Veiled Passages (24 page)

“At the very bottom,” she replied, feeling the blush starting again. “The ends are tucked at the very bottom of the lacing.”

She felt his fingers touch her low back through the dress as he searched through the folds to find the ribbons and felt them slide as he pulled them up. “What now?” he asked, his voice slightly rough.

“You need to unthread the ribbons through the little eyelets,” she replied softly.

The rhythmic swishing of satin pulled from satin and the muted sounds of soft breathing were the only noises in the room. Mary felt her skin burn any time Bradley’s hand inadvertently touched her bare skin beneath the dress.

When he had unlaced eight inches of the corset he could see her pale peach flesh. Holding the sides of the dress apart, he leaned forward and placed a kiss on the small of her back.  Inhaling sharply, Mary felt a thrust of heat throughout her body. “Bradley,” she whispered.

He angled his head and kissed her again, lingering on the spot where her back disappeared into the curves of her bottom.

Mary, her knees suddenly weak, clutched the poster of the bed in front of her, to keep from falling to the floor. But the return of the sound of the laces being slipped from their moorings helped her to calm her racing heart.

He was more than halfway up her back when he stopped again. “Bradley?” she asked, afraid to look over her shoulder because she knew what he could see.

The angry crisscrossing of scars from where the bullet exited her body was a picture she could see with her eyes closed.  The red puckered welts, the jagged scars and the too-white stripes of pulled skin. She held her breath, waiting for him to move away.

The first kiss was soft, tentative, as if he was afraid of hurting her. The next one followed a line of scarring from just below her shoulder blade to just above her hip. “Bradley,” she moaned softly. “Please.”

He didn’t respond, but continued to rain kisses across the scars and blemishes on her back, treating each area with passionate devotion. He slipped the last few layers through their lacings and her back lay bare before him. Slipping his hands into the opening of the dress, he rested them on her waist and pulled her backwards so he could rest his head against her. “I will never forget what you had to go through to find me,” he whispered. “To save me.”

A shuddering breath ran through her body, and she found she couldn’t speak as soft tears made their way down her cheeks.  He lifted his head and kissed her back once again.

“Go, get ready,” he said. “You’re undone.”

I’m undone in more ways than one,
she thought as she hurried to the bathroom and closed the door behind her. She glanced at herself in the mirror, her arms wrapped around the front of the dress to hold it in place, her eyes wide and wet, and her mascara smudged. “Yeah,” she sniffed. “That’s a look every groom wants to see on his wedding night.”

Taking a deep breath, she stepped out of her dress and hung it carefully on its padded hanger.  Then she opened the box she’d left in the room earlier that day.  The black silk negligee was softer than anything she’d every owned. She slipped it on and the coolness of the cloth on her overheated body made her shiver. She stepped back in front of the mirror and smiled; it fell over her body in soft sexy folds and barely skimmed the tops of her thighs. She took a few more minutes to freshen up and then, with a deep breath, opened the door to the bathroom.

The glass of water Bradley was holding fell onto the carpet with a soft thud, but he didn’t even notice. He stepped forward, his eyes filling themselves with the vision of Mary. Sweet, sexy Mary.  He couldn’t believe she was his.

She stared at the man who was now her husband. He was bare-chested and barefoot with only his black tuxedo pants hanging low on his hips.  She swallowed as her mouth went dry.

Almost afraid to touch her lest he lose control, Bradley held out his hand and felt even more desire when she placed hers in it and looked up to him with love and trust in her eyes. “You’re beautiful,” he exhaled. “So beautiful.”

She smiled cheekily. “But am I sexy?” she asked.

He closed his eyes for a moment, holding back a groan. “Oh, yes,” he acknowledged hoarsely. “You are very sexy.”

Leading her across the room, they stopped next to the bed. She moved into his arms and slipped her arms around his waist. “I love you, Bradley,” she said, placing a kiss on his chest.

He bent down and placed a kiss on her head and then continued kissing her cheek, face and finally her neck.  Scooping her up, he laid her back against the pillows on the bed and bent over her, one knee on the bed beside her and kissed her again. “And now,” he breathed softly against the sensitive spot where her neck met her shoulder.

“And now,” he whispered, as he slid the strap from her shoulder and kissed the spot where it had been.

“And now,” he said, lifting his head and looking at her, love shining in his eyes.

“And now,” she stammered, her heart in her throat.

A wicked smile spread across his face. “And now, I’m going to take you sledding.”

A surprised bubble of laughter slipped from her throat and she threw her arms around his neck. “That sounds perfectly delightful,” she laughed.

“Oh,” he murmured against her mouth. “It will be.”

Chapter Fifty-four

Sean picked up his drink and sipped it slowly, watching Ian and his fiancée across the room.  Now that Mary and Bradley had left the reception, things were winding down and people were intermingling throughout the restaurant area.  But those two had not left the quiet intimate corner they had settled into at the beginning of the evening. 

They’re engaged,
he reasoned silently.
Of course they want to be alone.  They haven’t seen each other in months.

He stared at the soft waves of red hair cascading onto her shoulders and falling down her back, and shook his head. 
The week Ian announces his Irish fiancée is arriving in Chicago, my Irish mystery woman shows up? How can that be a coincidence? There has to be something going on here.

He shifted his chair again, to try and get a glimpse of her profile, but she casually turned as he moved and once again, all he saw was hair.

“Sean, if you have to go to the bathroom, get up and excuse yourself,” his mother, sitting next to him, teased. “You’ve been shifting around in your chair all evening.”

He turned to her. “Sorry, Ma,” he said. “Just trying to get a look at Ian’s fiancée.”

“Lovely girl,” his father said. “And she hails not far from where your grandmother lived.”

“Really?” he asked, his interest peaked even more. “How close?”

“Just on the other side of the woods,” he said. “Walking distance really.”

Standing up, Sean picked up his drink and nodded to his parents. “I think it’s time I met the lovely lass,” he said.

There was no way she was anyone else but his woman of the woods.  It just made sense. There were just too many coincidences. He just hadn’t figured out how he was going to break the news to Ian.

He schooled his features in a disinterested fashion and rolled his shoulders, releasing some of the built up tension.  Approaching the table, he nodded at Ian. “Hey, Ian, how’s it going?” he said, inwardly wincing at his obviously too casual approach.

Ian smiled up at him. “Sean, have you a minute to meet my fiancée?” he asked.

Sure, your fiancée
, he thought.
She’s not your fiancée; she’s been using you to get to me.

He couldn’t lie to his friend.  He couldn’t not tell him about the woman he had been connected to all of these years.  He had to tell him the truth.

“Ian,” he said, meeting his friend’s eyes. “There’s something I need to tell you.  Something about your fiancée and I.”

“Gillian and you?” Ian asked. “But, I haven’t even introduced you yet. Are you daft, Sean?”

Sean sighed. “Okay, go ahead and introduce us.”

“Gillian Flanagan, met my friend, the great fool, Sean O’Reilly,” Ian said.

Sean spun quickly to accuse the woman who had played with his friend’s heart. “You…” his voice caught in his throat.

It wasn’t her.  This fresh-faced pixie with the saucy smile and sparkling brown eyes was not the Celtic warrior he’d seen in the underground garage.

She leaned forward toward Ian. “Is he bollixed then?” she asked, her soft Irish lilt making her concern over Sean’s sobriety somehow more embarrassing.

He forced a smile and extended his hand. “No, not even a wee bit fluthered,” he replied, adding a bit of Irish to his own voice. “Just taken, I am, by your beauty. I’m Sean O’Reilly.”

“Ah, you’re one of Mary’s brothers,” she replied. “She’s a lovely girl.”

Sean nodded. “Yes, she is,” he admitted. “Even if she is my sister.”

Ian sat back in his chair and studied Sean for a moment. “You mentioned there was something you had to tell me about Gillian,” he said. “I’m waiting.”

Sean shook his head. “No, I was mistaken,” he said. “I thought she was someone else I knew.”

Gillian looked up suddenly and smiled. “Another woman from Ireland with long red hair?” she asked.

He nodded. “Actually more of a will o’ the wisp,” he muttered.

Her smile widened. “Well, when have you heard of an Irishman who didn’t love a good story?” she asked, pushing out the chair next to her. “Have a seat, Sean O’Reilly, and tell us your story.”

Epilogue

The gales of the moor swept around the ancient estate whistling through the turrets and sailing across the keep. In the older section of the castle the tapestries shivered as the wind slipped through ancient window panes and crumbling limestone.  But in the new, renovated section, the occupants slept peacefully as the furnace blew hot comfortable air into each carpeted, remodeled room.

Bradley woke with a sleeping Mary nestled in his arms. He could really get used to this, he thought with a smile.  Sliding his arm carefully out from under her, he rolled over in the giant four-poster bed and looked at the bedside clock. It was nearly three o’clock, they’d only been sleeping since midnight, but Mary had made him promise that he would wake her so they could make love during the witching hour.  She had said it was for good luck, and there was no way he was going to argue.

He rolled back, leaning over her and gently pushed the hair from her face. He studied the soft line of her cheek and marveled at the length of her lashes as they fell on her face. She was so beautiful.  He bent closer and whispered in her ear. “Mary, darling, I love you.”

She stirred, cuddling closer to him and, with a smile on her face, continued her dream. Bending over, he tenderly kissed her forehead and then worked his way down the side of her face and finally to her lips.  He kissed the corner of her mouth and she moved towards him in her sleep. “Mmmmmm, Bradley,” she whispered.

He kissed her again, while his hands softly stroked her warm skin.  She shivered and moved even closer, but still didn’t open her eyes.  He started to slide his hands down her back when he happened to glance over her shoulder to the darkened corner of the room.

He heard the grandfather clock in the hallway chiming the hour as the woman stepped from the shadows.  She was dressed in heavy brocade, in a fashion that was known several centuries earlier.  “Sir,” she whispered. “Sir, please can you help me?”

Bradley stared in shocked surprise because, although her lips were moving and the words were coming from her mouth, her head was lying on a platter she was carrying in her arms.

Mary stirred next to him. “Bradley, you’re not kissing me,” she complained in a drowsy voice.

He gently jostled his sleeping wife. “Mary,” he whispered. “Darling, um, we have company.”

“Tell them to go away,” she said hazily and started to nibble on his chest.

“Please sir, I’m lost and I need your help,” the woman pleaded, moving closer to the bed.

He could see the raw ragged flesh where her head used to be, whatever means had been used to remove her head had not been efficient or quick.

“Mary,” he said, groaning softly as she kissed his neck. “Mary, I hate myself for saying this, but you have to stop.”

Mary purred softly and kept nuzzling him. “Bradley, you’re not being very romantic.”

This was so unfair,
he decided.

“Yeah, um, babe, I want to be romantic.  I mean, I really want to be romantic,” he said. “But this, um, other thing seems a little urgent.”

She sat up and sighed. “What are you talking about?” she asked.

He pointed past her. “Her,” he said. “The ghost.”

She looked over her shoulder and peered into the dark room. “Who?”

“The woman,” he exclaimed. “Next to the bed. The headless woman.”

Mary shook her head. “I can’t see her.”

“Oh, that’s right,” he said, moving away from her and sliding to the other side of the bed.

As he moved away, the ghost came into view. “Please Miss, can you help me?” the head on the platter uttered. “They’ve killed me.”

Mary looked over her shoulder to Bradley. “Oh, her,” she replied.

He slid back over next to her and wrapped his arms around her. “She kind of killed the mood,” he whispered into her ear. “Excuse the pun.”

She leaned back against him for a moment, closing her eyes and inhaling his distinct masculine scent, nearly purring as he tightened his hold on her. 

Sighing she opened her eyes again and looked at the ghost. The woman had clearly been dead for centuries; she wondered how urgent her need was.

“We’re on our honeymoon,” she explained, “Do you mind…”

The head on the platter smiled. “Well, isn’t that sweet,” she said. “How long have you been married dearie?”

“Only three days,” Mary replied.

“Oh, well, bless my soul, I’ve been like this for four hundred years,” the ghost replied, moving back toward the dark corner. “You enjoy that man of yours; I’ll come back again tomorrow night, if that’s all right with you.”

Mary nodded. “That would be wonderful,” she said. “Thank you for understanding.”

She turned, pushed Bradley backwards onto the bed and leaned over him, her face just inches above his. “It’s the witching hour,” she said, leaning down to kiss him.