A Heart Revealed (46 page)

“No, Angus, it’s a surprise. Is he in his office, do you know?”

“No, ma’am, he’s in the boardroom with Miz Hennessey. You know where that is?”

She hurried toward the staircase with a wave and a smile. “Yes, Angus, I do, thank you.” She put a finger to her lips. “Remember, it’s a surprise.”

Heart hammering in her chest, she quickly shed her coat and ascended the landing, then pushed through the windowed double doors that led to the newsroom. She smiled at several workers as she honed in on the boardroom at the end of the hall. Much to her relief, activity was subdued this time of night, although a handful of reporters and second-shift copywriters offered curious stares as she peered into Mitch’s empty office.

With a lift of her shoulders, she made her way to the boardroom, then paused to suck in a deep breath before she laid her hand to the knob. She turned it slowly, quietly, inching the door open just enough to peek in. She was met with the staccato punch and click of an adding machine as Mitch pounded numbers in at a dizzying pace, his broad back bent over the task with great focus while Marjorie Hennessey looked on. It was almost hypnotic, the rapid-fire movement of his fingers combined with the powerful jerk of his arm on the lever, his sleeves rolled to reveal tight muscles bent on the task at hand.

The noise and distraction allowed her to study the woman whose lips had obviously strayed to her husband’s neck, and one glance told her all she needed to know. Marjorie Hennessey perched on the table, silky legs crossed and torso bent forward with chin in hand. She leaned close to Mitch, barely a breath away, skirt edging her thigh and blouse gaping to reveal a deep cleft of breasts. Darkly smudged eyes fixed on the ticker-tape tally spitting out of his machine while blood-red nails clicked on the table, almost grazing his arm.

Suddenly the machine stopped, and with a snatch of the tape, Mitch launched to his feet. “Sweet saints, we did it! Do you realize what this means?”

Marjorie slid off the table with a husky laugh and eased her body close to his. “I believe it means you’re amazing, Mr. Dennehy.” She gazed up with seduction in her eyes while one scarlet nail slowly trailed his arm. “What do you say we celebrate?”

Charity heaved the door open. It banged against the wall with a deafening slam. “What do you say we don’t, and you get your hands off my husband?”

The element of surprise had always served her well, but never more so than now. Mitch jerked around, almost stumbling against his chair while Marjorie went stiff as a corpse. He was not a man prone to blushing, but he did so now, profusely, the blood in his cheeks a telling contrast to the lack of it in Marjorie’s, whose face was as pale as death. With shock glazing their eyes, both appeared to be struck dumb until Mitch finally spoke, his voice little more than a croak. “Charity . . . what are you doing here?”

Mitch wasn’t the enemy, but suddenly it didn’t seem to matter. Months of fear, anger, and jealousy had boiled inside until it had nowhere to go but over the top, scalding anyone in its path. Sauntering in with hands on her hips, all rational thought fled as she singed him with a look, her voice as sharp as the click of her heels. “No, Mitch, why don’t you tell me what
you’re
doing here . . . with
her
.”

In a grind of his jaw, all shock appeared to evaporate as he shoved the chair out of his way and charged toward the door, hurling it closed. He wheeled on her with fire in his eyes and a tic in his cheek, his voice tight with tension. “You will leave this instant, and we will discuss this at home. Is that clear?”

She leaned in, defying him with an angry thrust of her chin. “The only thing clear to me is that woman’s intent and . . .
obviously
. . . your willingness to comply.”

The grinding accelerated as he gripped an iron fist to her arm. “Don’t you dare accus—”

“Mitch . . . I assume this is your lovely wife?” Marjorie had found her voice, apparently, as well as her composure. She eased back on the table and crossed her legs once again as she studied Charity through cool eyes. “Please accept my apologies for taking so much of your husband’s time, Mrs. Dennehy, but I’m sure you can understand that as cochair for one of the most important charities in all of Boston, Mitch has been invaluable to the
Herald
.”

Charity jerked her arm free and strode forward, her fingers itching for a handful of hair. “It’s not my husband’s value to the
Herald
that has me concerned, Mrs. Hennessey.”

“Charity, I want you to leave—
now
! This is a place of business—”

Her eyes bore into Marjorie. “Monkey business, if my assessment is correct.”

He grabbed her from behind and spun her around, fusing his hands to her shoulders. His voice, dangerously low, held a note of warning she had never heard before. “I’m asking you for the last time—please leave now, and we will discuss this at home.”

“Mrs. Dennehy, I assure you that the relationship between your husband and me is strictly professional, a working relationship and nothing more.”

Charity glanced back to rake the woman with her eyes—from the haughty, scarlet lips and platinum hair, to the revealing satin blouse that glided over slim hips to a shockingly short skirt. Her mouth edged into a thin smile. “That’s quite clear, Mrs. Hennessey,” she said with ice in her tone. She broke from Mitch’s grasp to hurl his soiled shirt on the table. “And obvious to me from the lipstick on my husband’s collar, that
you’ve
been working particularly hard.”

Mitch clamped a hard arm to her waist and literally lifted her toward the door.

“Good night, Mrs. Dennehy,” Marjorie said in a superior tone. “Thank you for letting me . . .
have . . .
your husband on Thursday nights. I can’t tell you what a pleasure it’s been.”

Charity lunged around, wild-eyed in Mitch’s hold. All at once, something snapped inside at the smug look of victory on Marjorie’s face, and fresh rage pumped through her veins like adrenaline. With a hiss of air, she twisted free and flew toward the woman.

“Charity!” Mitch’s voice was no more than a distant roar as her fingers dove into that artificial hair, yanking with all her might like she used to with Faith.

“Mitch, get her off me!” Marjorie was flat on the table with Charity on top, the terror in her voice reverberating through the room.

She heard Mitch’s grunt before he wrenched her free, ignoring her kicking and screaming as he carried her to the door. His arms were like a vise locked to her waist while his voice threatened in her ear, harsh and hot. “You will walk out of this office like a civilized human being if I have to drag you every step of the way. And I suggest you keep your mouth shut, or I will gladly shut it for you.” He seized the knob and opened the door, glaring over his shoulder. “Marjorie, I apologize for my wife and this unfortunate disruption. I will be happy to meet with you tomorrow evening to finish our meeting or any evening of your choosing. Good night.”

He dropped Charity to her feet without the least bit of care, seizing her arm in his as he opened the door and hauled her through.

“Mitch, I—”

His eyes cauterized her, burning the words to her tongue. “Not-a-word,” he said, teeth clenched and his voice brutal in its coldness. “Or so help me . . .”

She swallowed hard and closed her mouth, almost running to keep up with his angry stride. Never in their ten years of marriage had Mitch ever treated her like this. She bit her lip and fought the sting of tears. But then again, she had never acted like this before, at least not since they’d been married, and suddenly she felt ashamed of her behavior.

“Good night, Mr. and Miz Dennehy—you have a good evening, you hear?”

“Good night, Angus,” Charity managed in a frail voice as they hurried out the front door.

She peeked up at her husband who remained silent, his face like rock except for the angry twitter of a nerve in his cheek. He dragged her down the street where his car was parked and opened her door. With a hard palm to her back, he shoved her in and slammed the door, rounding the car to get in on the other side.

“Mitch—”

His eyes burned like coals, singeing her to the seat. “One more word, and I will throw you out of this car and let you walk. Is that clear?”

She nodded, the hurt thick in her throat. She clutched her arms to her waist and stared out the window, tears trailing her cheeks. She had never seen him like this, so cold, so hard. Something skittered in her stomach, and she realized it was fear.

Dear God, what have I done?

The vehicle growled to life with a grind. He slapped the headlights on, and the car lurched from the curb with his hard swipe of the wheel. His profile, chiseled in stone, was that of a stranger as he gunned the accelerator and sped down the road. Silence had never been so painful.

When they arrived at the house, she followed him in the door, her heart sick in her chest.

“You’re home,” Emma said, hurrying in from the parlor. Her eyes flicked to Mitch and then Charity. “Is everything all right?”

“Fine, Emma.” Mitch’s tone was clipped. “I’ll drive you home.”

“No, that’s not necessary—”

He walked out the door without another word, and Emma grabbed Charity’s hand. “Good heavens, what happened?”

Tears welled once again, and she threw herself into Emma’s arms, heaves shuddering her body. “Oh, Emma, I did the most awful thing, and now Mitch hates me.”

“What did you do?” Emma breathed, her voice laced with fear.

“I-I said awful things to her and to h-him, and then I . . . I knocked her on the t-table and started p-pulling her hair.”

Emma groaned as she hugged Charity tightly. “Oh, no . . .” She pulled away, her eyes gentle with concern. “But he’ll get over it, I’m sure he will. And I’ll try and talk to him—”

“Emma!” Mitch’s tone rang with impatience.

“Oh, Emma, will you please? Mitch loves you like a sister, and he would listen to you.”

Emma squeezed her hand. “Stop worrying and start praying, do you hear?”

Charity nodded.

She raced out, and Charity closed the door, fingers trembling from the strain of the evening. With a deep swallow of air, she squared her shoulders and closed her eyes, face lifted to heaven. “Lord, I’m a fool, I know, and I’m so sorry for what I did tonight, and for hurting Mitch. Forgive me for my anger toward Marjorie and please—” the muscles in her throat convulsed—“please bless her and help her to forgive me too. I’m so scared because I’ve . . . I’ve never seen my husband act this way, never been cut off from his love before . . . and I’m frightened. But your Word says you have not given us the spirit of fear, but of power, love, and a sound mind. So, I’m asking, Lord—please deliver me from this fear and give me a sound mind and the love to face Mitch’s anger. And please, God, heal this rift in our marriage.”

She took another deep breath, and with a semblance of peace in her soul, she hurried to their bathroom to get ready for bed. Her body was shaking as she washed her face and brushed her teeth. She undressed, then unhooked Mitch’s favorite nightgown from the back of the door and put it on, the satin cool as it shimmered down her body. She stared in a daze at the woman in the mirror—golden hair and swollen eyes, and full breasts mounded in the V of her gown. With a hand pressed tightly to her stomach, she swallowed hard, knowing full well there would be no lovemaking tonight. There had been nights when she was so desperate for his physical love—the assurance that he was still attracted to her, loved her—that his exhaustion had angered her. But for once it didn’t matter. Not tonight . . . maybe not ever again. Nothing mattered if she didn’t have all of Mitch’s love.

Her heart quaked as the door downstairs opened and closed, and she slipped into the bed to wait, and hope, and pray. Her blood pounded in her ears as his footsteps rose on the staircase, and when he entered their room, her stomach cramped at the fury in his face.

“Mitch, I’m so sorry—”

His silence was a blow as he entered the bathroom and shut the door. Water ran as she uttered silent prayers, desperate for resolution. And then a shaft of light lit the room and went dark. She watched his shadow move toward the bed and her heart leapt in her breast. But when he reached for his pillow, her breath caught in her throat. “Mitch, no, please—”

He moved toward the door in silence, and she wanted to scream to shatter the deafening quiet.
No more silence, please, anything but that.
She jumped up and ran to the door, her heart breaking. “Mitch, don’t shut me out, please—talk to me!” Her voice broke on a sob.

He turned then, his face as hard and cold in the moonlight as a marble sculpture. His eyes were slivers of blue ice. “All right, Charity, I’ll talk.” He faced her point-blank, his voice a cold blade with deadly intent. “I want you to leave me alone. I want you to stay far away from me. Until I’m ready to talk. And quite frankly, I’m not sure when that will be. What you did tonight was not just a whim, a pretty tantrum that I’ll forget about tomorrow. It was the destruction of a piece of our marriage, my trust and my love. And I pray to God I can get over it, but I’m not sure about that either. In the meantime, I’ll be sleeping in the study for the foreseeable future.”

She clutched his arm. “Please, Mitch—don’t leave me. We can work this out.”

He stared at her face, streaming with tears, and she shivered at the lack of love in his eyes. No warmth, no caring, as if his heart had been sealed off, an invisible barrier shutting her out. “Maybe,” he said, his tone as lifeless as his love. “But not without a lot of pain, little girl . . . and definitely not tonight.” He closed the door and she stared, her heart strangling in her chest.

With a wild pumping of her pulse, she flung the door wide and chased after him, following him down the stairs as she pleaded her case. “Mitch, please, don’t do this,” she cried.

But he did. And when he slammed the study door and bolted her out, she felt as if she were suffocating, the air bleeding from her lungs in the rawest of pain. She staggered back to their room, barely able to catch her breath. Cold comprehension stabbed anew, wounding her with painful revelation. She was alone and despised by her husband, a woman whose very existence depended on his love. Like oxygen to her body and hope to her soul. And now it was gone. Pain slashed through her like jagged pieces of glass, and she collapsed on their bed in unfathomable grief. His words droned in her brain, piercing anew and haunting her mind. She had feared his silence, thinking nothing could be worse.