Blaine Gallagher turned on his heel. "May I offer you a glass of port?"
She nodded and sat down as he shot a look in Rigan's direction. "Don't just stand there, Rigan, pour your fiancee a glass of wine so we can raise a toast."
Charity observed the tension twitching in Rigan's face when he handed her the glass. She met his eyes and smiled. His jaw softened. He bent to kiss her cheek, then stood and proposed a toast. "To Charity O'Connor, the woman who will soon make me the luckiest man in the world."
Blaine lifted his wine in salute and downed half of it. He licked his lips, then pressed them tight. "Luck certainly seems to play a hand in your good fortune, Rigan, but I would prefer you'd earn some of it as well." He flashed Charity a warm smile. "Rigan tells us your father is the editor of the Boston Herald."
Charity took a large sip of wine, hoping it would quell her nerves. "Yes, Mr. Gallagher, he was promoted to editor shortly after he returned from the war."
Mrs. Gallagher leaned forward. "You mean to tell me your father fought in the war?"
"Yes, ma'am, he did, along with my brother and-" She stopped, aware of their scrutiny. She shifted in the chair. "Actually, we were informed by the military that he'd been killed, but thankfully it was a miscommunication."
Olivia put a slender hand to her chest. "Your poor mother! "
"Yes, but all ended well. My father and brother returned safely, and Mother sailed back to Boston, along with my three sisters and younger brother. I offered to stay behind to help my grandmother care for my great-grandmother."
Rigan smiled and lifted his glass. "And to marry me, of course."
Charity smiled. "Of course."
With a fresh drink in hand, Blaine settled into a plush chair. "Rumor has it that your sister was engaged to one of my best employees."
The port pooled in her mouth. She swallowed hard. "Yes, my sister was engaged to Mitch Dennehy last year, but she broke it off."
He smiled, twiddling the glass in his hand. "Pity. Such an admirable man to be so unlucky in love." He swallowed half of his wine in one sip. His eyes flicked in Rigan's direction, their umber shade darkening to brown. "I suppose you could say he's the son I never had."
"Blaine, please!" Olivia perched on the edge of her chair, her eyes pleading.
Rigan chugged the drink in his hand. "Don't bother, Mother, nothing you say is going to change his mind."
A deep dimple gouged Blaine's chiseled chin as he laughed. "The son I never had in the business sense, of course." He glanced at Charity, his brows arched in question. "Heir to the largest newspaper in Ireland, but does that inspire him? No, I'm afraid our Rigan prefers the good life and plenty of it."
"Blaine, can't we please change the subject?"
"I'll change it, Mother," Fiona said, her boredom obviously forgotten. She leaned forward on the settee. Her eyes suddenly glowed with interest. "I understand you work as a clerk in a shop."
"Not just any shop, Fee, Shaw's Emporium," Rigan said with a frown. "Charity is Mrs. Shaw's top sales clerk."
Her lips twisted in a near sympathetic smile. "But a clerk, nonetheless. That must be dreadful standing on your feet all day, waiting on people who spend more in five minutes than you make in a year."
Charity stiffened in the chair, chin rising. "Not at all. I enjoy my work immensely and find it rewarding-and empowering-to earn my own way."
"Bravo, Charity!" Blaine placed his empty glass on the table and stood to his feet to applaud. "But, alas, I'm afraid your commendable appreciation for work falls on deaf ears with Fiona and Rigan. It seems the silver spoons in their mouths have more metal than their spines."
"Blaine darling, please, must you-"
The mirth in his eyes cooled to contempt. "Yes, darling, I must. And it would behoove you to mind your tongue with your husband."
"Really, Father. . ." Fiona rose from the settee in a huff, unloading her empty glass into Bennett's ready hand. "Shouldn't we be heading into dinner? I'm ravenous."
"Yes, shall we?" Blaine turned and strode for the door, leaving his wife little choice but to rise and shadow behind. Rigan alleviated Charity of her glass and offered his arm. She stood and took it, holding on for dear life. He smiled and pressed his lips to her ear. "Ready for dinner?" he whispered.
"Absolutely." She squeezed his arm and managed a tentative smile, although her appetite had long since faded. She sucked in a deep breath as they followed the others from the room. "As long as I'm not the main course."
Rigan yanked the massive doors closed with a deafening slam. Music to her ears! Charity finally breathed, releasing hours of tension in one cleansing sigh. She filled her lungs with the crisp, night air and turned her attention to the problem at hand.
Rigan.
Bracing him tightly with an arm to his waist, she carefully guided him down one marble step at a time. "I've never seen you drink this much before," she muttered, following it with a grunt as he veered off course.
His bitter laughter echoed in the still night. "Ah, but you've never seen me with my family before, my love. Quite an experience, wouldn't you say?"
Rigan lunged for her car door and opened it wide. "Your carriage, my lady."
"Are you sure you're up to driving? Perhaps we should ask Robert to drive me home."
"Nonsense, I'm perfectly fine." He stumbled to his side of the car to get in and fumbled with the ignition switch. He cursed before managing to push the advance lever down. The Rolls lurched away from the entry and puttered down the cobblestone drive.
"So," he said with an exaggerated drawl, "you survived, even if I didn't."
Charity jolted in the seat. "Rigan, the gate!"
He jerked the wheel. The car swerved wildly, narrowly missing the corner of an imposing granite column embedded with an open iron gate.
He chuckled. "Close call, eh, my love?"
Charity sagged into the leather seat, her heart still thumping in her chest. "A bit too close, Rigan. Please keep your eyes on the road."
"Your wish is my command."
She exhaled slowly, studying his profile out of the corner of her eye. His lean face and angular jaw, so like his father's, were as finely sculpted as one of the marble statues littering the house. She forced herself to relax. "Your father certainly runs the show, doesn't he?"
His deep laugh was menacing, reminiscent of the pirate he so often brought to mind. "Oh, you noticed, did you? Yes, Father is famous for cracking the whip." He afforded a brief glimpse in her direction. "Or the hand, whatever the case may be."
Charity shivered.
"Are you cold?" He extended an arm.
She stiffened, upright once again. "No, Rigan, keep your hand on the wheel, please."
He obliged, gripping both hands to negotiate a turn. The tires squealed.
She folded her arms to her waist, her eyes on the road. "Well, he does appear to be quite driven, which I suppose is understandable for someone who has worked his way to the top."
Rigan appeared to get a good chuckle out of that. "Darling, I think you mean 'wormed' his way to the top."
She shifted, chancing a peek at his face. -1 don't understand. He's at the helm of one of the most influential newspapers in the world, affording a lifestyle few have attained."
"Yes, I suppose you could credit him with the success of the Times, but that hardly pays the bills for his extravagant tastes."
"What do you mean?"
He grinned. "I mean he married well, darling. Much as you're about to do."
"Rigan!"
His dark brows slanted in contrition. "As am I, 1 most heartily assure you. You possess the kind of beauty my father has only dreamed about."
"Your mother is a lovely person."
"Yes, she has a good heart. But after tonight, sampling just a taste of the Gallaghers, surely you know why he married her? She was the only child of one of the wealthiest widowers in Britain, who, I might add, has conveniently passed away."
Charity was aghast. "That's heartbreaking!"
&n
bsp; He slid her a sideways glance. "Is it? Yes, I suppose it is. But then I'm used to it."
She shivered again and bit her lip. "Fiona doesn't like me."
"Fiona doesn't like anyone. Not even Bennett."
"I can certainly understand that. Bennett gives me the jitters."
Rigan chuckled. "Just see to it he doesn't try to give you anything else. He's notorious for womanizing. He apprenticed under my father."
A chill skittered down her spine. "Do they live there too?"
"Yes, we're all one big, happy family. And never happier than when Bennett and my father get a daily feast of you."
Charity's heart stopped. "Your father ... he wouldn't ... well, he wouldn't. . ."
"Make a pass?" Rigan's laughter bounced off the walls of the car with a sickening grate. "I'd be disappointed if he didn't. But then, that's the beauty of our union, my love. Not only do I get to ravage one of the most beautiful women I've ever seen, but my father gets to stand by and watch, knowing his son has finally bested him."
"Rigan, that's sick."
He coasted to a stop in front of her grandmother's house, jerking the advance lever all the way up. He switched the ignition off and turned in the seat with a dangerous glint in his eye. "Yes, it is, darling, but you'll get used to it. We Gallagher men have an insatiable lust for beauty."
Charity reached for the door. "No need to walk me in. Go home and get some sleep. And promise you'll drive slowly."
He chuckled and hauled her into his arms, his breath hot on her face.
She turned her head from the smell of stale whiskey. "Rigan, please! I'm tired and you need to go home."
He ignored her and smothered her neck with kisses while his hands explored her body.
She shoved him away. "No! I will not be familiar with you until the gold band's on my finger."
He jerked her left hand in the air, then pressed the diamond close to her face. "This is on your finger, isn't it, darling? That should afford me more than a few tame kisses, don't you think?"
She hurled his hand away and reached for the door. He wrenched her forward and twisted her arm behind her back. A weak cry escaped her throat.
"You're hurting me. Stop! You're acting just like your father."
His eyes gleamed in the lamplight as he loomed over her. "And in the words of my father, It would behoove you to mind your tongue with your husband.'" He gripped the back of her neck and plunged her lips with his own while his fingers gouged her shoulders with pain.
She grew faint, unable to breathe. Pain forced a groan that died in her throat, and panic seized in her chest. His hands, which wandered her body with reckless abandon, seemed distant and removed, as if the body they violated were not her own. A dark dizziness closed in, weighting her lids and her brain with the desire to sleep.
He broke free, and a rush of cool air surged into her lungs. She coughed, and the putrid contents of her partially digested dinner coated her throat. She felt his fingers cutting into her arms, shaking her till she rattled. "Charity, are you all right? Darling, I ... I lost my head with passion. Forgive me, please."
He bundled her into his arms and attempted to soothe her with a rocking motion. "Darling, my desire for you is so strong, I can hardly control myself from devouring you. But once we're married and I can have you completely, our lovemaking will be more gentle, I promise." He began to button her coat, which he had undone, and propped her upright on the seat like a little girl. "It's time we get you to bed."
He kissed her on the cheek and staggered out of the car, quickly opening her door and helping her out. She continued to draw in deep breaths while he walked her to the porch. He put his hands on her shoulders and brushed a sodden kiss across her lips. I love you, Charity. I can't wait until I can really take you home. Forever. Good night, darling."
He opened the door and steered her in, quietly closing it behind her. In a daze, she slumped back against the door and pressed her head hard against the wood.
Home. Forever.
She thought of the Gallagher Estate and shivered.
Of Boston, and put her hand to her eyes.
Of Ireland, and began to cry.
Home. Forever. There was no such thing.
Charity lifted her head at the sound of a gentle knock on her bedroom door.
"Charity, it's Emma. May I come in?"
"Yes." Charity plopped her head on the pillow.
The door creaked open and Emma peeked in. Her good brow tipped up in concern. "Are you all right? Mrs. Shaw said you called in sick. I was worried. You've never done that before."
Charity rolled on her side and sniffed. "I've been feeling nauseous and achy all day, sore to the touch. I think I'm coming down with something." She glanced at the clock on her nightstand and groaned. "Oh, no, please, I can't do it."
"Do what?"
Charity flopped facedown on her pillow and draped her arm over her head. "See Rigan tonight. It's almost five forty-five, and he's supposed to be here at seven."
"I can call him for you if you want. Tell him you're sick."
The arm shifted and one eye peered out. "You would do that?"
Emma moved to perch on the edge of the bed. "Of course, silly. You're sick, aren't you?"
Charity curled up and bunched the pillow to her chest. She rested her chin on top, avoiding Emma's eyes. "Yes, I haven't been right all day. I think I may have a fever." She looked up. "Was Mrs. Shaw mad?"
Emma giggled and tucked a leg beneath her. "First day of inventory? Absolutely livid."
A grin pulled at Charity's lips. "That's sure to cost me doubletime tomorrow."
"Think you'll be well enough to go in?" Emma cocked her head. She reached and pressed a palm to Charity's forehead. "Mmmm. Cool as Mrs. Shaw's back room." She folded her arms and arched her brows. "Are you sure you were sick?"
Charity chewed on her lip and absently fiddled with the silk tie of her flannel nightgown. "I actually feel much better now." She pushed the covers aside and lumbered out of bed. "Can you stay for supper?"
"That would be nice. Rory said not to wait up, which means I won't see him at all."
"That's been happening a lot lately, hasn't it?" Charity glanced over her shoulder, a skirt and blouse bunched in her hands.
Emma looked away. "More than usual."
"Is he seeing someone again?"
"I think so." Emma slumped, her voice barely a whisper.
The bed squeaked as Charity sat beside her. She hooked an arm around her friend's shoulder. "Well, I wish I could say I was sorry, Emma, but I'm not. Because when Rory is occupied elsewhere, he doesn't abuse you physically."
Emma sighed. "No. Just emotionally." Her head suddenly shot up and she grabbed Charity's left hand. "Wait! I can't believe I forgot. Did you get the ring?"
"Yes."
"Well, don't just sit there, let me see it! Did you meet his family too?"
With a stiff nod, Charity stood and reached in the drawer. She hesitated, then slipped the diamond on her finger. A touch of nausea returned. She turned and extended her hand.
"Sweet saints alive, do diamonds really come that big? That had to cost a blimey fortune."
Charity angled her hand, studying the glittering stone. Her lips twisted in a wry smile. "Yes, well, they certainly have a blimey fortune."
A giggle parted from Emma's lips as she plunked back down on the bed and circled her knee with her arms. "So you met his family? What are they like? Did you like them?"
"Not really. They're very strange, not normal at all, which certainly gives me more insight into Rigan." She tossed the blouse and skirt on the bed, then tugged on the silk tie of her nightgown. The flaps fell away from her throat.
"Charity!"
Charity blinked, alarmed by the pallor of her friend's face. "What is it?"
Emma sprang up from the bed. Her finger quivered as she gently touched a purple bruise above Charity's collarbone. Her voice was barely audible. "How did this happen?"
She rushed to
the mirror and loosened her gown, dropping it off her shoulders. Air trapped in her throat. "Oh, God, help me..."
"What happened? Did you fall?" Emma ran to her side, her face etched in shock.
Charity shook her head, staring at the spattering of ugly bruises that mottled her shoulders and chest. With quivering fingers, she dropped the gown to the floor.
Emma gasped. "Lord help us, did he beat you?"
Her mouth opened, but nothing came out. Her stomach seized with queasiness. Black-and-blue blotches marred every inch of her torso, causing bile to rise in her throat. She stood like discolored stone while Emma stooped and picked up her nightgown, slowly pulling it up to cover her shoulders. She began to shake. "I've been achy all day, sore to the touch. I didn't realize ..."
"Charity, did Rigan beat you?"
She struggled to respond, her mind in a fog. "No, he ... he was kissing me and he ..." Tears stung her eyes. "He got carried away, he said, overly passionate ..."
For once, Emma's voice was hard. "This isn't passion, Charity, it's abuse."
She squeezed her eyes shut, not wanting to face the truth of Emma's words. "He told me he was sorry, that his desire for me is so ... strong, that he couldn't control himself. That once we were married, he'd be more gentle. He promised."
"Look at me, Charity, please."
She opened her eyes.
"This isn't normal. This isn't what love is supposed to be. Something's desperately wrong." Emma reached for Charity's hand. "You can't marry him."
Charity dropped on the bed and put her hand to her head, the diamond weighting her finger like a glittering albatross. Her forehead was suddenly clammy with sweat. "I ... I know, Emma, but I don't know what to do." She looked up with pleading eyes. "I thought it was an answer, a way to turn Mitch's head. And if Mitch didn't want me, I thought I could learn ... to love Rigan."
"You have to tell him."
Her stomach squeezed with fear. "I ... I can't."
Emma sat down and clutched Charity's arm. "You can and you will. I won't let you stay in a relationship that threatens your safety."