The Lost

“And now, thanks to you, it prospers.”

His tone lowered. “May it continue, through good times and bad.” He brightened. “How is your di

Aidan laughed. “What little I’ve tasted is excellent. I’m afraid I got too caught up in your narrative to do it justice.”

“You’d best eat or Kathleen, who oversees our kitchen, will think she made a dreadful choice, and probably have Bridget’s and Charity’s heads in the bargain.”

“We can’t have that.” Aidan took another bite of beef that nearly melted in her mouth.

By the time they’d finished their meal, Bridget and Charity were back, this time with coffee and a tray of assorted cherry and blueberry tarts.

Cullen polished off one of each before sitting back with a sigh. “The perfect ending to a perfect meal. Bridget, be sure to give my compliments to Kathleen.”

She smiled and took her leave, shooing Charity ahead of her.

Across the table, Ross refused dessert and sipped his coffee. It occurred to Aidan that he’d volunteered nothing during the course of their meal. Maybe he was on a mission to see that she didn’t offend her host. Or maybe, she thought, he found her company too dull to bother with something as inane as small talk.

Still, despite his silence, she’d been acutely aware of him watching, listening, studying her like a specimen to be dissected. It gave her an uneasy feeling. If Cullen Glin was warmer than she’d expected, his legal counsel was behaving like a bodyguard keeping an eye on a trained assassin.

He needn’t worry that she would try to worm her way into this very wealthy man’s life by some pretense or other. She had every intention of informing Cullen of his error in bringing her here. But not tonight, she decided suddenly. Tonight, seeing the eagerness in the old man’s eyes, hearing it in his voice, she would let him have his fantasy for a little while longer.

She sipped her coffee, warmed by the fine food and the fire on the hearth, and the pure pleasure of her host’s charming personality.

Just for tonight she would pretend that she was merely a guest in this lovely mansion, invited to partake of all the pleasures such a place could provide.

Tomorrow would be soon enough to deal with the unpleasant realities of her situation. Tomorrow she would firmly, without leaving any room for doubt, let Cullen Glin know that she was who she had always believed she was, the daughter of John and Claire O’Mara, and the granddaughter of Maureen and Edward Martin.

Cullin Glin would have to search elsewhere for his long-lost kin.

“Come,” the old man said, suddenly getting to his feet. “Now that we’ve been fortified by Kathleen’s fine food, it’s time you had a tour of my humble abode.”

“And this was once the library. It’s now my office.”

Their first stop had been the formal parlor, decorated with a lovely mix of antiques salvaged from the original lodge, and comfortable pieces put together by a local decorator.

This room, however, seemed perfectly suited to her host. Floor-to-ceiling shelves were stocked with leather-bound books. A stone fireplace soared to a second-story gallery that ringed two walls, showing more bookshelves. A massive desk was positioned in front of French doors that opened to a brick-paved patio and the gardens beyond.

“I’m afraid this is where Ross and I spend most of our time.” With his hand beneath Aidan’s elbow, Cullen led her across the floor.

“It’s a lovely room.”

Ross moved to a side table and poured coffee liqueur into two small glasses. As he handed her one, she thanked him before nodding toward the patio. “Though I think I’d be more tempted to work out there, to the sound of birds and the scent of all those roses.”

“Not at all conducive to work. I doubt we’d get much done out there.” Cullen smiled as Ross handed him a similar glass.

Aidan moved about the room, ru

The signature of the artist caught her eye. “You did this, Cullen?”

He nodded.

“It’s excellent.”

He couldn’t hide his pleasure. “In my misspent youth, I toyed with the idea of being an artist. Then I was persuaded to put aside foolish dreams and get to the business of making money.”

She turned. “What do you do when you’re not working?”

He glanced at Ross. “Now, there’s a question that hasn’t been put to me before. In the years you’ve known me, can you think of anything I’ve done except work?”

Ross shook his head. “Not to my knowledge.”

The two men shared a laugh.

“What is it you do?”

“I study spreadsheets, cost analyses, profit-and-l oss reports. I buy and sell companies, make money for the investors, sit on the boards of several corporations.”

Aidan merely stared at him. “It sounds… complicated. Do you enjoy your work?”

He took a moment to sip his after-di

“I’m sure the people of Glinkilly are glad, too, since they’ve been the beneficiaries.”

“There is that. It gives me pleasure to improve their lives, especially when I see how hard they’re willing to work to continue to grow and prosper. Long after I’m gone their children and grandchildren will keep the legacy going.”

“And legacy matters to you.”

He met her look. “It does, yes.”

He saw her stifle a yawn and was immediately contrite. “I’ve been having such a grand time showing you my home, I forgot how exhausting travel can be. Please, my dear, go up to your bed now, and we’ll have another visit in the morning.”

Aidan set aside her glass. “You’re right. I really need to sleep now. I’m afraid the flight and time change are defeating me.”

He walked over to close her hand between both of his. “I hope you sleep well and late into the day. Whatever time you wake, we’ll share one of Kathleen’s fine big breakfasts.”

“Thank you, Cullen.” She glanced past him to where Ross stood, silent and watching. “Good night, Ross.”

“Ross will walk you to your suite.”

“There’s no need.”

Cullen ignored her protest. “I insist.”

After saying good night to their host, Ross followed Aidan from the room and up the stairs.

Because he remained one step behind her, she couldn’t see his face. But the prickly feeling along her spine had her achingly aware of those steely eyes watching her.

At the top of the stairs, Aidan stood back while Ross opened the door to her suite of rooms.

She shot him a weary smile. “Good night, Ross.”

“I’d like a word with you.” Seeing that she was about to protest, he stepped into the room and pulled the door shut behind him. “Just a word. No more.”

She sighed. “What’s wrong? Didn’t I follow your instructions carefully enough? Did I say too much? Too little? Did I keep frail old Cullen up past his bedtime? Or did you decide that I wasn’t grateful enough for this fine opportunity to glimpse the good life?”

A half smile touched his lips as he leaned back against the closed door, arms folded across his chest, regarding her. “Ah. There’s that fine Irish temper again.”

“I’m tired. I’ve had a long day, and a longer week. Say what you came here to say and let me get to bed.”

“I want to thank you.”

The unexpected words had her eyes rounding in surprise. “For what?”

“For using that charm on the old man. I haven’t seen him this animated in years.”

“You thought I was pretending? That I was heeding your advice?”

“Weren’t you?”

Her tone lowered with feeling. “I didn’t need to pretend to be charmed. I was honestly responding to Cullen’s warmth and goodness.”