A Light in the Window (26 page)

“Stay,” he whispered, hands sweeping the length of her back and the curve of her hip, coaxing her, teasing her while his mouth nuzzled her lips. “We’re promised to each other, Marceline—please, just a while longer …”

The thrill of the promised engagement merged with the intensity of his kisses, weakening her will to deny him this one simple request. After all, they were almost engaged, so what harm could be done with a few minutes more? Goodness, this was the moment she’d longed for since she was a little girl—to be promised to Sam O’Rourke and he to her! The very thought made her dizzy in his arms. Soon she would be an O’Rourke, part of the family she loved and adored, and completely cherished by this man she would marry.

Eventually …

***

“I had a wonderful time, Patrick,” Emily said as they mounted the steps of her front porch where the crisp scent of autumn leaves and wood smoke filled the cool night air. “Thank you for taking me to the Fall Promenade.”

“It was my pleasure, Em,” he said quietly, wondering if he’d done the right thing in deciding to see her again. Of all the women he’d wooed, she had been his favorite and the woman he’d spent time with more than any other.
Until Marceline Murphy.
The malaise that always settled with thoughts of Marcy lighted on him now as he gently buffed the arms of Emily’s cloak. “We had talked about the Fall Promenade the last time we were together, so I just thought it fitting to ask you.”

“I’m glad,” she whispered, standing on tiptoe to brush a gentle kiss to his lips. “I’ve missed you.”

A twinge of regret cramped in his chest. Regret that she’d been hurt by his absence, regret that he’d taken advantage of her in the past.

Regret that she wasn’t Marcy.

She laid a gentle palm to his cheek. “I don’t have to be in until eleven, so we have a few minutes to spare. Would you like to sit on the steps and talk a while?”

He paused, knowing full well Emily didn’t expect a whole lot of “talking” from the old Patrick O’Connor, but the new? Releasing a quiet sigh, he took her hand and led her to the first step, tugging her down beside him. She shivered, and he hooked her close, his gaze on the harvest moon overhead instead of her face.

“You seem different,” she said quietly, the familiar scent of rosemary and mint stirring memories of kisses shared on these very steps in the past.

Before Marcy.

The edge of his lips tipped in a faint smile. “I am.”

She pulled away to study his face in the moonlight. “Why?”

Marcy’s image invaded his mind, and he inhaled a deep breath before releasing it again, wishing he could do the same with his feelings for Marcy. “I’ve been volunteering at the St. Mary’s Center of Hope, and it’s changed how I think about some things.”

“Like what?” she asked with a tilt of her head.

He laughed, hardly believing the words about to come out of his mouth. “You know, philosophical things—like what I want in life, the type of man I want to be …” He swallowed hard. “God …”

“God?” she whispered, and he grinned at the expanse of her eyes.

“Crazy, I know.” His smile faded. “But I met someone with a deep faith in God at the center, and between Father Fitz and her, I’m beginning to see things in a whole new light.”

“Her?” She paused while a muscle shifted in her throat. “Is … she why I haven’t seen you for a while?”

He took her hand in his, idly caressing her palm. “She is,” he said carefully, “but there’s nothing between us now, which is why I wanted to start seeing other girls again, particularly you.”

She nodded, her gaze locked on his hand as it gently stroked hers. “I see.” She looked up, and he winced at the vulnerability in her eyes. “I think you know I care about you, Patrick, so I’d like to help put her out of your mind if I can.” Squeezing his hand, she bent close to skim her lips against his, racing his pulse when she deepened the kiss.

Heat scorched his body, reminding him just how long it had been since he’d held a woman in his arms other than sharing a dance at Brannigan’s.
Or wrestling a dishrag at the center …
The very thought dampened the desire that Emily provoked, and with a sudden flash of temper, he jerked her close and kissed her hard with all the passion he’d denied since Marcy had stolen his heart. She melted into his embrace and with an angry surge of old habits, his hands explored the curve of her hips, the length of her thigh, his blood pumping hot while his mouth wandered her throat. If he couldn’t have Marcy’s love, then by thunder, he’d kindle love where he could, searching for the one woman who could drive her from his mind.

A rogue who so casually equates lust with love.

His mouth stilled on her throat at the memory of Marcy’s words, the soft shudder of Emily’s moan freezing every muscle in his body.
God forgive me ...
His eyes shuttered closed as he gently pushed her away. “You need to go inside,” he whispered, rising to his feet and pulling her along. He led her to the door and turned the knob, pressing a kiss to her forehead before prodding her through. “I’ll see you soon, I promise.”

She stopped him with a touch of his arm and a sweet gloss of tears, her voice barely a whisper. “Thank you, Patrick … for a wonderful evening and for …” A knot ducked in her throat. “Making me feel so special just now …”

He smiled. “You are, Em, and don’t let any man ever forget it.” He ambled down the steps, conscience light, but heart heavy while regret thickened the walls of his throat.

Especially a man like me.

Heart sprinting, Marcy bounded up the steps of her front porch, ripping her coat off as she bolted into her house and flung it on the brass rack by the door. Giddy with excitement, she barreled into the kitchen where her mother was fixing tea for her grandmother who had just arrived from Ireland.

“Mima!” she screamed, skidding to a stop in front of a petite version of her mother, chest heaving as she gave her a ferocious hug. “It seems like forever since I’ve seen you, and I’ve missed you so much!”

A husky chuckle too low for the tiny woman in her arms rumbled in her mother’s cozy kitchen that smelled of pot roast and apple dumplings—her grandmother’s favorites. “And I, you, Marceline.” Her blue eyes sparkled like the wisps of silver in her blonde hair as she cupped Marcy’s cheek. “You can be sure I’ll be having words with the Almighty someday, darlin’, as to why the two months I’m here for the holidays go by in a blink while the others drag like a dirge.”

Marcy laughed and hugged her again before hurrying over to do the same with her mother. “So … what can I help you with, Mother?”

Bridget Murphy nodded toward the table with a grin that almost glowed. “Sit, Marceline. The water’s on the boil, and you can join us for tea. I was so excited waiting for Mima to arrive, I did everything but paper the walls,” she quipped with a chuckle. “Cleaned the house, made dinner, dessert, cookies, set the table and picked my nails raw, so now it’s time to enjoy family.”

Tears pricked Marcy’s eyes as her mother handed her a cup and saucer before guiding her to the table with a plate of fresh sugar cookies. Ten months a year she was alone, an only child with no real family of her own except Mother and Papa, but for two glorious months, the house blossomed with a fuller, deeper, noisier love.

Family!

Marcy couldn’t stop the giggle that rose in her throat from the sheer joy of Mima’s presence. The familiar scent of rosewater and the clean smell of freshly starched linen flooded her mind with wonderful memories. She sat on one side while her mother sat on the other, both touching her grandmother’s arm as if to make sure she were real.

“So, young lady,” Mima said with a lift of her pert but prominent chin, “your mother tells me you’re in charge of the fundraiser for St. Mary’s?”

Marcy nodded, more excitement bubbling at the thought that Mima would be here for the play. “I am, Mima, and it’s been such a wonderful experience, working with Father Fitz and Sister Francine, and serving at the St. Mary’s Center of Hope.”

Mima squeezed Marcy’s hand, blue eyes twinkling. “I am so proud of you, Marceline, for taking this project on. Bridget tells me the annual Christmas play is the main support of the parish center that helps the poor, and with your love of the arts and drama, I cannot imagine how wonderful it will be. Tell me about it.”

Marcy giggled, the very sound breathless with anticipation. “Oh, Mima, it’s called
A Light in the Window
, and it’s based on our Irish custom of placing a candle in the window on Christmas Eve through Epiphany to welcome the Holy Family.” Marcy clasped her hands in delight, eyes sparkling, no doubt, as much as her mood. “I found it in a book of Irish plays at the library, and it’s the perfect story for our fundraiser! It’s about a poor family of six where the parents sacrifice to give their children a wonderful Christmas.” She chattered nonstop for several minutes about the play, the rehearsals, and the center, barely taking a breath while her grandmother watched her with true affection. Replenishing with a deep draw of air, Marcy released it again in another joyous giggle as she lifted her cup to her lips. “I can’t wait for you to see it and meet all the people involved,” she said, taking a thirsty sip of tea.

“
A Light in the Window
, is it?” A soft smile lined Mima’s lips as her eyes took on a faraway glow. “Sure, it’s a tradition that harkens back to when I first met my dear Matthew.”

“Really?” Marcy set her cup down to stroke Mima’s thin wrist, her voice gentle. “Why? Is that how you met Grandfather?”

“It was indeed, darlin’,” her grandmother said softly, a glaze in her eyes that might have been tears. “He was on his way home for Christmas, you see, from the university, and the handsome devil stole his friend’s horse on a dare. Bucked right off, he was, hard as you please, not twenty paces outside our gate during a storm.” She grinned and tore her gaze from the past, her smile lighting on Marcy once again. “He saw the light in our window, you know, and much to my parent’s alarm, it was love at first sight.”

Marcy clasped Mima’s hand. “Oh, Mima, I never knew that—that’s so romantic!”

She chuckled with a swipe at her eyes. “Not to Mam and Da, I can tell you that, but in time, they came to love him too, and a fine husband he made in the end, to be sure.” More tears glimmered as she reached to clutch Bridget’s hand. “Aye, and a glorious father too.”

“He was at that.” Bridget dabbed at her eyes with the hem of her apron, popping up to fetch the tea at the shriek of the kettle. She poured Marcy a fresh cup and refilled hers and Mima’s.

“And speaking of ‘romantic,’” Mima said with a gleam in her eye, “your mother tells me you’ve been seeing a young man …”

Marcy took another quick gulp of tea, the steam heating her face as much as Mima’s question. “Yes,” she said with a glance at her mother, stomach clenching at the tight press of Bridget’s lips. “I’m actually seeing Sam, the brother of my best friend Julie.”

Mima nodded slowly. “Ah, yes, Samuel O’Rourke—the rogue that Bridget worries about.”

“Mother!” Marcy shot Bridget a pleading look. “Sam has matured over the last year, and he comes from a wonderful family that I just happen to love.”

“Humph,” Bridget said with a sniff. “It’s not his family I’m worried about, Marceline. Samuel O’Rourke was a hooligan growing up, along with that O’Connor boy, and now the two of them terrorize mothers everywhere.” She slid Mima a wry smile. “Especially me now that he’s taken a fancy to Marcy.” She sighed, shooting her mother a look of concern as she warmed her hands on her cup. “He and that O’Connor boy are just a wee bit too fast, if you ask me. Unfortunately, Marcy’s clearly smitten, so maybe you’ll have more luck convincing her to look elsewhere than I have.”

Marcy squirmed in her seat as always when her mother expressed her displeasure over her relationship with Sam, but now with two sets of probing blue eyes boring into her soul, she suddenly felt outnumbered. She squared her shoulders and took another drink before setting the cup down, determined to win both her mother and Mima to Sam’s side. Sucking in a deep breath, she chose her words carefully. “Yes, it’s true that both Sam and Patrick may have veered off the path of respectability at one time—”

“‘Veered’?” Her mother said with a high lift of brows. Her lips quirked. “A mile-long detour might be a wee more apt.”

Mima chuckled and patted her daughter’s hand. “Give the girl a chance, Bridge. Marceline has always been a trustworthy daughter, so let’s hear her out.”

Bridget grunted, the sound inconsistent with the golden hair and porcelain skin of a well-bred beauty. “Yes, she has, except when it comes to the O’Rourke boy. It seems she’s been smitten with him from the age of eight, even fawning over him in her diary.”

“Mother!”
Marcy jolted straight up in the chair while her cheeks pulsed with heat. “You read my
diary
?”

Bridget’s lip tipped on one side as she reached for a cookie. “Of course I did, Marceline,” she said without apology, chin elevated with dignity. “As any respectable, God-fearing mother worth her salt would do.”

“B-but, but … it’s private!”

Head tilted in sympathy, Bridget smiled at Marcy. “Just to the public, darling, not to mothers who care, right, Mother?”

Mima chuckled. “Aye, darlin’, although if I’d been more diligent, I might have prevented that bothersome husband of yours from stealing you away from our blessed isle.”

The lilt of her mother’s laughter defused Marcy’s shock for the moment, coaxing a grin to her lips when Bridget stuck her nose in the air with a regal pose. “That ‘bothersome’ husband, I’ll have you know, paid to sail you to us in a berth fit for a queen, knowing full well your presence will tax him sorely.”

Mima grinned. “And what a dear boy he is at that,” she said with a chuckle, then gave Marcy a wink. “So you’ve been smitten since the age of eight, is it?” She chewed on her cookie thoughtfully, eyes in a squint. “Why?”

Marcy blinked, lips curling into a grin. “Goodness, Mima, who’s to say just why a young girl loses her heart to a boy? Maybe it was because he was always kind to me while the other boys—
especially
his best friend Patrick—treated me like the plague. When Julie and I wanted to play tag or crack the whip or hide and seek with the older children, Sam would take our side, making the others let us play, even taking great pains to hide us in the best spots.” Marcy sighed. “I was at Julie’s so much, that I guess I got to see who Sam really was inside—his playfulness with his sisters, his tenderness with the younger ones, and even his humor and teasing with his parents. And goodness, when it came to protecting Julie from boys when she got older?” Marcy grinned. “She told me Sam’s worse than a lioness with her cub.”

“Ah, common ground with the boy, eh, Bridge?” Mima sent her daughter a pixie grin before her gaze shifted back to Marcy, her smile fading into soft concern. “And his faith in God, Marceline? Where does the boy stand on that?”

Marcy dove for a cookie, anything to deflect the blush bruising her cheeks. “Well, as a matter of fact, Sam accompanies me to church every week and volunteers at the center and with the play, both he and Patrick.”

Her mother chomped on another cookie, gumming her lips with a dubious air. “Humph … I’m still not convinced those two didn’t run afoul of Father Fitzgibbons somehow, earning those tasks as punishment.” She chewed while she considered her suspicions, eyes in a squint. “Two rogues who work by day and play by night just don’t up and dish out soup to the poor or paint scenery.” Her lips skewed to the right. “Unless it’s painting the town red.”

“Mother, really,” Marcy said with a shake of her head, smiling in spite of herself. “Can’t you give Sam credit where credit is due? He and Patrick are just growing up, finally coming into their own as men, which doesn’t surprise me the least bit, given the caliber of family Sam comes from. I mean, you like Mr. and Mrs. O’Rourke, don’t you? And Julie is like a daughter, after all.”

“Yes, I like the O’Rourkes just fine, and Julie is a gem, no question.” Bridget popped the remainder of her cookie in her mouth, brushing her hands free of crumbs like she wished she could do with Sam, no doubt. “But Samuel O’Rourke has probably seen the inside of Father Fitzgibbons’ office more than the blessed man himself.” She rose to warm up their tea, refilling each of their cups before she replaced the kettle and sank back in her chair. Drawing a long sip, she squinted at her daughter, her cup barely hiding the twitch of a smile. “According to Father Fitz’s housekeeper, Sam and the O’Connor boy were in trouble so much, the two of them may as well have moved in and set up camp.”

Mima chuckled and leaned back in her chair, arms folded to assess Marcy through curious eyes. “You didn’t answer my question on his faith in God,” she said quietly. “I can’t imagine a troublemaker would have too much of that.”

Marcy’s tongue made a quick pass, well aware that Sam’s faith was as tepid as her tea, but he
was
changing.

Wasn’t he?

“No,” she began slowly, “I suspect neither Sam nor Patrick have exercised their faith like they should have over the last few years, but I’ve seen indication of that changing in both of them. Goodness, Patrick counsels with Father Fitz on a regular basis, I understand, and Sam …” She scrambled mentally for anything that would convince her mother and grandmother that Sam was worthy of her hand and her heart. When nothing came to mind, she huffed out a sigh and forged on. “Well, Sam is an O’Rourke, for pity’s sake, a family with a sound moral foundation and faith in God, so I have every confidence he will follow the same path.” She swallowed a gulp of tea.

Sooner or later …

Mima’s gaze sharpened, her mouth compressed into that same thin line of doubt she’d seen in her mother. “Do you?” she whispered.