A Heart Revealed (53 page)

“Anything.”

She drew in a deep breath, as if gathering her strength. “I need you to promise . . . that you will continue to see Rose.”

“No!” He stepped back, his tone sharp. “You can’t ask that of me. I don’t want to see her anymore. I can’t be with her when I’m in love with you.”

A calm lighted upon her as soft as the haze around the moon, reminding him of just why he had fallen in love with her. The barest of smiles edged her lips, sad and peaceful at the same time. “It’s the only way I’ll agree to this, Sean.”

The temper he so rarely displayed nipped at him, stiffening his jaw. “But why? You’re pushing me at a woman I don’t want—a woman who tempts me in all the wrong ways.”

The implication of his words made her flinch, and he hated the satisfaction that welled within. But she needed to know—know that Rose would be offering something that she never could. He stared at her, a nerve pulsing in his cheek. He could deny his passion with Emma because he was in love with her. He could never deny his passion with Rose because it was lust.

She distanced herself and squared her shoulders. “Then you need to marry her, because she’s in love with you and we both know it. I have a feeling you’ll grow to love her, have children with her, and then we can spend the rest of our lives as God intended—as friends.”

He shook his head in defeat. “Why are you making me do this?”

She stepped forward, as if this final condition had given her the strength she needed. “Because I refuse to stand in the way of all that God has for you. You’re a man, Sean, and you need a woman to love, to have children with, a family. You were created for that, I know that as surely as I know that I love you. Do this for me, please. Because when I see you happy with a woman who can love you as I cannot, my joy will be complete.” She placed a gentle hand on his arm, her voice a hushed appeal. “Promise me—please.”

Moisture filled his eyes, and he looked away. “I promise to try, Emma,” he whispered, unwilling to commit to something he wasn’t sure he could do. “But I don’t love her.”

“But you’re fond of her, I know.”

He looked up, all energy depleted. “Yes, I am fond of her.”

“Then try, Sean, please—that’s all that I ask.”

He nodded and turned away, moving toward the door with a heavy heart. He fisted the knob and glanced to the side. “You know, I don’t know whether to hate Rory Malloy or to thank him. Because without him, you wouldn’t be here.” He hung his head, lost in a hard stare. “But then again with him . . . you’re out of my reach.” He opened the door, never once looking back. “Good night, Emma.”

———

Her courage crumpled in her chest, convincing her that no pain had ever equaled this. Not Rory’s vile slaps, not his cutting words or his heartless philandering. Not the death of parents who didn’t care, or the loss of her beauty at the hands of a monster, transforming her into a monster herself. No, this was deep, touching the core of everything she’d ever hoped to be, everything she’d ever hope to have . . . everything she’d ever dreamed or prayed.

She slumped into her chair and closed her eyes, wondering why the God she depended on, the God who loved her, had brought her down to this—a pain so sharp that she could barely breathe.
Why, God?
Giving her contentment in living for him and only him, and then taking it all away with a taste of what might have been. A taste of something good that she could never have.

The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away; blessed be the name of the Lord.

Emma laid her head on the desk as Job’s words pierced, prayers streaming from her lips as quickly as tears streamed from her eyes. “I do bless you, God, because I know that all things work together for good to them that love you.” A heave shuddered through her as she begged God to give her the grace, the strength to praise him in this situation that tormented her soul, and when she finally spoke, her voice was no more than a rasp of pain. “No matter how hard, no matter how difficult, God, I will always say, ‘blessed be the name of the Lord.’”

“Emma?”

Head jerking up, she quickly swiped at her eyes. “Rose?” She glanced at the cherrywood clock on the wall. “It’s after seven, how on earth—”

“I hid . . . in the ladies’ bathroom . . . just like the last time.” The young woman hesitated at the door, a contrite look on her face and a beaded clutch in her hands.

“Oh.” Emma swallowed hard and rose to her feet. “I’m sorry, you just missed Sean.”

“I know,” she whispered. “I didn’t want to see him. I wanted to see you.”

“Me?” Emma sagged into her chair, ridges lining her brow. “Why?”

Rose indicated the chair where Sean sat earlier. “May I?” Emma nodded, and Rose perched on the edge of the seat, still fingering the beaded clutch in her hands. “I . . . know this may seem odd, Emma, but Sean respects your opinion so much that I thought . . .” She hesitated, as if the words pained her. “I mean he loves you a lot, so your word carries a lot of weight . . .”

“Rose, what are you trying to say?”

She breathed in deeply, gaze glued to Emma’s. “I . . . need your help.”

Emma shifted in the chair. “What kind of help?”

Her hands trembled as she folded them on top of her purse, all the while studying Emma through wary eyes as if deciding how much to reveal. “Emma, you already know that I’m desperately in love with Sean, have been since the age of fifteen, and there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do—” she swallowed hard before forging on—“to convince him to marry me.”

“I know Sean’s fond of you too, Rose, because he’s told me so.”

Her eyes honed in on the purse in her lap. “Yes, yes, he is fond of me, I do know that.” She glanced up, and Emma’s heart clenched at the longing in the young woman’s eyes. “But I’m not stupid, Emma, I know he doesn’t love me.” She paused, fingers fondling the beads on her clutch. “Not like he loves you . . .”

Emma jolted up in her seat, heat scorching her cheeks. “Rose, I assure you that Sean and I are nothing more than friends.”

“I know that, Emma, truly I do. And to be honest, if you weren’t married, I’d probably be pretty worried because he talks about you all the time, and I can tell that he . . . well, that he cares about you very much.”

“Sean cares about all of his friends.”

“Yes, he does . . . but you’re the one he listens to.”

Emma nodded, not sure what to say.

“So . . . I thought I would come here tonight to appeal to you, woman to woman.”

“How can I help?” Emma whispered.

“I’ve convinced my father that I intend to marry Sean one way or the other, and he has finally agreed.” A smile flickered on her lips. “Of course, it doesn’t hurt that the sales for the second store have plummeted since Sean left, and my father would do anything to lure him back.” Rose leaned forward in her chair, fingers pinched on Emma’s desk. “Father has offered to not only give Sean his store back, but a substantial raise and—if we get married—full partnership in the stores.”

Emma’s pulse picked up. “That’s . . . a very generous offer, Rose.”

“It is, Emma, and if we got married, Sean would become a very wealthy man doing the thing that he loves the most—running his own store. And I would be”—her eyes glowed at the prospect—“needless to say, a
very
happy woman.”

Reaching for her pen, Emma absently doodled on Sean’s report, her pen stilling at the memory of his words before he’d left
. “You’re pushing me at a woman I don’t want, Emma—a woman who tempts me in all the wrong ways.”
She swallowed hard, desperate to do everything in her power to protect both Sean and Rose from temptation. Glancing up at the young woman before her, she knew that if given the chance, Rose would be a good wife. The hopeful glow and youthful vulnerability she saw in her face softened her heart, and she drew in a deep breath. “Rose, would you mind terribly if I gave you some advice regarding Sean?”

Rose’s eyes spanned wide and she clasped the front of Emma’s desk like a little girl. “Oh, Emma, please! I need all the advice I can get if I’m going to convince that man to propose.”

Emma tried to smile, but her attempt faltered as she idly fingered her pen. “Sean is . . . a very old-fashioned man, very moral, very drawn to a godly type of a woman. He and I have had many a conversation about this, and I feel certain when I say that the woman who gets Sean to the altar will be the one who offers him the purity and self-discipline he’s looking for in a wife.” She hesitated, giving Rose a gentle smile. “Do you . . . understand what I mean?”

Dark stains of red bled into Rose’s cheeks until her face was as pink as the coral scarf strewn around her neck. She nodded, gaze dropping to the purse in her hands. “Yes,” she said quietly, “and I appreciate your candor, Emma, really I do. I . . . well, I’ve been feeling a bit guilty anyway, over how close we’ve become . . .” She looked up, her eyes wide. “Oh, nothing drastic, understand, it’s just that when we kiss lately, things tend to get a bit out of hand . . .”

A bit out of hand
. . . Emma closed her eyes, each word a knife through the heart.

“Emma?”

“Oh!” She dropped the pen and looked up. “Forgive me, Rose, what did you say?”

“I asked if you would help me convince Sean to take the job at my father’s store.”

Lose Sean? Not only to Rose, but to Kelly’s as well?
She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Absolutely, I think that’s just what he needs. After all, neither of us expected his stay at Dennehy’s to be permanent.”

“Oh, Emma!” Rose giggled and bounded to her feet, heels clicking as she circled the desk. Swiping tears of joy from her eyes, she scooped Emma up in a hug, her voice breathless. “You are everything that Sean says you are—kind, generous, and completely selfless. I don’t know how to thank you.”

Emma hugged her back, fighting the moisture in her own eyes, which was anything but tears of joy. “Well, I do, Rose,” she said quietly. She drew in a deep breath and patted the young woman’s arm, brow angled to indicate a demand rather than a request. “Just make him happy.”

“Here are the menus, Mr. Dennehy—three selections from each of the ten restaurants you asked me to call, all typed up for Mrs. Hennessey. Do you need anything else before I go?”

Mitch glanced up from the sea of papers scattered across his desk—donor lists, donation inventory, pledges, and patron ads ad nauseam—and reached to take the sheets from his secretary’s hand. He gave her a grateful smile. “Thanks, Dorothy, you’re a lifesaver. Just my luck that Mrs. Hennessey had a falling out with the caterer who’s been booked since July. She’s been clamoring for these for weeks now, but I’ve been too busy to tackle it.”

Dorothy gave him a sympathetic smile. “I honestly don’t know how you’re doing everything on the auction and your job too. I wish there was more you’d let me do.”

He shuffled papers into neat, little piles before tucking them into his briefcase. “Yeah, well, I wish there was more you could do too, but Mrs. Hennessey is bent on my handling every detail myself.” His lips twisted. “I suspect it’s her way of keeping me under her thumb.”

She smiled and headed for the door. “Well, it will all be over soon. Good night, Mr. Dennehy. See you tomorrow.”

“Good night, Dorothy.” He slipped the menus into the briefcase and exhaled, glancing at his watch to check the time. Not that it mattered—Marjorie was usually late, another one of her ways of keeping him in line, he supposed.

Women.
There were days when he wished he could do without them—at least the blond variety. He scrubbed his face with his hands and yawned, leaning back in his chair to close his eyes in a rare moment of rest. He could use a little peace and quiet, especially after the horrendous day they’d all had. The market had taken another nosedive today—just another blow in its steady slide since April. Two years had passed since Black Thursday, the day that sent Wall Street reeling when panicked sellers unloaded nearly 13 million shares on the New York Stock Exchange. It had been unprecedented—trading three times the normal volume, culminating in losses over five billion dollars for investors around the world. Anxiety tightened his throat. Investors like Patrick, who’d sunk his savings into the market. Mitch’s sigh was laden with worry, thinking how hard Patrick and Marcy had been hit and still struggled today, pinching pennies in these tremulous times. Patrick had encouraged him to invest as well, but he’d put it off, never being much of a gambler with his money.
Only with love
, he thought with a press of his lips, reminded once again that loving Charity, apparently, was the biggest gamble of all.

Exhausted, he drew in a deep breath to clear his mind of his worries, determined to take advantage of Marjorie being late and indulge in a quick nap. He couldn’t remember when he’d been this tired. Sleep had been almost nonexistent lately, at least since two weeks ago. His jaw hardened. Two weeks ago that his wife had not only made a fool out of herself, but out of him. Never had he been so furious with Charity, not even in the two years prior to their marriage when such harebrained stunts had been as natural to her as breathing . . . and lying. But this time she’d gone too far, humiliating him in his place of business, not only in front of his co-workers—for whom it was front-page news—but in front of a superior as well. A superior who, obviously as mortified as him, hadn’t shown up for their meeting last week. He grunted. Superior. Yeah, right. The only thing Marjorie Hennessey was superior at was getting under his skin.