Chapter 8
Desperation drove Bellamy out of the pub and into the kitchen. As soon as he was out of sight of the crowd, he bent over and tried to drag a breath through his tight lungs.
If he had to listen to one more father try to convince him to marry his daughter, he would go mad. He couldn’t do it any longer.
The lingering scent of Dublin Coddle—the dish they’d served for supper with its creamy mixture of potatoes, onions, bacon, and sausage—filled his senses.
He needed a moment alone and was relieved that with the sun having set a short while ago, Jenny and Gavin had already gone up to the apartment.
As usual, before retiring for the night, they’d moved the big cauldron of leftovers to low heat on the back of the stove for any latecomers to the pub.
But most of the patrons on a Sunday night ordered drinks and weren’t here to eat.
Tonight, the fellows were also here to talk with Oscar about the match—the match Bellamy didn’t want. In fact, he’d made it clear again to Oscar after morning mass that he wasn’t planning on getting married anytime soon.
Oscar had merely waved his large hand and said the timing didn’t matter, that Bellamy could have an extended engagement—a year, even two.
Oscar claimed that once Bellamy was in a relationship and headed toward marriage, that’s all everyone needed to know, and they would think of him more favorably again.
The assurance had eased Bellamy’s worries a little, and he’d pushed through the evening as best he could.
But now . . .
Bellamy straightened and stared past the disheveled kitchen. Dirty dishes and empty mugs were piled high on the worktable, and breadcrumbs and potato peelings littered the floor. The coal bin was nearly empty, and the bucket for water was drained dry.
Jenny and Gavin needed a kitchen boy who could help them with the mundane tasks.
As business had increased and the popularity of the pub had gained momentum, the two had continued to shoulder the majority of the work.
They weren’t as young and energetic anymore and couldn’t keep up the way they used to.
As much as Bellamy tried to help them in the kitchen, he also had more than he could handle pouring drinks and delivering the meals to the tables.
Even though the spread of cholera and the slowing of business had alleviated a wee bit of the stress, the pub had been busier than ever for the past two days since Oscar’s announcement.
“Ach.” Bellamy rubbed the back of his neck, trying to ease the ache that had taken up residence there since the moment he’d kissed Zaira Shanahan.
It had been a mistake to kiss her. Pure and simple. He’d regretted it ever since. But that hadn’t stopped him from thinking about that kiss. She’d been so pliable and responsive, hadn’t pulled back or been hesitant. Instead, she’d been inquisitive, bold, eager, and full of emotion.
She’d been everything he’d imagined she’d be.
Not that he made a habit of imagining sharing intimacies with Zaira.
But there had been a time or two recently when his imagination had been all too vivid, and he’d envisioned her in all her fiery beauty, and he’d wondered if touching her would scorch him since the mere sight of her alone always did.
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 door was 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.”
Even in the shadows of the alley, Zaira’s beauty was as bright as a flaming sunset.
She wasn’t wearing a hat, and the red of her hair was darker tonight, almost auburn in the evening.
Her delicate features were creased with earnestness, making her more striking.
And her eyes were wider than usual, highlighting her long lashes.
Kiernan growled and started to raise his fist again—probably because Bellamy was ogling Zaira.
“No!” Zaira’s sharp plea cut through the air, and she grabbed on to her brother and clung to him so he couldn’t do any more harm.
Not that Bellamy cared if Kiernan battered him a wee bit more. Maybe if he showed up in the pub battered and bruised, he’d deter some of the fathers from wanting him for a son-in-law.
Kiernan glared at Bellamy for several long heartbeats before he lowered his arm. Even then, Zaira didn’t let go of him.
Alannah hesitated in the door of the carriage, probably wondering if she should hold Kiernan back too.
Of course Alannah was there. But why was Zaira?
She shouldn’t be in the city. She should have stayed at Oakland.
Where she would be safe. And where he wouldn’t have to worry about running into her.
“Let me talk to Bellamy.” She pushed her brother toward the carriage door, and he didn’t resist her. Or maybe he was no longer resisting because Alannah was reaching for him, her hands on his shoulders and then on his chest.
As Alannah guided him up into the carriage, Kiernan went along eagerly, didn’t even seem to see Bellamy any longer. He had eyes only for his wife—eyes filled with a desire that told Bellamy that Kiernan was very happy with Alannah, just as Bellamy had expected he would be.
Bellamy couldn’t keep from releasing a taut breath.
He’d had to do some fine conniving in order to bring about Kiernan and Alannah’s match, much more than he’d needed to do for Enya and Sullivan.
But Bellamy was good at it. In fact, he’d been good at bringing together Zach and Deirdre too, even if he’d had a little help from Zaira and even if the match wasn’t finalized yet.
How many more people could he help find true love if he was given the chance?