Page 19 of His Temptation

He opened the door. “Murphy,” he shouted.

A young man perhaps in his early twenties with red hair and freckles presented himself. “Daragh.”

“Take Siobhan up to the guest room closest to mine. Post a guard outside her door and one below her balcony. Tell the roving patrols to keep a sharp eye out. Tell Mrs. Carson there will be one more resident at the estate… at least for the foreseeable future.”

“Miss?” Murphy said, gesturing toward the grand staircase.

Siobhan followed, but almost turned into a quivering bowl of gelatin as she passed Daragh and he gave her backside another caress. One that Murphy did not miss and one, she was sure, would be the subject of gossip come morning.

Twenty-four hours. She followed Murphy up the stairs. Twenty-four hours and her fate would be decided one way or another.

CHAPTER 6

SIOBHAN

Siobhan stared at the ceiling, the moonlight streaming through the sheer curtains, casting silver patterns across the elegant bedroom Daragh had placed her in. The bed was too soft, the sheets too luxurious, the entire damn room too comfortable for what was essentially a cage—a gilded cage, but a cage nonetheless.

Twenty-four hours.

She clenched her fists against the silk sheets, frustration and something far darker coiling beneath her skin. Daragh thought he could contain her, dictate the terms of her existence, control her. He had another thought coming.

Siobhan had no intention of waiting for the clock to run out. Rolling silently out of bed, she let her feet touch the thick rug before stepping onto the cool wooden floor. She had already put on loose black pants and a fitted tank top—clothes meant for movement. She had no weapons, but that didn’t matter. She was a weapon.

She padded to the door, twisting the knob with slow precision. Unlocked. Of course, it was. Daragh wanted her to know she had access to the house. He wasn’t keeping her locked up like a prisoner. He was daring her to try something.

Fine. She’d accept the challenge.

Murphy stood outside her door and straightened the moment she stepped into the hallway. He wasn’t one of the O’Neill heavyweights, but he was alert, trained, and watching her closely.

She tilted her head, offering him the most innocuous smile she could manage. “I’d like to explore. Stretch my legs.”

Murphy—Daragh’s loyal little watchdog—didn’t react beyond a small nod. “You’re free to do that, Miss Harrington. But I’m under orders to accompany you.”

She hummed. “Of course.”

She moved past him, walking at a leisurely pace, pretending to admire the grand, old-world charm of the O’Neill estate. If she didn’t know better, she might have called it beautiful. The high ceilings, the heavy wood furniture, the soft flicker of sconces illuminating the hallways—it all spoke of wealth, tradition, and power.

But Siobhan wasn’t here to admire the décor. She was testing the strength of the cage.

Murphy trailed behind her, keeping a respectable distance but never straying too far. She resisted the urge to bristle under his scrutiny. She had spent years learning how to move unseen, to become invisible when necessary, but tonight, she was under a microscope.

She made her way downstairs, past the drawing room, past the library, past the study where a fire still crackled in the hearth. Every time she turned a corner, she counted guards, noted the locations of security cameras, memorized the positioning of exits.

Every path she took ended the same way: blocked.

There were no blind spots. No unguarded exits. No security lapses. The O’Neills had made damn sure of that. Siobhan ground her teeth, keeping her expression carefully neutral.

She wasn’t just trapped. They’d caged her in a fortress designed to keep things out—but even more so, to keep things in.

This wasn’t just about protection. This was about ownership. Daragh’s words echoed in her mind.

You belong to me—no terms, no excuses—for as long as we both shall live.’

Her pulse spiked with anger—or perhaps it was something else. Something she wasn’t ready to name. She reached the grand staircase and turned to Murphy with a serene expression. “Does Daragh always keep his women under such heavy guard?”

Murphy’s expression didn’t flicker. “Wouldn’t know, Miss. He’s never brought a woman here. But you’re not just any woman, are you?”

Her nails dug into her palms. No. She wasn’t. And that was the problem.

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