Just One Kiss (35 page)

She was alone.

More puzzled than fearful, for the hours past had put to rest all of her doubts, she rose with a sleepy yawn. But Morgan was not in his study, as she'd thought. Nor was he in the library, or, indeed, anywhere in the house.

She paused, her mind taking flight. In the next instant she whirled and flew up the stairs. Suddenly she had a very good idea where her husband had gone.

A short time later, she pulled a cloak over her dress and quietly left the house. Her slippers made no sound as she hurried up the hill.

Very soon her feet took her down a narrow pathway, across damp earth and glistening blades of grass. And it was there, bathed in the amber glow of dawn's first light, that she saw her husband.

He stood before Nathaniel's grave, the posture of his body stiff but proud. His head was bowed low, the somber cast of his features etched in stone.

She halted, her heart aching, for she knew why he was here.

He'd come to say his goodbyes to Nathaniel.

She stood there, still as a statue and holding her breath in an all-encompassing silence. She was unerringly certain she made not a whisper of sound.

Yet somehow he knew she was there.

He half turned. Their eyes met and meshed. He opened his arms… and his heart.

Her feet carried her forward. She slid her arms about his waist and held on to him desperately, as if he were her last anchor to the world. He rested his forehead against hers, then kissed her tenderly. The salty warmth of tears mingled with hers, trapped between their lips. And it was there that he showered upon her a gift beyond price.

He cried without a sound… but without shame.

Only the strongest of men could cry without shame.

No words passed between them. None were needed.

The sun was just rising over the treetops as they left, hand in hand, their heads bent together.

It was the dawning of a new day. A new beginning. A new life.

«
^

It was early August, and the weather was divine. The heat of summer hung in the air, but the coolness of the ocean breeze kept the temperature at a comfortable level.

As they did whenever they were able, Morgan and Elizabeth chose to spend the weekend at the cottage.

And if his squeals of delight were any indication, their son—nearly sixteen months old now—loved it here as much as his parents.

Robert Nathaniel O'Connor—Robbie, as he was called—possessed the deep green of his mother's eyes, the midnight darkness of his father's hair, and at times the reckless daring of his uncle, which often caused his mother's heart to lodge high in her throat…

As well as a sweetness of nature that was all his own.

His chubby legs pumped furiously as he ran along the beach. His father was right behind him, bare-legged and shirtless. The boy gave a high-pitched shrill of laughter as he was caught and swung high against his father's chest.

Morgan dipped his head down. A tremor of emotion rushed through him, and for a moment he was overcome. Never had he dreamed that life could be like this. Never had he dreamed that love could be like this. He had so much. A son. Another on the way, or perhaps a daughter. Yes, he would like that. A daughter…

He liked to think that some good had come of Nat's death.

He had turned his face to the future; to the happiest of times and precious new memories; to a love that filled every corner of his soul to bursting.

And it was his greatest love who sat there on the porch, wearing that sweet, serene smile he would carry in his heart forever.

Elizabeth.

It was later that night, when passion's fire had been quenched, that she snuggled close against his side.

She twined a fingertip in the curling hair on his chest. "Do you know," she mused aloud, "that it was here I first realized I was in love with you?"

"What!" he chuckled. "Not until then?"

She tweaked the hair and made him yelp in pain. "You were horrid to me, Morgan O'Connor! I thought you detested me. You certainly acted as if you did!"

"I didn't want you to find out how I really felt," he teased. "And I was convinced you detested
me
."

Her eyes grew soft. "Now it's your turn to confess. When did you first know?"

A secret smile curved his lips. "Before we were even married," he said lightly.

"Oh, you!" She frowned at him playfully. "The truth, now. When did you know?"

His arms tightened possessively. "Remember the night of Stephen's ball?"

The golden cloud of her hair tickled his chin as she nodded. "You kissed me, and that wretched reporter saw it!"

He weaved his fingers through her hair and tipped her head back so he could see her. He looked at her, uncaring that his heart was in his eyes.

"Well, that's all it took, love." He brushed her lips with his and smiled. "Just one kiss…"