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you did not look as if you even knew your name, much less were capable of speaking. But you are most welcome. I really did very little.”
    “I will not allow you to diminish it,” he said cheerfully, and suddenly leaned forward, his arms on his knees, and flashed a charming smile once more—so charming that Eireanne could imagine that smile had been used to the gentleman’s advantage with any number of ladies and perhaps even a few men. “Your name,” he said earnestly. “I must have your name so that I might offer a proper thank-you.”
    Eireanne arched a brow. “A proper thank-you, is it?”
    His smile deepened. “I beg of you, give a name to my angel of mercy.”
    Who could resist that smile? “Eireanne O’Conner,” she said.
    “ Erin, ” he repeated.
    He did not say her name precisely correct, but she liked his accent. “Eireanne, yes. And you are . . . ?”
    “Henry Bristol at your service,” he said with a gallant incline of his head. He settled back and stretched his long legs so that they brushed up against her cloak on either side.
    “Where do you call home, Mr. Bristol?”
    “New York.”
    “An American,” Eireanne said. She’d met only one American in her life, although Mary Chambers could scarcely call herself American any longer. She’d been reared in Europe from the age of ten onward and now attended the Institut Villa de Amiels alongside Eireanne. Nevertheless, Mary was the font of all American knowledge, and she had claimed once that American men were very bold in their thinking and their actions.
    “You are from Ireland, obviously,” Mr. Bristol said.
    “Yes, from Ballynaheath.”
    Mr. Bristol’s smile brightened. “What a coincidence! That happens to be my destination. Apparently, it is much bigger than I believed.”
    “It is not big at all,” she said. “There is the main house and, of course, the crofter cottages.”
    Mr. Bristol frowned thoughtfully. “Then you must know the Earl of Donnelly.”
    Eireanne laughed. “I know him as well as anyone could—he is my brother.”
    Mr. Bristol’s eyes widened with surprise. “I’m shocked.”
    Eireanne’s cheeks bloomed instantly, and she felt the uncomfortable feeling of being conspicuous, as she had often felt at Ballynaheath after the scandals. “Are you?” she asked, anxiously fingering the hem of her cloak sleeve. “I assure you, Mr. Bristol, that the things often said of us are much grander and exciting than the truth.”
    “I haven’t the slightest idea what you mean,” he said with an easy smile, “but I am shocked that I did not know that my business in Ireland would lead me to an encounter with such a beautiful angel. It is destiny, Miss O’Conner.”
    Eireanne couldn’t help but laugh. And she was blushing to her roots.
    “I mean it in all sincerity,” he said, his gaze casually and boldly sweeping the length of her. “I am not one to deny my appreciation of a woman’s beauty, in all its forms.”
    Her blush began to turn warm. “Mr. Bristol—”
    “As it happens, I have business with your brother.”
    “All the way from America?”
    “All the way. He has agreed to train me in the breeding of race horses.”
    “Naturally,” Eireanne said, smiling fondly as she thought of Declan. “I’ve never known anyone quite as enamored of the beasts as my brother. But I was not aware that he had connections in America.”
    “He is quite renowned for the horses he breeds, particularly the runners. I’ve been pleading with him for two years to accept me for a fortnight or so and teach me all that he knows. At last, he has agreed.”
    Eireanne didn’t know much about horse breeding and had never cared to know. Nonetheless, the years spent with her brother had given her a cursory knowledge. “This is a curious time of year for breeding, is it not?”
    “It is,” Mr. Bristol agreed. “Fortunately, it is not an impossible time. We had arranged to meet last summer, but apparently, the earl was caught up