A Passion Denied

by Julie Lessman

  She laid her head against his chest and breathed in the clean scent of him with his starched shirt and musk soap. “Not like I love you. Never like I’ve loved you.”

  His arms enclosed her in a fierce hug, and the sweetness of the moment would be with her forever. “You need to tell him,” he whispered.

  She sighed against his chest. “I’ll call—tonight—I promise.” She clutched him tightly and pressed a gentle kiss to his bare chest. All at once, his hands fanned the length of her, from shoulder to hips in one hungry sweep. She lifted her head, and he gave her a half-lidded gaze that quivered her stomach. Slowly, he bent to kiss her, possessing her mouth with a fierce gentleness.

  His breathing was uneven when he finally pulled away, hands trembling as he gripped her at arm’s length. “We need to get you out of here, Beth. Now.” He released her to fumble with the buttons of his shirt, eyes heating hers as he tucked it in his waistband. He gave her a quick kiss on the lips, then retrieved shoes and socks from the bedroom. He put them on and grabbed his coat from the hook by the door.

  “I’ll tell you one thing right now, Elizabeth O’Connor,” he said in a tone that brooked no argument. He snatched his keys from the table and led her out the door, locking it on the way. “This will not be a long engagement.”

  God preserve her, it was like walking on air! Lizzie closed the front door and leaned back, propped against it with a silly smile on her face. She closed her eyes and sighed, wondering how long this floating effect would last. She replayed Brady’s proposal in her mind and smiled at the shiver of delight that raced through her. She opened her eyes and immediately lost herself in a faraway stare, chewing on the tip of her finger as she thought of his kisses. Heat instantly surged to her cheeks and traveled south. She pressed a hand to her waist and bit her lip. Oh my, but the man could do funny things to her stomach—wonderful, warm, quivering things that she’d only dreamed about. She closed her eyes again and sagged against the door, breathless at the thought of sharing a life—and a bed—with John Morrison Brady. A husband, a lover . . . the man of her dreams!

  “Lizzie, are you all right? Your face is red as that scarf around your neck.”

  Redder, she imagined as she glanced up at her mother, whose scrutiny now braised her cheeks as much as her illicit thoughts of Brady. She masked her humiliation with a bright smile. “No, Mother, I’m not ‘all right.’ I’m better than all right. In fact, at this very moment, I would say I’m happier than I’ve ever been in my life.” She pressed a hand to her mouth and giggled, fresh awareness hitting her full force. “Oh, Mother, I’m getting married!”

  Marcy blinked, pausing on the last step with a laundry basket cocked on her hip. She gave Lizzie a patient smile. “Yes, dear, I know.”

  Lizzie giggled again and rushed to take the basket from Marcy’s hand, then set it on the floor. “No, I can see it in your face—you think I’ve lost my mind, but I haven’t. Only my heart—to John Morrison Brady!”

  “What?”

  “Brady finally did it! He asked me to marry him.”

  Marcy’s jaw dropped. “W-what?” she repeated with a stutter. Lizzie grabbed her hands and shook them. “He did it, Mother. Don’t you see? He loves me—has all along—and he’s asked me to be his wife!”

  Marcy faltered back and put a hand to her chest. “Oh, dear Lord, I do believe I need to sit.” She dropped to the bottom step and started fanning her face with one of Patrick’s underwear shorts from the laundry basket. “Sweet saints, I thought the drama was over and done once Charity got married. When did this all happen?”

  “After church this morning. I was going to tell him about the engagement after Mass, but I didn’t catch him in time, so I went to his apartment. I told him we needed to talk, and he guessed it was about his brother. He told me in no uncertain terms that I couldn’t marry Michael.”

  Marcy’s brow angled a half inch. “And that ruffled your feathers?”

  Lizzie pursed her lips, remembering her reaction. “That’s putting it mildly. I said I was through with his bullying and flaunted the ring right in his face. I told him flat out that I was going to marry Michael, and there was nothing he could do about it.”

  Marcy put a hand to her mouth. “Oh my.”

  “But he did—he kissed the daylights out of me, Mother, and as God is my witness, I was pure putty in his hands.” She sighed. “Neither of us wants a long engagement.”

  Marcy bit her lip. “Oh my. Yes, well, I can certainly see why. I’ll have to talk to your father, of course. You know how he feels about that. But since we’ve all known Brady for years, I think it’s best if you two got married sooner rather than later. Is that . . . um . . . where you were all afternoon . . . at Brady’s apartment?”

  Lizzie blushed. “No, Brady hurried us out right after he proposed. Trust me, Mother, both of us are intent on doing things God’s way no matter the rush of emotions we’re feeling right now. So we got a bite to eat downtown, then spent the day planning. He brought me home because he promised Cluny he’d take him to the gym tonight.” She sighed. “Mrs. John Brady. It has a nice ring, don’t you think?”

  Marcy’s brow furrowed. “Speaking of ‘rings,’ when are you going to tell Michael?”

  Lizzie moaned and hunkered down next to her mother on the step, less giddy at the mention of Michael’s name. “As soon as possible. He needs to be the first to know, I suppose, before I tell the family tonight at dinner.” She sucked in a deep breath to dispel the sick feeling over hurting Michael, then chewed on her lip. “But he’ll be fine, I hope. After all, he’s known all along how I felt about his brother.” She glanced at her mother. “Oh, Mother, won’t Collin be ecstatic?”

  Marcy appeared to be coming out of her stupor. She hugged Lizzie with a deep groan and then brushed the moisture from her eyes. “Not only Collin, my love, but every single person in this family. Brady’s like one of our own—you know that.”

  Lizzie sighed. “Yes, Mother, I do. I’ve always known. Unfortunately that stubborn man didn’t.” She grinned. “But he’s in luck—I’m in a forgiving mood.”

  Marcy chuckled. “Better learn to cultivate that, Lizzie. He is a man, after all.”

  Lizzie smiled and rested her head against her mother’s. “I don’t expect to need it, Mother. John Brady is the most perfect and amazing man I have ever met.”

  Marcy stroked her daughter’s hair and smiled. “They all are, darling . . . in the beginning. And then God uses them to make us grow . . . into most ‘amazing’ women.”

  “What a day! My partner is back to help carry the load, my best friend is getting married, and I just beat Patrick O’Connor at chess. It just doesn’t get any better than this.” Collin stood and stretched, then leaned to nibble the back of Faith’s neck as she chatted with Charity on the sofa. He lowered his voice and teased the tip of her earlobe with his teeth. “Or maybe it does,” he whispered.

  Faith made a pretense of shooing him away, but quickly rose with a blush staining her cheeks. “Well, we better go then, before he wants a rematch. I’m tired.”

  “Nothing but a fluke,” Patrick groused. He winked at Faith, then grinned at Collin. “Kind of like my daughter marrying the likes of you.”

  Mitch glanced up from his paper. “I’ll go along with that.”

  Collin chuckled and bent to kiss Marcy’s cheek. “A fluke for me, but the hand of God for you, Dennehy. Good night, Marcy. Dinner was wonderful. Thanks for the game, Patrick.”

  Charity snuggled close to her husband’s side despite a sleeping Henry on her lap. She twirled a curl at the back of his head. “Did you hear that? The hand of God. Kind of makes me sound like an angel, doesn’t it?”

  His lips quirked while he ignored her, newspaper in hand. “No, and blasphemy is a sin, little girl.”

  Charity nuzzled his neck. “So is ignoring your wife.”

  Lizzie jumped up from the love seat and stretched her arms in a wide yawn. “Well, while you lovebirds head home, I’m going upstair
s to dream of Brady.”

  “Oh, Lizzie, I am so happy for you,” Faith said.

  She gave her a tight hug while Collin ambled into the foyer to get their coats, whistling several bars from “Yes, We Have No Bananas.” He grinned at the thought of Brady becoming family and deftly snatched their coats from the rack. The doorbell rang, and he draped the wraps over his arm. “I’ll get it,” he called. He opened the door, and his smile instantly went stale.

  “I need to see Lizzie—now!” Michael’s tone matched the scowl on his face.

  “Michael! Look, I’m sorry about you and Lizzie—”

  “Save it, Collin. We both know where your sympathies lie.”

  “Come on, Michael. You had to know she’s been in love with Brady for years.”

  “Yeah, I knew, but that didn’t stop John from breaking her heart over and over again, now did it? Well, I’m the one who picked up the pieces, Collin, and I’m not about to let them go. Where is she?”

  Collin glanced over his shoulder where Lizzie and her sisters were huddled in conversation. He turned back to Michael with a press of his jaw. “Leave her alone, Michael. She’s happier than I’ve ever seen her. If you love her, let it go.”

  “Yeah? Well, it’s because I love her that I won’t let it go. My brother will end up hurting her again, and I can’t let him do that.” Michael shoved Collin out of the way and pushed his way into the hall. “Lizzie? I need to talk to you.”

  Collin tossed the coats on the floor and gripped Michael’s shoulder. He pinned his head with an arm to his throat. “I said, leave her alone!”

  “Collin! Stop it—now!” Lizzie ran to Michael’s side. She glared at her brother-in-law. “What on earth is wrong with you?”

  “He pushed me,” Collin muttered.

  “Well, for pity’s sake, you’re a grown man. Act like it.” Lizzie touched a finger to Michael’s red throat. “Are you all right?”

  “No, Lizzie, I’m not. We need to talk. Now.”

  “Come on, Collin, I’m tired. Take me home.” Faith squeezed Lizzie’s arm and smiled at Michael. She picked their coats up and pushed Collin through the front door. “Good night, everyone.”

  “Right behind you,” Charity said. She nodded at Michael and unlatched their coats from the rack, then bounded back into the parlor to bundle the twins in their blankets. She handed Henry off to Mitch, who stood ready and armed with a heavy tote filled to the brim with baby paraphernalia. “Good night, everyone. See you next week.” She kissed her father and mother, then lifted Hope from Marcy’s shoulder. With a pat on Lizzie’s arm and a sympathetic smile at Michael, she rushed out the door with Mitch close behind.

  Patrick rose. “Marcy, Sean, let’s give these two some privacy. Steven, Katie, upstairs. It’s time for bed.”

  “But it’s only nine fif—”

  Patrick silenced her with a look before entering the foyer. He extended his hand. “Hello, Michael. Give me your coat. You sure know how to clear a room, son.”

  Michael slipped his jacket off and handed it to Patrick. “Yes, sir. I hope to clear the air with Lizzie as effectively. Thank you for allowing me to speak with her. You understand, this came as quite a shock.”

  Patrick squeezed Lizzie’s shoulder, then hung the coat on the rack. “Yes, well, that’s an understatement all the way around. Good night, Lizzie, Michael.”

  Patrick herded the family up the stairs, leaving Lizzie and Michael alone. Michael silently took her hand and drew her into the parlor to the sofa, where he sat beside her. Her heart ached the moment she faced him. Heavy lids and faint shadows reflected his fatigue despite eyes dark with intensity. Apparently he’d driven straight from New York the moment she’d called, and the thought weighted her with guilt. She touched his hand. “Michael, I’m so sorry . . .”

  He clutched her hands in his. “No, Lizzie, I know you’ve been in love with John for years, so don’t apologize for that. But I thought—or hoped—you also had feelings for me.”

  She looked away, feeling the blush in her cheeks at the warm stroke of his thumb on her palm. She bit her lip and slowly removed her hands from his. “I do have feelings for you, Michael. I . . . care about you very much.”

  “But you don’t love me.”

  She forced her gaze to his. “I don’t know. I think I do a little, or at least I was on my way. But whatever’s there, Michael, it can’t compete with the love I have for Brady. Since I was a little girl, I’ve known he was the perfect man for me.”

  His tone was hard. “Yeah, ‘perfect.’ ”

  She blinked. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  He drew in a deep breath and studied her for several seconds as if weighing his words. He exhaled slowly. “Look, Lizzie, you asked me once what happened to my brother years ago, but I wouldn’t tell you. Because despite the fact that we are obviously not close, John and I are blood, and I don’t want to hurt him. But . . .”

  Everything within her stilled—her heart, her mind, the air in her throat—all of it, teetering.

  “I love you too, enough to stop you from making a mistake. It’s true—I want you to marry me more than anything, but even if you won’t, I want you to be happy. And after a week in New York with John, I’m scared to death that not only will he not make you happy, but I think he’s going to end up hurting you again.”

  She jerked away, but he gripped her arms. “Not on purpose, Lizzie, because he loves you, he really does. But the problems of his past are so deep, so damaging, that I worry he can never be the husband you need him to be.”

  Tears burned her eyes. “Let me go!” He released her, and she stood to her feet. “I’ll get your ring and then you can go.”

  She slipped out of the parlor and up to her room, tiptoeing in the dark to her nightstand drawer. She closed the ring in her hand.

  “Lizzie? Are you still gonna marry Brady, even though Michael is here?” Katie’s voice floated from across the room.

  “Yes, darling, I am. I’m just giving Michael his ring back.” She pressed a kiss to Katie’s forehead. “You go to sleep now. I’ll be up soon, okay?”

  Katie nodded and turned over.

  Lizzie moved to the window where moonlight streamed across her face. She held the ring up to the light and released a heavy sigh. Michael was just angry, she thought. And she didn’t blame him. She had no right to treat him harshly. When he’d left, she’d been engaged to him. Now she was engaged to his brother, and the absurdity of the situation made her feel a little foolish. Ring tightly in hand, she ran downstairs where Michael remained seated on the sofa, his head in his hands.

  She moved across the room to sit beside him, and he looked up, breaking her heart with the soulful look in his eyes. She gently took his hand and pressed the diamond in his palm, closing his fingers over it.

  He stood still for several seconds, his eyes never straying from hers, then slowly pocketed the ring. “I love you, Lizzie. I always will. John’s a lucky man, which I suppose he deserves given his unlucky past. I just hope and pray he doesn’t break your heart.” He rose and started for the door.

  “Michael . . .”

  He paused.

  “I just love him. You understand that, don’t you?”

  His back rose and fell with a heavy breath. “Yes.”

  “Whatever’s in his past, it can’t change that.”

  He turned. “It’s not his past I’m concerned about, Lizzie. It’s your future. And yes, it could. Good night.”

  Fear clawed at her throat. She ran after him. “Nothing could be that bad . . .”

  He turned at the door, his coat draped over his arm. “Then why are you afraid?”

  Dread skittered in her stomach like scorpions waiting to sting. A fragile thread of air seeped from her lips. “Tell me, then,” she whispered.

  Regret shadowed his features. “Do you really want to know?”

  “Yes.” Her voice was a hoarse whisper.

  “It’s going to hurt. Are you sure?”

&nbs
p; Her pulse pounded in her brain. “Yes.”

  He observed her with sorrowful eyes, obviously wrestling with the weight of his decision. He finally nodded and took her hand to lead her back to the parlor.

  When he spoke, he sounded quiet and low, and far more like his brother than himself. “All right, Lizzie,” he whispered, “I’ll tell you what I know.”

  Marcy heard it first. Guttural sobs rising on the stairs. She shot up in the bed just as Lizzie staggered into their room, her body heaving with soul-wrenching sorrow. She fell into her mother’s arms, and Patrick seized up in the bed, his eyes wide in the dark. “Lizzie? Is that you? What’s wrong?”

  She was weeping too hard to speak, and the words were so muddled that all Marcy could make out was Brady’s name.

  Patrick pulled her from Marcy’s arms into his lap like when she’d been small, a little girl so afraid of storms. He rocked her gently against his chest and stroked her hair. “Nothing can be this bad, darlin’, nothing. Not as long as we have God to turn to.”

  Marcy rubbed Lizzie’s back while her eyes locked with Patrick’s, reflecting the worry she saw in his. “Lizzie, you have to calm down and tell us what happened,” she said.

  Lizzie nodded, and her body shook with heaves that slowly tapered off. She sniffed and wiped a sleeve against her face, and Patrick reached for his handkerchief on the nightstand. He pressed it into her hand and kissed her cheek. With a final quiver, she settled back against his chest. Her face was a mask of tragedy in the moonlit room.

  “It’s Brady,” she whispered, her eyes lost in a cold stare.

  “What about Brady, darlin’?” Patrick said.

  “He . . . slept with his father’s wife.”

  Marcy’s body went numb at the shock of her words, robbing her of all ability to speak. She heard Patrick’s harsh intake of breath, a violent hissing in a silent room. Seconds hung in the air like minutes, riddled with the ragged beat of her pulse. No! Please, God, no.

  “Tell us everything,” Patrick whispered. His voice sounded like a stranger’s, cold, unfamiliar, and as tight as the fist clenched around his daughter’s shoulder.