The Reluctant Lark Read Free Page B

silent grace. “It’s pouring, and you know how bad the dampness is for your throat.” He whipped off his tweed jacket and draped it around her solicitously, the movement deftly separating her from Challon.
    Challon observed the ploy with lazy amusement. “It’s my fault, Reilly,” he said mockingly. “I assured her that she wouldn’t melt. It seems that I stand corrected.”
    Reilly shot the older man an annoyed glance before turning to Sheena and smiling. “It’s a crazy, wild girlyou are,” he scolded gently. “Come along inside, and I’ll get you a drink to ward off a chill.”
    “I don’t want a drink, Sean,” she snapped. “I feel perfectly well.”
    Reilly gave her a look of stunned surprise, and Challon’s sudden laugh had a note of triumph in it that pleased her as little as Sean’s gentle coerciveness. “Have you met Mr. Challon, Sean?” she asked briskly, as she took off his tweed jacket and handed it back to him.
    There was a flicker in Sean’s blue eyes. “Rand Challon?” he asked slowly. Challon nodded curtly. “How is it you know my name, Mr. Challon? I don’t believe we met before.”
    “Mr. Challon doesn’t have to rely on such pedestrian things as introductions, Sean,” Sheena said tartly. “He merely looks into his crystal ball, and all things are clear to him.” She turned and sailed regally through the french doors, followed closely by Reilly. Sheena resisted an impulse to cast a backward glance at Rand Challon. She’d had enough of his mockery and amusement … and mysteriousness.
    Sean’s silky voice was curious as he murmured softly in her ear, “You two were very absorbed when I interrupted you. What were you talking about?”
    She shrugged. “Nothing important.” Somehow, she didn’t want to share those bewildering, intimate moments that she had spent on the terrace with Challon, even with a good friend like Sean. “It seems that Mr. Challon is a bird fancier. We were discussing the relative merits of doves and larks.”

Two
    “Good God in heaven, you must have lost your wits entirely to even think such a thing,” Donal O’Shea barked, his face flushing angrily. “My niece has given her solemn word that she will appear at the benefit concert, and appear she will!”
    “I’m sorry you feel that way, Mr. O’Shea,” Henry Smythe said a trifle pompously. “I’d hoped to convince you that it was for the good of your country to help Her Majesty’s government by cooperating. I’ve already explained that the NCI is planning to use Miss Reardon’s appearance at the concert next month as a persuasive tactic in convincing several wealthy Irish-American industrialists to contribute arms to their organization. Surely you wouldn’t want to bear the responsibility of the bloodshed that would result if they succeeded in their aim.”
    Sheena focused her gaze on the brilliant bulbs that surrounded the mirror of the dressing table and tried to close out the voices of the arguing men around her.She was so terribly tired, and there was still the concert to endure. She needed time to steel herself for the pain that was to come. Oh, God, why couldn’t they just go away? When her uncle had called and asked Sean to bring her to the theater early, she’d had no idea that it was to meet this prim little civil servant with his weird, daft tales. Why couldn’t her uncle have handled the matter himself as he usually did?
    “Are you accusing my niece and me of belonging to that bloodthirsty bunch of terrorists?” O’Shea asked incredulously, his face becoming even redder with anger.
    “Certainly not,” Smythe said hurriedly. “You’ve both been scrupulously investigated, and there’s appeared no trace of a connection between you and the group. I merely said that they may be using your niece for their own ends. She’s become something of a folk heroine since her brother died a martyr’s death at the university. She’s gained a tremendous following both in Ireland