A Passion Redeemed (36 page)

Mitch strode behind him. The maitre d' pulled out her chair, and Mitch set her down, carefully pushing it back in.

She adjusted her skirt. "Thank you."

The maitre d' handed them menus and returned to his post.

Charity leaned forward with a flush on her cheeks and shielded her face with the menu. "I'm sorry, Mitch. I suppose it's embarrassing carrying a cripple in."

He looked up. Embarrassed? By her? He grabbed her hand. "No, it has nothing to do with that. It has everything to do with my temper and the way men ogle you." He released her hand and cleared his throat, heat crawling up the back of his neck. He pretended to study his menu, not comprehending a word on the sheet. "Not the least of which is me. Forgive me, Charity, for all the times I did the same."

"But you were the one I wanted to ogle me, Mitch."

He glanced up, his mouth flat. "I've done my fair share, and I'm not proud of it. Both of our lives would be very different right now if I hadn't."

"I know." She looked away. "I ... don't think I ever really asked your forgiveness ... for what happened." She swallowed hard. "I regret it ... not because it caused me to fall in love with you, but because it caused you so much heartbreak." She looked up and took a deep breath. "And Faith."

"She's forgiven you, Charity. Whatever she did to hurt you, can't you forgive her?"

Her lips parted as if she had difficulty breathing, the gauze of her dress rising and falling.

"She loves you, you know," he whispered.

She nodded and picked at the edge of her napkin. "I know."

He sighed and refocused on the menu. "Let's order. We have all night to talk."

She ordered tenderloin and lobster like a little girl on a holiday, and he couldn't help but think he enjoyed her this way. He offered wine, but she refused, giving him the same warm feeling inside as if he had a glass himself. They talked for hours, over potato puffs and almond green beans and crepes Suzette, barely pausing long enough to chew. She divulged Mrs. Shaw's deepest secrets and laughed over Emma's gentle wit, and grew melancholy over her own dreams to be a shop owner some day. She plied him with questions about himself and taunted until he answered, making him feel like the most important man in the room. When the waiter presented the check, he fought the inclination to order cordials. He didn't want the night to end.

"I've cost you a small fortune, haven't I?" she asked, a bit of hesitation in her tone.

He smiled. "I can afford it."

"Without a job?"

His gaze narrowed. "The Times isn't the only paper in Ireland, you know. I've had offers before; I'll get them again."

"Rigan won't stop you?"

"Rigan won't be around."

"What do you mean?"

He reached inside his coat pocket for his wallet. He didn't answer.

"Mitch, tell me, please. What do you mean?"

He exhaled. "I mean I threatened him. Told him if he was in Dublin when I came back, I was going to the papers."

"To do what?"

He slapped his money on the table. "Expose him for the coward he is. Beating on women, taking advantage of them."

"But with me gone, you won't have proof."

"I don't need proof to sully his reputation. That's all I intend to do. Label him for the abuser he is so Dublin society thumb their noses at him."

"You hate him, don't you? And not just because of me."

He paused, wondering how much to disclose. He held her gaze. "I did hate him, and I'm working on that. But it's hard to forgive scum like Gallagher."

"What did he do to you?"

He pushed his chair back and stood. "You feel like some fresh air?"

Her eyes lit up. "A moonlight stroll?"

He smiled. "More like a moonlight sit, on benches on the deck. Might be pretty cold."

"We have our coats ... and the blanket you wrapped me in when you abducted me."

He grinned and pulled her chair away from the table. "I thought we weren't going to discuss our prior enmity. We're friends, remember?"

She giggled. "Oh. I forgot. Sorry."

He squatted down. "Look, you stay here, and I'll run up and get the blanket and our coats, okay?"

She nodded, watching as he jumped up and strode toward the door. He turned the head of every woman in the room, annoyingly handsome in his dark suit. Charity took a quick sip of water. Why was this happening? Now that her anger toward him was fading, she was falling in love with him all over again, and the thought terrified her. He'd made himself quite clear. Other than as a friend, he didn't want her. She thought of the way his eyes had raked over her in the cabin. Correction. He wanted her ... just not as his wife.

She groaned and dropped her head in her hands, reflecting on the last twenty-four hours. How he'd taken care of her when she was sick, his tenderness, his kindness. Her heart ached to belong to him forever. To be the woman he cared for always. And she, him.

"Are you all right, Mrs...."

She looked up, her eyes growing wide. A debonair man stood before her, devouring her with his eyes. She pressed a hand over the V of her dress. "Yes, I'm fine, thank you."

He smiled and bowed slightly. "Graham Huntington. And you are ..."

"Charity O'Con-" The name froze on her lips. She swallowed hard. "Dennehy. Charity Dennehy. My husband just left to get our coats for a moonlight stroll."

He smiled again. "A real pity, Charity Dennehy. Married happily, dare I ask?"

"Extremely." The tone was a near growl.

Charity looked up, relieved to see Mitch. He loomed over Huntington by a head, glowering as if he intended to stare him into the floor. Huntington smiled. "I was just admiring your wife's extraordinary beauty, Mr. Dennehy. You're a lucky man."

"So are you, sir, that I arrived when I did. Good night."

Huntington bowed and left. Mitch scowled and helped her on with her wrap. He muttered under his breath.

"What, Mitch?"

He began to button her coat. "I said I pity the man who marries you. Men hovering around the rest of your life, even when you're old, I'll wager. You're too beautiful for your own good, Charity O'Connor."

"Thank you. I think."

He picked her up in his arms. "Don't you get tired of it? Men hounding you?"

She smiled, a hint of sadness in her manner. "Only when the right one doesn't."

He carried her through the doors out onto the deck. The rush of cool air stung her face.

"Too cold?" he asked.

"No, I like it. Clean air, the pungent smell of brine. And the moon just look at it on the water. Like a ribbon of fire, rippling on the waves. Thank you for bringing me out."

He chuckled and made his way toward a bench at the far end of the stern. "You won't be thanking me if I don't get you bundled up in this blanket." He put her down and sank beside her, wrapping the blanket around them both. He pulled her against his chest, then leaned against the wall. "How's this?"

She sighed and nestled back, contentment swallowing her up like the strong arms of the man who held her. "Perfect." She burrowed in closer and chuckled softly. "I can't believe I thought I hated you."

"That's when you thought you were in love with me. Now that we're friends, you're right. It is perfect."

"Mmmm." She tilted her head up. "Mitch?"

"Yes?"

"What happened with Rigan? In your past?" His arms stiffened around her, and she laid her head back. "I'm sorry. You don't have to tell me if you don't want to. I was just curious."

"Actually, now that we're friends, I'd like to. It might help you understand why I was so adamant about you not seeing him." He hesitated. "And other things."

"Other things?"

"My lack of trust in women. You, in particular. And why Faith broke through."

She held her breath. "Tell me. Please."

He was quiet for a moment while his eyes focused on the shimmer of moon striping the water. When he finally spoke, his voice was a monotone. "Rigan Gallagher is responsible for the death of my wife."

Charity felt like a wave had slammed over the hull and into her face. "Your ... wife? You were married?"

"Ten years ago. Her name was Anna."

"Anna ..." Charity whispered the name, fascinated by it. "Was she ... beautiful?"

His laugh was harsh. "Incredibly. Hair as black as midnight and eyes like gold flame."

Charity swallowed to moisten her throat. "Did you ... love her?"

He didn't answer right away, and she could feel the steady beat of his heart against her ear. "I thought I did. I was young and swept away by her beauty. By the time I learned it was skin deep, we'd been married a year."

"Did she love you?"

"I think she did at first, but I was gone so much, working at the paper till the early hours of the morning, that she got resentful. I can't say I really blamed her. She was a new bride, stuck at home all day in a run-down flat. She didn't understand what I had accomplished. That I worked my way up from a plucky paperboy hawking papers in front of the Times to junior editor. It was unheard of, and I wasn't taking any chances. It required work and a lot of hours. I hardly saw Anna at all that first year."

"How did Rigan enter the picture?"

Mitch sighed. His chest shifted against her cheek. "He hated me from the get-go. Blaine Gallagher used to toss pound notes into my tin can whenever he stumbled into the paper, which wasn't often. He liked me, or at least my spunk. Used to say he wished Rigan had some of my gumption. I have a feeling he went home and told Rigan that, rubbed it in his face. When Blaine gave me a job with the paper, he enlisted Michael to mentor me. I think he did it partially to goad Rigan into developing an interest in the Times. Only it didn't work. The only interest Rigan had was in making me pay for winning the respect of his father."

Mitch shifted again, tightening his arms around her. "You okay out here? Not too cold?"

"I'm fine if you are."

He grunted and continued. "I didn't know Anna was seeing him until it was too late."

Charity jolted up, her eyes wide in the dark. "She cheated on you?"

He nodded, softly pressing her head back against his chest. He twined his fingers through the hair at the back of her neck, as if unaware of the motion. She held her breath and closed her eyes, his touch sending peaceful warmth through her body.

"He knew I was never home and took advantage. Knew Anna was my wife and decided to go in for the kill. She fell hard. And why not? He was charming, good-looking, and had more money at the age of twenty than I could dream of in a lifetime."

"Did she . . .

The harsh timbre of Mitch's laugh vibrated against her cheek. "Yes, she was definitely sleeping with him. I think he got quite a thrill out of the fact that he could share my wife with me. Especially since I shared his father's attention."

"Mitch, I'm so sorry. It must have been awful. Anna sounds a bit like your mother ..."

"She was, in a way. But mostly she was just young and naive. Rigan promised her the moon, and she went for it."

"What happened?"

He released another heavy sigh. "She waited till I got home one night after a particularly grueling shift and told me she was leaving me."

"For Rigan?"

"She thought so. Claimed she loved him. Said he promised to marry her."

"How? Not divorce?"

"Annulment. A special dispensation, bought and paid for." His voice was savage.

"But the marriage was consummated ...'

"Apparently he convinced her it didn't matter. Not if they didn't know."

Charity shivered. "How awful."

"I was eaten up by rage, not so much because I loved her, but because it was Rigan who had poisoned our marriage. I packed my things and left. I moved in temporarily with Bridie and her husband, Wesley, my best friend at the Times. I wanted to kill Rigan, but they got me through it. I owed them my life."

Charity hesitated, reluctant to put voice to her words. "How did ... how did she die?"

He shivered, transferring a chill to her bones. "Suicide. Slit her wrists. And all because Rigan wouldn't marry her."

Charity jerked around to stare in his face. It was rock hard in the moonlight, a glimmer of wetness in his eyes. "Oh, Mitch, no."

He blinked, and his gaze seemed lost in the rolling waves. She was pregnant and he wouldn't marry her. So she killed herself and her child instead of coming to me." He closed his eyes. "And every day I live with the same question. Was there something I could have done? Should have done? To save the life of my wife and her child." His voice strained to a rasp. "A child that could have very well been mine."

Charity pressed in close. "I'm so sorry. I wish there was something I could say ... or do."

He lifted her chin. "You can. You can promise you'll stay away from Rigan Gallagher and any man like him. Someone as beautiful as you is bound to be a magnet for men like that. A magnet for men like I used to be, lusting after women to satisfy their own needs. That's why I fell in love with your sister. Because she had something pure inside, an honesty, a conviction that had nothing to do with her being better than you or more lovable. It had everything to do with her deep love for God and his precepts. Faith wasn't good by nature. None of us are, nor will we ever be. But Faith loved God, trusted him, relied on him, no matter what. That type of commitment won her the desire of her heart, just like God promised. It can do the same for you if you let it. If you let him."

Charity looked away, her eyes trained on the sliver of moonlight rippling across the water. "I understand you a lot better now. Anna and your mother are why trust is so important to you." She paused, her voice a bare whisper. "And Faith is how you found it." A sad smile pulled at her lips. "I never stood a chance, did I? After what I did?"

"You do with God. And that's all that really matters. Run to him, Charity. He can change your life like he changed Faith's ... and mine." He sat up and stretched. "Ready to go in? We've had a long day and not much sleep before it."

She shuddered and nodded her head.

He picked her up and pressed a kiss to her cheek, a faint smile on his lips. "You're not going to be waking me up all hours of the night, are you?"