on tenterhooks. Who was he?”
“His name is Patrick O’Rourke.”
Kate hadn’t expected the name to mean anything to Bea, but it seemed she was mistaken.
“The
Patrick O’Rourke?” She stared at Kate, bug-eyed.
Kate nodded. Lord help her if there was more than one. “How do you know him?”
Bea shook her head. “I know
of him.
They say he has buckets of money and a castle somewhere in Scotland. A
castle,
Kat, can you imagine?”
“A lady does not remark on a gentleman’s assets. It is vulgar.”
Bea rolled her eyes again and huffed. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Kat, we’re in your bedroom with the door closed. There’s no one to hear us. Papa went out hours ago, and you know what that means. Besides, it’s not as though you don’t talk about money. You talk about it all the time.”
“If I do, it’s only because of the need to impress upon you and Papa the necessity of not frittering away what little we have left.”
She plopped down beside Kate. “If you married Mr. Rourke, we wouldn’t need to fret about money at all. We’d all be rich as Croesus.”
“His surname is
O’Rourke,
by the by, and it is he who would be the rich one. We’d still be poor as church mice, only I’d be leg-shackled to him for life. At any rate, it’s a moot point as I have no intention of marrying him or anyone else.”
Bea crossed her arms. “Very well, then. I suppose I shall just have to marry him.”
Kate was unprepared for the jolt of jealousy that announcement brought about. Dear Lord, was she … jealous?
“Don’t be absurd; you’re not even out yet, and even if you were, I’d lock you away myself before I’d let you marry that coarse, conceited, ill-bred Scotsman.”
Bea stuck out her chin. “I don’t think he’s coarse. From what I saw of him through the window, I thought he was rather dashing and …
virile.”
Bea punctuated the pronouncement with a sigh.
Kate snapped her head about to her sister’s dreamy-eyed profile. “Where on earth did you happen upon such a word? No, don’t tell me. You’ve been reading those penny dreadfuls again, haven’t you?”
Knights in shining armor and Prince Charmings were best left to fairy tales. In the real world, a woman had only herself to rely upon. The sooner Beatrice accepted that decidedly unromantic fact, the better it would be. In light of the earlier episode in the park, Kate would do well to remember it herself.
Bea turned to face her. “They’re romantic novels, and there’s nothing dreadful about them. You should borrow one sometime, sister dear. You might learn something.”
Kate privately considered she had learned quite enough for one day. Regardless, she did not greatly care for her sister’s tone, even less for the unflattering implication that she was in want of romantic tutelage—even if that was indeed the case. Thinking of her enthusiastic but clumsy response to what had been a most smoothly executed sensual assault had the tips of her ears heating.
“Beatrice, I’ll not have you talking like a light skirt.”
Bea rolled her eyes again.
“Beatrice,
is it? I must have touched on a nerve, indeed.”
Kate only called her by her full name when trouble was brewing, and they both knew it. They exchanged looks, and all at once burst out laughing.
The bedroom door swung open, crashing against the wall and bringing both women to their feet. Their father stood on the threshold, his coat unbuttoned, his cravat askew, and his eyes wild. It was obvious to Kate he was not only drunk, but furious. Her heartbeat quickened to a canter. To give the devil his due, he’d never before raised a hand to them, but there was always a first time. She slid a protective arm about Bea’s shoulders.
His red-rimmed eyes narrowed on Kate. “I never thought I’d live to see the day when a daughter of mine would so disgrace the Lindsey name.”
Heat fisted Kate in the face. She’d been found out. Someone must have seen her kissing Mr. O’Rourke
“His name is Patrick O’Rourke.”
Kate hadn’t expected the name to mean anything to Bea, but it seemed she was mistaken.
“The
Patrick O’Rourke?” She stared at Kate, bug-eyed.
Kate nodded. Lord help her if there was more than one. “How do you know him?”
Bea shook her head. “I know
of him.
They say he has buckets of money and a castle somewhere in Scotland. A
castle,
Kat, can you imagine?”
“A lady does not remark on a gentleman’s assets. It is vulgar.”
Bea rolled her eyes again and huffed. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Kat, we’re in your bedroom with the door closed. There’s no one to hear us. Papa went out hours ago, and you know what that means. Besides, it’s not as though you don’t talk about money. You talk about it all the time.”
“If I do, it’s only because of the need to impress upon you and Papa the necessity of not frittering away what little we have left.”
She plopped down beside Kate. “If you married Mr. Rourke, we wouldn’t need to fret about money at all. We’d all be rich as Croesus.”
“His surname is
O’Rourke,
by the by, and it is he who would be the rich one. We’d still be poor as church mice, only I’d be leg-shackled to him for life. At any rate, it’s a moot point as I have no intention of marrying him or anyone else.”
Bea crossed her arms. “Very well, then. I suppose I shall just have to marry him.”
Kate was unprepared for the jolt of jealousy that announcement brought about. Dear Lord, was she … jealous?
“Don’t be absurd; you’re not even out yet, and even if you were, I’d lock you away myself before I’d let you marry that coarse, conceited, ill-bred Scotsman.”
Bea stuck out her chin. “I don’t think he’s coarse. From what I saw of him through the window, I thought he was rather dashing and …
virile.”
Bea punctuated the pronouncement with a sigh.
Kate snapped her head about to her sister’s dreamy-eyed profile. “Where on earth did you happen upon such a word? No, don’t tell me. You’ve been reading those penny dreadfuls again, haven’t you?”
Knights in shining armor and Prince Charmings were best left to fairy tales. In the real world, a woman had only herself to rely upon. The sooner Beatrice accepted that decidedly unromantic fact, the better it would be. In light of the earlier episode in the park, Kate would do well to remember it herself.
Bea turned to face her. “They’re romantic novels, and there’s nothing dreadful about them. You should borrow one sometime, sister dear. You might learn something.”
Kate privately considered she had learned quite enough for one day. Regardless, she did not greatly care for her sister’s tone, even less for the unflattering implication that she was in want of romantic tutelage—even if that was indeed the case. Thinking of her enthusiastic but clumsy response to what had been a most smoothly executed sensual assault had the tips of her ears heating.
“Beatrice, I’ll not have you talking like a light skirt.”
Bea rolled her eyes again.
“Beatrice,
is it? I must have touched on a nerve, indeed.”
Kate only called her by her full name when trouble was brewing, and they both knew it. They exchanged looks, and all at once burst out laughing.
The bedroom door swung open, crashing against the wall and bringing both women to their feet. Their father stood on the threshold, his coat unbuttoned, his cravat askew, and his eyes wild. It was obvious to Kate he was not only drunk, but furious. Her heartbeat quickened to a canter. To give the devil his due, he’d never before raised a hand to them, but there was always a first time. She slid a protective arm about Bea’s shoulders.
His red-rimmed eyes narrowed on Kate. “I never thought I’d live to see the day when a daughter of mine would so disgrace the Lindsey name.”
Heat fisted Kate in the face. She’d been found out. Someone must have seen her kissing Mr. O’Rourke
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