But not this time. He slipped his hand over Brianna’s as the plane began to taxi.

“Do you like to fly?”

“I haven’t done it very often.” The anticipation of spearing up into the sky still gave her stomach an intriguing little flip. “But yes, I think I do. I like looking down.” She smiled at herself as she watched the ground tilt away below. It fascinated her, always, to picture herself above her own home, the hills, streaking through the clouds to somewhere else. “I suppose it’s second nature to you.”

“It’s fun, thinking about where you’re going.”

“And where you’ve been.”

“I don’t think about that much. I’ve just been there.”

As the plane climbed, he put a hand under her chin, turned her face toward his to study it. “You’re still worried.”

“It doesn’t feel right, going off like this, and so luxuriously, too.”

“Catholic guilt.” The gilt in his eyes deepened when he grinned. “I’ve heard of that particular phenomenon. It’s like if you’re not doing something constructive, and actually enjoying not doing it, you’re going to hell. Right?”

“Nonsense.” She sniffed, irritated that it was even partially true. “I’ve responsibilities.”

“And shirking them.” He tsked and fingered the gold cross she wore. “That’s like the near occasion of sin, isn’t it? What is the near occasion of sin, exactly?”

“You are,” she said, batting his hand away.

“No kidding?” The idea of that appealed enormously. “I like it.”

“You would.” She tucked a loose pin into place. “And this has nothing to do with that. If I’m feeling guilty, it’s because I’m not used to just packing up and going on a moment’s notice. I like to plan things out.”

“Takes half the fun out of it.”

“It stretches out the fun to my way of thinking.” But she gnawed on her lip. “I know it’s important that I be in Dublin for the wedding, but leaving home just now . . .”

“Murphy’s dog sitting,” Gray reminded her. “And keeping an eye on the place.” A sharp eye, Gray was certain, since he’d talked to Murphy privately. “Old Smythe-White left days ago, so you don’t have any customers to worry about.”

“Guests,” she said automatically, brow creasing. “I can’t imagine he’ll be recommending Blackthorn after what happened. Though he was terribly good about it.”

“He didn’t lose anything. “Never travel with cash, you know,’ ” Gray said in a mimic of Smythe-White’s prissy voice. “ ’It’s an invitation for trouble.’ “

She smiled a little, as he’d hoped. “He may not have had anything stolen, but I doubt he spent a peaceful night knowing his room had been broken into, his possessions pawed through.” Which was why she’d refused to charge him for his stay.

“Oh, I don’t know. I haven’t had any trouble.” He unfastened his seat belt and rose to wander into the galley. “Your brother-in-law’s a classy guy.”

“He is, yes.” Her brow furrowed when Gray came back with a bottle of champagne and two glasses. “You’re not going to open that. ’Tis only a short flight and—”

“Sure I’m going to open it. Don’t you like champagne?”

“I like it well enough, but—” Her protest was cut off by the cheerful sound of a popping cork. She sighed, as a mother might seeing her child leap into a mud puddle.

“Now then.” He sat again, poured both glasses. After handing her one, he tapped crystal to crystal and grinned. “Tell me about the bride and groom. Did you say they were eighty?”

“Uncle Niall, yes.” Since there could be no putting the cork back into the bottle, she sipped. “Mrs. Sweeney’s a few years younger.”

“Imagine that.” It tickled him. “Entering the matrimonial cage at their age.”

“Cage?”

“It has a lot of restrictions and no easy way out.” Enjoying the wine, he let it linger on his tongue before swallowing. “So, they were childhood sweethearts?”

“Not exactly,” she murmured, still frowning over his description of marriage. “They grew up in Galway. Mrs. Sweeney was friends with my grandmother—she was Uncle Niall’s sister, you see. And Mrs. Sweeney had a bit of a crush on Uncle Niall. Then my grandmother married and moved to Clare. Mrs. Sweeney married and went to Dublin. They lost track of each other. Then Maggie and Rogan began working together, and Mrs. Sweeney made the connection between the families. I wrote of it to Uncle Niall, and he brought himself down to Dublin.” She smiled over it, hardly noticing when Gray refilled her glass. “The two of them have been close as bread and jam ever since.”

“The twists and turns of fate.” Gray raised his glass in toast.

“Fascinating, isn’t it?”

“They love each other,” she said simply, sighed. “I only hope—” She cut herself off and stared out the window again.

“What?”

“I want them to have a fine day, a lovely one. I’m worried my mother will make it awkward.” She turned to him again. However it embarrassed her, it was best he knew so that he wouldn’t be too shocked if there was a scene. “She wouldn’t go out to Dublin today. Wouldn’t sleep in Maggie’s Dublin house. She told me she’d come tomorrow, do her duty, then go back immediately.”

He lifted a brow. “Not happy in cities?” he asked, though he sensed it was something entirely different.

“Mother’s not a woman who finds contentment easily anywhere at all. I should tell you she may be difficult. She doesn’t approve, you see, of the wedding.”

“What? Does she think those crazy kids are too young to get married?”

Brianna’s lips curved, but her eyes didn’t reflect it. “It’s money marrying money, as she sees it. And she . . . well, she has strong opinions about the fact that they’ve been living together in a way outside the sacrament.”

“Living together?” He couldn’t stop the grin. “In a way?”

“Living together,” she said primly. “And as Mother will tell you, if you give her the chance, age hardly absolves them from the sin of fornication.”