chin up to study her face more closely, noting her rosy lips and the daze that lingered in those beautiful blue eyes.

He loosened his hold on her, regret and anger warring inside him, ripping at the slender threads he yet held on his control. For one tiny moment he had lost all he had worked so hard to attain.

He dropped his hands from her.

"Mayhap you’d like to explain this brazen display?" His tone came low and even, betraying none of the desire she roused in him. Good.

A flush rose over her cheekbones, coloring her pale skin the delicate pink of new spring roses. She lifted her chin. Her gaze slid towards the harbor master's office at the end of the dock as she swallowed and leaned close to his ear.

"I need your help. We need your help."

"We?"

"Myself and my. . .." She turned her gaze back toward the street at the opposite end of the dock. ". . .two children."

At her stumbling admission, guilt twisted through him, cold and heavy. He clenched his hands at his side. Children? What folly had indulging an impulse led him into this time?

He’d just kissed another man’s wife into glorious submission. An Englishwoman too, if her heritage ran true to her delicate tones. He'd called her beloved in the language of his forebears for all to hear. Physical desire had swept away years of training in the finer points of business demeanor and public bearing.

What would Gill O’Brien have to say about that? His stomach tightened as he pictured the senior partner’s frowning censure. Gill’s highly visible courting of English business brooked no scandal from the junior members of O'Brien & Mallory. Bryan could imagine more than mere condemnation. Relation or no.

Blessing be damned.

"Madam." Cold reality iced his tone. "I don’t know what dramatic role you are enacting, but I’d suggest you ply your talents elsewhere. Good day."

"No." Her impeccably gloved fingers clutched his arm as he turned. "Please, this is no act. I'm deadly serious. We need safe passage to England immediately."