A Passion Most Pure (Daughters of Boston, Book 1)

by Julie Lessman

  Collin sat there in a daze and shook his head. "I don't know," he said in a hushed tone, "but this is a devil of a start." He picked up the crank and held it out to Brady. "Do me a favor? Round the boys up, will ya? I got a feeling this is one drunk I'm gonna have trouble sleepin' off."

  Brady reached for the crank and nodded. He couldn't agree more.

  Bridget entered the parlor, jarred at the sight of Charity stretched out on the couch. She put a shaky hand to her chest. "Goodness, Charity, you gave me a start. I thought you were going out with that McClanahan boy tonight." Bridget took a deep breath and stooped to collect her knitting off the seat of her rocker. She sat, only to bounce right back up. She rubbed her backside. "Ridiculous needle," she muttered. She snatched it up in her hand and sat back down.

  Charity glanced up from the Harper's Bazaar she was leafing through and smiled. "Honestly, Grandmother, you're going to hurt yourself one of these days. Yes, I was supposed to go out tonight, but I decided to cancel."

  The needles were suddenly flying as Bridget commenced with her knitting. She eyed Charity over the pink sweater she was making for Katie. "Why, dear? I thought you liked him."

  In a lazy stretch, Charity extended her arms overhead, and Bridget was grateful her granddaughter was not enamored with any of the several beaus who sought her attention. It was just as well, she thought, studying Charity's sensuous pose. This granddaughter of hers was too much of what most men were looking for. It might prove to be her undoing if she actually cared for one of them. Bridget sighed. Perhaps it'd be best for Charity to end up with that Collin character. After all, both Patrick and Marcy seemed to approve of him. Looking at her beautiful granddaughter now, Bridget felt sure she would be much better off safely married, out of temptation's way.

  "I did at first, but then he started to bore me, just like all the others. None of them can even come close to Collin." She looked up, her eyes dreamy. "He's all man."

  A frown wrinkled Bridget's forehead. "And what, pray tell, does that mean, young lady?"

  Charity laughed and rolled over, her eyes mischievous. "Oh, come on, Grandmother, you know what I mean. Collin's not like these little boys that keep flitting around. He's incredible! First of all, he's more attractive than any man I've ever seen, and the fact he's five years older than me is really quite nice. It means I can't push him around, although I have to admit, I've certainly given it my best shot."

  Bridget chuckled. "Wonderful. My granddaughter's a vixen. I'm so proud."

  Charity grinned. "I know you know what I mean, Grandmother. Didn't Grandfather make you feel all weak in the knees and warm inside?"

  The needles stopped as Bridget thought about it. A faint smile flickered on her lips. "Yes, I suppose he did at that. He was older too, as a matter of fact, although not as old as Mitch Dennehy, for mercy's sake."

  Bridget's reference to Mitch seemed to dampen Charity's good humor. She flipped over on her back to stare at the ceiling, her face pinched in a frown. "He may be old, but I'd let him put his shoes under my bed anytime."

  "Charity!" Bridget ceased her knitting, startled enough to knock the ball of yarn off her lap onto the floor where it unraveled halfway across the room.

  Charity blushed and jumped up to retrieve it. With a chastened look, she dropped it back in Bridget's lap. "I'm sorry, Grandmother. It's just an expression I heard at work."

  "Well, it's crude, young lady, and quite inappropriate for a well-bred young woman. Don't ever use it again, understood? Saint's alive, your mother would have a stroke."

  "Yes, ma'am, I'm sorry. It's just that it's so unfair. Things always work out for Faith. It's like she's got this fairy godmother watching over her, making sure everything goes her way."

  Bridget studied her granddaughter for a moment, then laid her knitting needles aside. "Nonsense, Charity, you're being ridiculous. Why, you're the one who's almost engaged to the man of your dreams, not Faith. You're just as blessed as she."

  "Am I? Here she is, working as a copywriter at the most important paper in Ireland, and what happens within two short months? She catches the eye of her manager, who just happens to be one of the most incredible men I've ever seen."

  "I thought Collin was incredible," Bridget said with a wry smile.

  "He is, Grandmother, but that's just it. He's not here and Mitch is. It's just not fair."

  Bridget shook her head. "Charity, my love, I don't know what to do with you. Jealousy will get you nowhere in life. It will only hold you back. Besides, a girl as beautiful as you has absolutely nothing to be jealous of. I suggest you pray about it."

  "Pray about it?" Charity gaped as if Bridget had taken leave of her senses.

  Bridget couldn't help but smile as she walked to the couch and sat beside her. "Obviously something you're not used to doing, I think. Yes, pray about it."

  "You sound like Faith, Grandmother. That doesn't make too many points with me, you know." Charity's tone was terse.

  Bridget grinned. -1 know, my dear, but it's not points I'm concerned with, now is it? When it comes to the happiness and well-being of one of my favorite granddaughters, points can go to the devil. I want results. Shall we?" She took Charity's hands in hers, closed her eyes, and began to pray, leaving Charity little choice but to bow her head and join her.

  He was in love and he knew it. Certainly he'd been in lust enough times to know the difference. She was truly remarkable-a woman who had all the passion of a bad girl and all the restraint of an angel. For him, it was a deadly combination, and one that convinced him his days of bachelorhood were numbered.

  The night she had "set the boundaries" all but put him over the edge, and he had never wanted to walk out on a woman more in his life. To the devil with her rules, he thought; he would do as he pleased. Who did she think she was? She was just a little girl, barely out of her teens. Certainly not woman enough to capture the heart of a confirmed bachelor. A bachelor who had no inclination whatsoever to put a ring on his finger ... or one in his nose.

  Mitch couldn't believe how much his life had changed in four short months. Once he had been a man about town, enjoying the company, among other things, of a host of eligible women. Now here he was, enamored with only one, who certainly gave him the pleasure of her company but only that, and he'd never been happier. She had transformed him, it seemed-from a man with little use for God to one who now reveled in the sanctity of worship. Gone were Sunday mornings idled away in bed as a reprieve from the night before. Now they were spent in communion with God, in a dim church pew with her by his side.

  To him it made little sense, but the more time they spent without physical involvement, the more comfortable and relaxed he felt with her. It was the oddest thing. She had single-handedly put his raging passions, and her own, out of reach for the moment, and the effect was totally astounding. Suddenly his base desires weren't running amuck over the relationship. In their absence, he found himself focusing on her, on who she was as a person, and she him. And although the growth of affection was far slower than the many tempestuous affairs he had known, it was certainly steady and strong. A flame, he was sure, that would burn longer and brighter than any heated affair.

  Not that he didn't have his moments. Just the touch of her lips on his was enough to make a grown man cry, and Mitch would have never believed he had it in him to refrain. But he did. And each time, he fell a little more in love with her and found himself a little more willing to wait. She was worth it.

  The night she had finally told him about Collin had been difficult. They had been having dinner at Duffy's, sitting in the same booth as the first night, the memory of it lingering in the air like a heady perfume. He knew by this time his feelings were too deep to ever turn back; he couldn't even entertain the thought of being without her. He wouldn't have believed, with his appetite for women, that he could have ever been faithful to just one, but she made a believer out of him. Never had he wanted to tell a woman he loved her more, but he worked hard at fighting the impulse. He
was afraid, afraid she wouldn't say it back, and afraid she was still in love with someone else. As he sat across from her that night, he knew he couldn't wait any longer. One way or another, he had to know.

  And so he ordered their meal, along with a bottle of wine, more for himself than for her. A little wine would give him the courage he needed, he decided, and maybe steel his nerves to hear the wrong answer. She watched as he poured himself a glass, and shook her head when he offered one to her. "Not tonight, Mitch. I'm so tired, I'm afraid it will make me woozy."

  "Woozy might be nice, you know." He reached to twine his fingers with hers, and his heart quickened when a soft blush seeped into her cheeks. His tone stilled to a hush. "Faith, there's something I need to know."

  She leaned close and smiled. "What is it, Mitch?"

  His eyes burned into hers, vulnerable and unblinking. "I have to know. Do you still have feelings for this other guy?" He uttered the words quickly, as if he couldn't wait to get them off his tongue. When the smile faded from her face, his heart went cold.

  "I don't know, Mitch. I hope not."

  Her answer stabbed him. He dropped her hand and grabbed the bottle of wine to refill his glass, then drank half before slamming it back down again. He swore under his breath. "You hope not! You hope not! Confound it, Faith, what kind of answer is that?"

  She stared back, her eyes blinking in surprise before narrowing. "I don't like it when you talk like that, Mitch, and I won't sit here and listen to it."

  "The devil you won't! I love you, and all you can say is you hope you're not in love with someone else?"

  It was the first time he had ever told her he loved her. The impact of his words could be seen in the trembling of her lips as they rounded into a soft "oh."

  "I'm sorry, Faith, but it's true. I love you, and it infuriates me to think you might be in love with someone else."

  "I think I may love you too, Mitch," she whispered, tears spilling.

  "You do?"

  "I do."

  "And what about him? Who the devil is he, anyway?" The look on her face made him wince, and he quickly grabbed his glass to drain it. He reached across the table to wipe the tears from her cheek. "Sorry," he muttered softly. "You know, Faith, I've been talking like this all my life. It's going to take some time to change."

  She nodded. "I know. It's going to take some time for me too, I'm afraid. I'm getting over him, but it's slow."

  "Who is it?" he whispered.

  Her gaze shifted to the plate before her. "He was engaged to my sister before the war."

  "Was? What happened?"

  "He broke it off."

  "Because of you?"

  She looked up, brows puckered in anguish. "I think so. He said he loved me."

  "And you loved him? I don't understand, then why didn't you-"

  "Because my faith in God is everything to me, Mitch, you know that."

  His lips curved into a faint smile. "Yes, ma'am, I do."

  She continued to stare at the plate before her, but her thoughts seemed far away. "Collin didn't feel the same way. I don't think he even believes in God." She looked up, and Mitch saw the hurt in her eyes. "How can anyone not believe in God? He's everything to me."

  The intensity in her voice made him feel guilty. "I know, Faith."

  "He asked me to marry him, but I told him no. It would kill my sister if she knew; she's crazy about him. So he broke off their engagement and promised he would think about it while he was away, that maybe they could start fresh when he got back."

  Mitch reached for the bottle of wine to pour himself another drink. "I don't like the sound of that," he said, his voice harsh.

  "Why? She loves him. And I think, in his own way, he loves her."

  He stared as if she'd lost her mind. "Are you serious? A man you love, who loves you enough to cheat on his own fiancee and your sister-in the family for the rest of your life?"

  Faith leaned forward, her eyes intense. "I would get over it, Mitch. And so would he."

  "And how could I be sure?" he asked, taking her hand in his.

  "Because, if you and I were to end up together. . ." She hesitated for just a moment, as if to let the words resonate. "I don't have any doubt the passion between us would leave little room for anyone else."

  He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed it, his chest expanding with a rush of love. "I would certainly spend the rest of my life making sure," he whispered, stroking her palm with his thumb.

  Faith shivered and pulled her hand away. "Yes, I'm quite sure you would," she said.

  "Did he make you feel like that?" he asked quietly. He hadn't wanted to utter the words, but he had to know. He found himself holding his breath as he awaited her answer.

  Her face went pale, and his heart stopped. But then she leaned forward, those green eyes glistening with wetness. "Yes, he did. But I turned him away because he cared more for his own lust than for me, more for himself than my God. While you ... you have proven you care more for me, Mitch ... and for God." She swallowed, then attempted a smile. "That, I'm afraid, has sealed your fate."

  Exhaling slowly, he squeezed her hands in his. "Don't be afraid, Faith. I'm not."

  "Did I tell you I love you, Mr. Dennehy?" she whispered.

  "Not near enough."

  She grinned. "Thank goodness you can't dock my pay for that."

  "Don't be too sure, O'Connor. I'm the boss. I can do anything I want." His mouth tilted into a cocky smile. "Almost."

  When he took her home that night, he had given her his usual gentle kiss.

  "I'll see you Monday," she whispered, pushing the door ajar.

  Something inside had compelled him to pull her close. "No, you'll see me tonight, in your dreams, and that's an order. But just to make sure ..."

  Never would he forget the look-eyes blinking wide as he dragged her to him, her soft lips parting in surprise as his mouth took hers with a hunger long suppressed. His hands wandered her back, urging her close while his lips roamed the curve of her neck and then returned to reclaim her mouth with fervor. For one brief, glorious moment, the terms were his, and by thunder, she would feel the heat of his kiss in her bones.

  In a raspy gulp of air, she lunged back. "I can't believe you did that!" she gasped.

  "Believe it," he quipped, his tone nonchalant.

  "But why? After what I told you tonight, why would you do that?"

  "Why? Let's just call it a bit of insurance."

  "What?"

  "Insurance. If the woman I love is going to have memories of passion, it's going to be with me, not him."

  "I don't entertain memories of passion." Her voice was edged with anger.

  "You will tonight," he said. And turning on his heel, he left her-hopefully with a warmth that defied the coolness of the night.

  "So what time did you tell Mitch to come for dinner?" Charity's tone was casual as she peeled the carrots.

  Faith looked up from the dough she was kneading to glance at the clock on the wall. "Saints alive, he's coming at 6:00, and it's almost 5:30 now! I have to get ready. Although, the man is notorious for being late," she said with a chuckle, washing the dough off her hands.

  Charity eyed her with curiosity. "You two pretty serious?"

  Faith smiled. "I think so. He told me he loves me."

  -1 wouldn't put too much stock in that." Charity tossed another carrot into the pot. "Men have a way of throwing that word around when they want something."

  Faith peered at her sister, her eyebrows arched in irritation. "Not a man like Mitch."

  Charity turned. "Especially a man like Mitch," she drawled, smiling at how easily she could provoke her sister.

  "He's not Collin," Faith snapped.

  Charity's smile faded as her eyes hardened. "Don't be too sure about that, big sister."

  Faith headed to the door. "I'm going up to get ready. If Mitch gets here early, will you let him in?"

  Charity flashed a pretty smile. "It'll be my pleasure."


  Faith left the room, and Charity turned back to the sink, a smile still on her lips. Mitch may have told her sister he loved her, but Charity knew enough about men to understand the way they looked at her. Especially the way Mitch looked at her the first time he had walked into the parlor over four months ago. She had been shocked at how handsome he was but smooth enough not to show it. He hadn't been quite so lucky when he had rounded the corner and seen her. She was certain he caught his breath, although he recovered nicely with a warm smile, extending his hand to shake hers. He seemed ill at ease, which was unusual for a man of his obvious good looks, and Charity reveled in the look of approval in his eyes.

  Dinner had been pleasant enough, although Grandmother's usually chatty self was conspicuously absent. Katie had seemed especially geared up with the presence of an older male in the house once again. And Mima, of course, always enjoyed taking her dinner with the family when she felt up to it. It was one of the few joys she was afforded, and no more so than in the company of Mitch. He was as charming and warm as her sister had said, and his easy banter and teasing eyes had focused on each person around the table, especially Faith.

  The memory of that night stirred a familiar knot of jealousy in Charity's stomach. She exhaled a heavy sigh. When it came to her sister, it was certain to be a chronic condition, she decided, despite the persistent prayers of her grandmother.

  She tossed the last of the carrots into the pot and turned her attention to the unfinished bread. Pushing the dough with the heel of her hand, she thought of Mitch. She whacked the bread with several hard punches. How had her sister ever managed to attract the attention of someone like him? Faith would have never stood a chance, Charity assured herself, if she'd seen him first.

  He seemed to care about her sister, she noticed, although he kept his distance. He seldom held her hand and never touched her. Whether out of respect for her family or out of fear of her sister's moral mandate, Charity wasn't quite sure. But one thing Charity was sure of-Mitch Dennehy was no different than the scores of men who had been mesmerized by her beauty. A fact in which she took great pleasure, and one confirmed by the way he avoided her eyes.