A Passion Denied (42 page)

Brady waited, his breathing little more than a halting pattern of shallow air as he thought about Michael kissing Beth. With a fresh rush of ire, he pounded on the door until his fist was numb from the effort, ignoring the sound of doors opening behind him down the hall.

“What the devil is going on . . .” Michael’s door lashed open in a tirade of expletives, underscoring the unwelcome disruption of his sleep. His glare turned to shock as he stared, obviously caught off guard in rumpled silk pajamas, with bleary eyes and a growth of bristle on his tightly pressed jaw. He blinked. “John! What the devil are you doing here?”

“You win, Michael. Leave her alone and I’ll sign the papers.”

“What?”

“You heard me. I’ll sign the papers. You and Helena can have it all—the printing business, the house, the estate—only give me your word you’ll leave Beth alone.”

Michael scoured his face with his hand, avoiding Brady’s eyes. “It’s not that easy anymore, John. I’m in love with her.”

The words detonated Brady’s anger like the flick of a grenade. He fisted Michael by his silk shoulders and slammed him hard against the oak door. “The devil you are! I know you. To you she’s just another pretty face, a means to get to me. Let her go, Michael. I’ll give you everything you want.”

Michael pushed back, ramming Brady against the doorjamb with a grunt. He readied his stance, fists raised and eyes glinting. “You don’t know me, little brother, any more than you know yourself. You could have avoided all of this, but instead you harbored ill feelings from the past despite your oh-so-noble relationship with God. You had her—all to yourself—but your warped pride kept you away—from Lizzie and from me. I wanted you to sign, it’s true, but I also wanted to become brothers again, John, but your sick perspective wouldn’t allow that.”

The painful blast of Michael’s words caused Brady to falter back in shock, his brother’s neatly placed barb depleting his fury.
Dear God, he’s right.
His own unwillingness to let go of the past had imprisoned him, kept him from Beth’s love and restoration with his brother. Even now, he could feel the bitterness roiling in his stomach, in defiance of the God who had called him to forgive.

Lucille.
He closed his eyes and tasted the hate on his tongue for the woman who had stolen his past. The woman who was trying to steal his future.

No, my son.

The sense of the Spirit was so strong that Brady flinched against the door, opening his eyes to his estranged brother, an unlikely bearer of the truth. Cold realization prickled through him like shards of glass, severing the lies he had believed far too long. It wasn’t Lucille who had stolen his past, nor Lucille who was trying to steal his future. It was sin that had robbed him of the hope and blessing of God in his life.

Sin, and only sin.

First, Lucille’s.

And then his.

Brady listed against the door and put his head in his hands.
God forgive me.

He’d thought he’d dealt with the hate, on his own and then again with Father Mac, but for the first time, he could clearly see he’d been deceived. Running away had only dulled it, convincing him he no longer bore a grudge. But Lucille still haunted him from the grave, shackled by the tentacles of his own hate. A hate that prevented him from giving his love to Beth . . . and granting the kinship his brother deserved.

Sorrow pricked his eyes. “Forgive me, Michael, you’re right. My sick perspective on Lucille . . . my hate for her . . . was my own choice, my own sin. It kept me from loving Beth the way I should and from giving you and Helena the simple courtesy of procuring your rightful inheritance. Please forgive me.”

Michael slowly lowered his fists and exhaled. “I forgive you, John. If Lucille had done to me what she did to you, I don’t know that I’d forgive her either.” He stepped back and nodded toward the elaborate parlor of his guest suite. “You want to come in?”

Brady shook his head. “No, thanks. If you don’t mind, we’ll have plenty of time to talk in New York.”

Michael’s brow jutted high. “You’ll come? Even though you know how I feel about Lizzie?”

Brady released a halting breath. “Yeah. On one condition.”

Michael folded his arms and cocked against the door. “What?”

“I’m in love with her, Michael. Have been for a long time. And she loves me, too, you know that.”

Michael’s eyes narrowed. “So?”

“So, I’m asking you to give me time. I’ll return to New York and sign anything you want. Only you have to give me your word to stay away from Beth for one month. After that, she’s fair game. And we remain on good terms as brothers.”

“And what if I don’t?”

“Then I don’t sign, you never see me again, and I ask Beth to marry me tonight, dealing you a triple loss.”

Michael stood to his full height, fists clenched at his sides. “Don’t be so sure she’ll say yes, little brother. We’ve gotten very close.”

Brady worked at restraining his anger, his jaw tight. “So I’ve heard. Do we have a deal?”

Michael rested his hands on his hips and lowered his head, studying the paisley carpet as if weighing his chances. He glanced up at Brady, his eyes in a squint. “Why a month? Why not go head-to-head? Afraid you’ll lose?”

Brady kneaded the back of his neck, eyeing his brother with cool composure. “Because I want to take it slow. I don’t want to hurt her again.”

“In case you can’t? Love her as a woman, I mean?”

Blood shot straight to Brady’s cheeks. His arms stiffened at his sides, and a nerve twitched in his jaw. “You don’t make this brother thing easy. Give me your answer—
now
!”

Michael grinned. “Okay, John, you have a deal. When do we leave?”

“I have your word? You’ll stay away for a full month, from the day I sign the papers?”

“I’ll give you my word I’ll try—”

“No, Michael. I want your word you
will
stay away from Beth. For a solid month.”

Michael studied him with a curious gaze and then slowly smiled. “Sure, little brother, I’ll stay away from
Beth
. For a solid month.”

Brady released a shaky breath. “Okay. Then we leave on Monday morning. Pick me up at the shop in that fancy car of yours—nine a.m. sharp.” Brady turned to leave.

Michael grabbed his arm. “Wait a minute. This is Saturday, and Lizzie’s babysitting for Charity tonight. And she told me she’s busy all day tomorrow.”

Brady’s lips flickered in a near smile. “Yeah, I know. She’s going fishing with Cluny and me, then out to dinner. Should be a fairly late night, I think. Goodbye, Michael.”

“But when am I supposed to tell her goodbye?”

Brady glanced at his watch. “Well, you can always say goodbye in the vestibule of church on Sunday. Or in about two hours, she has a thirty-minute lunch break at Bookends, then about half that much time before she, Mary, and Millie go to Charity’s to babysit.” Brady grinned. “Twins can be a lot of trouble, you know.”

Michael’s smile turned sour. “Yeah, I know—firsthand.”

With a scowl and a flick of his silk-sleeved arm, he promptly slammed the door, fanning Brady’s face with a most satisfying breeze.

15

Brady was a nervous wreck. He paced back and forth from his kitchen to the parlor in clipped, jerky strides sure to make Miss Hercules dizzy as she moped on the floor, eyes tracking his every move.

“Cluny? You about done? For pity’s sake, we’re going fishing, not to a church social.”

“Keep your shirt on, Brady, I’m almost there.”

Brady glanced down at his own tan cable-knit sweater. He wondered if it was overkill for a crisp fall afternoon, given the fact that Beth had a warming effect on him lately. He unbuttoned the cuff of the white shirt beneath and thrust the thick sleeves up, revealing muscled arms strained with tension. He blew out a blast of frustration and yanked the sleeves back down, then glanced down the hall. “
Cluny?
”

“Coming! Just one more thing.”

“What in sweet blazes are you doing, and why didn’t you do it at home?”

“Cain’t. Gram would get suspicious if I took a bath, and besides, she doesn’t have that sweet-smelling stuff.”

Brady halted, midstride. “You’re using my aftershave?”

Cluny strutted out of the bathroom dressed in brown knickers and a thick cream sweater that did wonders for his sunken chest. His blond hair was slicked back with brilliantine, revealing a glowing pink face that looked as if he’d tried to scrub his freckles off. He parked his hands on his hips and strolled up to Brady, leaning close to give him a whiff. “So, what do you think? I do believe Katie Rose may just swoon.”

Brady took a step back and fanned the air with his hand. “Yeah, from asphyxiation. How much did you use, anyway? The whole bottle?”

Cluny appeared hurt. “Nope, just a few drops.” He crossed his arms and scowled. “Besides, it wouldn’t hurt for you to slap a little on. It sure beats the fish smell you’ll be wearing before we’re through.”

Brady shot him a narrow look, realizing the kid was probably right. He started toward the bathroom, mumbling under his breath.

“You cussing again, Brady?”

“No. And I don’t cuss. Is there any left in the blasted bottle or did you use it all?”

“You’re awfully touchy for a guy about to go fishing with his girl and best buddy.”

Brady poked his head out of the bathroom, singeing Cluny with a look. “She’s not my girl—yet. And if you so much as breathe a word to Katie Rose—”

“My lips are sealed.” Cluny crossed his heart and winked.

He strode down the hall, patting his cheeks with the aftershave. “You got the worms?”

Cluny hoisted a tin can. “Right here.”

“Good.” Brady reached for his tackle box and four rods, prompting Miss Hercules to jump up, ready to go. He clutched Cluny by the scruff of the neck and led him to the door, then wrinkled his nose. “Don’t know why I bothered to put any aftershave on. All I need to do is rub against you. Come on, you little troublemaker. I can only hope the walk will air you out.”

Brady was certain that Cluny had chattered all the way to the O’Connors’ front gate, but for the life of him, he couldn’t remember one word the kid had said. All he knew for sure was his mouth was dry and his hands were sweating, and the blasted sweater was so hot that he worried even Cluny’s aftershave wouldn’t save him.

“Brady? You coming?”

Brady snapped out of his fog at the base of the O’Connor steps, realizing his legs were stiff. They refused to budge, two mules with heels dug in. He blinked up at Cluny, poised on the top step with a furrow in his brow and Miss Hercules by his side.

“You okay, Brady?”

A reedy breath escaped through his lips.
Okay?
How in blue blazes could he be okay? He was about to spend an afternoon and evening with a woman who wreaked havoc with his internal thermostat, sent his pulse into overdrive with a bat of her violet eyes.
Okay?
Not even close. Brady licked his lips, wondering when all the moisture had left his mouth.

Sweet God in heaven, he wasn’t equipped for this! He had little or no experience with women. A six-week engagement before he’d left for the war didn’t even count, it was so long ago. And since then, he hadn’t allowed himself to even look at a girl, much less date one. He thought of Beth’s sweet face, her graceful, beautiful form with soft curves in all the right places . . .

God help him, he was a goner! Sweat broke out on the back of his neck, and he jerked at the sound of Cluny’s voice.

“Brady, are you sick?”

“No, Cluny, I’m fine.” He sucked in a deep breath and licked his lips once again. “Just a little dizzy, that’s all.”

Cluny slacked a hip and flashed some teeth. “Sure you’re not scared?”

Brady mounted the steps, blistering Cluny with a glare. “I said I was dizzy.”

“Yeah, dizzy for Lizzie and scared of a girl.”

Brady forced a grim smile. “It’s a good thing you don’t live with me anymore, or I’d kick your sorry little butt out. Ring the bell.”

Despite Cluny’s annoying grin, there had never been a more perfect Sunday afternoon. The sky was a brilliant blue and tufted with thick cotton-ball clouds that rolled across the heavens, playing cat and mouse with a pale sun. A soft breeze feathered his cheek, tickling his senses with the smells of moist autumn leaves, smoky wood fires, and the faint scent of the sea. He inhaled deeply and grinned as he reached the top step, suddenly overpowered by Bay Rum. Brady shook his head as he watched Cluny press the bell for the second time. That little lothario better hope and pray that Katie had a cold.

“Brady! We’ve missed you.” Katie bolted out the door and threw her arms around Brady’s waist, ignoring the tackle box and poles clutched in his hands.

Brady chuckled and attempted to hug her back. “Whoa, Katie, there are hooks on these rods. I’ve missed you too.”

Cluny cocked a hip and tucked the can of worms under his arm. “What about me and Miss Hercules? Did you miss us?”

Her nose tipped up considerably. “Miss Hercules, yes. You, I don’t know. Who are you again?”

He chuckled, and the sound rumbled lower than Brady remembered. “Only the guy who’s gonna catch all the fish today,” he declared in a tone that brooked no doubt. He scrubbed Miss Hercules’ snout and ambled over to the swing to sit.

She dismissed him with a toss of her hair and turned her attention to Brady. “Lizzie’s inside packing the lunch. You want to come in?”

Cluny rose to his feet, and Katie pinned him with a glare. “Not you. The worms and the mutt will miss you.”

Brady grinned. “No thanks, Katie, I better stay out here with Cluny. I don’t think your mother would appreciate my traipsing through her house with these rods.” He hesitated. “Unless Beth needs help with the basket?”

“Who needs help with a basket? I’ll have you know I have more muscles from stacking books than either Mary or Millie.”

Brady’s head jerked up. One of the rods slipped, clattering against the wooden basket in Beth’s hand. Heat braised the back of his neck as he bent to retrieve it.

She laughed. “Heavens, Brady, I won’t be in danger on this fishing expedition, will I?”

The heat traveled to his cheeks, and his palms began to sweat. His tongue was as dry as the smirk on Cluny’s face. He covered with a lopsided grin. “Don’t think so, Beth. Only thing biting should be the fish. Here, give me that basket.” He handed the tackle box to Katie, then fisted the rods in one hand and the basket in the other. “Thanks for offering to bring a picnic lunch. Do we have everything?”