A Passion Denied

  Lizzie bit her lip. “How long?”

  “A year, just like Faith and Collin.”

  “A year?” Tears started to well all over again. “No, Father, please—six months.”

  “Absolutely not—”

  “But Charity and Mitch got married the day after he arrived—”

  “That’s because Mitch Dennehy has no patience whatsoever and took it upon himself without letting anyone know.”

  “Don’t force me to elope, Father . . .”

  Patrick gave her a narrow gaze, working his jaw back and forth as he contemplated her fate. He released a tired groan. “You’ve been spending way too much time with Charity, Lizzie. You’re starting to pick up some of her bad habits.” He sighed. “Six months, then.”

  “From today.”

  He jutted a brow. “Don’t push it, young lady. I’m still your father.”

  She grinned and threw herself into his arms, hugging his neck. “Oh, Father, I love you! And you’re going to love Michael, I just know it.”

  “It’s not my loving him that has me worried, darlin’. But if he’s the man God has in mind, then I’m sure I’ll like him just fine.” He tapped her on the knee. “Move over.”

  She scooted up on the arm and waited for him to settle back into his chair before she leaned back once again. He pulled her close, cherishing this moment when he could pray with his daughter, knowing full well that the burden for her well-being would shift from his shoulders to God’s. He closed his eyes and began to pray—for God’s direction in her life, for wisdom and for peace, and for the grace to get through it all.

  When he was done, he squeezed her shoulder and kissed her on the head. He lifted the hand with the diamond and studied it with a wary eye. “It certainly is obscene-looking. Must have cost a small fortune.” He hesitated while a shadow of a smile quirked the corners of his mouth. “And to be honest, I feel sorry for Mitch.”

  Lizzie gave him a quizzical smile. “Mitch? Why?”

  Patrick yawned and lumbered to his feet, stretching his arms high over his head. “Because when Charity sees that rock on your finger, darlin’, she won’t be giving him a moment’s peace until she has one as big or bigger.”

  Lizzie giggled. “Oh, Father, she’s not that bad.”

  Patrick chuckled and doused the light. He curled an arm around Lizzie’s shoulder as they headed from the room. “No, darlin’, she’s worse.”

  16

  Sleep. All he wanted was sleep. Mitch brushed his teeth in slow, methodic rhythm, eyes closed because he could barely keep them open. Between the Herald, the twins, and Charity, his energy reserve was dangerously low, so much so he doubted if even his wife could stir him tonight.

  Two silky arms embraced him from behind, fingers circling on his bare stomach just above the pull tie of his pajama bottoms. His eyes flipped open. He felt the press of Charity’s breasts against his back as she feathered his shoulder blade with soft little kisses.

  He moaned. “Charity, my body is exhausted, and yours should be too.”

  “Not yet, darling, but I bet you can manage it.”

  He gulped a quick drink of water and spit it out, dropping his toothbrush in the sink. He spun around to ward her off, hands pinned to her shoulders. “Come on, little girl, the twins had us both up most of last night and all I want to do is sleep.”

  “No problem. Sleep it is.” She tugged at the silky tie of her satin nightgown and turned toward the door, slipping one strap off a shoulder and then the other.

  Mitch grabbed the back of her gown from behind and hiked it back up before it could hit the floor. “What the devil are you doing?” he rasped.

  She smiled over her shoulder. “I could ask you the same thing. I thought you were tired.”

  He jerked the straps back into place and whirled her around, hands locked on her arms. “Look, Charity, I love you to pieces, you know that. But please, I need my sleep tonight.”

  She stroked his cheek and smiled. “I told you it was no problem, darling.”

  “Then what the devil were you doing?”

  “Getting ready for bed.”

  “By taking your nightgown off?”

  She hunched her shoulders. “Just felt like sleeping without it tonight, that’s all.”

  He moaned. “You know I can’t sleep like that.”

  She grinned. “I know.” She folded her arms across her chest, blue eyes twinkling. “But maybe we can strike a deal.”

  Mitch swabbed a hand over bleary eyes. “God help me.”

  “Now, hear me out. You’re tired and so am I. But there is another way you can demonstrate your love for me.”

  He sighed and folded his arms. “And what might that be?”

  She held up her left hand and studied her diamond ring. “You know, we were in such a rush when we got married, that we just grabbed the first ring we saw.” She squinted and cocked her head. “Kind of a shame my little sister’s ring is bigger than mine, don’t you think?”

  He scooped her close and groaned. “No! And speaking of rings, when did all of this happen, anyway? I knew Michael was interested, but I thought Lizzie was in all-fire love with Brady, for pity’s sake. Now she’s engaged to his brother?”

  Charity scowled and laid her head against his chest, neatly derailed from her original line of thinking. “I know, but it’s Brady’s own fault. He’s made it pretty clear that Lizzie would never be more than a sister to him, so what do you expect? Michael’s here every week, patiently biding his time and slowly winning her heart. I don’t blame her a bit for wanting to move on. I certainly would.”

  It was Mitch’s turn to scowl. He tightened his hold. “Yeah, I know. You’re just lucky I came after you before you made a real mess of your life.”

  She sighed against his chest. “I know,” she whispered, her tone almost reverent in agreement. “But apparently Lizzie won’t be so lucky. Brady’s lost her, Mitch, and it really makes me sad.”

  “Does he even know . . . about the engagement, I mean?”

  “No, he’s out of town with Michael, but she plans to tell him when he gets back. I suspect he’ll take it pretty hard, but he’ll have no choice. Lizzie will be his sister-in-law, not his wife, and he alone bears the blame for that.” She sighed again. “He’s going to need a lot of prayer. I suspect they all will.”

  He kissed the top of her head. “Trust me, in this family they’ll be well covered. Well, he certainly has the means to take care of her. You think they’ll live in New York or Boston?”

  “Boston, if my prayers have anything to say about it, but I don’t think they’ve discussed any of the details yet.” Her head tilted up. “Nice job of changing the subject, Dennehy, but it won’t work.”

  “Come on, Charity, a bigger ring won’t make you happy.”

  She nuzzled his chest with her lips. “It might.”

  He swept his hands up the sides of her waist, and his energy suddenly rekindled. Tipping her chin up with his finger, he kissed her lightly on the mouth. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back, drawing a moan from his lips. He picked her up in his arms and carried her to their bed, suddenly wide awake. “No ring, little girl,” he whispered in her ear, “but I can certainly honor your first request.”

  She giggled and stroked his cheek. “But you were tired, remember? And you didn’t shave tonight, did you?”

  He flipped the covers back and laid her down on the bed. “Nope. I had sleep on my mind, if you recall.”

  She grinned and bit her lip. “I do. It’s okay. A little razor burn won’t hurt.”

  He headed to the bathroom. “Nope, won’t take a minute. Don’t go anywhere.”

  She leaned back and extended one arm behind, head in her hand. Stretching to full advantage, she slithered one shoulder strap down for effect. “I’d make it quick, if I were you.”

  He hurried to the sink and hurled the medicine chest open with a bang, fumbling for his shaving cream. He thought of his wife, posing on their bed,
and the blood started pumping in his veins. He grinned in the mirror, skimming the razor across his jaw in record time. She was a vixen through and through, but she was all his, and he thanked God he’d finally come to his senses and married her. He splashed warm water in his face and reached for a towel, drying his face before slapping the bathroom light out. He hurried to their bed . . . and stopped.

  She lay deathly still on her back, one strap off her shoulder and one arm limp overhead. Her full lips emitted tiny puffs of air every time she breathed, indicating she was sound asleep. He blinked. Awake or asleep, she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever known. His lips twisted. Although at the moment, he preferred her awake.

  He walked over and pulled the cover up to her chin, then reached down to press a soft kiss to her lips. She moaned and turned on her side, the little puffs commencing once again. He turned out her light, then shuffled to his side of the bed and slipped under the sheet with a heavy sigh. Life with Charity was never boring. Even if he didn’t get much sleep.

  The crash of shattering glass sounded from the open bathroom down the hall, and Faith glanced up, hairbrush halted in hand and still cleaving to her scalp. A hiss that sounded dangerously close to a swear word reached her ears. She chewed on her lip. “Oh, goodness, I didn’t leave my lilac water on the back of the commode again, did I?” she called loudly, knowing full well that she had.

  She heard another questionable phrase followed by the clinking of glass in the wastebasket before her husband appeared in the door, towel tied at his waist and fisting a soggy rag. The sweet scent of lilacs floated into the room, belying the heat in his eyes. And not the usual heat she saw when he came to their bed.

  “Collin, I am sooo sorry! I know it belongs in the closet, but the hot bath seems to rob me of every thought in my head.” Charity, help me, she thought, gnawing on her lip again. She gave him a half smile, then made a poor attempt at batting her eyes. “Every thought but you, that is.”

  He stood in an aura of lilacs, muscles tight and slick from his bath while little rivulets of water dribbled from his dark head. The strain in his face was as tight as the towel clenched low on his hips, a sure sign she didn’t have Charity’s skill.

  His eyes narrowed. “Knock it off, Faith. I married you, not Charity. Although I may question that decision if I see that blasted lilac water one more time.”

  She placed the brush on her vanity and rushed to his side, tugging at the noxious rag in his hand. “I won’t do it again, I promise. Let me clean it up, please.”

  His lips flattened. “Already did. Although God knows it doesn’t smell like it. You might want to buy another fragrance. This one is losing its effect . . . fast.”

  She smiled and scooped an arm around his waist, pressing a soft kiss to his moist chest. “I will, Collin, I promise. Now hurry and get ready for bed so I can make it up to you.”

  He stroked her cheek, but his tone was flat. “Not tonight, Little Bit, please. I’m not in the mood.”

  She faltered back. “Not in the mood?” She stared, unable to believe Collin McGuire had even uttered the words. “I didn’t think that phrase was in your vocabulary.”

  No smile, no smirk, no nothing. “Sorry, Faith, but all I want to do is sleep.” He kissed her head. “You go to bed, okay? I’ll be in shortly.” He turned and disappeared into the bathroom once again, this time shutting the door behind him.

  Faith shuffled to their bed in a near stupor and turned out the light. He’d told her about moods like this in his past, moods where he’d wrestled with bouts of depression, but she had never seen them in almost three years of marriage. Unless they were embroiled in a rare fight, Collin was always up, always ready to tease, always ready to . . .

  She slipped under the covers with a shiver, reflecting on his behavior, wondering when the malaise had set in. She’d noticed he’d been quiet all night, but he’d been fine this morning before he’d left for work, and great over the weekend, especially with the new hire working out so well. Sunday night dinner with the family had been good, although he had seemed a bit edgy on the way home. She rolled on her side and closed her eyes, deep in thought. All at once her lids popped open and she caught her breath. Lizzie and Michael—of course! The engagement. That had to be it. His mood had shifted right after dinner, with Lizzie’s visit.

  Faith sat up and pushed the hair from her eyes. The news had shocked everyone, of course, although it really shouldn’t have been a surprise. Lizzie was tired of pining over Brady, she’d made no bones about that. And Michael’s intentions had certainly become clear over the last month, his focus on both God and Lizzie escalated considerably. Faith leaned back against the headboard and chewed on her thumbnail. She just hoped it was for real. She liked Michael well enough, but none of them had known him for more than a few months. She sighed. At least they would have six months to pray about it and get to know him better.

  She heard the bathroom door squeal open in a shaft of light that immediately went to black. Collin padded to the bed and got in, ignoring Faith as she sat up in the shadows.

  “I thought you were going to sleep,” he mumbled. He closed his eyes and stretched the length of the bed.

  “Couldn’t sleep. Not when I know something is bothering you.”

  “Go to bed, Faith. I’m fine.”

  “No, you’re not. I’ve never seen you like this. Depressed. Withdrawn. Talk to me Collin, please.”

  “Nothing to talk about. I’m just in a mood.”

  “You’re upset about Lizzie, aren’t you? About the engagement.”

  He turned on his side, his back to her as he adjusted his head on the pillow. “I’m tired and I don’t want to talk. I love you. Go to bed.”

  She slithered down under the covers and nestled up against him, circling his waist with her arm. “I love you too, Collin, which is why we need to talk. If not to air your frustration, then at least to pray.”

  She felt the swell of his chest as he drew in a deep breath and exhaled. “Pray, then.”

  “Are you worried about Brady?”

  “Faith!”

  “Sorry! Dear Lord, we come before you tonight to lift up my husband and this upset that he is obviously experiencing. Help him to trust you and find your peace in the midst of whatever is bothering him tonight. Give him sweet sleep, Lord, as you promise in your Word—”

  “Pray for Brady.” His whisper was harsh in the dark.

  She hesitated. “Collin, he’ll be fine—”

  “Pray!” he rasped, the tension of his command tightening his stomach beneath her hand.

  “And, God, we pray for Brady. We know this news will come as a shock, but help him to get past it and to be happy for Lizzie and his brother—”

  He whirled around, the whites of his eyes expanded in anger. “No! Pray for strength, not to get past it, but to . . .” He stopped. The anger slowly faded from his face. He dropped back on the pillow and closed his eyes.

  She grabbed his arm. “Collin, what’s wrong? Why are you acting like this? And how are we supposed to pray for Brady? To do what?”

  “I can’t tell you.”

  “Why not?”

  He mauled his face with the palms of his hands, fingers sweeping up into his wet hair. “I promised.”

  Faith sat up, flecks of irritation prickling her tone. “You’ve broken promises before, Collin. It’s not your strong suit, you know.”

  His eyes blazed open, glinting with anger. “I swore to him, all right? Is that good enough for you?”

  “Collin, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to push. I’m just worried about you. But whatever this is, I’d like to be specific when I pray. I won’t tell Lizzie, if that’s what you’re worried about—”

  “I said no! Just pray, Faith—now—for strength for Brady to do the right thing. Or I will. Then, please, just let me go to sleep.”

  She stared for several seconds, then slowly lay down beside him, cradling his chest with her arm. “Lord God, your Word says you have not given us t
he spirit of fear, but of power, and love and a sound mind. We ask right now that you cast fear out of both my husband and John Brady, and give them peace. Give Brady the power, the love, and the sound mind to do what you want him to do. Strengthen him in this situation, Lord, and see him through. Your Word says all things work together for good for those who love God and are called according to his purpose. That’s John Brady to the letter, Lord, so please, work this out for his good. In Jesus’ name. Amen.”

  She felt the tension siphon from her husband’s body. She closed her eyes and gently stroked his chest. His heart was pounding beneath the heat of her hand. “Good night, Collin,” she whispered. “I love you.”

  “Good night, Faith. I love you too.”

  The closer they got to Forest Hills, the farther up his throat his breakfast seemed to climb. Or maybe it was bile. Either way, Brady didn’t have a good taste in his mouth, but then shame had always left a bitter bite on his tongue. He stared straight ahead as they drove, stiff and tense as Michael’s Packard glided along curving cobblestone streets lined with stately trees, manicured parks, and picture-perfect squares. He remembered all too well the home of his youth, with its lush landscaping and wrought-iron streetlamps resembling old English lanterns. Fancy brick mansions with regal towers and imposing spires, resplendent with ivy that gleamed in the sun. All carefully designed to reflect the elegance and charm of the finest garden communities of England. Beautiful on the outside, deadly on the inside. At least in his case. A shiver traveled his spine. Whited sepulchers, full of dead men’s bones.

  He stole a glance at Michael out of the corner of his eye. His brother was dressed to the nines in a gray Norfolk suit with belted waist and matching driving cap, one arm draped casually over his door while he steered his cherry-red roadster with the other. Not a strand of his hair, carefully slicked back in the Valentino style of the day, ruffled in the cool breeze. Unlike Brady’s longer cut, which flapped in the wind, void of all hair cream.