"I don't want you having sex with him at all, as it's a tangle." Frustration pumped through him, causing him to roar it as both women sat quietly staring at him. "And I don't want to know about it one way or the other."

"Then I'll be sure to spare you the details." She spoke coolly now, which only rattled the sabers of his own temper.

"Mind your step."

"Mind your own," she shot back. "My personal life, particularly this area of it, is no one's business but mine. Trevor and I understand the tangle you've referred to and, as sensible people, will be careful enough not to trip up in it."

Eyes still frosty, she rose. "I'm going to ring up Brenna's mother and ask about Alice Mae. And I'll talk to Betsy Clooney as well. The details will be seen to before I go. Good day to you, Jude," she added, and kissed her sister-in-law on the cheek before she flounced out.

The air hummed in the Gallagher kitchen for several moments, as Jude casually nibbled her toast.

"Well, what have you to say about it?" Aidan demanded.

"Not a thing."

"Hah." He stewed, drummed his fingers, scowled. "But you're thinking of saying something about it."

She decided to try the jam. "Not really. I think Darcy covered it all."

"There!" He jabbed an accusing finger. "You're on her side."

"Of course." She smiled now. "So are you."

He shoved back from the table and began to pace. In sympathy, Finn came out from under the table to pace with him. "She thinks she can handle this, handle him. The girl sees herself as sophisticated and worldly. Christ, Jude, she's been sheltered all her life. She hasn't had the time or opportunities to know."

Jude set her toast aside. "Aidan, some are born knowing."

"Be that as it may, she's never come up against a man like Magee. He's a slick one. I think he's a good man, an honest one, but slick all the same. I don't want him using my sister."

"Is that how you see it?"

"I can't see it, and that's the problem. But I know he's handsome and he's rich and however much Darcy's always joked about landing herself just that, he could dazzle her. And dazzled, how can she see where she's going?"

"Aidan," Jude said softly, "how can you?"

"I don't want her hurt."

"I do."

Shock simply robbed him of speech. He stared at his wife, laid a hand on the back of his chair, and managed to find his voice. "How could you say such a thing? How could you want Darcy hurt?"

"If he can hurt her, he matters. Aidan, no man's ever really mattered to her. They've been, well, toys, amusements, diversions. Don't you want her to find someone who matters?"

"Of course I do. But I can't see it being Magee." Annoyed, he began to pace again. "Not when both of them are thinking with their glands." He shook his head. "Trips to London. Barely know each other and it's trips to London."

"I walked into a smoky pub on a rainy night, and there you were. My life changed, and I didn't even know who you were."

He stopped pacing. Love too huge to measure swelled in his heart. "A one in a million for us." He sat, reached across the table for her hands. "And fate played a part."

"Maybe it's playing one now."

His eyes narrowed. "You're thinking this has something to do with the legend? The last part of it?"

"I think there's one Gallagher left. One heart not yet touched or offered or given. And I think it's interesting-no, it's fascinating-that Trevor Magee is in Ardmore. As a writer-" She paused a moment, because it was still thrilling to know she was a writer. "I'd have trouble believing it's just coincidence. The old family connection, Darcy's a Fitzgerald on your mother's side, and cousin to Maude. Trevor's great-uncle was Maude's one and only love. They lost each other, just as Gwen and Carrick lost each other."

"That's just your imagination, and your romantic side taking over, Jude Frances."

"Is it?" She shrugged. "We'll have to wait and see, won't we?"

She wasn't waiting for anything. Alice Mae was already on her way in, and Betsy had been delighted at the offer of two days' work. Pleased with herself, Darcy breezed through the kitchen and straight out the back door.

It was a bit of a shock to step out and into the solid gray block walls and lumber bones of the breezeway that would connect the two structures. Already, she thought, there was some form to it, recognizable even to her untutored eye. Men stood on scaffolding, hammering or drilling or riveting. How could she tell through all the noise?

Someone, a very optimistic someone, to her mind, was playing a radio. All she could hear from it was a tinkle and squawk that might have been music.

She saw the way the roof would curve in a kind of arch, the rafters thick to echo the feel of those that had held the pub for generations.

Unexpectedly, she felt a twinge, and recognized it as pride. Gallagher's was the root, and the theater a branch on the tree.

She walked through, mindful of the cables and cords that snaked over the subflooring. She'd already spotted Trevor, up on the scaffolding platform at the far end where the breezeway widened. His tool belt was slung at his waist, and there was some clever power tool buzzing in his hand. He wore tinted glasses, as much for protection from flying wood and concrete dust, she supposed, as a shield against the mild sunlight.

He looked rough and ready and exactly right for her mood.

She stopped beneath him, waiting, aware that many of the men were looking at her rather than going safely about their business. Mick O'Toole sauntered by, a bundle of rebar balanced over his shoulder.

"You're distracting our crew, pretty Darcy."

"I won't be but a minute. How's it all going, then, Mr. O'Toole?"

"Himself knows what he wants and how he wants it. As I'm in agreement with him, it couldn't be going better."

"Will it be wonderful?"

"It will. A credit to Ardmore. Watch your step here now, darling. Lots to trip over hereabouts."

"I've thought of that," she murmured. There was a great deal to trip over when it came to Trevor Magee.

When Mick headed off, she looked back up and saw it was Trevor who waited now. That was more like it.

"A word with you, Mr. Magee?" she shouted up.

"What can I do for you, Miss Gallagher?"

So, he wouldn't trouble to come down. That was fine.

She skimmed her hair back from her shoulder. "I need today and tomorrow to train a new part-time waitress. But I'm at your disposal come Thursday if that suits you."

Anticipation curled in his gut, but he merely nodded. "We'll leave Thursday morning, then. I'll pick you up at six."

"That's a very early start."

"Why waste time?"

For a beat, they only watched each other. "Why, indeed?"

She turned, strolled back into the kitchen. And when the door was closed did a quick victory dance.

CHAPTER Ten

After considerable debate and weighing of the pros and cons, Darcy decided to be on time. Her reasons for breaking precedent were purely selfish, and she didn't mind admitting it. She wanted to enjoy every minute of her two days off.

She'd packed light, which hadn't been an easy feat for her, and because of it the chore had taken her hours. Planning, debating, discarding. She'd raided her wish jar, something she did only for the most important of events. But she needed to buy something wonderful to commemorate the trip, didn't she?

For two days she'd worked like a mule to be certain her responsibilities at the pub were well covered. In lieu of sleep she'd given herself a manicure, a pedicure, and a facial to make certain she presented as polished an image as she could manage.

She'd selected her lingerie with the canniness and foresight of a general preparing for battle.

Trevor Magee wouldn't know what hit him-once she allowed him to seduce her.

The idea had odd little nerves fluttering in her stomach. And she wanted to be, had to be, calm, cool, cosmopolitan. She had no intention of playing the culchie-country bumpkin-in London or in bed. Part of the problem was Trevor was exactly as Aidan had described him.

Slick.

It didn't matter if he dressed in work clothes and sweated along with his crew or waded through the mud hauling supplies. Still, beneath the sweat and dirt was a gloss that came from privilege, education, and wealth.

She'd met other men from privilege. The fact was, she'd honed the skill of recognizing, and separating from the pack, those trust fund babies on tour or holiday.

But, a trust fund babe Trevor was not, and she thought never had been. With all his wealth he worked, and the power of both the rewards and the labor sat well on him. That earned her respect, and Darcy gave her respect sparingly.

She'd never known anyone quite like him. And while that intrigued her, it also made her wary.

Added to it all, layered through the observations and the interest, was the not so simple fact that she wanted him. She'd never wanted a man with quite so much focus and intensity. She wanted his hands on her, his mouth on hers. His body on hers.

In the few hours she'd slept the night before, she'd dreamed of him. Strange, confused dreams. In them he'd come to her on a white winged horse, and together they'd flown over a sea as blue as sapphire, over the damp green fields of home, through pearly light toward a silver palace where trees had dripped with golden apples and silver pears, and the music that rose into the air was enough to break the heart.

In the dream, for that short, misty time, she was in love. In a way she'd never thought she could be, had never been certain she wanted to be. So completely, blindly, joyfully in love that nothing seemed to matter but those moments with him.