It appeared her fears for Maxie were unfounded. Maxie seemed to be bearing up remarkably well, throwing herself into the role of wounded heroine by leaning dramatically on Tony’s strong arm when he helped her to the police car. Not the one containing Ed in handcuffs, continuing to confess all, including the robbery of Bertha Palmer’s priceless vintage couture gowns from Clayworth’s secret vault, which had resulted in Drew and Athena getting back together.
Holding her gaze, Connor came across the room at an unhurried pace to stand in front of Venus.
She felt an absurd, jittery uncertainty about what to do. She couldn’t just say, Now the truth is out, there’s nothing standing between us. Take me, I’m yours.
He appeared to be studying her face before he grinned again. Which gave her time to decide she should simply keep her mouth shut and let him make the next move.
“The mermaid brooch is evidence until after the trial. Then it’s yours, Venus.”
“The brooch is a piece of Chicago history. I’m donating it to the History Museum,” she said softly, knowing Athena, as curator, would love the idea.
He lifted his hand and slowly stroked his fingers down her cheek to rest them at her throat where her pulse pounded. “Will you go with Aunt Bridget and wait for us at the brownstone? I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
The urgency in his low voice shocked her. Her throat ached with love and happiness. “I’ll be waiting,” she promised.
This time when she and Bridget arrived at her brownstone on Astor Street, she used her key and moved through her home as if it was something infinitely precious to her. Once lost and now found again.
The living room felt cozy, with the roaring fire and the wind whipping snow flurries against the windows.
It should have been peaceful.
Venus seriously doubted if any two women ever waited more anxiously and eagerly for their men to walk through the front door than she and Bridget tonight.
Waiting to discover what their next moves would be.
Yes, Connor was an excellent lawyer, known for his swift and confident moves in the courtroom. But tonight he was also a man deeply in love who wanted nothing more than to get the hell out of the police station and back to Venus.
He saw the same impatience on his uncle Tony’s face.
They had both taken on the responsibility of assisting Maxie gently yet firmly through the system, and duty demanded they finish the job.
Ed had been booked and called his lawyer. He would try to get bail set tonight. Connor doubted any competent judge would grant it. If ever someone was a flight risk it was Ed.
Connor should have felt some sympathy for Ed because of all the years he’d known and worked with him, but for what Ed had done to Alistair and through him to Venus, Connor felt only rage and disgust.
Ed would get what was coming to him, which would no doubt be a great deal of time in a white-collar prison.
Maxie bore up well through the grueling hours of paperwork and signed statements about her “writing games” with Ed. In fact, she exhibited more patience than Connor, whose temper did flare once or twice. His excuse to himself was quite simple. Venus was waiting for him.
In a rare few free minutes when Maxie didn’t need his legal counsel, Connor sought out Tony in the waiting room.
His uncle looked tired, slumped in a hard chair. He sat up straighter when he saw Connor. “Can we take Maxie home now?”
“No. I’m sorry. We aren’t done here.” He clasped Tony’s shoulder. “Go on home. I know you’re eager to see Aunt Bridget. The two of you have a lot to discuss.”
So do Venus and I.
“No, I’ll stay. You and I also have a great deal to discuss, Connor. I’ll wait for you.”
The serious tone of Tony’s voice, along with the intense look in his eyes, caught Connor’s attention. “Is something wrong you want to discuss with me now? I have a few minutes.”
“This will take more than a few minutes, Connor. Go. Help Maxie. Then we’ll talk.”
The nagging feeling that his uncle might need him more than Maxie drove him to hurry the process along as quickly and efficiently as possible without calling in any Clayworth favors.
An hour later, with everything signed and no charges against Maxie, Connor and Tony drove her back to her house on Taylor Street.
With a deep sigh, she settled onto her white leather sectional sofa.
The family room hadn’t been touched. The art objects Ed had been gathering up to take with him were still scattered across the coffee table.
Connor picked up The Thinker off the floor and placed it on a bookshelf. He knew the fear he’d felt for Venus when Ed had been wielding the statue had been out of proportion to the real danger. He couldn’t stop his need to protect Venus from all danger. It seemed to have always been part of him. Even when he hadn’t realized what he was feeling and why. He smiled, thinking of all the ways he planned to be there for her in every way for the rest of their lives.
“Maxie, are you sure you wish to be alone tonight?” Connor heard Tony ask, and he turned to find his uncle seated next to Maxie on the leather sofa.
“Yes, Tony, I will be perfectly fine alone. I plan to start a new painting tonight.”
“Which masterpiece?” Smiling, Connor strolled over to encourage her.
“My own. I have a still life in my mind I wish to create.” Maxie dabbed one last time at her eyes with a white handkerchief. “I believe it is time for me to paint my own vision of beauty.”
Sure she would be fine on her own, they left her to her new painting and waved to her standing in the front door as Connor pulled away.
Beside him, Tony turned. “I also believe it is time to make a change. And I require your help to do it.”
Hearing the serious note in his uncle’s voice, Connor glanced at him. “You know I’ll do anything for you.”
“Hear me out first, Connor. It is not a task to take on lightly.”
He pulled his Ferrari to the curb, parked, leaned his shoulders against the door, and turned to look his uncle in the eyes. “All right. I’m listening.”
“You’ve asked me many times about the Saint of Taylor Street. Tonight, Connor, I want to tell you what I know.”
Tony took a long, deep breath, and Connor found his own breathing had changed. There was a feeling of something important about to happen he’d experienced in the courtroom and in the boardroom that made his heart beat faster in anticipation.
“No one remembers how the Saint began his quest to help others. Perhaps in Europe.” Tony shrugged. “Perhaps here on Taylor Street. The trust account set up to lend the helping hand when needed. A mortgage paid when a family is in need. A portion of a wedding paid for so the young couple can have a good start in their new life together. A child’s operation made possible. A man or woman gotten to rehab for an addiction to alcohol, drugs, or gambling.”
“Is someone at the private casino the Saint?” Connor asked, trying to piece together legend with fact. Trying to understand what his uncle wanted him to know.
“No. Mr. Marco often knew who needed help and got word to the Saint. Now Joseph does the same. There are also others.”
“I don’t understand, Uncle Tony. If no one knows who the Saint is how do they get word to him.”
“On the street there are ways. It is part of the promise the Saint makes to remain anonymous to all, even his loved ones. And when it is time to pass on the responsibility he must choose his successor.”
I should have known.
His rush of love and admiration for his uncle made Connor feel like a kid again, meeting his hero. He nodded. “I understand, Uncle Tony. You know all this because you are the Saint of Taylor Street.”
“Yes, Connor, I am. I have been since the night I was given the mermaid brooch. Now it is time to pass it on to you. If you are willing.”
The thought of keeping such a secret from Venus bit at his heart. “I’m not sure Venus wouldn’t somehow know.”
>
A slow smile curled Tony’s mouth. “Ah, the beautiful, tenacious Venus. You will never tell her, nor will she ever ask, but I believe we both know she will guess.”
What seemed like endless, tortured hours later, Venus at last heard Tony and Connor open the door of the brownstone.
Bridget rose from her chair with a calm dignity but Venus swore she heard her heart pounding as loudly as her own.
With long strides Tony reached Bridget and dropped to one knee in front of her.
“Cara, I love you. I have loved you from the first moment we met. You must believe my task has come to an end on Taylor Street and always it was for the greater good. Can you trust my word and trust your life to me? Please marry me, Cara, and make me the most blessed of men.”
“Yes,” Bridget stated in her most no-nonsense voice.
Cupping Tony’s face with her hands, she kissed his mouth until he rose to his feet and half-lifted her off the floor in a passionate embrace.
The heat of Connor’s body came to Venus from behind. She felt his flat stomach, his hips as his arms encircled her.
Her heart skipped two beats and then made up for it.
Tilting back her head, she looked up at him. “Don’t you think we should leave them alone?”
His quiet laughter flickered into her ear. “Yes. Let’s go into the den.”
His face had such a tender, passionate look she felt it low in her body.
Thank goodness he pulled her down onto his lap in the big wing chair before she collapsed from happiness.
Wrapping her in his arms, he buried his face in her hair and she closed her eyes in pure bliss.
“Before you proved the truth to all of us, I went to your father today to fabricate a story of his innocence so we could be together.”
Her lids flew open in shock. The last thing she had expected was this blunt admission. “You believed him guilty but you would have lied to make me happy?”
He kissed her eyes, her nose, rocked his mouth over her parted lips.
“You are the most stubborn, loving, beautiful woman in the universe and no doubt beyond. I love you, Venus. I plan to spend the rest of my life showing you how much you mean to me. Can you accept my discovery, love? The hell with everything else. All I want is you.”
Feeling cherished beyond her wildest dreams, she curved her body into his in the way two lovers will.
“I do.”
CHICAGO JOURNAL & COURIER
Talk of the Town, by Rebecca Covington-Sumner
Darlings, that mischievous fellow, Cupid, has struck again!
The wedding we have all been waiting for will soon take place!
These special nuptials are a delightful part of a wonderful fairy tale wherein my fondest hopes have been realized.
Old wounds have been healed and the Clayworth and Smith families have been gloriously reunited. The happy reinstatement of Alistair Smith as the treasurer of our iconic John Clayworth and Company Department Store is the icing on the cake.
You know I always keep my promise to tell you everything, and so I shall, about this sure-to-be-unique wedding party, which will take place next week.
Meanwhile I have another tidbit you might enjoy hearing.
I will very soon be joining the circle of motherhood. Which only goes to prove it is never too late to pursue your dreams.
My beloved and I are currently going through two of our “Baby Names” books searching for the perfect name for little Miss Covington-Sumner. We absolutely refuse to make an informed decision until we’ve carefully read through all six volumes. Unless we discover a seventh, God forbid.
Little Miss Covington-Sumner will be auntie to our adorable twin grandsons Kellen and Kyle. Can’t you just imagine what fun it shall be when, younger and smaller, she tries to boss those rambunctious boys into obedience as their auntie?
I for one am counting the days.
I wish the same happiness to all of you.
Epilogue
“I always cry at weddings. Is my mascara running?” Venus blinked up at Connor, dabbing at the corners of her eyes with his white handkerchief.
“You’re even more beautiful when you cry.”
The wealth of love and tenderness on his face melted her bones.
He lifted her hand to press his lips against her palm. “I’ll be waiting for you,” he said softly.
She curled her fingers over the warmth of his kiss as she peeked into the chapel full of friends and family.
In the front pew, Drew and Athena, back from their sailing trip, looked more in love than ever, if possible, and beautifully kissed by the sun.
Rebecca appeared wonderfully, gloriously pregnant and completely radiant beside David, who held her close to his side.
Wearing an enormous hat of elegant purple feathers, Victoria Clayworth O’Flynn sat beside them. She’d surprised them all by returning to Chicago for this wedding even though there were two feet of snow on the ground.
And in the next pew sat Venus’s father, vindicated, back in his office at Clayworth’s but still pursuing his passion for writing. Kate sat comfortably next to him.
A stir at the door as last-minute arrivals came in shook the solemn air with excitement.
Greyson and Ric Clayworth, half-brothers, polar opposites in personality but each possessing the same dark hair and blue eyes, strolled down the aisle.
Even though they had the choice of several empty seats, they squeezed into a crowded pew, insisting Diana sit between them.
“Grey and Ric made it.”
Venus turned to Bridget, glorious in the rich cream satin and lace wedding gown that had once been worn by her mother.
“Good. Now the day is complete.”
The organ began to play and an expectant hush fell over the room.
“Ready?” Venus asked with an encouraging smile.
Bridget smiled. “At last, I am.”
Gripping her small bouquet of cream roses with delicate centers of apricot, the color exactly matching her dress, Venus started down the aisle.
Tony looked magnificent in his tux but Venus’s gaze rested on the best man.
Their eyes locked and Connor’s slow smile held delightful promises.
No, Venus wasn’t saintly like her sisters. But she was the perfect soulmate for the Saint.
New management at the Daily Mail means gossip columnist Rebecca has been demoted. Now she’ll be doing an entirely different king of dishing… in the Home and Food section.
Who does this new—surprisingly sexy—
CEO think he is?
Talk of the Town
Available now
Please turn this page for an excerpt.
Chapter 1
Some Monday mornings start out so well.
The cab Rebecca stepped into had her picture advertising “Rebecca Covington’s World,” in the Chicago Daily Mail, plastered across the back of the front seat.
She squinted at the ad. How long had it been since she’d done a new press photo? Her blond hair was so much lighter and shorter now… her face thinner… older.
“You’re lookin’ good, Miss Covington. Wife loves your columns,” shouted the delightful cabdriver.
Before she looked up at the charming man, she remembered to widen her eyes to smooth out the dreaded lines on her forehead, just as Harry had instructed.
“Thank you,” she cooed to the cabbie. “You’ve made my day.” Of course, she gave him a huge tip when she alighted in front of the Chicago Daily Mail building.
Feeling wonderful, and looking forward to seeing Pauline Alper, BFF since they bonded over their divorces only two years apart and shed enough tears together to raise the water level in Lake Michigan, Rebecca swished through the doors and into the small lobby.
Pauline looked up from behind the reception desk, saw Rebecca, burst into loud sobs, and buried her wet face in two fistfuls of pink Kleenex.
Shocked by Pauline’s tears instead of her usual warm welcome, Rebecca rushed acr
oss the lobby to offer her shoulder to cry upon. “Pauline, tell me everything.”
Instead of being comforted, Pauline jumped up, crying even louder, and ran to the “For Staff Only” restroom.
Her heart pounding, terrified at what could be so wrong, Rebecca raced after Pauline and stood outside the locked stall. “Sweetheart, it isn’t your girls, is it?” The thought of any harm coming to Pauline’s daughters, Patty and Polly, caused tears to burn in her eyes.
“No,” came Pauline’s muffled reply, followed by a cacophony of fresh sobs.
Weak with relief, Rebecca collapsed against the cool metal door. “Thank God! Then whatever it is can be fixed. I saw you with the box of pink Kleenex on your desk. You didn’t try that ridiculous Kleenex diet and become violently ill, did you?”
“No,” Pauline hiccupped.
“Good. Then please come out so I can help you. You’re crying so hard you really will make yourself sick.”
“I can’t stop… I’m… so… so… sad,” Pauline wailed between sobs.
“Sweetheart, you’re hyperventilating!” Rebecca’s voice rose in alarm. She’d never forgotten the day Pauline fainted in her living room after a bout of prolonged crying over the divorce wars. “Please stop.”
“I… can’t…,” Pauline gasped.
Drastic action must be taken.
“Keep breathing, sweetheart!” Rebecca kicked off her black Brian Atwood stilettos. Hiked up her black Carolina Herrera skirt until the top of her pantyhose showed. Not caring if the expensive Wolford fishnets got bigger holes, she dropped to her hands and knees onto the cold, hard, black and white tile floor. “Pauline, keep breathing and tell me what’s wrong,” she called through the opening at the bottom of the stall.
An instant later, from beneath the door Pauline peered back, her green eyes swollen nearly shut from weeping. “Rebecca, get up! That’s… your… favorite designer outfit. You’ll… you’ll… ruin… ruin your beautiful clothes,” she sobbed anew.
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