The Irish Devil

by Diane Whiteside

  “Donovan,” she moaned again as her head drooped, baring her exquisite nape for him.

  “Mine, all mine,” he growled as he rocked his hips against her.

  He shafted her hard and fast, years of discipline swept away by the thought of her with another man. He’d never before handled a woman with the desperate frenzy she evoked, making him more beast than man. She was his, at least for now.

  She reached her climax within minutes. He bellowed his triumph as he followed her into orgasm, her muscles drawing his seed from its deepest roots. Rapture pounded up his spine and out through his cock, battering him like nothing he’d ever felt before.

  Afterwards, she muttered something then slept. He had barely enough sense to slide off her before he too slept, an arm and a leg thrown possessively over her.

  Tomorrow he’d consider how to control himself around her.

  Chapter Six

  A sleepy blue eye peered at William over the coverlet.

  “You’re awake, Mr. Donovan.”

  Viola started to struggle upright. William restrained her with a gentle hand. “Relax, sweetheart, and go back to sleep.”

  “Are you certain?” She blinked up at him, looking adorably tousled with her swollen mouth and silver-gilt curls tumbling over one bare shoulder. His trousers tightened as his cock signaled its strong appreciation of the sight. Down, boyo—you’ve three months to enjoy her delights.

  “Quite sure,” he answered firmly. “You can do as you please until I return.”

  “Thank you. God give you good day, Mr. Donovan.” She was asleep again before he reached the door.

  William strode down Main Street to the depot, feeling at peace with all the world. A smirk threatened but he fought it back, opting for the sober mien of a prosperous businessman.

  He paused to watch the weekly stage’s arrival. On time, praise the saints, so perhaps they hadn’t encountered any Apaches on this run. Three men climbed down and William froze.

  Conall O’Flaherty was a grown man now…and an exact copy of his father, the land agent who’d evicted William’s family. Pig’s eyes, thick-bodied with a boar’s strength, so he seemed every bit the paid thug he was. All three brothers bore a strong family resemblance, varying only in the sheen of their bald pates and the whiskery forests sprouting from their chins.

  The dirk pressed against his arm, from where a twitch of his hand could launch it. His mother had died in childbirth, an agony of tears and blood sheltered only by a ruined cottage. Baby Séamas had followed her to heaven without drawing a single breath in this world. They’d have survived except for these scoundrels and their torches, which had destroyed his father’s world after being turned off by Lord Charles.

  Now those brutes had come to the New World to serve a man with money and no scruples, just as their father had done in Ireland.

  Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, he wanted to kill them. Slowly and with fire, the way the Apaches tortured their enemies. But he couldn’t. So far, they’d done nothing wrong in Rio Piedras. Damn.

  His revolver nudged his leg as if pleading for use. His fingers twitched. He recovered himself with an effort that left him sweating and turned toward his depot.

  “Donovan!” An all too familiar voice snapped his head around.

  “Lennox,” he responded warily. The man had his sword stick but no apparent guns.

  “Allow me to present my men, the O’Flaherty brothers.”

  “Mr. Donovan,” the three murmured, their hard eyes measuring him before giving respectful nods.

  “Boys.” William nodded curtly. He was grimly amused by how polite they were to him, behaving very much as hired help toward neighboring gentry. They obviously didn’t recognize him, which was fair enough. He’d inherited his height from his mother’s family. “Is there anything else, Lennox?”

  “Just one matter.” The O’Flahertys drew back at Lennox’s glare. Their master lowered his voice confidentially. “I understand you’ve encountered some difficulties handling freight here.”

  William murmured something noncommittal and waited.

  “Perhaps a one-time payment might alleviate your difficulties. Say, five thousand dollars?”

  William frowned. Why was Lennox, the cheapest bastard in the territory, offering money? “Five thousand dollars, Lennox? You feel the road hazards have strengthened that much?”

  “Not road hazards, Donovan. But a peril lurking within your compound, that of an unmarried woman.”

  “Mrs. Ross.” William was quite calm now. His senses heightened until he could see the pulse in Lennox’s temple.

  “Exactly. If I paid five thousand dollars or even ten thousand—a significant sum, sir!—would you release her into my custody? Then I’d marry her immediately and propriety would be satisfied. I have the funds waiting in my office.”

  William’s fist moved before Lennox finished speaking, and sent the arrogant fool sprawling in the dust. Passersby halted to stare. Even the stage driver stopped his bustle of activity.

  The O’Flahertys started forward but Lennox rejected their help. He stood up and dusted himself off, glaring at William.

  William waited, hoping for a fight. Feet pounded up the street as his teamsters swarmed to the scene. Lennox cast them a single, fulminating stare.

  “I said nothing disrespectful of Mrs. Ross, Donovan,” the slimy bastard snapped. “Any interpretation you put on a sharp business offer is your own. I’ll not make such an offer again. Good day.”

  “Lennox.” He’d have to watch that snake but he’d done business before with worse. Given the Army contract, Donovan & Sons would be in Rio Piedras for months to come.

  And he must consider how best to deal with the O’Flahertys.

  Viola buried her nose deeper in the mug and savored the deep, rich aroma of real coffee. A small wriggle situated her more comfortably in the bed. She was tender and sore in places she’d not thought possible. She shrugged off the aches as simply the aftermath of strenuous exertion.

  The rich, buttery scent of brioche floated up to her from the tray across her lap. Her father always insisted on having exactly this meal every morning. Now its presence wrapped around her like homecoming, even on an Arizona late afternoon.

  The family tradition had started as her great-grandfather’s first meal in France after escaping from a British prison ship during the Revolution. The taste of civilization and freedom, he’d called it. Even Hal had inherited a weakness for coffee and brioche, despite his abhorrence of anything their father liked. He’d sworn to have this meal as often as possible once he became a first-class Missouri River pilot.

  Viola leaned back against the cushions and smiled as she remembered her brother. Hal was two years older, but they’d been inseparable as children. She’d tagged along with him on more than one expedition to go horseback riding, ride the river, or explore the woods. He’d written her every week for four years, no matter where he was on the wild Missouri, after he ran away from home.

  When he’d returned at age twenty, she’d gone with him while he enlisted in the Union Navy.

  Viola had hurried home afterwards to tell their mother.

  “Mother, Hal’s joined the Navy!”

  Silence answered her. Juliet had married her New York beau a month earlier, which left Mother alone in the house except for the servants. But why didn’t she answer?

  “Mother?” Viola ran into the front parlor, barely remembering to be careful of its intricately carved rosewood furniture and innumerable objets d’art collected by the Lindsay family during decades in the China trade. “Isn’t it marvelous? Now he’ll be a naval hero just like Grandfather and Great-Grandfather. And Father, too, of course, now that he, too, is serving in the Union Navy.”

  Desdemona Lindsay was looking out of the front window, her small fist pounding a tattoo on the frame. She swung around and glared at Viola, so similar in coloring but not in build. Viola was flat as a board but more than one man had written odes to her mother’s rich curves. “N
aval hero? Nonsense!” she spat.

  Viola came to a halt at yet another round of maternal disappointment. She tried to soothe her parent. “He’ll be well, Mother, truly. Father and Hal will be home in six weeks after they win the war and Jefferson Davis goes back to Mississippi.”

  The older woman snatched up a priceless Ming vase and hurled it into the fireplace. It broke with a loud crash and Viola flinched as shards flew across the Aubusson carpet.

  “Mother?” Viola stammered, startled by the uncharacteristic destruction of property.

  “Those fools, those arrogant fools! They’re fighting for the wrong side and we’ll lose everything. My father was right when he said I shouldn’t marry a Yankee.”

  Viola’s mouth hung open. “Grandfather said that?”

  Her mother charged across the room and shook her by the shoulders. “Don’t you see, Viola? You’re the last one left to me and you must understand, as I learned from my father. One day there will be a great Southern empire stretching from California to Virginia and as far south as Venezuela. The world will crawl to us for our cotton, gold, and horses.”

  Viola gaped. She remembered Grandfather Davies saying something of the sort during family gatherings at Fair Oaks, his big plantation outside Louisville. She even recalled how heated her uncles became when expounding on the subject to Father. Hal always laughed at the idea, saying the true empire lay to the west and not the south. She tried again to defuse the storm. “Are you sure, Mother?”

  The Kentucky-born aristocrat began pacing again. “Of course I am! This war will destroy us. Your father will lose everything: his fleet of steamboats, his money, this magnificent new house. All our valuables will be gone forever if he supports the Union.”

  “Perhaps he considers his country worth the cost,” Viola ventured. “After all, the British put a price on Great-Grandfather Lindsay’s head and burned his home.”

  Richard Lindsay’s wife shuddered. “Intolerable. I have never understood how a man could destroy his wife and family’s future in such a fashion.”

  “He stood by his word, Mother, as a man of honor must.”

  “And men are fools to be bound by frivolities like that, my dear. The South is going to win. I know it as clearly as I can see your face. You and I must make sure our family survives and prospers.”

  Chills ran across Viola’s skin. She licked her lips nervously. She hoped her face didn’t show her thoughts. “What are you thinking of, Mother?”

  “Assisting our Southern brethren every way we can, Viola.”

  “How?” Viola stammered, hoping her mother meant something innocent, such as sending letters to the relatives at Fair Oaks.

  “There are a great many avenues we can explore, my dear. Taking messages will be easy, of course; no one would dare stop us. More useful will be obtaining interesting tidbits of information from loose-lipped Yankees, for transfer to the right parties in the South. You could be very helpful if you’d just learn to flirt.”

  “Spying?” Viola’s voice cracked. The next words emerged in a whisper. “But that’s treason.”

  For the first time in her life, Viola thought her mother truly looked at her.

  The older woman hesitated for a moment and her mouth tightened. Then she laughed, a girlish peal that had captivated more than one man, but never a woman. “My dear child, criminal behavior is out of the question. Don’t be absurd.”

  Viola wanted to believe her more than she’d wanted anything in her life. But she needed to be certain. “Truly, Mother?”

  Mrs. Richard Lindsay patted her daughter’s cheek. “You have my word on it, Viola. I will never commit treason.”

  Viola closed her eyes in relief.

  Chills chased across Viola’s skin at the memory.

  She’d forgotten on that 1861 morning that treason was a crime defined by the victors, making it irrelevant to the deeds of those on the winning side. But Mother had reminded her more than once of that truth during the next four years, as she single-mindedly pursued a Confederate victory.

  Viola took another mouthful of coffee.

  She’d always wanted someone to trust completely and now she had exactly that: herself. She didn’t need anyone else to honorably win her free of this town. Her bargain with William Donovan would pay off Edward’s debts and provide a fresh start in San Francisco. And surely Mr. Lennox would stay away, now she was living with another man.

  Honor also demanded she give Donovan her best work. Viola had never imagined she’d labor in the bedroom, and truly, yesterday’s activities hadn’t felt like drudgery. She smiled, memories circling of Donovan’s handling, his mouth’s skillful play over her skin, and his big cock stretching her from within.

  Warmth blossomed in private places at the memories. She took another sip of coffee.

  Best of all had been the last time, when he’d bent her over the bed and ridden her hard. No hint of self-control had colored his actions then. He’d been all man and she’d been the woman at the center of his universe.

  Viola smiled again as Sarah Chang knocked on the door. She would happily perform such labors whenever Donovan asked.

  “Mrs. Ross? Are you ready now?”

  “Yes, thank you.” She rose cautiously and made her way to the bathroom on rather unsteady legs.

  Amazing how a night of Mr. Donovan’s attentions could exhaust one. And make one sleep remarkably late. She silently apologized to Sally and Lily Mae for ever doubting their account of William’s prowess.

  A long hot bath, followed by an expert massage, restored her. She declined the proffered cheese straws and coffee, still replete from the earlier brioche. Sarah worked exotic oils into her skin until even Viola’s calluses started to soften. She was a puddle of relaxation stretched across the bed, but curiosity insisted on satisfaction.

  “How long have you worked for Mr. Donovan, Sarah?”

  “Almost twelve years, Mrs. Ross.”

  “So long? How did you start?”

  “He took both Abraham and me into his household after Abraham left the tong to marry me.”

  “What? What do you mean?” Viola flushed at her rudeness and apologized. “I’m sorry. It’s none of my business to ask about your private life.”

  “Oh no, Mrs. Ross, I am glad to tell you since it brings much credit to Mr. Donovan. But I am not accustomed to speaking of these things in English so please forgive my clumsiness.”

  Viola’s ears pricked. She smiled and nodded, indicating her willingness to hear anything Sarah wanted to say.

  Sarah hesitated for a moment then spoke, clearly searching for words. “I was a rich man’s concubine in San Francisco. He found me ugly, since my feet are too big, and did not visit me. I spent much time sitting in the courtyard. Abraham spied me there and came to see me more and more often. Gradually, we began to talk through the grille and became friends. He started to save money to buy me.”

  Viola twisted her head around. Sarah was smiling softly, her gaze turned to the past. “Did you find him handsome?”

  “He was a tall northerner, not like anyone I’d known, and a boo how doy, or fighting man. But yes, I found him most attractive.” Sarah’s English was more fluent now as she moved further into her story. “One day, my master died. Ming Long declared I belonged to him, as inheritance from my master. Abraham announced that our attraction was of long standing and he had the right to buy me, if he could do so in a reasonable time. Ming Long disagreed violently.”

  “What happened?” Viola asked, hanging on Sarah’s every word. She rolled over to pay more attention and Sarah draped a cotton quilt over her, forgoing the massage in favor of the story.

  “Ming Long expressed himself in a very insolent manner. Abraham’s tong took offense, since an insult to one is an insult to all. The other tong swore neither Abraham nor his tong would have me. The two tongs fought bloodily.”

  “Like Romeo and Juliet,” Viola breathed.

  “A little, perhaps. Neither tong could win and both were furio
us at the other. Many worried the war would consume Chinatown.”

  “And then?”

  “Mr. Donovan was Abraham’s friend from the gold fields. He offered to buy me from the other tong’s supreme council. It would be good business and no insult to sell me to an outsider like him. He also asked to hire Abraham from his tong for the rest of his life. Both offers were accepted.”

  “And?” Viola sat up on the bed.

  “Mr. Donovan gave me away at our wedding. We took new names for our new start. Abraham also cut his queue, in honor of his new life.”

  “How lucky you both are,” Viola breathed.

  “Thank you. We light a candle every day for Mr. Donovan, in hopes he, too, may find domestic harmony.”

  Viola stiffened. She changed the subject. “Thank you, Sarah, for sharing your story. You said something earlier about clothing?”

  Sarah’s eyes twinkled for a moment and Viola realized guiltily just how obvious she’d been. Then Sarah smoothly resumed her previous role of perfectly behaved maidservant. “Yes, Mrs. Ross. Your new clothes are on the trunk.”

  She returned with a dazzling array of brilliantly hued silks. But there wasn’t enough cloth for a respectable woman’s wardrobe, certainly not the yards and yards needed for a skirt.

  Viola shook her head instinctively, rejecting the idea she might don such garments.

  “Mr. Donovan chose these himself,” Sarah said emphatically and shook out the garments. A Chinese tunic and pants were revealed to Viola’s disbelieving eyes. Made of the finest pale gold silk and embroidered in gold, they were nothing a respectable American woman would consider wearing.

  “I’m supposed to wear that?” Viola’s voice cracked on the last word.

  “And you’ll look beautiful in it, sweetheart.”

  Viola jumped. Donovan was leaning in the doorway, neatly dressed in a prosperous businessman’s suit. He tilted his hat back with a casual finger as he drawled, “I’ll enjoy watching you.”

  “You expect me to clothe myself like this? Without a respectable corset or chemise? In trousers?” She came to her feet, still clutching the cotton quilt. Sitting on the bed seemed too vulnerable a setting for this conversation.