A Passion Redeemed (4 page)

The color in Charity's cheeks deepened. "Thank you," she whispered. Her smile faltered as she withdrew her hand and turned to Mitch. "It's wonderful seeing you again, but we have to be going ..

"We?„

"My gentleman friend and I. We have tickets to the theater." She glanced over her shoulder, then returned her gaze to his. "Do come by, Mitch. We would love to catch up."

"Ready, darling?" Rigan appeared behind her. He rested his hands on her shoulders and gave Mitch a cool smile. "Hello, Mitch."

The blood drained from Mitch's face as his jaw calcified to stone. "Hello, Rigan. It's been a long time."

Charity's hand floated to the flounce of silk on her chest. A pretty blush stained her cheeks. "Goodness, you two know each other?"

"Yes, Mitch works for me." Rigan's hands slid to Charity's waist, resting comfortably. "Or should I say, my father?"

Mitch ground his teeth behind a tight-lipped expression, biting back insults that lingered on the tip of his tongue. He forced a smile. "Definitely not you."

Rigan laughed and swung his arm around Charity's shoulders, pulling her close. "No, not at the present, certainly. But perhaps the future?" With maddening ease, his fingers casually traced at the base of Charity's throat, sending another wash of color into her face. "Shall we be on our way, Charity? It wouldn't do to miss the first act. Good night, Mitch." He nodded his head at Bridie. "Ma'am."

"Good night, Mitch," Charity whispered. "Stop by anytime, please." She extended her arm to shake Bridie's hand. "Bridie, it was a pleasure. I hope we meet again."

Mitch watched while Rigan whisked her away. Heads turned as they made their way to the door. Mitch scowled. Nothing but trouble for any woman. Humph-a perfect match.

Bridie's voice jarred him back. "My, oh my. So that's the infamous Charity O'Connor? Goodness, Boss, rumors don't do her justice. That one could turn the head of the Pope."

Mitch frowned. "Where the blazes is Sally?" he bellowed, ignoring Bridie's remark.

Her eyes narrowed. "And dangerous, too, from the look of that vein twitching in your head. Who's the guy? He looks familiar."

"Rigan Gallagher III." Mitch all but bit the words out.

Bridie's eyes popped. "No joke? So that's Old Man Gallagher's black-sheep son? Sweet saints above-handsome as the devil and all that money too."

"He's no good."

"For you? Or for Charity?"

Mitch sneered. "He's nothing but heartbreak for any woman."

Bridie paused, then took a deep breath. "But she's not just any woman, is she, Mitch?"

Sally descended upon the table, her cheeks puffing with heat. "Sorry about the wait. There's some sort of company meeting in the back slamming away kegs of ale like it was sarsaparilla. Ready to order?"

"Just bring me another ginger ale, Sally. I'm not hungry."

Bridie looked up. "Sally, bring us two plates of crubeens, a side of champ, and some of your best brown soda bread. And I'll have another Guinness."

"Sit tight; I'll dish it right up for ye." She scooted away, disappearing through the maze of tables into the kitchen.

Bridie crossed her arms and rested them on the table. "She's not, is she?"

He looked up, the whites of his eyes burning. "Not what?"

"Just any woman?"

He leaned in. "She's a spoiled brat who uses her beauty to get what she wants. She ruined my life once. It won't happen again." He fairly spit the words in Bridie's face.

"And you had nothing to do with it, I suppose."

He slammed his fist on the table, causing her to jump. "So help me, Bridie, I'd fire you right now if I didn't think Michael would cinch me up."

The burn in her eyes matched what he felt in his gut. "All I'm saying is, don't be laying all the blame on her for hanging you up. You're the fool who gave her the rope."

"Stay out of it, Bridie; I'm warning you."

"I will not. At least not until you admit she's under your skin."

"You're out of your mind. No one's under my skin."

"She was once. Enough to change the course of your life."

"She's a kid."

Bridie cocked a brow. "Not from where I was sitting. How old?"

He glared. "Almost twenty ... going on sixteen."

Her forehead puckered. "Oooh ... that is rather young. What are you again? Thirty-five, almost thirty-six?"

Mitch looked up with a glare meant to singe.

Bridie ignored it. "Faith was twenty when you fell in love with her."

"She's nothing like Faith."

Bridie reached across the table to take his hand in hers, her voice a near whisper. "Nobody is. But there's a reason it didn't work out."

He grunted. "Yeah, there's a reason, all right. A goldenhaired vixen, five foot four."

"No, I mean 'a reason,' like maybe Faith wasn't the one."

Mitch rubbed his jaw with the side of his hand. "Yeah, well, apparently not." He looked up, his eyes shooting her a warning. "Don't get any ideas. That woman gives me cold chills."

Bridie pulled her hand away and leaned back against the booth, a smile hovering on her lips. "So I noticed." She grinned. "I haven't seen you that off-guard since Faith took a potshot at you on her first day of work."

The memory brought a faint smile to Mitch's lips. "Yeah, she was something." He saw Sally heading their way with a tray piled high with food and drinks.

Bridie shook out her napkin. "Yes, she was. And so is her sister, evidently."

Sally plopped two steaming plates of crubeens on the table with a thud. The smell of spicy pork caused his juices to flow. When Sally finished unloading plate after plate, she stood back and grinned, hands propped on her ample hips. "Hope you're hungry. Ready to dive in?"

Bridie smiled at Sally and picked up her fork. She winked at Mitch. "You know, Sally, I think he just might be."

"You've been awfully quiet all night, at least since we left Duffy's. Honestly, Charity, I'm a bit dismayed. I thought you would be feeling quite victorious. You had him eating out of your hand, you know."

Charity continued to stare out the window of Rigan's Rolls Royce as they pulled up in front of her grandmother's house. Moonlight flooded the garden, casting distorted shadows of fuchsia and larkspur across the cobblestone walk.

He turned the ignition off and shifted to face her. "Charity, look at me."

She glanced over, one hand hovering on the door handle. "What is it, Rigan?"

He scrutinized her, head cocked as if trying to decipher the mystery of her mood. "What's wrong?"

She expelled a weighty sigh and leaned back, eyes fixed straight ahead. "I don't know."

"You got your wish. You turned his head. You should be happy."

"I know," she muttered, her tone quiet. Ishould be. But what if he still blames me ...

"Charity, you effectively reduced the man to moronic monosyllables and clenched teeth."

Mischief twitched on her lips. She had caught Mitch by surprise. His clear, blue eyes had stared in bold appraisal, taking her in from head to foot without even being aware. At six foot four, he towered over her, a mountain of a man with unruly blond hair and a petulant gaze, adept at turning heads as well as she. She grinned, peering at Rigan out of the corner of her eye. "I did, didn't I?"

Rigan's smile matched her own. We did, my dear. You and yours truly-your partner in crime."

She giggled and twirled a lock of hair around her finger. "It was glorious, wasn't it? And yes, Rigan, I couldn't have done it without you." Her finger suddenly stilled, causing the curl to spring free and spiral to her shoulder. She tilted her head to study him through narrowed eyes. "Why does he dislike you?"

Rigan laughed and reached for her hand, warming it between his fingers. "I could ask you the same thing."

Her rib cage suddenly felt too tight. A sick feeling settled in her stomach. She tugged her hand free and hefted her chin a notch. "He doesn't dislike me."

"Oh, he dislikes you, all right. It was as clear as his stony stare and the humorous tic in his jaw. A thin, cold thread of disgust tightly twined with a scarlet strand of lust. What did you do, Charity? Why does he hate you?"

Fear constricted her throat. He doesn't hate me-he wanted me! She sat up, her eyes burning with heat. "I think this conversation has come to an end. Thank you for a wonderful evening. Now, if you'll walk me to the door. . ."

She fumbled with the door latch, finally swinging it open. He reached across and slammed it closed. The heat of his breath was hot on her face. "No, this conversation is not over. Tell me, Charity. Why does a beautiful woman like you need the assistance of a rogue like me to snare another man's heart?"

Her pulse pounded in her throat. She didn't answer.

He jerked her close. "All right. I'll tell you. I think somehow, someway, you're the reason he's no longer engaged to your sister. Lies, perchance. Or perhaps you exposed him, something dark and sinister from his past. Or maybe, just maybe, seduction ..." He traced his finger along the curve of her jaw, pausing beneath her lips. "That would be my personal favorite, of course. A temptress." He lifted her chin with his finger, his gaze upon her mouth. "I'm quite partial to temptresses, you know." He leaned to kiss her.

Charity pushed him away. "Rigan, stop! What are you doing?"

"Extracting payment," he whispered. The warmth of his words feathered her cheek.

"Oh," she breathed, swallowing hard. He leaned in to nuzzle her neck, and the heat of his lips burned like fire. She twisted away. "Lips, Rigan, only lips. Our bargain, remember?" She stared, wide-eyed, her chest rising and falling with ragged breaths.

He grinned. "So it was, Charity, so it was." He stroked her cheek with his fingers. "I see our 'temptress' is nowhere in sight. Pity." He sighed and took her hand in his. "But temptress or innocent makes little difference to me. Either way, payment is long overdue."

Cupping her chin in his hand, Rigan brushed her lips with his own, a gentle sway of his mouth against hers before pressing in. A shiver of heat traveled her spine as he pulled away, and her hand fluttered to her chest. She blinked, surprised he'd left her breathless.

"I'll walk you in." He opened his door, swung out, and circled the car to open hers on the other side. He extended his arm. "I do believe, Miss O'Connor, we've struck a bargain that will serve us well."

Charity blinked and took his hand. "I do believe ... ," she whispered and clung to his arm for the trembling of her legs on the final few steps to the porch.

"How's it going, Jimmy?" Mitch scrounged in the pocket of his woolen suit coat. He tossed a punt into a battered can next to a tall pile of newspapers on the street in front of the Irish Times. He took a paper off the top, the stack taller than the toothless man hawking them.

"Oh, not too bad, I suppose." Jimmy squatted, warming stubby fingers over a pitiful firepot at his feet. He cocked his head and looked up with a grin. "Let's just say me and the missus won't be going on a seaside holiday anytime soon."

Mitch dug back in the coat. He tossed another punt in the can. "Give Mary my love."

"I will at that, but I'll wager she'd rather have it from you."

Mitch attempted a smile and shoved the newspaper under his arm, yawning as he headed to his Model T. He should kick himself for coming back to work after taking Bridie home. What had possessed him? The work could wait. He reached down to rotate the crank. After several tries, the engine sputtered to life. He clenched his jacket closer and got in the car, slowly weaving into the flow of traffic. A weighty bloke on a bike darted in front of him, forcing him to skid to a stop. Mitch blew through his teeth. You're testing my limits, mister. I'm in the perfect mood to run somebody down.

His foul disposition stayed with him all the way home. He parked the car and got out, flinging the door shut before shuffling up the steps to his grey-stone flat on Cork Street. The window flowerboxes spilled over with leggy impatiens and trailing ivy, stubborn survivors of Dublin's temperate October nights. Mitch yanked on the curve-handled knob and opened the heavy Georgian door with its arched window and sunny yellow paint. It slammed behind him with a noisy thud. He mounted the gleaming wood staircase and noted that Mrs. Lynch had been busy-the warm maple flooring was buffed to a sheen. Where in the world did the woman get her energy? She was almost eighty, but her vitality left him in the dust.