Dangerous Joy by Jo Beverley Read Free Book Online Page B

out himself by his wicked ways ever since he came back from Dublin."
    "That was recently?"
    "Indeed, sir. The earth had scarcely settled on Kathleen Craig's grave than her husband was off, with as much of her money as he could get his hands on. Now he's back trying to squeeze more out of his poor tenants."
    "Hence the little reminder."
    The pot received another thorough polish. "I suppose that could be it, sir, indeed it could."
    It was reasonable that Mr. Rourke wouldn't reveal knowledge of the attack, but Miles thought the man's doubt about the reasons behind it might be genuine.
    "He's very English," he mused.
    Rourke replaced the pot on a shelf and turned to lean on the bar. "That's true, sir. English through and through. But I hope no Irishman would be so unchristian as to attack a man merely for the misfortune of his land of birth. Why at times you could be taken for English yourself!"
    The blue eyes were guileless, but the words could be either a warning or a threat.
    Miles deflected them with a smile. "I had the misfortune to go to school in England, Mr. Rourke, and they whip the correct tone and manners into you there. But I have not one drop of English blood in my veins."
    "Ah, blessed you are, then, sir. Blessed, indeed."
    So, Dunsmore's unpopularity wasn't entirely for being a harsh landlord, or even for being an English twit. So what the devil was it?
    "He seemed a pleasant enough man, for an Englishman," Miles ventured.
    "He has a fine polish to him, true enough," said the innkeeper blandly. "Like the shine on still water in the summer sun."
    Miles choked on his ale. Pond-scum, in other words.
    When he had his breath back, he said, "I understand he made a fine marriage here."
    The innkeeper turned to straighten a row of tankards. "Indeed he did, sir. He does seem to have a way with the ladies."
    Interesting. So there's something in the matter of Dunsmore and women. That's what Miles feared.
    He fished for a bit more enlightenment. "If Miss Craig used her estate to buy a handsome man's charm, perhaps she had a fair bargain..."
    "A fine estate for a little charm?"
    It wasn't the innkeeper, though. It was a female voice behind him, also speaking the Gaelic clear and true.
    Miles turned to face his ward.
    "You do hold women cheap, do you not?" she accused. She was dressed now in a severely-cut, blue wool walking dress and looking active again. What had she been up to? Was he going to have to watch her every moment of the day and night?
    "I don't hold women cheap at all, Miss Monahan. In fact, I generally find them quite expensive." At the flash in her eyes, he hastily added, "But a fine estate and loneliness is no luxury."
    "No one in these parts is lonely, Mr. Cavanagh. We care for one another."
    "Some people need more than the kindness of neighbors. And if you are all so considerate, why did not some other man marry Miss Craig, since it was marriage she wanted?"
    Miles thought that was the end of it, but the old man by the fire let out a paper-dry wheeze of a laugh. "Marry Kathleen Craig! Ugly as the church gargoyle and a tongue like a rusty blade. And proud besides. She wouldn't take any man not of her station, and none of the gentlemen here were desperate enough."
    "Hold your tongue, Mr. Rourke!" Felicity snapped. "Kathleen might not have been a charmer, but she was kind underneath. She just needed loving, rather than the treatment she received because she was bone-thin and had a cast in one eye."
    Miles hid his grimace in draining the last of his ale. He was as charitable as the next man, but it would have taken more than a moderate Irish estate to tempt him to a lifetime with Kathleen Craig. The interesting question, though, was whether Felicity was defending Miss Craig or the man who had married her.
    "Then," he said, "if Mr. Dunsmore offered her love and kindness, perhaps it was a fair bargain."
    "Perhaps it was," Felicity said with enough firmness to suggest doubt.
    Old Mr. Rourke spat into the fire. "That