LITMIR.BIZ

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when you were little more than a kid and practically hauled us all up. You gave up your dreams for us. You never let our mam down. You’ve managed to make a go of the farm, and that’s great, but Maeve—just because you promised eternal love when you were ten years old doesn’t mean you owe her loyalty for life. She doesn’t want this life. I’m thinking half what she thought was love for you was loyalty to her dad, but there’s more to life than loyalty. She’s seen it. So should you.’

      Sean was right. The last twelve months had taught him that what he thought of as love was simply loyalty to a friend, loyalty to a way of life, loyalty to his vision of his future.

      So where did his future lie now?

      He thumped the pillow and then, when it didn’t result in immediate sleep, he tossed back the covers and headed to the window. It was a vast casement window, the stone wall almost two feet thick.

      Beneath the window the land of Glenconaill stretched away to the moonlit horizon, miles of arable land reaching out to the bogs and then the mountains beyond.

      If he’d inherited the whole thing...

      ‘You didn’t. This place is money only,’ he muttered and deliberately drew the great velvet curtains closed, blocking out the night. ‘Don’t you be getting any ideas, Lord Finn of Glenconaill.’

      And at the sound of his title he grinned. His brothers would never let him live it down. All now successful businessmen in their own rights, they’d think it was funny.

      And Maeve...well, it no longer mattered what Maeve thought. He’d accepted it over the last few months and this morning’s visit had simply confirmed it. Yes, she was in a mess but it wasn’t a mess of his making. Their relationship was well over.

      Had she faced her father or gone back to Dublin?

      It was none of his business.

      He headed back to bed and stared up at the dark and found himself thinking of the wide acres around Castle Glenconaill.

      And a girl sleeping not so far from where he lay. A woman.

      A woman named Jo.

      * * *

      By the time Jo came downstairs, the massive dining room was set up for breakfast. The housekeeper greeted her with a curt, ‘Good morning, miss. Lord Conaill’s in the dining room already. Would you like to start with coffee?’

      It was pretty much your standard Bed and Breakfast greeting, Jo decided, and that was fine by her. Formal was good.

      She walked into the dining room and Finn was there, reading the paper. He was wearing a casual shirt, sleeves rolled past his elbows. Sunbeams filtered through the massive windows at the end of the room. He looked up at her as she entered and he smiled, his deep green eyes creasing with pleasure at the sight of her—and it was all a woman could do not to gasp.

      Where was formal when she needed it?

      ‘Did you sleep well?’ he asked and somehow she found her voice and somehow she made it work.

      ‘How can you doubt it? Twelve hours!’

      ‘So you’d be leaving the jet lag behind?’

      ‘I hope so.’ She sat at the ridiculous dining table and gazed down its length. Mrs O’Reilly had set places for them at opposite ends. ‘We’ll need a megaphone if we want to communicate.’

      ‘Ah, but I don’t think we’re supposed to communicate. Formality’s the order of the day. You’re the aristocratic side of the family. I’m the peasant.’

      ‘Hey, I’m on the wrong side of the blanket.’

      ‘Then I’m under the bed, with the rest of the lint bunnies.’

      She choked. The thought of this man as a lint bunny...

      Mrs O’Reilly swept in then with coffee and placed it before her with exaggerated care. ‘Mr O’Farrell’s just phoned,’ she told Finn, stepping back from the table and wiping her hands on her skirt as if she’d just done something dirty. ‘He’s the lawyer for the estate. He’s been staying in Galway and he can be here in half an hour. I can ring him if that’s not satisfactory.’

      Finn raised his brows at Jo. ‘Is that satisfactory with you?’

      ‘I...yes.’

      ‘We can see him then,’ Finn told her. ‘In Lord Conaill’s study, please. Could you light the fire?’

      ‘The drawing room would be...’

      ‘The study, please,’ Finn said inexorably and the woman stared at him.

      Finn gazed calmly back. Waiting.

      For a moment Jo thought she wouldn’t answer. Finally she gave an angry tut and nodded.

      ‘Yes, My Lord.’

      ‘Mrs O’Reilly?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘You haven’t asked Miss Conaill what she’d like for breakfast.’

      ‘Toast,’ Jo said hurriedly.

      ‘And marmalade and a fruit platter,’ Finn added. ‘And I trust it’ll be up to the excellent standard you served me. You do realise you burned Miss Conaill’s dinner last night?’

      He was holding the woman’s gaze, staring her down, and with a gaze like that there was never any doubt as to the outcome.

      ‘I’m sorry, My Lord. It won’t happen again.’

      ‘It won’t,’ Finn told her and gave a curt nod and went back to his newspaper.

      The woman disappeared. Jo gazed after her with awe and then turned back to Finn. He was watching her, she found. He’d lowered his paper and was smiling at her, as if giving the lie to the gruff persona she’d just witnessed.

      And it was too much. She giggled. ‘Where did you learn to be a lord?’ she demanded. ‘Or is that something that’s born into you with the title?’

      ‘I practice on cows,’ he said with some pride. ‘I’ve had six months to get used to this Lordship caper. The cows have been bowing and scraping like anything.’ He put his paper down and grinned. ‘Not my brothers so much,’ he admitted. ‘They haven’t let me live it down since they heard. Insubordination upon insubordination. You’ve never seen anything like it.’

      ‘Do you guys share the farm?’ She held her coffee, cradling its warmth. The dining room had an open fire in the hearth, the room was warm enough, but the sheer size of it was enough to make her shiver.

      ‘I own my parents’ farm outright, but it wasn’t much of an inheritance when I started. My brothers all left for what they saw as easier careers and they’ve done well. Me? I’ve put my heart and soul into the farm and it’s paid off.’

      ‘You’re content?’

      He grinned at that. ‘I’m a lord. How can I not be content?’

      ‘I meant with farming.’

      ‘Of course I am. I don’t need a castle to be content. Cows are much more respectful than housekeepers.’

      ‘I’m sure they are,’ she said, thinking the man was ridiculous. But she kind of liked it.

      She kind of liked him.

      ‘No wife and family?’ she asked, not that it was any of her business but she might as well ask.

      ‘No.’ He shrugged and gave a rueful smile. ‘I’ve had a long-term girlfriend who’s recently decided long-term is more than long enough. See me suffering from a broken heart.’

      ‘Really?’

      ‘Not really.’ He grinned. ‘I’ll live.’

      And then Mrs O’Reilly came sniffing back in with toast and he

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