A Heart Revealed (42 page)

Maybe it was the door being closed . . . or Emma near breathless . . . or even the velvet voice of the Duke that created an intimacy he found he rather enjoyed. He smiled, his voice husky with affection. “So, Mrs. Malloy, tell me how you’ve become so light on your feet—have you been frequenting the dance marathons at Revere Beach?”

The pink of her cheeks deepened as she cocked a brow. “Why, yes, Mr. O’Connor, I find it a great release for the little energy I have left after twelve-hour days, six days a week.”

He laughed and tightened his hold for a spin. “Then it’s a wonder we haven’t bumped into each other, because heaven knows that’s how I spend my free time.”

Her eyes warmed with approval. “This will make Rose very happy,” she whispered.

His chest expanded as he studied her with a wry smile, reveling in her praise. “I know, but isn’t it about time you start thinking about
my
happiness? Dancing and marriage—two things that give me indigestion, and yet you seem intent on prodding me into both.”

It was her turn to laugh, the gray of her eyes sparkling like polished silver. “I
am
thinking of your happiness, bound and determined that your fears will not keep you from all God has.”

The music stopped, but he retained his hold, assessing her through pensive eyes. He nudged a finger to her chin and smiled. “So that’s how you spend your free time, then—as a guardian angel to the people you love?” His thumb grazed the curve of her jaw, marveling at its silky touch. “Tell me, Mrs. Malloy, just how did I rate you as a friend?”

“Why, as a favor to Charity, of course,” she said with a wink, the action so uncharacteristic that it made him laugh outright. “She asked me to keep an eye out for her big brother, because . . . well, apparently he has a few flaws . . .”

“Flaws?” He released her and crossed his arms, eyes in a squint. “Such as?”

She scrunched her nose. “Well, she says you’re a late bloomer for one.”

“Late bloomer,” he repeated, head cocked. “And what exactly does
that
mean?”

She peeked up, lips curved in a tease. “Oh, you know, a mature man on the outside, but inside, nothing more than a little boy who refuses to grow up and fall in love.” She worked her lip as if to suppress a grin. “Which, Charity claims, is simply because you’re a little . . . ,” there was no mistaking the sass in her eyes now, “. . . dense.”

His jaw dropped, along with his arms. “I’ll show you dense,” he said with a tickle, the plane of his hand to the side of her neck causing her to squeal and tuck in a knee-jerk reaction.

“I didn’t mean it, I promise,” she shrieked with a giggle, twisting to escape.

Laughing, he pinned her arms to her sides, eyes narrowed in a mock glare. “Say it, Emma—‘Sean O’Connor is not dense, he’s one of the most brilliant men I know.’”

Cheeks flushed with fun, she masked her humor with a serious sweep of lashes followed by a show of humility that softened the gray of her eyes. “Sean O’Connor is not dense,” she repeated slowly. “He’s one of the most . . . ,” she gave him an innocent blink, “. . . brilliant men I know.”

A grin broke free as she plucked the half-eaten Snickers out of his pocket and lurched away. “I mean little boys!” she shouted, her giggles bouncing off the walls as she skittered for protection on the other side of the room. She faced him at the window, chest heaving and palms braced on the ledge, the candy bar smashed in her hand. Behind her, a tangerine moon rose ripe in a starry sky, its hazy glow encircling her like a halo despite the mischief in her eyes.

The thrill of the hunt broadened his grin as he took his time, his gait slow and easy while he rounded her desk, gaze hungry and locked with hers. “Give it back, Mrs. Malloy,” he whispered, feeling the adrenaline of horseplay that pumped in his veins.

“No!” she cried, more giggles bubbling over. She jerked her chair to block his way, then eased around the desk, waving the Snickers like a taunt, her impish smile reminding him of Gabe. “Not until you learn the lindy
and
promise to leave the candy at home when you go to this wedding. You may be a late bloomer, but at least you won’t smell like a little boy.”

That did it. Slamming the chair in, he lunged, surprising her with a firm clasp of her arm. He dove for the Snickers, but she fought him with shrieks of wild laughter, the candy bar clutched tightly behind her back. He reeled her in and grinned, challenge coursing his veins as he gripped her to his chest.

“Give it up, Emma,” he breathed, “you won’t win.”

Locking her with one arm, his other circled her waist while his hand wrestled with hers to recapture the candy.

Her body stilled . . . and in a catch of his breath, everything changed. One moment she was laughing, and in the next, her laughter faded away, leaving her lips parted with shallow breaths while gentle eyes slowly spanned wide. The effect totally disarmed him, causing his heart to thud to a stop. Silence pounded in his ears as he became aware of her body pressed to his, her warmth, her scent engaging his pulse to a degree that jolted him. He swallowed hard, feeling the rise and fall of her chest, the burn of her hand embedded in his, and a flash of heat traveled his body until it scorched in his cheeks. He flinched away.

“Emma, I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to manhandle you.” He stepped back and plunged his hands in his pockets, desperate to deflect the embarrassment he felt. His smile was awkward. “Keep the candy then, I have more in my bottom drawer.”

———

God, help me . . .
Cheeks aflame, Emma wavered on her feet, mangled candy bar clutched to her chest as it rose and fell with every ragged breath she took. Her body quivered with the same heady feeling she’d felt the night in the car outside Robinson’s, only this was far worse. As if she’d just ridden the Cyclone roller coaster at Revere Beach, skin tingling and every muscle reverberating with the danger and excitement of soaring through the air. Except tonight the danger was very real, evident in the flush of her body and the hammering of her heart. Even now, blood coursed from his touch, converging in her face and throbbing in her brain, hands clammy from the desire to be in his arms again, to feel the press of his body warm against hers.

God, forgive me . . .

Hands shaking uncontrollably, her eyes avoided his as she held out the candy. “No, really—it was my fault, and I’m sorry.” He didn’t take it, and her gaze darted to the clock while her words rushed out, shallow and hoarse. “Goodness, it’s late, and we need to go home.” She whirled around, candy still in hand, rushing to where the phonograph circled soundlessly like the guilt in her mind.

“Emma . . .” His voice echoed with pain, remorse . . .

No! Please—just leave me alone.
She didn’t respond, fingers fumbling to turn the machine off. The whirring stopped and she put a hand to her eyes, her pulse finally slowing to a rational pace.
God, help me to face him, please. To get past this and back to what we had.

Drawing in a deep breath, she turned with a square of her shoulders, determined to put this embarrassment behind. Meeting his gaze, she forced a stiff smile. “Goodness, that was certainly awkward, wasn’t it? But . . . we both learned something very valuable today, didn’t we?” she said, infusing a lilt into her voice as she marched to his side. She extended the candy bar once again, but this time her eyes held a tease she labored to convey. “You learned to dance the lindy and fox trot . . . and
I
learned not to steal your candy.”

She heard his slow exhale before the strained look slowly disappeared from his eyes, and when his lips eased into that familiar smile, she found herself exhaling too.

He took the candy and shoved it in his pocket, his tone taking on its usual playful banter. “I think you learned something else, Mrs. Malloy, that should serve you well in the future.”

“And what might that be, Mr. O’Connor,” she said, sensing their camaraderie was well on the mend.

He tapped her on the nose. “I may be a late bloomer, but I don’t think I need to worry about you ever calling me dense again.” Stretching with a groan, he eyed the clock. “You haven’t taught me the lindy yet, so what do you say we give it a whirl?”

Her smile faded just a hair. “I don’t think so, Sean, it’s getting late—” She took a step toward the door and he stilled her with a hand to her arm.

“Please?” he whispered, his eyes strangely serious. A muscle shifted in his throat. “I don’t want to go home, Emma, not yet.” He released her then and shoved his hands in his pockets, color hazing his cheeks as he gave her a smile that quickened her pulse. “Besides, you said it yourself—I need to learn the lindy for my life to be complete.”

She folded her arms to ward off the mix of feelings whirling inside. “I’d say your life is more than com—”

“Emma—” His voice held intensity she’d never heard before. “Please? For Rose?”

Rose.

The woman who could save her from herself . . . and Sean.

She drew in a deep breath and exhaled. “All right. One dance, and then we go home.”

He glanced at the clock. “No, one dance, and then I take you to dinner. It’s the least I can do for keeping you so late.”

She tilted her head to study him. “That’s not necessary.”

“I know, but humor me.” He strolled to the phonograph and turned it on, flashing a smile over his shoulder. “Like I humored you.” He held up one of the records stacked on the buffet. “Lucky Lindy, I presume?” She nodded, and he set the needle and strode to where she stood, arms raised. “Let’s get this lesson over with, Mrs. Malloy, I’m hungry, and I have a dinner to buy.”

She shook her head. “That’s very nice, but it’s late and we’re both tired. Besides, teaching you to dance has been fun.” A twinkle returned to her eyes. “I enjoy broadening your social horizons.”

“Dining out is part of the social landscape you know. And you can teach me which fork to use so I don’t embarrass Rose.”

She gave him a quirk of a smile. “I’m quite sure that if you ate soup with a fork, Mr. O’Connor, Rose Kelly would still revere you more than the Pope.” She took his left hand in her right and then positioned his other against her shoulder blade. “The answer is still no.”

“Come on, Emma,” he coaxed with a boyish smile, “it’s the least you can do. First you shame me into dancing, insult my intelligence, and then steal my candy. And now, since dinner is long over at home, you’re forcing me to eat alone as well.” Palms clasped in dancing position, he offered a crooked grin. “Please? For me?”

She studied him, swayed by the hopeful look in his eyes and the tease of his smile, and all at once his friendship made her feel safe and whole once again. Just like always, working together, laughing together, sharing lunches and dinners more times than she could count. Just like tonight. No difference at all, she told herself with a press of her lips.

As long as there was Rose.

Releasing a gentle sigh, she gave him a ghost of a smile. “I’ll say one thing, Sean O’Connor, you certainly have your sister fooled with that silver tongue of yours, I can tell you that. A late bloomer, indeed.” She shook her head. “All right, I’ll have dinner with you,” she said with a lift of her chin, “but I warn you, I expect fancy footwork prior to.” She angled a slim brow. “And I don’t mean just with your mouth.”

13

M
ama, Henry’s smoking Grandpa’s pipe again.” Hope burst into Marcy’s kitchen in her stockinged feet and skidded to a stop, blond hair flying and the swinging door swaying behind.

Katie looked up from the trousers she was patching and actually grinned at the frantic look on her niece’s face, realizing more every day what it meant to be a mother. There was a time when she’d spent her Saturdays studying rather than joining her sisters to help their mother sew, but today, for some reason, she found the air in her lungs expanding at the pleasure of it all.

Some reason?
Children’s shrieks and laughter could be heard from the parlor, a sound that usually set Katie on edge, but not today. For the first time since she’d missed her period over two months ago, she was easing into the reality that her calling was—at least for the present—to raise children instead of awareness for women’s rights. All the tears, all the anger, all the hurt over the loss of her dream had ebbed and slowed, and she was finally ready to let it go.

Your will—not mine—be done.

She tugged on her final stitch and broke the thread with her teeth, hoping with everything in her that Faith’s words were true:
His
will . . . the path to our highest pleasure.

“Where’s Grandpa?” Charity asked, never missing a beat while mending a pair of corduroy knickers bunched in her lap.

“Asleep with Kit,” Hope said, her look indicating that Grandpa was no threat to Henry.

“With all the commotion in there?” Katie glanced at her mother. “Is Father going deaf?”

One side of Marcy’s smile curved up. “Not deaf, Katie Rose, just experienced. Seven babies, and the man never heard one of you cry in the middle of the night.” Her features softened. “But in his defense, he didn’t sleep well last night because of a cold, so it’s no wonder he nodded off.”