A Passion Denied (45 page)

“Good night, Lizzie. I hope your dreams will be as sweet as mine.” He turned and ambled down the steps, whistling all the way. She closed the door and flicked the lock, then hung her jacket on the hook. She held her left hand up and sighed. The diamond glittered with promise, pledging some semblance of peace from the pain of John Brady, she supposed. She started for the stairs.

“Lizzie?”

She blinked, suddenly aware of the light in the parlor. “Father? What are you still doing up?” She glanced at the clock on the mantel. “It’s after ten, and Mother went up ages ago.”

Patrick looked up at his daughter and felt his stomach twist. God help him, his sweet little Lizzie was changing. She was once his shy little girl, content with exploring love between the covers of a book. Now she stood before him, a young woman intent on experiencing it for herself. And for some reason he couldn’t quite put his finger on, the thought left him more than a bit unsettled. He lowered the paper to his lap and gave her a tired smile. “Waiting for you, darlin’.” He tapped the wide arm of his chair. “Mind sitting a while, to talk to your tired, old father?”

A hint of a blush settled in her cheeks. She smiled and ambled over. “Tired maybe, Father, but never old,” she said with a laugh, leaning into him as he tucked an arm around her shoulder.

He bundled her close, his heart melancholy over yet another daughter growing up, growing away. He sighed and patted her leg. “So, you had a good time with Brady today?”

She nodded, and the slight movement tickled his chin. He hesitated. “Is that why you were crying? Because the day was good, but the situation is not?”

She nodded again, and he felt her shiver. He rubbed her arm and laid his head on top of hers. “You’ll get past it, Lizzie, I promise. God will make a way.”

“He already has, Father,” she whispered.

His stomach tightened. “Michael?”

She nodded, then slowly sat up, searching his eyes. She quietly held out her left hand.

Patrick blinked, astonishment trapping the words in his throat.

“He loves me, Father, and I think he can help me get past Brady.” She stared at the diamond, tracing its shape.

Patrick clasped her other hand in his. “But do you love him, darlin’?”

She continued to gaze at the glimmering stone, lost in a faraway stare.

Patrick shook her hand. “Lizzie, do you love him?”

Her eyes flickered, breaking her reverie. “No, but I think I can. I care about him a great deal. And he’s changed, drawn closer to God—because of me.” She looked at him then, with the slightest lift of her chin. “And if I can’t have the Brady I love, Father, then maybe I can save the Brady who loves me.”

“Darlin’, marriage isn’t for saving people.”

She hesitated. “No, but maybe God is using it to save both of us from the pain of our pasts—mine with Brady, and Michael’s with his family. A new direction—uniting us as one, to serve him.”

He pulled her back with a sigh. “Well, time will tell, I suppose. After all, that’s what long engagements are for—to make sure.”

She stiffened in his arms. “I don’t want a long engagement.”

“What?” Patrick turned her to face him. “What do you mean, you don’t want a long engagement? Of course you do. You’re not even in love with the man. You’re in love with his brother, for pity’s sake. You need time to get over Brady.”

Lizzie pushed away and stood. Her expression reminded him more of Charity than his little Beth. “I need Michael to get over Brady, Father, and no one is going to talk me out of it.”

Patrick pushed his ottoman out and slowly rose, his motions hampered by shock. This was his Lizzie? Defiant, strong-willed? Dear Lord, when had he lost his little girl? He stared her down. “Don’t take that tone with me, Elizabeth Marie. I’m your father, and you will listen to what I say. I’ll not have you going off half-cocked, marrying one man so you can get over another. Have you even prayed about it?”

Wetness shimmered in her eyes as she stood, arms folded and clutched tightly at her waist. “Yes, I’ve prayed about it . . . for four, long years I’ve prayed about it. Prayed that God would free me from the spell of John Brady. But the only answer I’ve gotten is heartbreak, so I guess it’s up to me.”

Patrick cinched her arm and pushed her into his chair. He faced her, perched on the edge of his ottoman. “No, it’s not up to you. It’s up to God. Have you even prayed about
Michael
? Whether he’s the man you should marry?”

She bit her lip and shook her head, sending trails of tears down both cheeks.

Patrick sighed and kneaded his forehead with the tips of his fingers. He drew in a deep breath and took Lizzie’s hand in his. “Darlin’, I love you, and my heart grieves over the pain you’ve experienced because of Brady, and I like Michael, I really do. But you can’t rush into this, not without prayer. Especially when you’re not sure if you even love the man.”

She sniffed and looked away. “I care about him, Father.” She fingered the diamond on her finger, avoiding his gaze. “And he makes me feel . . . warm inside . . . the way I’d always read it would be.”

Patrick’s jaw tightened. “There’s more to marriage, darlin’, than a heated kiss.”

Color flooded her cheeks. “Father, please—”

“No, Lizzie, you listen to me. You’ve always had your head buried in a book, certain that falling in love would cure all your ills. Attraction is certainly important, but marriage requires far more. It takes commitment and love and especially respect. I like Michael, I do, but there are two things I demand of you before I’ll agree. One, we will pray about this now, whether you like it or not, because I’ll not have my daughter say yes to a man when God says no. And two, you will not get married in a rush. You will, instead, get to know Michael over a respectable period of time, allowing your family to get to know him as well.”

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.