A Heart Revealed (69 page)

“What are you doing?” she cried, hair tousled and clothes rumpled.

He quietly closed it behind him. “Talking to the woman I love.”

She shook her head. “No, don’t say that.”

“Why not?” He moved toward the bed, challenging her with his gaze. “It’s the truth, Emma, no matter how difficult it is for you to hear.”

“I’m not the woman you think I am,” she whispered, inching back against the wall as if somehow she thought she could put distance between them. He took another step forward, determined there would never be distance again.

“Yes, you are,” he said quietly. “Your past is over. It’s your future I care about.”

“Don’t come any closer—please.” She wouldn’t look at him, head bowed and eyes squeezed shut while she clutched her arms to her waist.

“Emma.” He said it softly, fervently, with all the passion he felt in his heart. “Look at me—please.”

She began to tremble, and he moved closer. He knelt one knee on the bed, and her eyes jerked open, spanning wide. “Sean—if you really and truly love me—you’ll leave me be.”

He stared a long time, her words a jagged barb that bled into his voice. “Tell me, Emma,” he whispered, “is loving me such a painful prospect?”

Water welled in her eyes, and she shook her head, dispelling her tears. “No,” she said, her voice a frail rasp, “not me loving you—you loving me.” A heave shuddered in her chest as she looked away. “If you only knew . . . you would understand. I’m not worthy.”

He stood rooted to the floor, comprehending for the first time in his life that God had ordained him for this. Blessed him with the privilege and the calling to love and nurture one of the wounded souls so very close to God’s heart. To restore what the locusts had eaten in a woman’s life who had given her life to God.

And I will restore to you the years that the locust hath eaten . . . and ye shall eat in plenty, and be satisfied and praise the name of the Lord your God, that hath dealt wondrously with you: and my people shall never be ashamed.

Wondrously, indeed. A holy reverence lighted on him that he’d never felt in any church, in any prayer uttered over a meal, or in any rote confession of faith. No, it was far deeper—a reverent gratitude for the touch of God in his life and his infinite love and mercy for those he calls by name.
Like Emma Malloy
, he thought, emotion swelling in his throat.
And me . . . the man privileged to love her.

With slow and deliberate motion, Sean reached for her against her will . . . like God so often does with his children who are lost. Holding her in his arms, he rocked her gently while she wept, whispering his love against the tendrils of her hair. “You have it all wrong, Emma,” he said quietly when her tears finally slowed. “I’m the one who’s not worthy.” And cupping her swollen face in his hands, he gently kissed each scar on her face, marks of beauty all for a woman who’d chosen to forgive rather than hate.

His body relaxed when she finally melted in his arms, lids closed and her mouth parted in shallow breaths. He kissed her eyes then, tasting the salt of her tears. “My prayer is that someday these very eyes will see your beauty as I see it, Emma.” His mouth wandered to her ear, warming it with the touch of his lips. “That your ears will hear the truth of your priceless worth.” Slowly trailing the curve of her face, he nuzzled her lips gently, carefully. “And that this mouth will utter thanks to God every day when these very lips become a feast for our love.” He deepened the kiss until their tenuous breaths became as one, then rested his head to hers. “I love you, Emma Malloy,” he whispered, her cheek wet against his lips, “and I need you to be my wife.”

Seconds seemed suspended in time as he awaited her answer, light-years that delayed the next beat of his heart.

“Frey,” she said in a timid voice that tilted the corners of his mouth. “My name is Emma Frey.”

His deep chuckle feathered the silk of her skin before he cradled her face in his hands. “What a beautiful name,” he said, grazing her jaw with the pads of his thumbs. His smile was tender. “Too bad I have to change it.”

21

T
hese w-waterworks have got to s-stop,” Charity said with a wobble in her voice, blinking in the sunlight that filtered through the gauzy sheers of her bedroom windows. The scent of Shalimar lingered in the air along with cousins’ shrieks and giggles in the backyard from a snowball fight going on.

“I don’t know how . . . ,” Emma said, swiping at the wetness on her face. Despite the chill of the snow-clad New Year’s Day, she had never felt so warm, so alive, so full of joy that just naturally spilled out.

Mrs. Sean O’Connor.

She closed her eyes and drank in the moment, Charity’s hand warm in hers while they sniffled and swayed to Rudy Vallee singing “As Time Goes By,” as it drifted from downstairs where family and friends waited to say goodbye.
You must remember this, a kiss is just a kiss, a sigh is just a sigh. The fundamental things apply, as time goes by . . .

Emma smiled while more “waterworks” stung her eyes.
As time goes by.
In a few short weeks, a lifetime of sorrow and shame had, indeed, gone by, leaving Emma with new hope, a new husband, and a new life.
Oh, Lord, how can I ever thank you?

Charity shoved one of ten handkerchiefs she stole from Mitch’s drawer into Emma’s hand, sniffling right along with her best friend. “We shouldn’t be crying—this is s-supposed to b-be the happiest d-day of our lives.”

Emma laughed, and then started blubbering again. “It issssss . . . ,” she said, hugging Charity before trailing off into another happy whimper. She pulled back and dabbed at her face, a crooked grin breaking through. “I think this may be a record—how many is this?” she asked, holding the handkerchief in the air.”

A waterlogged giggle broke through as Charity blew her nose. “T-ten t-total, including four for you and me and one each for my mother, sisters, Alli, and Bert.”

“Bert cried?” Emma asked, wonder lacing her tone.

Charity nodded, her lips veering into an off-center smile. “But I’m not sure if it’s because she’s happy or because she’s sitting next to Horace.” With a noticeable quiver of her lips, she clasped Emma’s hands in hers. “Emma O’Connor, do you have any idea how much I love you?”

Stroking a hand to Charity’s cheek, Emma gave her a watery smile so tender that on its own it assured Charity she was loved. “Yes, friend of my heart, I most definitely do.”

“Good,” Charity said with a final swipe of her handkerchief. She jutted her chin. “You better send me a postcard from New York before you sail for Killarney, Mrs. O’Connor, or your name is mud. And I still can’t believe it—not only my sister-in-law, but now an heiress too!” She winked. “Who knows—inheriting your aunt’s estate, you may be richer than me!”

Emma grinned. “Not likely, but I do remember Auntie Chloe always gave me the most lavish gifts when I was a little girl . . .” Her lips bent in a wry smile. “Before I sullied the family name with Rory, that is.”

Charity squeezed her hand. “Water under the bridge, Mrs. O’Connor. You have another family name to attend to now.” She glanced at her watch. “Goodness, we need to get you out of here before my brother breaks down the door.” She hugged Emma once more. “Friend of my heart, yes, but now sister of my heart too, don’t forget.”

“Emma, you ready?” Sean’s voice sounded along with a knock on the bedroom door, and Charity grinned. “Speak of the devil.”

Ready?? No! Not yet . . .
Emma chewed her lip, certain she was forgetting something. “Almost,” she called while her gaze darted around the room in search of her purse.

“Here.” Charity handed her the pretty peach clutch that matched Emma’s tailored woolen suit perfectly, complemented by a simple strand of pearls that had been a wedding gift from Sean. “You look beautiful,” she said over her shoulder as she headed for the door. “But,” she said with a wiggle of brows, “not as beautiful as tonight in that
very
sheer negligee I gave you.”

Heat swallowed Emma whole just as Charity opened the door. Sean’s smile faded as he stepped in the room, looking so handsome in his charcoal double-breasted suit and striped tie that Emma felt like crying all over again. One look at his broad shoulders, commanding height, and chiseled features, and the heat from Charity’s remark traveled to every part of her body.

“Emma, are you okay?” he asked, blue eyes squinted in concern. “You look flushed.”

Charity grabbed Emma’s bouquet off the bed along with the garter and moseyed back to the door, giving him a wink. “That’s just the blush of love in her cheeks, brother dear. Come on, you two, there are plenty of women downstairs chomping at the bit to get their mitts on this bridal bouquet, although I’m not sure we’ll find too many takers for the garter.”

Sean stroked Emma’s cheek with his thumb, the look in his eyes warming her all over again. “You look beautiful,” he whispered, leaning to brush his lips against hers.

“Hey,” Charity said with a jerk of her head, “you have a whole week in New York for that stuff, never mind the rest of your lives. And lonely single women
are
waiting, you know.”

“What a slave driver.” Sean strolled to the door with a grin, then snatched the garter from Charity’s hand. His eyes sobered as he bent to give her a kiss on the cheek. “I don’t know how Emma and I can ever thank you and Mitch for all you’ve done for us, sis.” A sheen of moisture shone in his eyes that rivaled his sister’s. He squeezed her arm with a crooked smile. “You’re one in a million, kid, you know that? Love ya.”

“Love ya back,” she said. “Besides, it’s the least I could do for my big brother and best friend, not to mention myself.” Her lips squirmed to the side. “You know I can’t rest until every O’Connor is happily wed.”

He twirled the garter on his finger with a grin. “Yeah, I know. Poor Steven.”

“You best throw that thing right at him, you hear?” Charity said, finger raised in warning.

“Yes, ma’am, but no guarantee,” he said, shoving the garter high on his forearm. “Steven’s even more gun-shy about marriage than I was.”

“Yeah, but we got our man, right, Emma?”

Emma grinned. “By the grace of God, I’m afraid,
and
the obstinance of my sister-in-law.”

“Sister-in-law . . . oh, that sounds so good, doesn’t it?” Charity sighed.

Emma nodded, fresh tears threatening.

“Don’t start,” Charity said sternly, blinking hard to dispel her own emotion. She jerked her head toward the landing. “Let’s go.”

Sean looked back at Emma and winked before easing the door closed in Charity’s face. “We’ll be right out, but first I have something to say to my wife.” With a firm click, he promptly locked it and turned, all but devouring Emma with his eyes as he slowly walked to where she stood, rooted to the floor. For the first time since Rory had thrown the hot grease in her face, she felt beautiful, sending warmth through her that could have curled her toes. “I love you,” he whispered, and her heart turned over at the heated look in his eyes. Like she was the world to him—the moon, the stars—or the woman he’d love for the rest of his days.

He pulled her into his arms and kissed her, slow and deliberate, causing her pulse to sprint. With a soft nuzzle of her lips, he picked her up in his arms and carried her to the bed.

“Sean O’Connor, what are you doing?” she squealed, her heart swooping in her chest like a flock of seagulls diving over Massachusetts Bay.

He eased down on the bed with her snug on his lap, leveling her defenses with a single kiss that trapped a moan in her mouth. “Sweet chorus of angels,” he whispered, exploring her throat with his lips. His hands shimmied beneath the suitjacket and blouse to grip her close with a low groan. “I’ve been wanting to do this all day.”

Emma closed her eyes, every nerve tingling from the caress of his palms against her skin as they swept the curve of her waist, the swell of her hips. His lips kindled a heat inside far warmer than the hungry reach of his hands or the gentle mating of his mouth against hers.

“I love you, Emma,” he whispered, causing the warmest of shivers to tremble her body, “and I plan to spend every minute of every day making sure you never forget.” He dipped her back on the bed and kissed her thoroughly until she completely forgot about the people below.

Oh, Lord, is this how much you love me?
she wondered, intoxicated by the depth of Sean’s love.

More
, came the answer, causing a surge of joy—and her husband’s fiery kiss—to take her breath away.

“Uh, excuse me, but are you two ever planning to come out?” Charity’s tease carried through the door while she interrupted them with an impatient tap. “Don’t mean to embarrass you, but there’s a foyer full of people who have a
pre-e-e-etty
good idea of what’s going on up here, so I suggest you save it for the honeymoon.”

Emma jolted up, her cheeks suddenly as warm as the rest of her body. “Coming!” she shouted, wriggling off Sean’s lap and retucking her blouse with a nervous chew of her lip.