He couldn’t quite believe it. “In my world, if a wife learns her husband is stepping out on her, she sets his belongings on fire and gives his horse away. She doesn’t write the mistress a bank check.”
“I just wanted the problem to go away,” Gwen said. “Giving her this house would have been unthinkable. It’s the only place I truly love.”
He wanted to tear his hair out in frustration but gentled his voice anyway. “Gwen, why didn’t you get a lawyer to help with this?”
She twisted the sapphire ring on her finger, rotating the stone in a quick, practiced motion. “Lawyers mean headaches and conflict and persnickety haggling.” A little humor glinted in her eyes. “Present company excluded.”
If everything was as she described, the will had no legal weight because Jasper Kellerman didn’t own the property he sought to give away. The mistress had the power to embarrass Gwen, but that was all.
“Gwen, if you ever need a lawyer, come to me. I’ll keep your confidence, and I’m a good listener. You can tell me anything, and I won’t judge.”
Her eyes softened, and she looked at him curiously. “Why didn’t you become a priest? Father Doyle said you were one of his most promising students.”
It was a personal question, but Patrick didn’t hesitate to answer.
“There were lots of reasons, I suppose. When I was a young man, I felt myself going down a dangerous road, and I reached out to the church for salvation. The further I got into the seminary, the more I realized it was the wrong path for me. I’m best at helping the kind of people who never set foot in a church. The ones who’ve been beaten up by life and think they’re lost beyond redemption. I can help them navigate the legal system so they can start over with a clean slate. Sometimes their biggest problem is just believing they’re worthy of a second chance. Or a tenth or twentieth chance. Jesus never put a limit on the number of times a sinner can ask for forgiveness. Sometimes when a ne’er-do-well hears it coming from a person like me, they’re more likely to believe it than when it comes from the pulpit.”
“And you didn’t get in trouble for leaving the seminary?”
He shook his head. “The church doesn’t want a priest who isn’t a good fit. I’m only sorry it took me so long to figure out. I want to get married someday, but I’ll wait until I know it’s right, because there won’t be any going back on those vows. They will be carved in stone to last for all time.”
He loved the way she watched him with a mix of curiosity and admiration in her expression. Who could have imagined a Blackstone would ever look at him with admiration? He liked being worthy of her respect. She was so alluring that it made his blood pump faster, and he glanced around the room to distract himself. The colors were warm, woodland shades of maroon, sage, and brown, but they suited her.
Only one thing looked out of place. A framed print over the dining room sideboard looked like it had come from a child’s book. He stood to examine a picture from the Hansel and Gretel fairy tale that showed an older boy with his arm sheltering Gretel as he led her out of the darkened forest.
“Jasper and I fought endless battles over that picture,” Gwen said. “It was always my favorite picture when I was growing up, but he thought I needed to outgrow it. He said it reflected my unhealthy obsession with having an older brother. Maybe it does, but I don’t care. I wasn’t even born when Willy died, but I loved the idea of an older brother. Someone who would always look out for me.”
The longing in her voice hurt. Maybe this explained why she’d been so eager to believe Mick’s rabble-rousing nephew might be her long-lost brother. Patrick would give anything if he could deliver William Blackstone back to her, but that boy had been in a pauper’s grave for thirty years.
She placed a hand on his arm, her touch as light as a butterfly’s wing. “I’m sorry I dragged you out here so late in the evening.” Her voice was gently feminine, and he wanted to drown in it.
“You needed someone to lean on. I’m glad it could be me.”
The amber light overhead illuminated her face with a warm glow. The way she gazed up at him triggered all sorts of inappropriate cravings.
“You would have been a wonderful priest,” she said. The admiration in her gaze made him feel ten feet tall.
He leaned forward, lowering his head until his nose almost touched hers. “Mrs. K . . . I would have been a terrible priest.” Priests shouldn’t have this overwhelming attraction to a woman in need of comfort.
With the tip of his fingers, he tucked a stray lock of her silky hair behind the shell of her ear. It was a shocking intimacy, but she didn’t pull away. She leaned into his hand, and it was all the permission he needed.
He lowered his head and kissed her. She kissed him in return, and soon her arms entwined behind his back. It went on and on until he needed to come up for air.
“Well, this is a bit of a surprise,” he said.
“Not to me.”
Raw hunger overcame him, and he swooped down to kiss her again. She met him measure for measure. He hadn’t expected this—the buzz, the spark, the intensity that flared to life as he held her.
“Don’t go,” she whispered, low, soft, and velvety. “Stay until the last streetcar.”
He glanced at the clock on the mantel. They had an hour until the streetcars stopped running for the night. He closed his eyes and savored the way she leaned against him for support. “I’m not going anywhere, Mrs. K.”
He wanted her to be the one. It felt right. A tiny piece of him shouted that she was too far above him and this could only lead to trouble, but he silenced the voice. They were a match, and he’d be a fool to deny it.
16
To Patrick’s amazement, Gwen started visiting his apartment each evening. At first, she used the excuse that she wanted to observe his mother’s progress, but soon she simply came to spend time with him.
