A Passion Denied

by Julie Lessman

  Lizzie closed her eyes, and heat collided with hurt as she touched her face, still branded by the burn of his lips. She listed against the door. He’d done it again. Given her a day of laughter and friendship and joy, and then walked away, taking her heart with him. Tears pooled beneath her closed lids, slowly seeping down a cheek that still quivered from his kiss. A sob erupted from her throat. “Why, God?” she rasped. “Why can’t you just take him out of my heart? He doesn’t want me. Can’t you please set me free?”

  A wave of frustration all too familiar engulfed her, followed by a rush of anger. With a painful heave, she squared her shoulders and vowed—once again—that John Brady had hurt her for the last time. Her lips settled into a grim line. If it meant the end of their friendship to get over him, then so be it. Someday, perhaps, when she was safely married and long past her childhood fantasies of him, they could be friends once again. But apparently not now, she thought with a jolt of grief. At least not without heartbreak as a constant companion.

  She took a deep breath and quietly opened the door, hoping and praying no one in the parlor would even notice she’d come in. She hurried toward the staircase, desperate to get to her room before someone could stop her.

  “Lizzie?” Her father’s voice boomed from the parlor in a tone that froze her foot to the floor. She sighed and dropped her head. “Come in here this instant, young lady.”

  She groaned and put her head in her hands, tempted to lie and tell him she had to use the bathroom. She quickly swiped at her eyes and headed to the parlor, girding herself for the inquisition. “Yes, Father?”

  Lizzie was sure the blush in her face complemented her tearstains quite nicely, given the looks on her family’s faces. The strains of “Amazing Grace” filled the room as the Salvation Army Band rendered its nightly performance on Father’s new, state-of-the-art radio.

  Patrick peered over his newspaper and immediately frowned. “Lizzie . . . have you been crying?”

  “Goodness, are you all right?” Marcy asked, knitting needles halted midair. She quickly removed a ball of yarn and half-knitted sweater from her lap and started to rise from her chair.

  “Don’t get up, Mother, please. Yes, I’m fine, really. I’m just very, very tired.”

  “What’s wrong?” Faith rose sleepy-eyed from the love seat where she’d apparently been dozing with stockinged feet curled in Collin’s lap as he read the paper.

  “Nothing’s wrong,” Lizzie insisted. “Mitch and Charity already left, I suppose—” She glanced at the other side of the room and stopped, stunned to see Michael Brady sprawled on the floor with her brother. The two were playing with the magic linking rings in Steven’s Mysto Magic set.

  Relief flooded through her. “Michael? What are you doing here?”

  He handed the rings off to Steven and rose to his feet, brushing the wrinkles from his trousers. He smiled, but his eyes registered concern. “I’m sure John told you we’re leaving in the morning. I apologize for barging in like this, Lizzie, but I wanted to say goodbye. I won’t be back for a while.”

  “Why are your eyes red?” Patrick asked again. “Have you been crying?”

  She tore her gaze from Michael to offer her father a pitiful smile. “Yes, Father, maybe a little, but I promise, nothing’s wro—”

  “Did something happen with Brady?” Collin demanded. “Why didn’t he come in?”

  Faith jumped up and tugged at his arm. “Come on, Collin, I’m tired—take me home.”

  “But I want to know—did you two fight?” He put the paper aside and waited.

  “This is between Lizzie and Brady, not us,” Faith said, lowering her voice to a whisper.

  Lizzie sighed. “No, Collin, we didn’t fight. It was a lovely day. I’m just tired, that’s all.”

  “Nobody cries when they’re tired,” he mumbled, allowing Faith to drag him up from the love seat. “Good night, everyone. Thanks for dinner, Marcy.”

  “You’re welcome, Collin. Faith, come to dinner Tuesday night, and we’ll finish sewing that dress, all right?”

  Faith kissed her mother on the cheek, then her father. “Sounds great. Thanks, Mother. Good night, everyone. Have a safe trip, Michael.”

  Collin turned at the door. “Yeah, good night, Michael. It’s always nice to go home, isn’t it? I bet you miss it.”

  “Not as much as I did.”

  Collin’s jaw tightened as he glanced at Lizzie, then back at Michael. “Take care of your brother for me, will you? And don’t let him dawdle too long. I’m no good at running that temperamental press of his. I swear it gets more ink on me than the blasted paper.”

  Michael smiled. “He won’t be gone long, a week tops. But I am looking forward to spending time with him.”

  Collin nodded. He ushered Faith out the door.

  Marcy rose and gave Lizzie a hug. “I’m glad you had fun today. I’ve never seen Katie so tuckered out.” She bent to give Patrick a good-night kiss. “I’m going up. Are you coming soon?”

  “Shortly, darlin’. I want to finish this article.”

  “All right, my love. Steven—get those magic pieces picked up, please. You’ve got school tomorrow.” She turned and gave Michael a hug. “We enjoyed your company this evening, Michael. Have a safe trip home.”

  “Thanks, Mrs. O’Connor.” He hesitated. “Mr. O’Connor, would you mind if I had a few moments with Lizzie out on the porch?”

  Patrick reached for his paper. “No, go right ahead. You’ve earned it after keeping company with the entire family most of the night. Will we be seeing you again?”

  “I hope so, sir.”

  “Good, then have a safe trip.”

  “Thank you, sir, I will.” Michael moved toward the front door and snatched Lizzie’s jacket off the coat rack. He held it while she slipped it on, then opened the door.

  Lizzie hurried to kiss her father good night before following Michael outside. She settled on the far side of the swing and turned to face him, suddenly shy. “You certainly shocked me, coming here tonight.”

  He sat on the other end and studied her, his eyelids weighted with concern. “I had to come, Lizzie. You know I’m in love with you. I couldn’t leave without saying goodbye.”

  She closed her eyes and let his words soothe her ravaged spirit. Oh, Lord, was it wrong that it felt so good to hear? That Michael was in love with her . . . even if Brady wasn’t?

  She heard him shift closer on the swing and opened her eyes. He took her hand in his, grazing her palm with the pad of his thumb. Her stomach fluttered. “How long will you be gone?” she whispered, afraid to hear his answer. She dreaded facing her heartbreak alone, without Michael as a buffer. Over the last few months, his attention had helped to ease the hurt of Brady’s rejection, rekindling hope that one day, maybe, she could be free from the pain.

  “A month.”

  “Oh . . . ,” she said, her voice trailing off.

  “Trust me, I don’t want to stay away, but I have to. I made a promise to John.”

  She jolted upright. “You what?”

  “But only for a month, and then I’ll be back, I promise.”

  “But why would he ask you to do that?”

  “You know why. He loves you and wants the best for you. Unfortunately, he doesn’t think I’m it.”

  Anger stiffened her spine. “But, he has no right. Who does he think he is?”

  Michael tucked a finger beneath her chin. “Your friend, a big brother, someone who thinks he needs to look out for you.”

  “Well, he’s not! And I resent it. So help me, Michael, if there was something I could do to get that through his thick skull—”

  Michael hesitated, then squeezed her hand. “There is,” he whispered.

  Lizzie turned to study his handsome face. Her pulse quickened. “What?”

  He reached into his coat pocket and produced a tiny velvet box. The sight of it effectively trapped the air in her throat. He gently placed it on her lap. “Open it.”

  She di
d as he asked, fingers trembling, and promptly caught her breath. Never had she seen a more exquisite diamond, pear-shaped with at least a dozen different facets, in a stone far larger than even Charity’s. It glimmered and twinkled in the moonlight, as if pleading Michael’s case. “It’s so beautiful . . .”

  “Enough to keep?”

  She looked up, torn by the look of hope in his eyes. “Oh, Michael, I . . . I don’t know. This is all so sudden.”

  “Not for me. It only took a few weeks to realize I’d never met anyone like you before, and I’m pretty sure I never will again. Say it, Lizzie . . . say you’ll become my wife.”

  She stared at the diamond, then back up again, her mind in turmoil. “I’m so confused, I just don’t know.” She chewed on her lip, reluctant to go on. “I’m not sure that I love you.”

  He lifted her chin with his finger. “You care about me, don’t you?”

  “Oh yes, yes I do—more than I ever thought I could, given my feelings for Brady, but I don’t know if it’s enough.”

  “It is for me. For now. I can make it grow, I know I can. John loves you as a sister and a friend, but I’m offering something he can’t—marriage, children, and a good life. I’m a wealthy man, Lizzie. I can take care of you, love you like you deserve to be loved. Say yes—please.”

  She hesitated, her heart racing.

  He traced a finger over her lips. “You are attracted to me, aren’t you? At least a little?”

  The heat of his touch converged with the heat of her face. “I think so,” she whispered, her voice barely a croak.

  A faint smile played on his lips. “You think so? Well, since we’re contemplating marriage, don’t you think it would be a good idea to make sure?” He leaned in, heating her blood with the gentle tug of his mouth against her ear. His lips roamed to explore her throat, and she closed her eyes, barely aware her head had eased back. All at once she released a soft gasp when his mouth covered hers, coaxing her with a gentle sway before he deepened the kiss. “Marry me,” he whispered, his breath hot against her cheek. “We can start planning the wedding in a month, when I come back. I won’t take no for an answer.” He took the box from her hand and put the ring on her finger, then scooted her close. “Say it, Lizzie, say you’ll marry me.”

  She stared at the ring and then up at his face. “Oh, Michael, there’s a part of me that wants to say yes so badly. When I’m with you, I forget all about the hurt over Brady and I feel . . . safe.”

  He grinned and tilted her back, giving her a look that was anything but “safe.” “Then say yes. I guarantee I’ll make you forget all about my brother.” He followed through with a kiss that convinced her he was more than capable.

  She pulled away, her body tingling. “Michael, I—”

  “Say yes or I’ll . . .” He started for her lips again, his half-lidded look leaving no doubt of his intentions.

  “Yes!” she cried in a rush. She held him at bay, palms flat on his chest.

  Yes? Do I really mean that? Michael’s eyes fixated on her lips, and she felt a flutter in her stomach. She blinked up at him, suddenly realizing that the thought of being married to this man—sleeping with this man—made her feel heady. Just like romance was supposed to be. Or so she’d read.

  He grinned and stood to his feet, hoisting her up in his arms. “You just made me the happiest guy in Boston, Lizzie O’Connor.” He spun her around with a chuckle, then slowly released her, setting her down and pulling her close. He kissed her again, his mouth gentle against hers. “I have to go, but I’ll be back in a month, and I’ll call you every night. In the meantime, don’t let anybody talk you out of this, okay? Especially my brother. He’ll get used to the idea in time, I promise.”

  His mention of Brady darkened her mood. “No one’s going to talk me out of this, Michael . . . especially your brother.”

  He kissed her on the nose. “That’s a girl. So, I’ll see you in a month?”

  She nodded and he led her to the door. He took her left hand and kissed it. “Promise you won’t take it off?”

  She glanced at the ring and thought about what a powerful barrier it would make against her feelings for John Brady. “Not even when I sleep. Good night, Michael.” She stood on tiptoe and kissed him lightly on the lips.

  “Good night, Lizzie. I hope your dreams will be as sweet as mine.” He turned and ambled down the steps, whistling all the way. She closed the door and flicked the lock, then hung her jacket on the hook. She held her left hand up and sighed. The diamond glittered with promise, pledging some semblance of peace from the pain of John Brady, she supposed. She started for the stairs.

  “Lizzie?”

  She blinked, suddenly aware of the light in the parlor. “Father? What are you still doing up?” She glanced at the clock on the mantel. “It’s after ten, and Mother went up ages ago.”

  Patrick looked up at his daughter and felt his stomach twist. God help him, his sweet little Lizzie was changing. She was once his shy little girl, content with exploring love between the covers of a book. Now she stood before him, a young woman intent on experiencing it for herself. And for some reason he couldn’t quite put his finger on, the thought left him more than a bit unsettled. He lowered the paper to his lap and gave her a tired smile. “Waiting for you, darlin’.” He tapped the wide arm of his chair. “Mind sitting a while, to talk to your tired, old father?”

  A hint of a blush settled in her cheeks. She smiled and ambled over. “Tired maybe, Father, but never old,” she said with a laugh, leaning into him as he tucked an arm around her shoulder.

  He bundled her close, his heart melancholy over yet another daughter growing up, growing away. He sighed and patted her leg. “So, you had a good time with Brady today?”

  She nodded, and the slight movement tickled his chin. He hesitated. “Is that why you were crying? Because the day was good, but the situation is not?”

  She nodded again, and he felt her shiver. He rubbed her arm and laid his head on top of hers. “You’ll get past it, Lizzie, I promise. God will make a way.”

  “He already has, Father,” she whispered.

  His stomach tightened. “Michael?”

  She nodded, then slowly sat up, searching his eyes. She quietly held out her left hand.

  Patrick blinked, astonishment trapping the words in his throat.

  “He loves me, Father, and I think he can help me get past Brady.” She stared at the diamond, tracing its shape.

  Patrick clasped her other hand in his. “But do you love him, darlin’?”

  She continued to gaze at the glimmering stone, lost in a faraway stare.

  Patrick shook her hand. “Lizzie, do you love him?”

  Her eyes flickered, breaking her reverie. “No, but I think I can. I care about him a great deal. And he’s changed, drawn closer to God—because of me.” She looked at him then, with the slightest lift of her chin. “And if I can’t have the Brady I love, Father, then maybe I can save the Brady who loves me.”

  “Darlin’, marriage isn’t for saving people.”

  She hesitated. “No, but maybe God is using it to save both of us from the pain of our pasts—mine with Brady, and Michael’s with his family. A new direction—uniting us as one, to serve him.”

  He pulled her back with a sigh. “Well, time will tell, I suppose. After all, that’s what long engagements are for—to make sure.”

  She stiffened in his arms. “I don’t want a long engagement.”

  “What?” Patrick turned her to face him. “What do you mean, you don’t want a long engagement? Of course you do. You’re not even in love with the man. You’re in love with his brother, for pity’s sake. You need time to get over Brady.”

  Lizzie pushed away and stood. Her expression reminded him more of Charity than his little Beth. “I need Michael to get over Brady, Father, and no one is going to talk me out of it.”

  Patrick pushed his ottoman out and slowly rose, his motions hampered by shock. This was his Lizzie? Defiant, str
ong-willed? Dear Lord, when had he lost his little girl? He stared her down. “Don’t take that tone with me, Elizabeth Marie. I’m your father, and you will listen to what I say. I’ll not have you going off half-cocked, marrying one man so you can get over another. Have you even prayed about it?”

  Wetness shimmered in her eyes as she stood, arms folded and clutched tightly at her waist. “Yes, I’ve prayed about it . . . for four, long years I’ve prayed about it. Prayed that God would free me from the spell of John Brady. But the only answer I’ve gotten is heartbreak, so I guess it’s up to me.”

  Patrick cinched her arm and pushed her into his chair. He faced her, perched on the edge of his ottoman. “No, it’s not up to you. It’s up to God. Have you even prayed about Michael? Whether he’s the man you should marry?”

  She bit her lip and shook her head, sending trails of tears down both cheeks.

  Patrick sighed and kneaded his forehead with the tips of his fingers. He drew in a deep breath and took Lizzie’s hand in his. “Darlin’, I love you, and my heart grieves over the pain you’ve experienced because of Brady, and I like Michael, I really do. But you can’t rush into this, not without prayer. Especially when you’re not sure if you even love the man.”

  She sniffed and looked away. “I care about him, Father.” She fingered the diamond on her finger, avoiding his gaze. “And he makes me feel . . . warm inside . . . the way I’d always read it would be.”

  Patrick’s jaw tightened. “There’s more to marriage, darlin’, than a heated kiss.”

  Color flooded her cheeks. “Father, please—”

  “No, Lizzie, you listen to me. You’ve always had your head buried in a book, certain that falling in love would cure all your ills. Attraction is certainly important, but marriage requires far more. It takes commitment and love and especially respect. I like Michael, I do, but there are two things I demand of you before I’ll agree. One, we will pray about this now, whether you like it or not, because I’ll not have my daughter say yes to a man when God says no. And two, you will not get married in a rush. You will, instead, get to know Michael over a respectable period of time, allowing your family to get to know him as well.”