A Heart Revealed (61 page)

The dishes dropped to Sean’s desk with a loud clatter. Emma’s fingers trembled to her chest. “Johnny,” she whispered.

The very name unleashed a flash of fury that scorched through Sean’s body. He started for the door, his voice an angry hiss. “I’ll take care of this.”

“No!” Emma’s shriek halted him with his hand on the knob. She rushed over, her voice as shaky as the palm gripped to his arm. “I will handle this, Sean, I don’t want you involved.”

“I’m already involved,” he rasped, his fingers itching for revenge. “I’m not letting you face him alone, Emma, so don’t argue.”

“All right, but promise me . . .” Her voice trembled from bloodless lips. “Promise you won’t touch him. Violence is not the answer and I . . . I couldn’t bear to see that in you again.”

He stared, drawing in a harsh breath before exhaling it slowly. He nodded, then dropped his hands to his sides and looked away, a muscle twitching in his jaw.

Emma turned. “Tell him I’ll be right in, Bert, then go home. Michelle, tell James and Horace to come up because we may need them, then you head out as soon as you can. Alli, if you would be kind enough to clean up quickly, I’d be most grateful, then you need to go too. Understood?”

Alli nodded, eyes wide and face ashen while she, Bert, and Michelle filed out, leaving Emma to stare after them, her cheeks as pale as chalk. Sean braced an arm to her back, and her eyelids flickered closed for a moment while she wavered on her feet. He squeezed her shoulder. “Ready?”

She didn’t move, simply stared straight ahead, feet rooted to the faded hardwood floor.

Apparently not
, he thought with a grim press of his lips, wishing he’d never promised to leave the lowlife alone
.
With a weary exhale, he took her hand. “It’ll be fine, I promise. Ready?”

Her gaze flicked to his, and his stomach clenched at the flash of fear in her eyes. But then just as quickly as it had come, it left with a firm lift of her chin. Arms to her waist, she nodded and followed behind as he walked into her office, his tall frame blocking her view. “What do you want?” he asked the man who stood to his feet, his tone none too kind.

“To speak with Mrs. Malloy.” The voice was polite with the barest hint of a brogue.

Sean assessed him, noting the fedora in his hands and a scar over his lip. Pale blue eyes stared back from a chiseled face framed by an unruly crop of black curls, badly in need of a trim.

“Who are you?” Sean asked, a hand to Emma’s elbow to bring her into view.

Dimples made way for a slow smile as the man nodded at Emma. “Mrs. Malloy . . .”

With a jagged catch of her breath, Emma stiffened, then slid to the floor in a dead faint.

“Emma!” Sean swept her limp body up in his arms and carried her to her chair, repeating her name while stroking her cheek. She stirred with a moan, and he spun around, turning on the man with a fury. “Who are you and what the devil do you want?”

Bowing slightly with hat to his chest, the man’s troubled gaze lighted first on Emma, and then on Sean, his manner anything but coy. “Beggin’ your pardon, sir,” he said, his smile as tight as the line of Sean’s jaw, “but the name would be Rory Malloy.”

———

It was the strangest feeling—her body numb while she sat in the chair, hands politely folded on her desk as if interviewing just another supplier with a bill of goods she “couldn’t do without.” She stared at her estranged husband, her eyes no longer glazed with shock, but serene and cool, giving no evidence whatsoever that her heart was in her throat. He spoke in the same soft, lilting brogue that had once turned her head, fluttered her pulse, lured her into sin, but this time the words were laced with regret, repentance, and the promise of hope. She was painfully aware of Sean’s presence behind her, perched on the windowsill, muscled arms braced to his chest like a silent threat. The wings of an angel sheltering her from evil.

Evil.
Oddly enough, that was the last thing she felt as she studied the man before her, her face stiff in the professional mode reserved for salesmen she didn’t trust. Suspicion, yes, and anxiety, certainly, but the evil that had destroyed her life and mutilated the very beauty that had drawn him in the first place was no longer present. In its stead she discovered a gentler man with a humility that was as foreign to the old Rory as a woman’s refusal, with piercing blue eyes that begged her forgiveness. And perhaps that was the very reason the evil appeared to be gone—she had forgiven it a long, long time ago.

“You didn’t answer my letters,” he said softly. “That’s not like you.”

She licked her lips, pulse pounding. “It’s not like you to write them,” she whispered.

He drew in a deep breath, finally leaning back in the chair with an answering smile. “No, no it’s not, Emma, and I don’t blame you.” His lips tilted in that crooked way she had fallen in love with, that endearing grin that had sealed her fate. “I wouldn’t have answered me either,” he said, reminding her of just how much she had loved him before the bottle had ruined their lives. The smile faded into the worn look of a man who’d been broken. “I don’t deserve your kindness, Emma, but it’s your kindness that brings me to see you today . . . to ask your forgiveness.”

“I forgave you a long time ago, Rory, I told you that in the note that I left.”

“Yes, you did, but I needed to tell you—in person—just how much I regret what I did.”

She heard Sean’s blast of frustration, and it re-steeled her guard. Her chin leveled up. “What exactly do you want?” she asked quietly, her nerves raw.

His gaze flicked up to Sean with the same hardness she’d known in the past and then softened when it returned to her once again. “That’s an easy one, Emmy, I want you—”

A curse hissed as Sean lunged up from the sill. “Why, you sorry excuse for a man—”

“Sean!” Emma jolted to her feet, blocking his path with a trembling palm to his chest. Her eyes pleaded as her voice dropped to a whisper. “You promised.”

“I promised I wouldn’t touch the other lowlife, not this one.” His eyes, usually so rational and calm, now burned with the same crazed look she’d seen that day at Kearney’s. He gripped her arms. “You’re not swallowing this, are you, Emma? The man’s a God-forsaken liar!”

“He’s right, of course,” Rory countered, “on two scores, at least—I am a sorry excuse for a man and I was a liar . . .” He stood, his voice grew gruff with emotion. “But one thing has changed, Emmy—I’m no longer forsaken by God.”

She peered over her shoulder, his words stilling the air in her throat.

“Get out—now!” Sean pushed her aside and rounded the desk with blood in his eyes.

“Stop!” Emma threw herself between the two men, hands clutched white on Sean’s arms. “If you can’t contain your anger, then I must ask you to leave.”

He strained forward against her hold, his words clenched and spewing venom. “I’m not leaving you alone with this monster . . .”

Her quiet response might have been a slap, given his flinch. “Then don’t force me to make you,” she whispered. “His ring is on my finger, Sean,” she said quietly, speaking words that stabbed at both of their souls. “And truth be told . . . he has as much right here as you.”

His sharp intake of breath pierced her before he finally backed away, his temple throbbing with cool rage. Without another word he moved to stare out the window, his stance as stiff as the muscles ridging his back.

Emma released a fragile breath and turned, her stomach swooping at the nearness of a man who had once weakened her knees . . . and her nerve. Even after eleven years, the scent of him affected her still, swamping her emotions with memories of both love and hate. The faint whiff of licorice from the Sen-Sen he chewed merged with the clean, carbolic smell of Lifebouy soap, taking her back to both the best and the worst times of her life. She quickly backed away to distance herself behind her desk once again, wondering why she wanted to believe he’d changed after all this time.

Gaze locked with his, she slowly lowered into her seat, her voice calmer than she felt. “What do you mean,” she repeated, “that you’re no longer forsaken by God?”

He returned to his chair with a slow exhale, threading blunt fingers through a riot of black curls she’d always envisioned on a son. His gaze faltered, averting to the front of her desk with a faraway stare and a monotone voice. “I wrote you that I got hurt at the factory, Em, and it ruined me. Couldn’t work for months and my lady friend and I . . . ,” he glanced up, and she could see the shame pooling in his eyes, “well, we fought like the devil, we did. Sure, I always tipped the brew, but never like then with so much idle time on my hands and no money coming in. Never once did I dream things could get any worse, but they did.” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he absently twisted the brim of his hat. “We . . . we lost a child, you see . . . a three-year-old son . . .” With an abrupt swipe of his arm, he wiped the moisture from his eyes. “Sure, I could have spit ’im out of my mouth, so much was the little beggar like me—curls as black as night and blue eyes clearer than a Donegal morn.”

He looked up then, a father in pain. “Except Aidan was good, Emmy, the only good thing I’ve ever done, and he loved me, wanted to be just like me, following in my steps every chance he could take.” A harsh laugh erupted from his throat as more tears welled in his eyes. “And he did . . . right down to finishing my bottle the night I’d passed out.” He steadied himself with a harsh intake of air, his gaze seeking Emma’s once again. “I as good as killed ’im, Emmy, the one night his loving da was to watch ’im while his mam was out—poisoned by the same brew that poisoned the love between you and me.”

“No! Oh, Rory . . . I’m so sorry . . .”

“As well I knew you’d be,” he said, his voice tender, “because that’s the kind of woman you are—kind, deep, and full of sorrow over the likes of a wretch like me.” He drew in a harsh breath and closed his eyes. “After Aidan . . . I couldn’t live with myself, you know . . .” A choked laugh broke from his throat. “Nor could Aidan’s mam, for that matter. So I did the only thing I could do, the same thing you did when I hurt you—I turned to God.”

Her breath caught in her throat, and he opened his eyes, both joy and fear fusing the words to her tongue.

His gaze slipped to the ring on her hand. “I’ve given up the drink, Emmy, and I want to make amends if you’ll let me. It’s my ring on your finger, Love, and my cruelty on your face—give me a chance to make it right, to give you the marriage God wants us to have.”

Slamming his fist to the wall, Sean jumped up with a curse. “You beat her and cheat on her, then think you can waltz in here and pick up where you left off? After
eleven years
?”

“No . . . I don’t think that!” Rory said, the tight strain in his voice indicating his struggle to remain calm. “No woman alive would even consider taking me back, and I know that all too well. But from your ardent defense, I suspect you already know—there’s no woman alive like Emma.”

Sean pulled her to her feet and gripped her arms, his tone frantic. “Emma, don’t trust him—he’s a devil, and he ruined your life. He doesn’t deserve you.”

“That’s true,” Rory said, the desperation in his voice battling with Sean’s. “No more than I deserve the forgiveness of God . . . and yet, I have it.”

She stared from the man who’d given her his name to the man who’d given her his heart, and felt the air bleed from her lungs as surely as the hope that now bled from her soul. Fingers numb, she caressed the hand still clutched to her arm while her gaze caressed his face. “Sean, would you mind . . . walking me home now? I need time to think . . . and to pray.”

Without a word, he gently pulled her into his arms and rested his head on hers. She felt the warmth of his hand as he slowly rubbed her back, and when he spoke, his voice held the trace of a threat. “I’m not going to let him do this to you, Emma.”

“I believe the choice is hers.” Rory’s quiet voice rose to the challenge.

“Get out of here!” Sean hissed, his body suddenly stiff.

Emma squeezed his hand and pulled away. “Rory, where are you staying?”

He rose to his feet, hat in hand. “A boardinghouse down by the pier, The Allen House. I dropped my bags off this afternoon when I arrived.”

She nodded and raised her chin, assessing him through cool eyes. “Don’t come to the store again, do you hear? I’ll give it some thought and then contact you so we can talk. Agreed?”

“You can’t be serious . . .” Sean’s voice was an angry rasp.

“Agreed?” she repeated, her tone sharper this time.

Rory gave a short nod, his gaze crystallizing to ice as it shifted to Sean.

“You wanted to see us, Miss Emma?” Horace and James stood at the door, concern ridging their brows.

“Yes, thank you, Horace, James. Sorry to detain you, but would you please escort Mr.—” she paused, swallowing the embarrassment coating her throat—“this . . . gentleman out?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Horace gave Rory a polite nod and extended his hand. “Sir?”

“Thank you,” Rory said. Offering Emma a half bow, his eyes lingered as if he were reluctant to leave. “I appreciate your consideration of my proposal, Mrs. Malloy, and look forward to discussing it further.” With a faint nod, he followed James and Horace out the door.

Emma didn’t breathe until she heard the click of the outer lock, and when she did, she dropped her head in her hand.

“Tell me you’re not considering this.” Sean’s voice was no more than a hiss.

A reedy sigh withered on her lips. “I don’t know what I’m considering,” she whispered.

He braced her arms firmly, his voice a hoarse plea. “Consider the truth, Emma—the man was a drunken monster who cheated on you, beat you, and scarred you for life. Do you really believe someone with that many sins can change overnight?”

She looked up then, heart writhing as tears blurred in her eyes. Her hand trembled when she stroked his face with her fingers, desperate to make him understand just how much God had changed her life for the better.

“Oh, Sean,” she whispered, her own past searing her brain as it had every day since. “The truth is . . . if I didn’t believe that, I would have had no hope at all.”