All it had taken was one kiss to learn that, aye, touching her had scorched his flesh all the way to his bones, and the heat still hadn’t gone away. It burned through his blood like a fever, one he could only hope would cool with time, especially if he avoided her.
He guessed he wouldn’t be able to avoid her forever. After all, the St. Louis Irish community was close-knit, and they were bound to run into each other. But when James Shanahan sought out the matchmaker for Zaira, Bellamy would have to let Oscar handle that one.
At the opening of the back door, Bellamy drew in another breath as Jenny hurried inside, her eyes wide, almost frantic. “Bellamy,” she said with a glance out into the alley, “you have to nip along with all haste.”
Bellamy tried to peer out the door past her, but the last of light left from the sunset didn’t reach the shadowed alley that was surrounded mostly by tall buildings.
“Hurry with you now!” She closed the door and rushed toward him, directing him toward the front room of the pub.
Bellamy planted his feet and refused to go with her. “Whyever for?”
His sister looked again toward the back door as though she expected wild barbarian warriors to barge in at any second. “Kiernan Shanahan is out there and bid me to come get you.”
“So ...?”
“So he looks angry enough to kill you.”
Bellamy straightened, a strange resignation sifting through him. A part of him had been expecting someone from the Shanahan family to arrive and confront him for kissing Zaira. Even if technically she’d initiated the kiss, he could have backed away and put an end to her shenanigans before the kiss could go anywhere. Instead, he’d bent in and taken full advantage of the situation. He deserved to be called out for doing so.
If Kiernan wanted to reprimand him, so be it.
Bellamy took a step toward the alley door.
“No!” Jenny whispered harshly. “You need to nip along into the pub. You’ll be safest there.”
“I’m not running away and hiding from Kiernan.” Bellamy broke free of his sister’s grasp and started across the kitchen. “I’ll be facing him like a man, so I will.”
“William Bellamy McKenna.” Jenny spoke his full name as sternly as she’d done when he’d been a boy and getting into trouble.
He didn’t stop, though. He wasn’t a boy anymore. He was a man. The truth was, he’d gotten himself into this predicament, and now he would be the one getting himself out of it.
As he opened the door and stepped into the growing darkness, the fancy Shanahan barouche parked outside the doorwas easy to see. And so was the brawny figure of Kiernan Shanahan as he leaned against the front wheel.
The driver was nowhere in sight. Perhaps Kiernan had sent him into the pub to afford them some privacy. Or so he could murder Bellamy without any witnesses.
Bellamy closed the kitchen door to keep Jenny from interrupting them, and then he strode straightaway toward Kiernan.
Kiernan pushed away from the wheel and stood stiffly, his fists balled at his sides. Jenny had been right. His expression did indeed radiate a murderous anger.
Bellamy didn’t stop until he was close enough for Kiernan to take a punch, if that’s what he chose to do.
And aye, that’s what he chose. In the next instant, Kiernan’s fist swung up and connected with Bellamy’s jaw.
The sting radiated through Bellamy’s head and down his spine. But he held himself in place, determined not to move or cower no matter how many hits Kiernan might take.
Kiernan didn’t waste time in taking a swing with his other fist, this time into Bellamy’s gut. The punch was just as hard as the first and nearly knocked the air from Bellamy.
The door of the carriage swung wide open. “Kiernan Shanahan, you stop beating up Bellamy right now.” The voice came from the barouche interior and belonged to none other than Zaira herself.
“Stay inside,” Kiernan called as he shifted back enough so he could raise a fist and plunge it toward Bellamy’s nose.
At the impact, pain reverberated through Bellamy, and blood seemed to explode everywhere.
Zaira called out again, and from the corner of his eyes, he could see her step down from the carriage.
“Stop this instant, Kiernan.” Zaira’s voice held belligerence. “We agreed that you would talk and nothing more.”
“I agreed to confront him.” Kiernan rubbed at his knuckles, which would be bruised now too. “And I am confronting him. With my fists.”
