Chapter 3

Colin knocked on the door of the impressive detached house in Knightsbridge. The Georgian-style home boasted an impressive, creamy, off-white facade with ornate carvings and authentic period details. Glancing up, Colin noted the five imposing floors that towered above him without any sign of wear or age sullying the exterior. Colin had to wonder at the upkeep of such an old home. As he owned an historic Queen Anne–style brownstone in Boston, he could well appreciate the work—and money—it took to maintain such a place.

The dark oak door slowly swung open, and an older gentleman greeted him with a dip of his head. “Mr. O’Rourke?”

“Yes,” Colin replied, nodding his own head in acknowledgment. “I have an appointment with Miss Emsworth.”

“Of course,” the man replied. “This way to the drawing room, please.”

Colin entered the house, his face impassive as he studied the entrance hall. The silver fleur-de-lis foil wallpaper perfectly offset the cream-colored chaise longue, creating an effortless air of wealth. A dark side table, topped with light granite, held an enormous bouquet of fresh, colorful flowers, giving the otherwise cold room warmth and cheer. Colin wondered if Miss Emsworth showed herself in her decorating tastes; perhaps she maintained aloofness, yet had a cheerful side? He certainly hoped she had some redeeming quality. So far, his impression of her had been less than positive.

Blackmail tended to cast one in a bad light.

Colin dutifully followed what he could only assume was the butler down the hall, into a large, sunshine-filled room. The walls were a dark colonial blue, and the ornate crown moldings were a stark white. The crystal chandelier shot rainbows across much more modern furnishings, giving the room a timeless feel. Colin was suitably impressed.

“Miss Emsworth will be with you momentarily. Please make yourself comfortable,” the butler remarked before he withdrew.

Colin’s brow furrowed. For a woman who wrote a column about class divisions, she lived a rather opulent lifestyle.

He meandered to the floor-to-ceiling windows and glanced at the small, tidy back garden. While no flowers were in bloom, he saw where they’d be in summer, and he could only imagine their splendor. The square plot was surrounded on all sides by a tall stone wall covered with trellises. Vines crept over the wall in many places, giving a feeling of nostalgia and beauty. In the center was a water fountain, surrounded by green bushes.

“That fountain was given to me by my late husband,” a voice with a crisp British accent said from behind him. Colin turned and got his first glimpse of the woman who threatened his livelihood. Dressed smartly in dove-gray trousers, a deep purple blouse, and a matching gray blazer, Miss Winifred Emsworth commanded the space. Her gray hair, swept into a loose bun on top of her head, highlighted the strand of pearls around her neck and the matching earrings.

She walked towards him, her mahogany eyes on the fountain. “My Ernie had it made just for me when he sold his first company. The fountain is of a child, you see. We were never blessed with children of our own, despite how badly I wanted them. But, he gave me what he could, and I will forever be grateful for that.” She stopped next to him and pinned him with a pointed look. “And a few years after his death, I was given a most precious gift. One I’d never thought I’d receive, and had long stopped hoping for…my dear niece.”

Colin held out his hand. “Colin O’Rourke. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Emsworth.”

She grasped his hand and turned her wrist counterclockwise, bringing it towards his lips. He obliged and kissed her hand, and she waved him to the settee. “Please, have a seat, Mr. O’Rourke.”

Colin bit back a smile and instead chose one of the larger chairs. There was no way his frame would fit onto the delicate settee, and there was no way he would allow her to dominate this meeting, regardless of its location.

She smiled and gave a slight nod, as though to say she understood his intent, and sat in the matching chair.

So, Colin thought, mentally rubbing his hands together. It’s to be a full-on match, then. “I’m sorry for the loss of your husband.”

“Thank you. I’ve asked that refreshments be brought here. How are you finding London?” she asked, settling herself.

He leaned forward slightly. “The city has its charms.”

She laughed. “Oh, you’re a cheeky one, Mr. O’Rourke. There’s no need to flirt with me.”

He smiled. “I rarely flirt with anyone, Miss Emsworth. I’m merely making an observation.” She raised an eyebrow, and he continued. “I enjoy city life, but I must admit to enjoying country life as well. I’m adaptable like that.”

She thoughtfully tapped her lips. “Mmm. Adaptability is important in life, isn’t it? I’m impressed with what you’ve done with your company since the unfortunate death of your cousin, Miss O’Rourke. Mysterious disappearance in Dublin, wasn’t it?”

Colin couldn’t exactly tell her that his cousin, who was now Lady MacWilliam, was living quite comfortably and happily with her husband and clan in the mid-1400s. Instead, he nodded and attempted to look stoic. “Yes. We miss her very much, but know she’s in a better place now.”

“Ah! Here we are. Thank you, Alan,” Miss Emsworth said as the butler arrived with a tray of sandwiches and tea. She said to Colin, “I love teatime. It’s one of the customs I uphold, as it’s so classically British.”

“I understand you’re Irish by birth?” Colin said, accepting the cup from Alan. “Your father, I believe, was an Irish farmer, and your mother was a British socialite.”

“Google does not tell the whole story,” Miss Emsworth replied with a slight tsk.

“Then I’m happy I didn’t bother with it,” Colin replied dryly.

“Things are done much differently here, Mr. O’Rourke. We are very different than Americans.”

“I’m quite aware of that.”

“Oh, yes, of course. You’ve spent quite a bit of time over here, even studying abroad in Ireland for a year. Was it the University of Limerick, or Trinity?”

Colin placed his cup and saucer on the table next to him. “Miss Emsworth, I don’t mean to be rude, but what do you hope to accomplish by asking me questions you certainly know the answers to?”

“To determine your honesty,” she replied without hesitation. “I’m attempting to see if you are worthy of handling my niece’s happiness.”

He leaned heavily on the armrest closest to her, his expression foreboding. “It is my understanding that you’ve already done so in issuing your demands. You wanted Celtic Connections to match your niece and prove that we do what we say—help people find love.”

She nodded, unruffled by his undertone. “Yes, that’s what you claim. And there is a part of me that’s very impressed with your success rate in the States. But in the interest of honesty, Mr. O’Rourke, let me be frank with you. You refuse to allow those of the middle and lower classes to partake of your services, and I find that abhorrent.”

He felt heat creep up his neck—not from embarrassment, but from anger. He sat up and forced himself to calm down before answering her in a measured tone. “Surely you’ve heard of gold diggers, Miss Emsworth.” He glanced around. “People who have worked hard to get where they are in life deserve to be with people who aren’t out to steal it all away.”

“My, what a dim view of life you have,” she admonished.

“Absolutely not,” Colin replied. “I’m a realist, and a businessman. My model in the States is that my clients are the ones who ultimately determine their life partner. I work within the requests of those clients, and I charge a certain amount of money to find them what they think they want. Some people can afford my fee, and others cannot. Those who can, give me a list of requirements. If a potential partner’s income is one of those requirements, I will do my best to fulfill it.”

“What if no income requirements are provided, Mr. O’Rourke? Does your pool of available women include any with low incomes?”

Colin just barely managed not to roll his eyes. “We have women and men in our databases, Miss Emsworth. I’m not running an escort service, for heaven’s sake.”

“Mmm.”

He braced both elbows on the chair arms and rested his chin on his steepled hands. “How we find partners for our clients is a trade secret, and I refuse to discuss it. I can assure you that we have men and women from all different backgrounds, but you’d have no cause to believe me. I do not match people based solely on income. I never have, and I’ve never claimed to.”

“You mean, your employees match people,” Miss Emsworth corrected him. “You strike me as a man who runs things from the top without any real insight as to how things are done at other levels.”

“I’ll try not to take that as an insult,” Colin intoned, “but I can assure you that Google does indeed tell my entire professional story.”

“I wonder, though, if it tells your entire personal one?” she wondered idly. “You must forgive an old woman, Mr. O’Rourke. But if your company is as wonderful as your adverts here claim, why is the president and CEO himself not married, or at the very least, have a serious relationship under his belt?” Before he could answer, she charged on, “I’ve done my homework, Mr. O’Rourke. I am well aware of the number of no-name women on your arm at social events. You may be discreet, but I found no less than seven different Colin O’Rourke and guest captions on various pictures of you with beautiful, if rather thin, women. They were all the same—model types, an air of vapidity around them, happy to bask in the glow of your money.”

“You overstep yourself, Miss Emsworth,” Colin warned.

“I’m a columnist, Mr. O’Rourke. If you didn’t bare your teeth at me today, I wouldn’t be doing my job.”

“I didn’t realize matching your niece was your job,” Colin shot back, thoroughly done with the circles she tried to run around him. “Miss Emsworth, thank you for your time. If your niece agrees to this, I ask that she present herself to me before the news conference I’m holding at my hotel this week.”

Miss Emsworth pursed her lips. “What will you do if she doesn’t appear?”

He smiled grimly. “Damage control. Because as certain as you seem to be of the Brits’ love for you, I’m equally certain that I have the best PR team in the world, and the best product to back up their words.”

Her eyes widened slightly, and Colin sat back, feeling as though he may have won at least one of these roundabout verbal battles. She looked at him fully for a moment, then a small smile curved her lips. “Oh, yes. I believe you’ll do perfectly, Mr. O’Rourke.”

“Beg your pardon?” Colin asked, cautious.

“You’re a very strapping and handsome man.”

Colin choked. “Are you always this blunt with people you’re blackmailing?”

“Blackmailing. How ridiculous and vulgar. I’m not blackmailing anyone,” Miss Emsworth replied loftily. “I’ve merely written an article that resonates with the people of the United Kingdom. And we all look forward to the results of your first client.”

Finally, we get to the point, Colin thought with exasperation. The woman was a master at the art of mental exhaustion.

“My requirements for you, in regards to my niece, are simple. You will be the one to match her.”

Colin merely raised an eyebrow. Though he’d already determined that he would handle this assignment, he was surprised this woman was confident enough to demand that the owner personally match her niece.

“Her match will be from Ireland or the UK only.”

He sat forward suddenly, his eyes narrowed. “Is that her requirement, or yours?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It absolutely does,” he shot back. “You can give me a list of requirements, but it will be hers that I adhere to. And if I find her perfect match, and he lives outside your specified area, that’s on your niece, not me.”

“Passionate about that, Mr. O’Rourke?” she replied, her expression bland. “Well, we’ll see what kind of candidates you come up with.”

He remained silent.

Her tone changed to a warning. “But do know this. I want my niece to experience love. Real love. The kind that sweeps a girl off her feet and never puts her down. However, if your match ultimately removes her from the UK or Ireland, I will do all in my power to ensure your business fails most spectacularly. Selfish of me, absolutely. But there are plenty of eligible men here. Are we clear?”

“And I thought you believed blackmail to be vulgar,” he retorted.

“One more requirement. She is not one to open up to those she does not know. So I’ll fund thirty days of time where you can both get to know each other. It will most likely have to be in London, as she is a very busy shop owner, but I expect the two of you to have contact at least once per day.”

“No.”

Miss Emsworth blinked owlishly. “I beg your pardon?”

Colin shrugged and sat back. “No. I do not accept your demand. I have a business to run, Miss Emsworth, and a life to lead. Putting both on hold because your niece isn’t easy to get to know is non-negotiable.”

“Those are the terms, Mr. O’Rourke. And they stay between you and me, or this entire deal is off.” She opened a drawer in the side table next to her and withdrew two sets of papers. “I wrote this for publication if you succeed.” She handed it to him, and gave him a wave. “Go on, read it.”

He skimmed the article, noting her adept retraction and humble apology to the people of Britain for her error in judgment. His company was painted in a glorious light, and gave a glowing review with blank spaces for what he assumed would be examples of said success.

He handed it back to her. “Let me guess. The other article is the one you’ll publish if we are not successful?”

She wordlessly handed it to him, and he began to read. And by the end of the third paragraph, he was seeing red at the slander and outright lies.

“If you publish this, I will sue,” he threatened.

“People sue the paparazzi every day,” she remarked. “Yet somehow, the story always lives on.”

He bit his tongue so hard, Colin tasted blood. He stood stiffly. “I cannot say it was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Emsworth.”

“What a shame. I thoroughly enjoyed meeting you, Mr. O’Rourke. As I’m certain my niece will, as well. I believe this to have been a most productive meeting. Alan? Will you show our guest to the door?”

Alan appeared as if by magic, and Colin turned on his heel, steam coming out of his ears. He sincerely hoped the niece was nothing like the aunt. Otherwise, he was guaranteed to fail.

Colin had a sudden jolt of pity for her poor niece.

• • •

Alan reentered the room, a cup of steaming tea in his hands. He handed it to his employer, who smiled at him.

“Thank you, Alan,” Winnie said, taking a sip. “I think Mr. O’Rourke will do nicely for our sweet Eleanor, don’t you?”

“I’ve yet to meet a gentleman worthy of her,” Alan replied frankly. Some of his stuffiness disappeared as he sat on the chair vacated by their recent visitor. “He was awfully blunt with you. More so than anyone else, save Mr. Emsworth, God rest his soul. Though it can’t be denied that when that man disagreed with you, he let you know it.”

“It didn’t happen often, but when it did…” Winnie trailed off, then collected herself. “Well, when it did, he certainly was a sight to behold, wasn’t he?”

“I know I made myself scarce, that’s for certain. But what makes you so sure this O’Rourke gent will find our Ellie her happiness?”

Winnie’s eyes drifted to the fountain, and a small smile crossed her lips. The way Mr. O’Rourke’s eyes had narrowed and his nostrils flared when she backed him into a corner reminded her exactly of her late husband. “The man was issued a challenge, Alan. He’s the type of man who won’t back down—I knew it immediately when he agreed to meet me himself instead of insisting one of his employees do so instead.”

Alan looked skeptical. “A challenge? Bah. If Ellie would simply open up a bit, she’d find herself a good man and settle down. Perhaps all she needs is time.”

“No, Alan dear. All she needs is Mr. O’Rourke.”

“You mean his matchmaking company?”

Winnie smiled. “Of course.”

• • •

Ellie stepped into a large office building in the Canary Wharf district of London. Nervously smoothing her hands over her sensible black pencil skirt, she crossed the wide expanse of cream-colored marble flooring. The guard barely looked up as she approached the mahogany security desk.

“Name and business?”

“Eleanor Carberry,” she squeaked out. “I have an appointment with, ah, Celtic Connections.”

He flipped through the pages on a clipboard before nodding once. “Lifts are ahead of you on the left. Ninth floor.”

She caught the slightly condescending smile on his face, and, embarrassed, nodded her thanks before she scurried towards the lift. How pathetic she must seem, using a dating service! “It’s not as though it was my idea,” she muttered.

“What was that, miss?” the guard called after her.

She spun around, her eyes wide. “Nothing! I was just, um, talking to myself. I do it when I’m nervous. I’m fine now. Thanks.”

He didn’t respond, merely watched her with bemusement, and, her face flaming, she punched the up button, keeping her gaze firmly fixed on the stainless steel doors in front of her.

The entire way to the ninth floor, Ellie reminded herself that she was doing this as a favor to her aunt, that she really had nothing to lose, that she was capable of a successful relationship. She didn’t need to pay some company to help her find a date. The fact that she was single at the age of twenty-eight only reflected that she was establishing herself in her career. She was choosy. She didn’t want to settle.

Feeling slightly mollified, she stepped into the hallway, which was covered in a light gray industrial carpet. The walls were an uninspiring shade of beige, and Ellie felt more like she was heading to a doctor’s appointment. She glanced at the wall—Celtic Connections, Suite 905—and headed towards the unassuming brown door.

When she opened it, she paused, momentarily thrown. The reception area felt more like a friend’s living room. To her right, a large, black leather sofa sat between two large mirrors; it looked just worn enough to promise a long nap, were one to sit on it. The light-colored Oriental carpet beneath her feet rested upon oak flooring, and on top of that was a modern glass coffee table. To her left, a beautiful oak receptionist’s desk sat empty, though there was a monitor and keyboard on the gleaming granite surface. The wall behind it looked as though it were part of an ancient castle; floor-to-ceiling stones rested unevenly against each other, and two torch-like sconces stood as though they’d been there for hundreds of years. Directly in front of her, an enormous window spanning most of the wall framed the Thames as it snaked across the city.

Ellie was stunned.

“Do you like it?” A woman appeared from a discreet door between the couch and the window. “We had it designed to be both new and antiquated.” She held out her hand. “I’m Emmaline MacWilliam, publicist for Celtic Connections. Please call me Emma.”

Ellie shook her hand, smiling at the Americanism. “Eleanor Carberry. I go by Ellie. And I do like it, very much. It’s so cozy.”

“I agree! It’s so wonderful to meet you. Your aunt is already here, and our CEO has stepped out for just a moment. Would you care for something to drink?”

Ellie relaxed a little. Emma seemed lovely. Perhaps this wouldn’t be as bad as she imagined. “No, thank you.”

“Please, come on in.” She led Ellie through the door.

Ellie once again pulled up short. The conference room was even more surprising than the reception area; through the window to her left was the same stunning view of the Thames. To her right, the wall was covered in an enormous medieval tapestry. Ellie promised herself a good look before she left the building; it was exceptionally intricate and she was sure she hadn’t seen anything like it before. The wall in front of her was comprised of the same stones as in the other room, again with sconces set into the wall. The table, set in the middle of the room on top of another gorgeous Oriental carpet, seated eight, and was the same wood as the reception desk, down to the granite inlaid through the center of the tabletop.

Her aunt rose as Ellie rounded the table to join her. “This office space certainly is something, isn’t it?”

Ellie nodded, her eyes wide. “It certainly is. I wasn’t expecting this.”

“Well, it’s my understanding they’ve sunk a lot of money into this endeavor.”

“We’ve invested quite a bit,” Emma corrected gently, “but only because we believe in our mission, Miss Emsworth. Are you certain I can’t bring you something to drink?”

“No, no. Just bring Mr. O’Rourke back in here so we can get started.”

“Absolutely. We have a couple of people for you to meet,” Emma explained to Ellie. “We have a small staff here, and they’re all dedicated to matching our clients with their best possible partner. I’ll go get everyone. Please excuse me.” She ducked from the room and closed the door behind her.

“I like her,” Winifred declared.

Ellie smiled. “How inconvenient.”

Winnie shrugged. “Just because I disagree with what they’re trying to do here doesn’t mean they’re not nice people. Just misguided. And clearly ignorant of English culture.”

“I don’t have any idea as to what they are and aren’t ignorant of,” Ellie replied with a shrug. The door handle turned. “But I suppose I’m about to find out.”

• • •

On his fourth day of searching London, Colin realized the fruitlessness of his endeavor. He and Reilly had very little information to go on, and that was if Rose was even in London as she had claimed. They visited so many universities that his head spun, and he was no closer to finding her than he had been the moment the taxi took her away.

“I’ve never before known a man to find and lose his soul mate in one day,” Reilly mused as they reentered the office. He dumped the stack of papers onto the reception desk and turned to face Colin. “Truly, it must be some sort of family record.”

A part of Colin was relieved he hadn’t found her; not only would he have to convince her that he was the one for her, but assuming he did, he had never before thought about how he would explain his frequent absences to a romantic partner. He couldn’t exactly tell the woman his next business trip was in medieval Ireland.

And, as Reilly had reminded him as the days went by, there was always the strong chance of rejection.

“Now that some time’s passed, I wonder if she really was the one for me,” Colin said. “Maybe it was just a really great kiss.”

Reilly leveled a stare at him. “I just spent four days of my life chasing down a really great kisser?” His eyes narrowed. “Because I love you like a brother, I’m going to kindly pretend that statement didn’t just cross your lips. You’re welcome.”

Colin shrugged. “Let’s be honest here. I’d just spent an entire evening talking with her, she was a beautiful woman, and I haven’t had any female companionship in far too long. I’m man enough to admit when I’ve overreacted.”

Reilly’s phone rang, and Colin was spared a response, but not the look of disdain.

Emma stepped out of the conference room, closing the door behind her, and gave him a wide smile. “I was just coming to get you! She’s here.”

“First impressions?” Colin asked, adjusting his collar as Reilly stepped into the hallway.

“Sweet. Quiet.” Emma gave him a once-over.

He glanced down at himself. His crisp, dark jeans gave just enough of a casual air to offset the business jacket and button-down shirt; Emma claimed it struck a balance between friendly and professional.

“Is the aunt here as well?”

“She is.”

“Try not to make direct eye contact, else you might turn to stone.”

Emma giggled. “Colin! She’s not Medusa!”

He shrugged, his mood already soured. “Spend some more time with her.”

“Oh, Col. Think of her as a sweet old woman with a bone to pick. You just leave her to me and deal with Miss Carberry directly.”

Reilly ended his call. “That was one of the professors we met yesterday. He said he’ll be teaching a class at the University of London next year. I asked if we might get an inside look at their program tomorrow, and you can scope out the facilities, see if she’s there.”

“Who’s there?” Emma inquired.

“No one,” Colin intoned. “Reilly, just let it go.”

Emma’s gaze sharpened, a contemplative look settling over her features. “This sounds interesting.”

“It’s not,” Colin replied blandly, leading them toward the conference room.

Reilly snorted. “You’re a fool if you stop looking. It’s not as though the Fates would drop her into your lap again.”

They pushed open the doors to the conference room, and Colin stopped so fast, Reilly almost slammed into his back.

“Damn it,” he breathed, his heart leaping into his throat.

“What?” Reilly glanced at him, then over at the two women sitting at the large table. There, sitting next to an older, well-dressed woman, was a much younger one with honey-colored eyes. Reilly let out a half laugh. “Oh. Oh, no.”

A feeling of intense longing, followed by shock, swept over him. The woman he’d been searching for sat at the table nervously, fidgeting with her fingers as she replied in a low tone to something her aunt had said to her.

Her aunt.

Colin knew instantly, and without any doubt, that the woman suddenly staring at him as though she were seeing a ghost was indeed his soul mate.

And he also knew, in that same instant, that he could never admit it aloud; he could never have her without giving up everything else.

He let out a hollow chuckle; the Fates had played their cards well, and he was left with no choice but to fold, one way or another.

“Well. My day became much more enjoyable,” Reilly declared, and straightened his tie. “Miss Carberry, I believe?”

• • •

Ellie couldn’t breathe. For one horribly long moment, she wondered if she was destined to die this way, staring into the stormy eyes of Apollo, unable to formulate words or coherent thought.

Actually, her thoughts were pretty coherent. Which made her think that perhaps she wasn’t as close to death as she first assumed, although maybe she would die of humiliation, for at least a full minute had passed and not one of them had done anything but stare at the other. Should I try to cover up the moment? she wondered, panicked. Or will I muck that up? Oh, God, please, open this ground and let it swallow me whole…

Unfortunately for her, sinkholes in Britain had been scarce of late. Luckily, the man standing directly behind Apollo (call him Colin, she admonished herself) stepped forward with his hand extended.

“Reilly O’Malley. Pleased to meet you, Miss Emsworth. Miss Carberry.”

“Oh,” Winnie exclaimed as he kissed her hand. “You’re Irish! Are you on the match list?”

“Winnie!” Ellie exclaimed, shocked out of her surprise.

“No, he is not on the list, as I haven’t received any direction from Miss Carberry as to what she’s looking for in a life partner,” Colin cut in, stepping forward briskly. He gave Ellie his best smile and added smoothly, “Miss Carberry, I’m Colin O’Rourke, president and CEO of Celtic Connections. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He held out his hand.

She managed what she hoped passed for a smile, as real words were beyond her, and shook his hand. “I’m, uh…I’m…”

“Eleanor Carberry?” Colin supplied.

“Er, yes,” she managed to reply. “That.”

His hand remained suspended, patiently waiting for her to take it. She gazed at it for another second, terrified that if she touched him, everyone in the room would see the spark that she swore had flown when he’d kissed her.

“Eleanor! Shake the man’s hand!” Winnie exclaimed. She sighed audibly. “My apologies, Mr. O’Rourke. My niece becomes a bit shy around other people.”

Colin merely lifted his brow again, waiting. Ellie gritted her teeth, and carefully placed her hand in his.

Yep. There it was.

Her entire arm tingled from the contact, and then he turned her hand over and gently kissed her knuckles. She quickly snatched her hand back, her face flaming.

“Miss Carberry, I promise this won’t hurt,” he said, his voice low. She heard the teasing in his tone, but when she dared to meet his eyes, she realized he wasn’t going to call her out.

In front of anyone, anyway. She gulped.

Winnie patted her hand. “If I may be frank, dear, this is just what you need. Shake things up a little, step out of your comfort zone.”

Ellie didn’t bother to attempt a smile. Colin’s face—truly, why did so much beauty exist in a single face?—remained pleasant, but his eyes told a different story. He wanted answers.

She chewed her lip. Sure, she’d lied to him a little about her name. Rose was, in fact, her middle name, although that wasn’t a well-known fact. And being that she hadn’t ever expected to see him again, she hadn’t seen the point in being plain old Ellie. She’d promised herself she would practice being her true self, and she’d lived up to that promise…as Rose.

Baby steps. Although, that night a week ago, while she stared at the ceiling, trying to sleep after the most incredible kiss of her life, Ellie realized that perhaps she could be that person she’d pretended to be with Colin. Perhaps she could be funny, and sarcastic, and maybe a little daring.

She slid a glance to him and jumped when she realized his eyes had never left hers. She swallowed again.

He turned to her aunt, but her heart thundered in her ears, and she didn’t hear the words.

Colin took the seat opposite of her, and she was again struck by his good looks. She was suddenly back in the garden, kissing him as though her life depended on it, reveling in the feel of his hands tangled up in her hair—

“Miss Carberry,” he began.

—and she was again melting into that kiss, feeling alive and savored and just as a woman ought to feel when being kissed by a demigod—

He smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “I understand you’re looking for a husband.”

• • •

Eleanor’s blush was as immediate as it was fierce, and Colin didn’t have to wonder at what she’d been thinking.

“Well, that is the point of this exercise, is it not?” she asked, slightly defensive.

“Ellie!” Miss Emsworth admonished.

“Apologies. I am here to see what your company offers, and to humor my aunt,” Ellie stated without inflection. “What do we do first?”

“Well, first we welcome you to our Celtic Connections family,” Emma said with an easy smile. “You haven’t yet met our other employees, but you will probably the next time you come to the office. We’re still getting set up here.”

“Prematurely,” Miss Emsworth murmured.

Colin gritted his teeth and caught Emma’s eye. Medusa.

Emma’s smile grew. “We certainly hope not.”

“You’ll fill out a profile online, but let’s discuss your requirements.” Colin gave the women across from him as encouraging a smile as he could muster, though his heart was beating erratically.

Setting up his soul mate with someone else was going to be the most difficult thing he’d ever do, he was certain of it. He cursed the Fates again.

“We need to know what things you do and don’t like,” Emma advised.

“Such as…?” Ellie looked adorably confused.

Colin looked down at his notepad, berating himself. She’s not adorable. She’s a client looking for a life partner, someone who will be there for her every night. Not someone who disappears for days or weeks at a time without explanation. Not someone who can’t tell her who and what he is. Reilly’s hand on his shoulder brought Colin’s attention back.

“…smoker, already has children,” Emma was saying. “That sort of thing. To start, just say whatever comes to mind, and remember that we are not going to judge you at all! In your online profile, you’ll be given a whole list of things you can check off. We need you to be as honest as possible for this to work.”

“No title.”

“No title?” Colin echoed.

“Yes. I don’t want anyone from the aristocracy.” She said, more to her aunt than them, “No earls, marquises, or baronets. None of it.”

“I’ve read too many historical romance novels,” Emma admitted with a little sigh. “We Americans do love your dukes.”

Ellie laughed, the sound pushing Colin’s heart into triple time.

He knew he couldn’t be the one to match her. It would damn near kill him.

“Sadly, young, good-looking dukes are hard to find in modern-day England.” She paused for a moment, then said thoughtfully, “But I wouldn’t mind a prince. That is a title I could deal with.”

“I’m afraid the heir apparent is taken, but I’ll see what I can do to find a suitable spare,” Emma replied with a straight face. The two women burst into a fit of giggles.

Colin rolled his eyes. “Celtic Connections is good, but not that good, Miss Carberry. So no titles. What else?”

He didn’t miss the look her aunt was throwing him. He returned the look blandly; he knew her demands, the blackmailing witch, and refused to spend any more of his time on them.

“Well, don’t toss the idea of a title altogether,” Miss Emsworth advised. “What else?”

“I would like someone with intelligence,” she mused.

“How about profession?” Colin asked, regaining control.

She shrugged. “That doesn’t matter. Having a job is important, of course, but not so much what that job is.”

“What about a businessman who travels a lot?” Colin asked.

“Definitely not,” she replied pertly. “What’s the point of investing time and energy into a relationship just to have the other person leave all the time?”

“It’s why I asked,” Colin replied easily. “You initially think you would be all right with a businessman until the realities begin to set in. He’s only available on weekends, or he works the night shift, or a third shift. Are you prepared to change your schedule at your job to accommodate his?”

She scratched her neck uncomfortably. “Oh, I see what you mean. Probably not, at least not at first. I suppose a man with a steady job, who supports himself, works similar hours to my own. Very little business travel.”

“Reasonable,” Colin said calmly, but his mind was in turmoil. She wouldn’t want me even if I were an option.

“In a perfect world, he’d love to read. That’s all I can think of, though. With your stellar reputation, I believe I’m to trust in your superior matching skills.” The last she said with a slightly raised, challenging eyebrow towards Colin.

“We are far from a perfect world.” He loosened his jaw, then continued, “This isn’t magic. It’s understanding the client, and what the goals of the relationship will be.”

She listened as he went over what to expect, nodding where appropriate without hearing the words. When he took a breath, she took the opportunity to ask, “Who will be matching me?”

Emma had her publicity smile on. “Once we get to know you a little better, we’ll present you with your matchmaker.”

“Mr. O’Rourke matches her,” Miss Emsworth answered sharply. She cut him a searing glance. “That is the deal, Mr. O’Rourke. It’s well known that you launched this company with your cousin, and that the two of you were a formidable force. Now, as it’s just you, your matches remain among the most successful in the company’s history.”

He’d expected Miss Emsworth to have done her homework on him. He simply hadn’t expected Eleanor.

“I will discuss it with my team,” he replied evenly.

“Absolutely not. You, or no one. That was the deal, and I’ll not have you reneging on it, Mr. O’Rourke.” She pulled her purse from the back of her chair and stood suddenly.

“Perhaps I might accompany you outside for a breath of fresh air,” Reilly said, standing with a slight bow. “I find myself eager to know what made your marriage such a strong one. Your late husband was a very respected man. Perhaps you can tell me about him? He was a scientist, correct?”

Miss Emsworth wasn’t immune to O’Malley’s charms; Colin could see her waver slightly in her defiant stance. She glanced at her niece. “Would you care to come outside, Ellie?”

The thoughtful look on her face worried Colin. She inclined her head. “No, thank you. I’ll stay and finish here, then we’ll meet up later?”

Reilly managed to get Miss Emsworth out of the room, and when the door clicked closed, Ellie rolled her eyes.

“She’s really looking to sink you,” she snorted.

“You seem to have a low opinion of yourself,” Colin observed. He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms.

He could almost see Ellie’s hackles rise. “I do not! I’m realistic. She thinks I’m lonely, and I’m not. Well, not really. Not most of the time.” She blushed, then hurried on, “But she also thinks I’m witty, and beautiful, and a stellar conversationalist. I’m not any of those things. I’m just an ordinary, run-of-the-mill bookseller, happy with the way things are in my life. I do exactly what I want, when I want to do it. I have no obligations to anyone but myself and my customers, and I truly love my days.”

Interesting how she said she loved her days. Colin wondered if she loved her nights, too.

“You sound like you’re trying to convince yourself,” he observed.

“Not at all,” she returned coolly.

“Your life sounds wonderful,” Emma said quickly, shooting Colin a warning look.

“It is! And I’m not looking to change it,” Ellie reassured her.

Emma shook her head. “We’re not either. We’re looking to help you enhance it. I get that it isn’t a man that will set you free, or make you happy, or make life worth living. But my question is: Why deny yourself any form of happiness, if it’s there for the taking?”

“Relationships have yet to offer me any form of happiness,” Ellie snorted. “Headache? Absolutely. Many, many forms of headaches. Tension headaches, cluster headaches, migraines—”

“We get the point,” Colin cut in. “Not all men are bad.”

She shrugged. “Probably not.”

Emma’s phone rang, and her eyes widened as she fumbled for it. “I’m so sorry, I meant to silence this before we started!”

“Answer it in reception.”

“No, no, I’ll just—”

“Answer it,” Colin interrupted firmly, “in reception.”

With a nod, Emma quickly exited.

“Do you always command your employees like that?” Ellie asked.

“She’s family.”

“That doesn’t make it any better.”

“Let’s focus on the task at hand, shall we…Rose?”