The Bride And The Mercenary. Harper Allen

able to switch on and off at will. It was a talent that would be useful to him when he ran for office, but it was obvious he no longer felt the need to trot it out for her benefit.

      “Then I’m glad I caught him before he goes.”

      Of course Pearson would want to get out of the city for a while, she thought, averting her gaze as she passed the open French doors of the dining room. The antique dining table, a massive mahogany piece that could seat a dozen guests, was piled high with exquisitely wrapped wedding gifts. The McNeil’s country house would have no such reminders.

      “How the hell could you have humiliated him so publicly?” Brian had followed her down the hallway, and his voice at her shoulder was low with suppressed anger. “Whatever excuse you came here to give, it’s not going to—”

      “I wasn’t humiliated, Brian. And if Ainslie feels she owes anyone an explanation, I don’t believe it would be to you.”

      Pearson McNeil, his tall, spare figure seemingly relaxed, appeared in the open doorway of the library at the end of the hall. He was wearing what he would call casual clothes, although Ainslie had teased him in the past that he didn’t know the meaning of the word. Charcoal flannel trousers were belted at the waist with a dark tan leather belt. His shirt, open just one button at the neck, was plain white cotton—but it was Egyptian cotton, Ainslie guessed.

      “Ainslie, my dear.” Crossing swiftly to her, he took one of her hands in both of his. “I’m glad you came.”

      Drawing her closer, he pressed a brief kiss onto her forehead and then steered her courteously toward the library, but not before she caught the flash of emotion that crossed Brian’s handsome features as he turned on his heel and headed back down the hall. But Brian’s feelings in this matter weren’t her priority, Ainslie thought, turning her attention to Pearson.

      “I was choosing some reading material to take with me to Greystones.” Looking vaguely around the room, he frowned. Then he smiled ruefully, reaching for the pair of reading glasses on the top of his head. “I’m a little distracted today,” he said, folding the glasses up carefully and putting them on top of the small pile of books sitting on the oak table beside Ainslie.

      “It’s been a distracting day,” Ainslie said, not looking at him. She ran her fingers over the buttery-soft calfskin binding of one of the books, and then lifted her head to meet his gaze. “I came to apologize to you, Pearson. Now that I’m here I realize just how inadequate that sounds. What I did today was…was unforgivable.”

      “Oh, surely not that.” He lifted an eyebrow. “Let’s save that word for the really horrific deeds the human race commits every day. You simply changed your mind. That was always your prerogative, I believe—although I must admit I wish you’d exercised it a week or two earlier.”

      One of the books in this room was his own History of Twentieth-Century Conflict, Ainslie thought. But even though he was attempting to take a scholar’s view of today’s events, she knew he couldn’t be as detached as he was pretending to be.

      “But that’s just it, Pearson. I didn’t change my mind,” she said unhappily.

      Sully had told her that he’d said nothing to Pearson about her real reason for tearing out of the church, but she owed the man in front of her the truth. She should have told him about Malone a long time ago, she thought regretfully. Maybe if she had, her confession now would have been easier.

      “In the crowd outside the church today I thought I saw a man…a man I was very much in love with once,” she said softly, holding his gaze as steadily as she could. “Except I knew it couldn’t be him, because he—”

      “Because he was dead.” Pearson finished her sentence for her in the same quiet tone. “You thought you saw Seamus Malone, Ainslie? Is that who the man in the crowd reminded you of?”

      Taken aback, Ainslie could only stare at him in confusion. Bridging the distance between them, he put his hands lightly on her shoulders.

      “I was talking with Father Flynn in his office when you arrived. I couldn’t help hearing the name you called out.”

      “But…but how did you know he was dead? How did you know I’d once been involved with him?” She stared up at him uncomprehendingly.

      “I’ve known for a long time—almost from the first, in fact.” He sighed. “I wasn’t prying, Ainslie. But beneath that toughly competent exterior you show to the world, I saw a deep sadness. I think I already knew I cared for you more than I’d ever cared for anyone. I wanted to know if there was anything I could do to lessen that sadness for you. So I made some inquiries, and when I learned about Malone I realized just how truly strong you were. A tragedy like that might have destroyed another woman.”

      “It almost did, Pearson.” She closed her eyes, remembering. “I’m not as strong as you think I am. Today must have proved that to you.”

      Touching only on the essentials, she haltingly described her encounter with John Smith, saying nothing about his hunted lifestyle or the fact that his pursuers had nearly caught up with him while she’d been with him. That wasn’t her story to tell, she thought uneasily. True, she’d shared some of it with Sullivan, but Sully’s life hadn’t always been as conventional as it was now. She’d hoped for more understanding from her ex-mercenary half brother, she admitted to herself.

      Of course, even to Sully she’d said nothing about the kiss.

      If she’d needed one last scrap of proof to convince herself that the man she’d been with today wasn’t Malone, that kiss in the parking garage would have been it. Malone’s lovemaking had always held a touch of teasing wickedness. Even during their most passionate moments, it had never been hard to detect the bad-boy glint in his eye, the delinquent one-sided smile he wore as they urged each other on to more dizzying heights together.