The moment was broken when he pulled away and took a step back, his labored breathing billowing into the night. “I should go …”
No …
His smile was tender. “The play was wonderful, Marcy. You should be proud.”
Oh, Patrick, I am … but not of the play …
He puffed out a sigh. “Well, I guess I’ll see you at the center, then. Good night.”
He turned away, and in a stutter of her pulse, she grasped his fingers, halting his retreat with a shaky rush of words. “It would appear, Mr. O’Connor,” she said with a casual tone that was anything but, “your reputation as the Southie’s most notorious rogue has been highly overrated.”
Shock glazed his eyes as they flicked from the hand clutching his to her face, muscles shifting in his throat. “What?”
Suddenly shy, she quickly released him, feeling like a little girl when she clutched her hands behind her back. A nervous smile flickered at the edges of her mouth as she teased him with a bold jut of her chin. “A little gun-shy, are we?”
He blinked before a crooked grin stole across his lips. “Aye, Marceline, all it takes is one good wallop to keep this rogue in line.” He rubbed the side of his jaw with the back of his glove, then paused, his gaze caressing her face. “Or former rogue, I should say ...”
She arched a brow. “A quick study—I like that.”
Her stomach swooped when he moved in close, eyes fused to hers with a heat that made her forget she was cold. “I surely hope so,” he said softly, cupping her face in his hands. “I’m in love with you, Marceline, and as God is my witness, from the moment I saw you, no other woman could even come close.” Her heart stopped when his eyes sheathed closed to gently brush her lips with his own, more fragile than the snowflakes floating from the sky. “Say you’ll let me court you,” he whispered, his mouth as warm as the swirls he produced in her belly, “and I give you my word—I will move heaven and earth to win your heart.”
Heaven and earth. Her lashes lifted, and she caught her breath at the glow of love in his eyes. No, not heaven and earth, she finally realized, but heaven on earth, a state of heart only possible when God Himself knits two people together. Looking at him now, she marveled that it felt so right, so natural to be considering spending the rest of her life with this man she barely knew, and yet … somehow she felt as if she’d known him—waited for him—all of her life. Eyes warm with affection, she slowly glided her glove along the strong curve of his jaw. “Moving heaven and earth isn’t necessary to win my heart, Patrick,” she said. “Just move yours closer to God’s and there you’ll find mine.”
—
Patrick blinked, her statement producing more shivers than a mile-high blizzard.
“Something tells me, my boy, that before a man can truly win the heart of a woman like Marceline Murphy, his own heart must be aligned with God’s …”
He bowed his head and chuckled, his soft laughter bringing a curious smile to her lips. “What?” she asked, head tipped in question.
Shaking his head, he peered up beneath lashes spiked with snow. “You haven’t by chance been in league with Father Fitz to save Sam’s soul and mine, have you?”
She grinned. “Only in our mutual prayers for you both to be happy.”
Throat working, he stared at her beautiful face, not one bit ashamed of the sheen of moisture that sprang to his eyes. He stroked her cheek with his thumb, barely able to believe that God had answered his prayers. “Then please, darlin’,” he whispered, voice rough with emotion, “don’t stop.”
Her eyelids sank closed as he placed the softest of kisses to her cheek, her temple, skimming each eyelid with his mouth before it trailed to deposit a playful kiss to her nose. “But as fond as I am of Father Fitz,” he said with a note of levity, “he’s not the one who can make my dreams come true.” Her eyes fluttered open when he swept a stray hair away from her face, and he found he had no control over the words that tumbled from his lips. “Marry me, Marceline,” he whispered. “Tomorrow, next week, next year—I don’t care. Just say that you will, and I swear before God and man I will become the husband God intends me to be.”
Her soft chuckle floated into the air in a cloud of smoke. His heart raced at the lift of her smile when she cupped a hand to his face. “As inclined as I am to concur this instant, Mr. O’Connor,” she said with a definite twinkle, “I suspect you and I should get to know each other a wee bit better, don’t you think?”
His grin spanned the whole of his face. “Aye, and a more pleasant prospect I can’t imagine.” His gaze dropped to her lips before he could stop it, his voice a husky whisper. “Or heaven help me, maybe I can …”
He quickly cleared his throat and stepped back, noting a sudden blush in her cheeks he couldn’t blame on the weather. “Well, then,” he said, shocked that his face was as warm as hers, no doubt, “I suspect you are now frozen to the bone and in dire need of a warm bed.” Taking her hand, he tugged her up to the front porch and turned the knob, quietly pushing the door ajar. “Get some rest, Marcy.” Caressing her with a gentle gaze, he carefully lifted her chin to softly brush his lips against hers, his mouth nuzzling with a reverence he’d never experienced with a woman before. A shaky breath shuddered from his lips as he gently prodded her through the door. “Because you’re going to need it, darlin’—I plan to keep you very busy.” He heard the final click of the lock and grinned outright. Aye, Marceline, for the rest of your life …
Epilogue
“Oh, Julie, it’s absolutely beautiful!” Marcy whispered, blinking back the sting of tears as she gazed at the diamond ring on her best friend’s hand. She could hardly believe it. Julie—married! Swiping at her eyes with the heel of her palm, she swallowed her up in a giant hug, thrilled beyond words that Evan had finally proposed. She quickly pulled away to take Julie’s hands in her own. “Oh, Jewels, I couldn’t be happier for you!”
But for myself? Marcy forced a bright smile, determined that her melancholy would not shadow the joy of Julie’s engagement. “Evan is one of the kindest, godliest men I’ve ever met, and I just know he’ll make you happy.”
As if sensing the malaise Marcy tried so hard to hide, Julie stroked a gentle hand to her friend’s cheek. “It will happen for you too, Marce,” she said quietly, sympathy soft in her dark eyes. “You’ll see.”
Will I? Marcy stared at the ceiling of her bedroom, slumber nowhere in sight as she lay in her bed in the dark. The grandfather clock in the parlour chimed the midnight hour with distant bongs that seemed to echo her gloom. She should be tired after working several nights this week at the center in addition to her final semester at school, but sleep evaded her as easily as love apparently, at least now that she was no longer seeing either Patrick or Sam.
She shifted on her side, pillow bunched beneath her head while her eyes trailed into a faraway stare, tears blurring the hazy beams of moonlight that spilled across her wooden floor. Bathing her room in an ethereal glow, it was as if God Himself had parted the night sky to peek down from heaven, promising her that she, too, would find a man as committed to God as much as he was to her. Just like Julie had.
Marcy rubbed the moisture from her face with the sleeve of her nightgown. Only rogues didn’t have a propensity for either God or commitment, she thought with a sniff, a lesson she had learned the hard way. First through Nora’s heartbreak with an unfaithful fiancé, then Sam’s infidelity, and finally with Patrick, a rake too handsome for his own good—and hers—who turned heads faster than Marcy could tally. How could she ever trust a man like that? She sniffed. The simple truth was—apparently she couldn’t.
Heaving a mournful sigh, she curled into a ball and closed her eyes, hoping that her dream of working with babies at the hospital would be enough to stifle her longing for babies of her own. At least until God answered her prayer for a mate who would share her deep faith as well as her life … that is, if God chose to. Because there were days, Marcy was reluctant to admit, when it seemed as if H
e had no such plan at all.
O magnify the Lord with me, and let us exalt his name together …
The Scripture reading from mass this morning seemed little more than a taunt, haunting her mind with the reality that other than her parents and Mima, when it came to family, she was really quite alone in the world. Born as an only child of an only child, she seemed destined for the same lonely path in her future—no soul mate with whom to share her faith, no babies to love, no family to fill up the lonely places in her heart.
Even as sleep took her away, the heaviness remained, hovering in Marcy’s mind until the first light of dawn crept across her windowsill, chasing the shadows away, but not the despair.
It will never happen for you—you will always be alone.
She lay there in her murky malaise, eyes closed and mind drifting somewhere between contemplation and slumber, the room silent except for the faint chatter of squirrels in the large elm outside her window.
And then something moved in the bed and Marcy froze for a split second before she jolted straight up, covers crushed to her chest and eyes spanning wide. The sound of her shallow breathing merged with that of the man beside her and she blinked away the fog of her dream, tears stinging as she stared at her husband.
I honor those who honor Me, the thought came, and Marcy’s hand flew to her mouth as moisture brimmed in her eyes. Oh, Lord, you do, don’t you?
A loud snort erupted from Patrick’s mouth as he turned on his side, dark lashes resting peacefully on his handsome face, and her smile broke through the tears like the sun burst through the dark of night. Ebony curls spilled over his forehead while he snored, his bare chest muscled and strong, rising and falling beneath covers pushed to his waist.
A rush of hot blood toasted her cheeks at the thought of an amorous rogue who now focused all his attentions on her … and only her. His wife, his lover, the other half of his soul.
And soon … the mother of his child. With a tender caress of her flat belly, she lay back down, giddy at the thought of telling Patrick that she carried his seed, his baby, a gift like no other, at least for Marcy. The answer to her prayers—and, she hoped—his, and the beginning of their family. Over a month late and owning every symptom Mother had told her about, she’d hoped to tell Patrick after she went to the doctor, just to make sure. But watching him now, he looked so much like the little boy she longed to have, so innocent in sleep, eyes fringed with the longest lashes God ever gave to a man, that she couldn’t wait to tell him he would soon be a father.
She lay back down on her side, eyes fixed on the single most handsome man she had ever seen. Another dizzy rush of fire swarmed her cheeks. Or touched, she reminded herself with a sweet swirl of heat in her belly. Her gaze scanned from the shadow of dark bristle on his angular jaw down a sculpted torso and arms that had held her close every night for the last three months. The familiar scent of spice and pine and Patrick filled her bed and her senses with delicious memories of a man who kissed her, touched her, loved her like she was his most precious possession in the world. A shy smile tipped on her lips. And, oh Lord, I am! At the thought, a deep rush of joy swelled within, so powerful that it quivered her jaw and flooded her eyes. Even her parents and Mima, so wary of Patrick’s intentions at first, had warmed to this man who had stolen their hearts as quickly as he had stolen Marcy’s.
She stared at him now and her heart trembled at how very close she had come to missing God’s best. Tears brimmed as she reflected on the day of her wedding, when Sam had paid her a visit in the wee hours of the morning for a private goodbye. He’d taken a job in New York, he said, because he loved her too much to stay, and she’d grieved for this man who still owned a piece of her soul. “I love you, Marceline,” he’d whispered, “and I will never forget you,” and despite another man’s ring on her hand, she knew she still cared for him too.
But, oh … how it paled next to the love she now felt for Patrick, so deep and so strong that it ached in her chest. With a silent heave, she pressed her palm to her mouth while tears slipped from her eyes. Oh, Lord—how lucky am I? I married the love of my life!
Beautiful bliss like she’d never known bubbled up before she could stop it, unleashing a giggle on the heels of a joyful sob that lifted her husband’s half-lidded eyes. “Weepin’ again, are you, darlin’,” he whispered, his voice husky with sleep, “over marrying the likes of me?” Not waiting for her answer, he hooked her close with a strong arm and a soft kiss to her hair. “Good mornin’, Marceline,” he whispered. He slowly shifted to secure her body flush with his. “Although I believe it’s about to get better.” He eased her back on the pillow with a languid kiss that all but melted her bones to the bed, his warm breath feathering her cheek while his hand feathered the length of her gown.
She couldn’t help it—a little giggle squeaked out when his mouth wandered to the hollow of her throat and he lifted his head, a glint of the devil in his eye as he delivered a mock scowl. “Laughing at the Southie rogue, are you?” A wicked grin slid across his lips as he dove for her neck. “Oh, darlin’, I’m afraid that’s going to cost you dearly.”
Ticklish to a fault, she squealed when his mouth buried deep in the crook of her neck, their laughter ricocheting off the walls while she thrashed and rolled under the covers. She stilled when he cradled her face in his hands, his kiss so gentle, a heady warmth purled all the way to her toes. Chest heaving, he seemed to drink her in with a gaze that caressed every single part of her face. “I’m desperately in love with you, Marceline,” he whispered, voice hoarse with emotion while the rogue in him gave way to gray eyes so achingly tender, they brought tears to her own. “Deliriously, feverishly, utterly besotted with the most perfect wife God ever gave to a man.” He nuzzled the whole of her mouth. Twining his fingers in her hair, he swallowed hard, a hint of sheen in his eyes. “I adore you, Marcy, and sometimes I can hardly contain the joy that you give … hardly believe that you’re actually mine.”
She traced his shadowed jaw with shaky fingers. “God has been so good to us, hasn’t He?”
A muscle flickered in his jaw as emotion welled in his eyes. “Aye, Marceline,” he said quietly, “more than I ever dreamed and everything I ever hoped.”
A smile curved on her lips. “Not everything,” she whispered, rising to gently sway her lips against his.
He responded with a low groan, taking her mouth with a ferocity that left her breathless. “Tell me, darlin’,” he whispered, trailing the line of her jaw to suckle her ear. “Can you guess what I’m hoping for now?”
Her giggle faded into a moan when his mouth strayed to wander the curve of her throat. “Yes, you hopeless rogue, b-but I believe I can go one b-better,” she stuttered, body humming from his touch.
His lips paused on her skin before he glanced up beneath shuttered lids, slipping her a dangerous smile. “I don’t see how, darlin’.”
Chuckling, she closed her eyes and waited while she chewed on the edge of her grin. “Well, you will, Patrick O’Connor, you mark my words … say, in about eight to nine months or so …?”
She felt his body seize, still as stone before his head lashed up, eyes gaping as wide as his mouth while shallow breaths rasped from his lips. “W-what d-did you say?”
Her grin melted into a tender smile. “I said, God’s about to give us more than we ever hoped for, my love, in about eight to nine months or so.” She scrunched her nose. “Give or take a few.”
A muscle jerked in his throat, and then he pounced with joyous laughter, kissing her so hard, her giggles collided with a moan in her throat. Yanking back, he cupped her face in his hands, smothering her lips, her jaw, her temple with frenzied kisses while his chuckles tickled her cheek. “I honestly didn’t believe you could make me any happier, Marceline, but I was wrong.” He buried his face in the hair that trailed her neck. “Pinch me, darlin’, please, because I swear I’m dreaming.”
“How about I love you instead?” she whispered, the moisture in her eyes a mirror re
flection of his when he rose to meet her gaze.
“Aye,” he said softly, palm caressing her belly before he traced the curve of her lips with the pad of his thumb. “Practice makes perfect, so we best get started.” He gently grazed her mouth with his own, his kiss as tender as the man who held her in his arms. “Because I’ll be looking for twins next year, Mrs. O’Connor, and make no mistake.”
Her lashes flickered closed while her soft laughter wisped against the rasp of his jaw. “We’ll see, Mr. O’Connor,” she whispered, her words dissolving into the joy of his kiss. “We’ll see.”
Acknowledgments
My deepest appreciation and thanks to each of the following who gave of their time and love to work with me on this manuscript—every one of you were a godsend!
To my dear writer friends Cynthia Andreyuk and Sandy Knight for tirelessly poring over this work to make it all it could be, and to sweet Julie Gilmore Graves, who pointed out so many things during my blog tour, that I just may hire the woman next time!
To Natasha Kern, agent extraordinaire and dear friend—what a blessing you are in my life! To the Seekers—sisters all—and especially Mary Connealy, whose name in the endorsement on the cover of this book will sell far more copies than mine.
To my faithful prayer partners in life, Karen, Pat and Joy and to those in my world of writing, Laura Frantz and MaryLu Tyndall—your precious friendships are made all the sweeter with prayer.
My heartfelt gratitude to my daughter-in-law Katie, who despite a ridiculous schedule, took the time to proof it for me as well. And to my daughter Amy whose prayers and support shored me up all the way and whose face on the cover of this book made it as special to me as it is beautiful.