Just One Kiss

v1.5

March 23, 2008

JUST A DREAM

Cheated out of her inheritance by a willful stepmother, Lady Elizabeth Stanton follows Nathaniel O'Connor to America—eager to accept the dashing shipbuilder's proposal of marriage. But it is a stranger who greets the penniless miss at her intended's door—the
true
owner of the grand Boston mansion, Nathaniel's handsome, secretive and insufferable older brother, Morgan.

JUST ONE KISS

The cruel treachery of a disloyal sibling left Morgan angry and bitter—but he takes in the cad's forsaken fiancée nonetheless. And when one stolen kiss threatens scandal, he offers to wed the proud, golden-haired beauty himself. But Elizabeth is devoted to a rogue. And Morgan must first conquer his own pain and suspicion to know a passion that can thaw a frozen heart… and a love that can heal all wounds.

Prologue
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Epilogue

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Boston, 1830

The smell of brine lay heavy in the air, as heavy as her heart. For the time had come when she could deceive herself no more…

She was dying.

Within the room were two young boys, the sons she held so near and dear to her heart. A spasm of pain tore through her, yet it was as nothing compared to the ache in her heart. And deep in her chest swirled an agony of dread, for how was she to tell these two sweet lads she would soon be lost to them… and they to her, for it mattered little to their father that his sons were dirty of hand and ragged of clothing.

Silently she mourned. Alone, the three of them were, for Patrick O'Connor spared neither a care nor a penny when it came to his family. More often than not, he was in the barroom below, as drunk as his patrons. Loretta's soul cried out at such injustice. What would happen to her sons when she was gone? Their father scarcely acknowledged their existence.

A shudder passed through her body. Lord, but the world was so unfair! She would be robbed of life… and her sons of her. As the thought passed through her mind, a cry of both torment and rage welled in her throat.

Yet no more than a wheezing breath escaped. At the sound, small, thin fingers stole into hers. A frail smile crossed lips that were pale as a winter moon; Loretta O'Connor squeezed as best she could. She held on, for she could not yet bear to leave…

Her husband shouldered his way through the door. He came to stand above her, no hint of warmth in his eyes. Instead, he snorted, his lips curled in disgust, then spun away to snatch a shirt from a peg on the wall. He spared her no further word or glance, nor the boys who lingered near. Always it was so, Loretta thought with heartbreaking candor. Always it would
be
…

Her heart wept. As her husband left, the sounds of rough male voices and grating laughter filtered up the narrow stairway to the rooms above, but the trio paid no heed.

Loretta's gaze dwelled longingly on her sons, Morgan and Nathaniel. For a heartbeat, the faintest of smiles graced her lips. One would never have known the pair were brothers. Yet brothers they were…

One was fair as a golden field of wheat, the other as dark as the blackest moon. The younger was Nathaniel, born to the World but four years past. At ten, Morgan was the elder. He was somber and thoughtful, ever observant and knowing. She had always marveled that the two were so very different…

A stark pain twisted within her.
Dear God
, she cried out in silent agony,
who would guide them when their path should stray
? She gave thanks that the babe born between the two brothers had died, for she dreaded what their lives might become when she was gone. Praise the saints above that her Morgan possessed a quick mind and strong constitution! Yet Loretta could not help but fear for Nathaniel; lively and sweet natured, he certainly was, but at times he displayed a reckless, stubborn spirit—his father's, blast the wretch!—that well might land him in trouble throughout the coming years.

There was a faint rustling near the end of the bed. Clutching a handkerchief to her breast, Loretta glimpsed Nathaniel peering across at her, his eyes huge and uncertain. He had grown quiet—ah, but it was so very unlike him!—a quiet that seemed to reach into the heavens and beyond. Young as he was, he sensed that all was not well. She tried to smile, yet she could not.

The end approached.

Loretta's breath grew papery thin. All at once there was so much she longed to say… so little time to say it.

Her gaze shifted to Morgan. Were she able, she would have screamed aloud at the pain that wrenched her heart. Above the hollows of his cheeks, Morgan's beautiful gray eyes were damp and red rimmed, yet he did not cry. No, for it had never been his way to cry, no matter how badly he'd been hurt.

Trembling, for the effort nearly sapped the last remaining strength in her body, Loretta squeezed his fingers. Her lips parted. With her eyes she silently beseeched him.

The boy leaned close.

Lovingly her gaze roved over his thin, pale features. "Morgan," she said faintly. "Oh, Morgan, my brave young lad… how I will miss you. How I wish I could be with you. How I wish I might stay…"

The boy's eyes filled up with tears, yet still he did not cry.

"Morgan, it is up to you now, to watch over your brother. Oh, I know I ask much of you… but I know you can do this—"

Frantically the boy shook his head. "No, Mother, I—"

"You can," Loretta cried weakly. "You are the elder, Morgan. Nathaniel is so young. He is not so strong or brave as you—"

Again the lad shook his head.

"No, you are! You are and I am so very proud of you!" Seeking to reassure him, Loretta clasped his hand to her breast. "Morgan, please! You must do… what I cannot… what your father
will
not… Your brother is so young. What if he should become one such as your father? Oh, he will need someone, Morgan, someone like you… Guide him. Protect him." Her breath wheezed in and out of her lungs. Her expression was tormented as she clutched her son's hands. "I beg you, Morgan, please do not fail me! Promise me you will do this or I will never find peace!"

The boy swallowed, seeking to keep the tremor from his voice. "I-I promise. I will do this. For you, Moth—"

"No, my son. Not for me. For Nathaniel." Her voice grew weaker. "That's a good lad. Oh, Morgan, be brave. Be strong and courageous, for yourself and for Nathaniel. Have faith in yourself, and in God Almighty. And may He bless you, my dearest sons…"

At this last, all strength was bled from her. Her eyes fluttered closed, even as her grip on the boy's fingers grew slack and limp. Morgan held tight to her hands, as if to hold on forever to the life that had already departed. His throat burned and ached like fire as he fought back tears, even as anger welled and threatened to explode within the hollow of his chest. He wanted to shout, to scream and vent his fury and grief… most of all, his fear. Instead he remained there, his shoulders stiff, his form as rigid as a soldier's.

Nathaniel crept close to his brother. His expression forlorn, he peered at his mother. "Morgan," he whispered in a small voice. "Is Mama asleep?"

Morgan did not speak. He could not, for he was hurting as never before… hurting as he somehow knew he would never hurt again.

His mother's voice echoed in his brain.
Be brave. Be strong and courageous
.

He swallowed.
How
? he wondered.
How
? "No," he answered hoarsely. "She's dead, Nathaniel.
Dead
." There was a terrible pause. "Like the kittens that Papa drowned."

The younger boy began to weep. "What shall we do?" he whimpered. "Now we have no one to love us. No one to take care of us. Papa—"

Hesitantly—awkwardly—the lad called Morgan patted his brother's shoulder. "Don't worry." he said. "You'll have me, Nat. You'll always have me."

So the lad said… and so it was.

Months passed. At such a tender age, Nathaniel's grief and his memory of his mother soon faded.

But Morgan didn't forget so easily.

Nor did he forsake his promise.

He'd sworn to their mother on her deathbed that he would protect Nathaniel…

And so he did.

Their father remained as before, petty and mean, his moods ever vile, his liking for drink as lusty as ever. By his twelfth year, his father saw to it that Morgan had little time of his own—he spent most of it in the barroom and kitchen. Nathaniel was often left to himself… Little wonder that he was a daring little rogue who often strayed into mischief.

Midnight was but a fallen stroke of the hour when Patrick O'Connor burst through the door on this particular night. He staggered across the room like the drunken sot he was, a stubble of candle clutched in one beefy hand. In the lumpy pallets that bumped the far wall, the two young boys stirred, then went utterly still. They both held their breath and their silence, for they knew better than to alert him to their wakened state.

It mattered little. Patrick O'Connor swayed and stepped before the bureau. His bloodshot gaze swept idly across the surface, then narrowed abruptly. A roar of rage ruptured the silence. In but an instant, both his sons had been rudely wrenched from their pallets.

He stalked back to the bureau. "There were six gold coins here this morning. Now there be but five!"

Nathaniel stared at his father with huge blue eyes. His tongue came out to moisten his lips. Timidly he spoke. "Could it have fallen on the floor?"

Patrick O'Connor bent his considerable form low to the ground. His gaze scoured the chipped wood floor. He straightened. "I think not!" he growled.

"Then, Papa, perhaps you are mistaken—"

"I am not!" the man shouted. Rage contorted his features. "This is hardly the first time I've noticed a coin or two missing. But I warn you, lads, I swear it will be the last! So tell me and tell me now! Which of you took it?"

No answer was forthcoming. Morgan did not back down from his father's boiling anger. Instead he tipped his chin and regarded his father with an evenness that far belied his tender years.

"Answer me, brats!" O'Connor's voice vibrated from the very ceiling. "Which of you took my coin?"

The floor creaked. Patrick O'Connor took but a single step forward. Sheer temper flamed in his eyes. Next to Morgan, Nathaniel inhaled sharply. A vision flashed through Morgan's mind—Nathaniel's grubby palm closed around a handful of sweets only this afternoon. At the same instant, fear leaped high and bright in Nathaniel's eyes. Cowering, he shrank to his knees.

Morgan stepped forward. Bravely he raised his chin, praying his father would not see that his knees were shaking. "I took it, Papa."

"Blast you, boy!" he cursed. "How dare you!"

Morgan's shoulders tightened. "I fetch and toil just as your barmaids do, yet I earn no—"