Chapter 5
He wasn’t coming.
Zaira ceased her pacing to glance around the pond. Again. But only the same dense woodland greeted her as it had during the past hour of waiting.
She fisted her hands on her hips and glared at a doe and her two fawns grazing on the opposite side of the pond. “You’re a scoundrel, Bellamy. A big, big scoundrel.”
A strange disappointment sliced into her. No, she wasn’t sad about not getting a hug. Well, maybe a little. Because she couldn’t deny she’d been dreaming for the past twenty-four hours about what it would be like to stand in Bellamy’s embrace.
More than that, though, she was upset he hadn’t carried through with his part of the bargain.
She thought he was a man of his word—honorable and true and trustworthy.
Even if he’d changed his mind about hugging her, she’d expected that he would at least meet her at the pond and tell her she had to come up with a different exchange.
Not that she wanted anything else . . .
Had he sensed her ardor? Was that why he’d broken their bargain?
Maybe it was for the best. After all, it was improper for a lady to be alone with a man and hug him. Women of her status and upbringing simply didn’t encourage such things.
She dropped her hands and began pacing again.
She’d tried rewriting the next scene in her story last night, had hoped the feelings and depth would come to her without experiencing anything with Bellamy, but she’d failed miserably at coming up with new and exciting material. She’d only put down more drivel.
“I wouldn’t be here either if I didn’t need it,” she said, trying to assuage herself.
She hadn’t heard any news from the city on whether or not Bellamy had succeeded yesterday in matching Deirdre Whitcomb. Maybe he’d failed and therefore assumed the bargain was obsolete.
But that was the thing about bargains—they didn’t become obsolete. He had to do his part regardless of how things had turned out for Deirdre’s match.
She paced several more times along the pond’s edge before lengthening her stride toward the path that led to Oakland.
She would go back to the house and tell her mam she was riding into the city to take Alannah and Kiernan produce from the garden.
Mam had just complained earlier in the morning that the newly married couple needed the fresh food, that it would help them stay safe from catching cholera while they resided in the city for a little longer to enjoy some privacy.
While in town, Zaira would just happen to ride past Oscar’s Pub. She’d stop and find out why Bellamy hadn’t followed through on their agreement. Surely doing so wouldn’t hurt her or cause any trouble.
Zaira hurried across the road and down the lane to the sprawling Italianate-style home surrounded by the tall oaks that gave Oakland its name.
She quickly located her mam in the library.
Mam opposed her going into the city—just as Zaira had predicted—even with the offer to visit Alannah and Kiernan and find out how they were faring.
Somehow, though, Zaira managed to outtalk and outmaneuver her mam. She was, after all, the sneakiest of her siblings and could get away with much more than anyone else. It wasn’t something she was proud of, but it was a skill she utilized to her advantage.
A short while later, she was mounted and speeding along the dirt road that led into the city. Once she entered the outskirts of St. Louis, she headed down St. Charles’s Street in the direction of the big sign with Oscar’s Pub in bright green calligraphy, contrasting the white background.
Young ladies like herself didn’t enter pubs.
But as she reined in outside the two-story building in the heart of St. Louis’s Irish district, she pushed aside all the rationale that told her to wait and to send in a message for Bellamy to come outside and speak with her.
She didn’t want to chance Bellamy sneaking out the back door and avoiding her.
No. She needed the romantic interaction with him today, soon, if she hoped to turn in her next story segment on time.
Without giving herself the chance to overthink her plans, she tied up her horse, then headed directly to the front door of the pub. As she opened the door a crack, she threw off her straw bonnet, patted her loose curls, and then pinched her cheeks to bring color to them.
With what she hoped was an alluring smile, she pushed the door wide and stepped inside.
The dimness of the room greeted her first, along with the strong scent of cigar smoke and beer. As she closed the door behind her, the low hum of conversations around the room tapered to silence.
From what she could tell, only a dozen or so people were present, mostly older men who were smoking and playing cards.
A lone fellow at the bar counter had paused mid drink to stare at her.
In a pale face with a purplish nose, his eyes seemed dark but not dangerous.
His reddish hair was standing on end, and his garments were rumpled.
Bellamy wasn’t in sight, but his paintings were.
They graced the walls, each containing landscapes as beautiful as his other paintings.
The difference was that these didn’t portray local scenery.
Instead, they resembled what she imagined Ireland would be like.
Perhaps they were of Ireland, and perhaps Bellamy had painted them when he was younger and still lived there.
After all, Bellamy had immigrated with his family when he was twelve, which was only ten years ago.
Bellamy’s sister, carrying a platter filled with steaming bowls, entered the pub from the kitchen area. At the sight of Zaira standing near the door, she halted, her eyes widening. The tray wobbled, and the bowls on it clattered together.
Although Zaira didn’t know Jenny well, she’d seen her occasionally over the years at parades, mass, and other gatherings. She was quite a bit older than Bellamy and didn’t have any children of her own, which was a shame because she’d always seemed to mother Bellamy so sweetly.
Jenny set the platter onto the bar counter and continued to stare at Zaira, clearly not expecting a woman to be there.
Zaira fumbled backward a step. Maybe she ought to leave.
Before her fingers connected with the door handle, Bellamy breezed into the pub from the kitchen too.
He was carrying another platter, probably the noon meal for everyone there.
After all, it was about that time of the day. And now half her day was wasted.
If her manuscript segment hadn’t been due tomorrow, she wouldn’t care what time it was. But with every minute that passed, her nerves were stretching tighter. So much was at stake with this next part of the story, and she had to get it just right.
Bellamy rounded the bar and strode toward one of the tables without acknowledging her presence.
He might try to avoid the coming confrontation, but she wasn’t the type of woman to step aside quietly and let any man ignore her. “Bellamy McKenna, you’re a scoundrel.”
He kept his eyes on the thick mutton stew as he began to set the bowls around the table in front of the men. Its rich flavor with a hint of Guinness permeated the air.
He was wearing an apron over his shirt and trousers, but nothing could hide his lean, muscular frame. His dark hair was slicked back, and his jaw had a slight layer of dark scruff as if he hadn’t taken the time to shave today.
It was a shame Bellamy was always so good-looking and genuinely caring about people. It was easier to dislike handsome men when they were mean and arrogant.
“Bellamy,” said the older man at the bar counter, “the young lady is talking to you and said you’re a scoundrel.”
“I have ears, Georgie.” Bellamy set another bowl down.
“They must not be working.”
“Oh aye, they’re working just fine.”
“It’s your mouth that’s not working.”
“It’s working fine too, so it is.”
Georgie made a humming noise at the back of his throat as he stared at Zaira again. “Then I guess it’s your eyes that aren’t working. Because you cannot see that a beautiful lass is here for you.”
Bellamy gave what could only be described as an exasperated sigh and shake of his head. He finished setting the last bowl down before he turned to face Zaira. “What I see is a bothersome lass.”
Georgie’s grin spread wide, revealing a mostly toothless mouth. “She’s bothering you all right.”
The other men in the room guffawed.
Although Zaira wasn’t quite sure what Georgie was referring to, Bellamy tripped over a chair leg.
Maybe her presence there was affecting him more than he was letting on.
The realization sent a shot of energy through her.
If she was going to get him to follow through on the bargain, maybe she needed the men in the pub to join her in nudging Bellamy into action.
She didn’t necessarily want him to hug her in the middle of a pub since it wasn’t exactly romantic, but where else would he do it?
Out on the boardwalk or on the street? No, a small audience inside was better than outside, where anyone might walk by.
“Bellamy McKenna, we made an agreement, and you failed to uphold your part of it.”
He was swiping up random coffee cups left on the tables and setting them on the now-empty platter. “The match didn’t go through.”
“But the information I gave you was correct, wasn’t it?”
Bellamy hesitated enough that she knew it was.
“Then you owe me regardless.”
He scoffed. “I’ve canceled the bargain.”
She wasn’t prone to easily losing her temper like her redheaded da and older sister Enya. But at the moment, her temper felt like a wild beast in a cage, and for some reason Bellamy had a way of poking the beast so it longed to be unleashed.
She fisted her hands at her sides.
Bellamy tossed her a dangerously crooked grin, one that almost seemed to mock her. “Go home, Zaira Shanahan, and stop trying to play grown-up.”
Play grown-up? Now he’d really done it. He’d not only poked the beast, he’d set it free. “I don’t need to play grown-up.” She started toward him, a thud to each of her steps. “Because I already am grown-up.”
At her approach, he narrowed his eyes upon her.
Back at the bar counter, Jenny hadn’t moved from where she’d placed her tray. Her round eyes were watching every one of Bellamy’s moves. And so were Georgie’s.
Zaira guessed the other men were enjoying the interaction too. She might as well make this as dramatic and interesting as possible. No sense in the whole scene being boring.
She didn’t stop until she was in front of Bellamy.
Before he could react, she took the platter from his hands, practically tossed it on the table, and then clasped his hands in hers.
She didn’t give him time to react or pull away.
Instead, she jerked him forward so that he stumbled against her.
In the same motion, she slid her arms up around his neck.
His eyes widened in surprise. He obviously hadn’t expected her to force him to carry through with their agreement. But she was, even if she had to initiate it all.
She locked her hands in his hair, digging her fingers in deep. Then, before she could allow herself to second-guess what she was doing, she stood on her toes and pressed a kiss against Bellamy’s lips.
He remained as still and cold as a marble statue and didn’t bother to put his arms around her.
His lack of response only fueled the redheaded temper again.
She knew nothing about kissing, but she was determined to make the most of the moment, especially now that she’d started it.
With an enthusiasm she’d witnessed when her older siblings kissed their spouses, Zaira moved her mouth against Bellamy’s, opening up and capturing his lips with hers.
She could admit she loved the hardness of his mouth and the firmness of his lips. She loved the strong length of his body so near to hers. And she loved the smoothness of his hair in her fingers.
Aye, she was conscious of her audience. And aye, she could hear a faint warning bell at the back of her mind telling her she was taking things too far. But she was too mad to care and too stubborn. She was kissing Bellamy, and that was all there was to it.
Besides, Bellamy wouldn’t push her away in front of the customers. She was betting his pride would force him to interact with her just a little.
“Give it back to her!” came a call from one of the men.
“Unless you don’t know how,” said another.
“Maybe that’s why he failed in the senator’s match. Because he doesn’t know how to kiss.”
She could feel Bellamy’s muscles tense, the comments obviously needling him. Still, he didn’t move.
She leaned toward his ear and whispered one word. “Coward.”
Then she started to lower herself and pull away. Should she raise a hand and slap his cheek? Or should she toss him a glare, then stomp out?
Before she could decide, Bellamy’s arms snagged around her, he angled his head in, and his lips caught hers in a surge of emotion.
Passion.
Fire rippled through her body, especially the parts of her that were connected to Bellamy. Her flesh was scorched, her blood hot. And her lips? They felt suddenly cherished and desired and needed all at the same time.
This was what she’d been wanting, the emotions she’d needed to experience, the pleasurable connection she’d been waiting for.
Bellamy’s hand at the small of her back pressed her hard. Was he just pretending? Or did he feel everything too?
She honestly didn’t want the kissing to end, wanted to keep on going, wanted to keep the closeness with him.
But in the next instant, he pulled back abruptly, letting go of her and taking a rapid step away. He tossed a glare toward the men he’d just served. “There. Are you satisfied I know how to kiss?”
The men were beaming as if they’d just been given the greatest show on earth.
“Oh yeah!” shouted one.
“That’s the way it’s done,” called another.
The calls bordered on lewd, but Zaira was trying to live in the moment and let the experience saturate her senses. Her lips were swollen and warm. Her blood was pumping at double the speed. Her nerves tingled with a need to be touching him again. And her heart . . .
She splayed a hand over her chest to capture the rhythm of the wild beating. Her heart was tapping out a song of its own—a new melody she didn’t know but wanted to hear more of.
Would it be possible to do more research with Bellamy? With this kind of emotion flowing through her, she would constantly have a source of inspiration, wouldn’t she?
“Thank you, Bellamy.” Her voice was breathless.
His dark gaze collided with hers, sending more heat crashing over her. What was this? They weren’t kissing or hugging, and she still felt like they were. Was it possible to facilitate passion even without physical contact?
Did she even want to?
“It’s done.” Bellamy’s whisper was so low she could hardly hear it. “And it better not happen again.”