Irish Linen

by Candace McCarthy

  “It’s late,” Susan said, interrupting Meghan’s thoughts. “Come away from the window and join us.”

  Meghan frowned as she obeyed. Where was Rafferty? Was he coming to get her? she wondered. It was Christmas Eve; of course, Rafferty was coming. Hadn’t he promised?

  The residents of the house sat in the great room. There were chairs about a small table in the corner and a sofa and an armchair before the fireplace. Patty had brought out some cookies, and Susan along with her roommate had made eggnog. The scene looked inviting to Meghan as she sat beside Susan on the sofa. Her gaze strayed to the window, and she caught sight of a snowflake … and then another. “ ‘Tis snowing,” she exclaimed.

  “I wouldn’t expect Rafferty to come if it’s snowing,” Susan said. “It’s dark, and the road will be slippery.”

  Nodding, Meghan had to agree. She leaned forward to warm her hands at the fire. She could feel her friends’ gazes on her.

  “He’ll surely arrive tomorrow,” her roommate said with assurance.

  Meghan smiled. She didn’t mind being here for the holiday. But it wasn’t like Rafferty not to show when he’d promised to come for her.

  She silently prayed that nothing terrible had happened to him. Whatever had caused his delay she hoped it wasn’t anything serious.

  The man rose from bed, and a soft white hand grabbed his arm, hauling him back against the rumpled sheets.

  “Don’t go,” the woman said.

  Rafferty was drawn to the lady’s smile. Alicia Somerton shifted the covers, exposing two full rose-tipped breasts. “Please, Raff,” she said, cupping and lifting the fleshy mounds in an offering to him.

  “Alicia,” he growled, feeling himself grow hard. “I have to go. Your husband—”

  Alicia snorted. “Michael is too concerned with his damn mill to pay any mind to me.”

  “ ‘Tis Christmas Eve,” he said, begging for her understanding. “I promised to get Meghan.”

  She scowled. “The little fiancée. Dear God, Rafferty, what the hell do you see in her?”

  “She’s the daughter of me friend.”

  “Ah, yes … the poor darling daughter.” Her eyes gleamed maliciously. “Tell me you see her as a little girl. Kiss me and prove to me that I’m the woman you desperately need.”

  She had dampened her lips with her tongue. Rafferty stared at her moist mouth, wanting again to taste it. His gaze dropped to her breasts that she rubbed and stroked, titillating his desire, making her nipples rise and his loins ache with the need to bury himself deep inside her again.

  “Alicia,” he gasped. Rafferty grabbed her hands from her breasts, replacing them with his own. He roughly caressed her, enjoying the way her eyelids lowered as she moved with pleasure. He lowered his head to suck a sensitive nipple before transferring his attention to its twin.

  There was something extra exciting about Alicia Somerton. She was wild and eager to indulge in sexual games. She loved to play anywhere, to follow whichever direction he decided to take with her. And she’d taught him a few moves he had never tried, but had found wildly exhilarating once he had.

  “Alicia,” he muttered, “ye are so lovely.” He licked and nipped each of her breasts until she cried out, clutching his head in a spasm of ecstasy and then she was begging him to mount her, and he willingly obliged her.

  They rocked together in animal heat, gasping, moaning until they reached the pinnacle of pleasure and lay in the pulsing aftermath, struggling for breath.

  Rafferty studied the woman beneath him, knowing their time had to end for a while, before they suffered the consequences of being discovered together.

  He enjoyed having sex in Alicia’s bedchamber, almost as much as he loved burying himself in Alicia’s soft, responsive body. The lush, expensive surroundings added to the sexual thrill, as did the danger of his being there. He felt he belonged in such a bed with its rich draperies and thick feather-tick mattress, with its white counterpane and soft, fluffy pillows.

  He wasn’t sure what had motivated Alicia to drag him into her bed. She was rich and powerful in Somerville. She had a handsome husband, who by all accounts was the envy of every other man for miles. Yet, Alicia had turned to him—a forty-nine year old Irish peasant with a thick chest and a thicker accent.

  Rafferty grinned. And a thick rod betwixt me legs.

  Since she’d literally stumbled into his path in Philadelphia, his life had taken on a new meaning. He’d had no idea when he gently picked her up from the road, when she’d stumbled, and brushed off the dirt from her skirts that she’d repay his kindness tenfold. He enjoyed Alicia, and she rewarded him for his attention handsomely by using her influence with her husband. He’d been offered a job at the mill; later, after he and Alicia had become intimate, he’d been given the position as manager of the company store. The more he pleased Alicia Somerton, the more impressed her husband seemed to become with Rafferty’s efficiency at his employment. Rafferty smiled. His situation here in Somerville suited him just fine.

  “Alicia, it’s getting late. Your husband—”

  Her eyes flashed open. “Go then. Go to your little peasant.”

  Rafferty felt a stirring of unease. It was Alicia who had given him the money to send for Meghan. He’d never thought Alicia would become jealous of his fiancée. In fact, it had been Alicia who’d suggested that his marriage to Meghan would provide the perfect cover for their present arrangement.

  “I have to go, darlin’,” he said softly, “but if I could choose, ye must know I’d rather stay.” He stroked her breast to prove that he had trouble keeping his hands off her. “Alicia, surely ye haven’t changed yer mind about me marriage to Meghan. We’ll be able to continue our activities right under Somerton’s nose without raising suspicion.” He grinned as her nipple hardened beneath his fingertips. “Alicia …” he pleaded for her understanding. He felt his manhood stiffen as she stared at him hard.

  She sighed, her chest heaving beneath his fingers as she released her breath. “You’re right,” she said. “Go.”

  He bent down and replaced his fingers with his mouth. He suckled her a moment before he lifted his head. “Mmmmm. Delicious.” He flicked her cheek lightly. “Thank ye, dear lady.”

  She purred and then rose up on an elbow, dropping the covers to below her thighs.

  Rafferty’s gaze fell to the dark blond, curling thatch of hair between her thighs. “When will Michael be gone for a time?” he asked hoarsely. He gave in to the urge to touch her.

  “I’ll come for you,” she promised, her green eyes glowing.

  He grinned with sexual intent. “I’ll be waiting.” He stood, releasing her, dressed quickly, and went to the window. “Damn!”

  “What?” she said. “What is it?”

  He could hear her concern … her fear, but saw by her face that she was sexually excited by it.

  “It’s snowing.”

  She fell back against the bed, looking disappointed. “Damn,” she said, but for a different reason, and Rafferty couldn’t prevent his chuckle. Suddenly, her face brightened. “You’d better stay. It’s too far to travel to Gibbons Mill in this weather.”

  Rafferty shook his head. “I’ve no choice. I have to go. It’s Christmas Eve, and I promised to be there.”

  Alicia’s green eyes flashed fire. “Do you always keep your promises?”

  “Always,” he said. “When it suits me,” he added slyly.

  She laughed. “Go, but hurry back. I’ll be thinking of you … of this.” She cupped herself, grabbing his attention and his desire.

  Rafferty groaned and closed his eyes. “God, Alicia, ye know how to make a man ready when he shouldn’t be.”

  Her chuckle followed him out into the hall. A quick glance down the corridor in both directions assured him that the servants were absent, and he hastened down the stairs and out into the night.

  Anger curled in his stomach, burning Lucas’s insides as he thought of Meghan McBride. He leaned against the window edge a
nd stared outside. The chit had refused to find the time to talk with him! Didn’t she know that he could release her from the mill? He scowled, and his right hand tightened on the wooden trim until his fingers whitened. Damn it, but she knew he wouldn’t fire her, and that was what irked him to the point of fury—that Meghan knew he still wanted her.

  The thought occurred to him that he could use her position as leverage to take her to bed. Lucas straightened and folded his arms. No, he’d be no better than Phelps, if Phelps had actually done what she’d accused him of doing. Simmons was still investigating the matter. Meghan might have lied. But why? What good could possibly come from her lying?

  “Lucas? Lucas!”

  Turning from the window, Lucas held back his anger and softened his expression. “Beth, I didn’t hear you come in.”

  “Obviously,” his sister quipped. She had entered the room carrying two glasses filled with a creamy drink. She looked beautiful, her dark hair unbound and flowing down her back. The green plaid of her gown darkened the cinnamon brown of her large, expressive eyes. Those eyes of hers gazed at him with concern as she approached him.

  “I called you several times,” she said. “What’s wrong?”

  He offered her a half smile. “Just daydreaming.”

  “It must have been a nightmare,” she replied. “You looked fierce when I entered.” Beth handed him a glass. “Mother’s eggnog,” she said.

  Lucas accepted the holiday drink with a murmur of thanks and stared into the ivory liquid. After several moments, he moved to again gaze out the window.

  “Is it still snowing?” his sister asked. He heard the swish of Beth’s skirts as she joined him near the glass.

  “It’s stopped, but the sky looks dark. I think that before the day is over, it’ll snow again,” Lucas said without turning.

  Beth spun and caught her brother’s shoulder. “What aren’t you telling me, big brother?”

  He dragged his gaze from outside to focus on his concerned sister. “What could there be to tell?”

  She sighed with exasperation. “You’re being obtuse.” She released him and moved to a chair. She sat and then regarded him through narrowed eyes. “You’ve not been the same since you returned from England,” she said. “Did something happen there?”

  He shook his head. Not in England, he thought, but on the voyage home. He had a mental image of Meghan, and he caught his breath as he fought the strongest urge to find her and lay claim.

  “You’re lying, Lucas,” Beth accused.

  He raised an eyebrow. “Am I? Then tell me what you think happened while I was away.”

  His sister relaxed and took a sip of her drink before answering. “A woman,” she said. “You met and fell in love with a beautiful woman, but she was unavailable. It was tragic. You were forced to love and worship her from afar.”

  Lucas’s short bark of laughter vibrated throughout the room. “You’ve been rereading that copy of Bronté’s Jane Eyre I brought back for you.”

  She blushed, and he chuckled.

  At the deep sound of his amusement, Beth smiled. “That’s better,” she said. “It’s Christmas Eve. No one should look so glum on the night before Christmas.”

  “Actually, there was a problem at the mill today.” His expression sobered.

  “So I heard.” Beth looked interested. “A weaver organized the others into turning off their looms.” She held his gaze steadily. “Why?”

  “She claims that Phelps has been bothering some of the workers.”

  “I believe it.”

  Lucas was surprised by his sister’s response. “Why?”

  “Because the man is strange,” she said. “I’ve caught him staring at me with a strange look that gave me the shivers.”

  “He didn’t try anything?” Lucas was incensed that the man had been too forward in his behavior, and if proved, he’d make sure Phelps would be unable to get within feet of Beth or any woman again. Especially Meghan.

  “No, he wouldn’t dare,” she said. “He knows the consequences if he did. What will you do if you find out the woman was right?”

  “I’ll see that the man is fired.”

  “Good.” Beth rose to her feet. “Mother and Dad are in the parlor. Will you come?” Her gaze pleaded.

  He studied the shelves of books and felt a reluctance to leave the comfort of this room. “Where’s Aunt Flora?” he asked.

  “She’s in the kitchen, fussing with the servants.”

  Lucas smiled. “Fussing with the servants” meant that Aunt Flora was dispensing gifts and granting the kitchen staff tonight and tomorrow off. “I’ll be in shortly” He heard his sister sigh with relief, and his gaze sharpened. “Mother being difficult again?”

  “Is there ever a time when Mother is not being Mother?” Beth said in answer.

  Lucas approached and gently chucked her under the chin with his knuckles. “Smile, love. We’ll get through this.”

  “Without the sisters or the parents coming to blows?” she asked cryptically. Flora Gibbons and their mother were siblings, but they were as different as night and day. And their father and mother’s relationship was difficult at best.

  “Now I didn’t say that.”

  Beth’s snort was full of derision and very unladylike. “What would I have done if I didn’t have you,” she said, “or Daddy.” She shuddered at the thought of being brought up by their mother alone.

  Her brother’s smile was both sad and gentle. “But you have us both, so stop worrying about it.” He understood her dismay. He hated the arguments between his mother and father. His parents’ relationship had made him distrust the validity of love and marriage. Years past, after a particularly terrible fight between James and Mary Ridgely, Lucas had sworn that he would not suffer the same life. To be alone had to be preferable to living and arguing with a shrew. Why had his father married his mother?

  “What do you suppose Daddy saw in her?” she asked, her thoughts apparently mirroring Lucas’s.

  Lucas thought of his socially upstanding, prim and proper mother and recalled the long-ago beauty of her face and smile. He saw a glimpse of what his mother had been, before discontent had soured her and made her difficult to understand. He thought he understood what had first drawn his father. “Mother was a beautiful woman once,” he said.

  Beth’s eyes widened. “Beautiful—Mother?”

  “I remember when I was very young … when she smiled the whole room seemed to light up.” He gave his sister a smile tinged with sadness. “I guess she was happy then.”

  “I wish she was happy now,” Beth said as she preceded him out the library door.

  Lucas sighed as he followed her to join his family. “I do, too,” he said with great feeling. It was a shame, he thought, that his sister had known only discord in his parents’ household. He had escaped it somewhat when he’d moved into the plantation’s caretaker’s cottage. It was his now, and with its small interior rooms came a measure of the peace lacking in the big house.

  But his peace had been disturbed since Meghan’s entry into his life. Would he ever get to bed her and be free of her? He sure as hell was going to try!

  Seventeen

  Meghan sat in the darkened bedchamber in Somerville, listening to Miss Doddleberry’s snores. It was early Christmas morning, well before dawn. She’d been unable to sleep since retiring to her room hours ago.

  Rafferty had eventually arrived at Gibbons Mill well past the supper hour, when she’d all but given up hope of his coming. He’d been quiet, but not irritable as he’d steered the carriage back to Mrs. Pridgly’s. He’d offered some mumbled excuse about why he was late that Meghan didn’t understand, but oddly enough she didn’t care. By the time they’d reached Somerville, there had been little time for them to talk, before Mrs. Pridgly suggested everyone up go to bed. All the residents followed her lead.

  The boardinghouse parlor was decorated with holly and pine, but it didn’t seem as festive to Meghan as it did at Patty’s. As s
he stared at the ceiling of the bedchamber, she thought that the house lacked something. What was missing here that made her time spent at Patty’s more enjoyable?

  She remembered the warmth generated by the people who lived at Patty’s and the pleasure they’d shown when she’d given each of them the small gifts she’d made: linen handkerchiefs for the women, new stockings for the boys.

  Then she thought of the things she’d brought with her … a new set of sewing needles for Mrs. Pridgly, some cookies and donuts for Henry, George, and the other tenants. Thanks to Patty’s generosity and help in the kitchen, Meghan had gifts for everyone at Mrs. Pridgly’s, too.

  For Rafferty, she had a special Christmas gift—a gold fob for the watch that Rafferty always carried with him, the watch that had belonged to his father. It had cost her a full week’s pay, but Meghan didn’t mind. She was grateful to Rafferty for all he’d done for her.

  She realized she must have fallen asleep when she was awakened by the sun and Miss Doddleberry, who made enough noise in the room to wake Mrs. Pridgly downstairs. Meghan’s head pounded with a dull ache as she blinked and then eyed the woman with whom she shared the bedchamber.

  “What time is it?” she asked.

  Miss Doddleberry gave her a scolding look. “It’s six past. Why are you still abed?”

  Meghan’s teeth snapped, but she was silent. Why do ye make noise when ye sleep like the working machinery at Gibbons? she thought.

  “Merry Christmas,” she said with all the politeness she could muster.

  The woman sniffed. “Merry Christmas,” she said insincerely.

  Voices in the corridor signaled the awakening of the entire household, and Meghan threw back the quilt. She had taken to sleeping in the chair after her first night’s experience staying with Miss Doddleberry. The woman not only snored while she slept, but she thrashed about.

  Rising to her feet, Meghan rubbed her throbbing temple.

  “Head hurt again?”

  To Meghan’s surprise, the woman’s concern seemed genuine.

  “Here.” Miss Doddleberry dug inside the top drawer of the bureau chest and handed Meghan a folded paper. “It’s headache powder. My grandmother’s special blend.” When Meghan hesitated, the woman pushed it into Meghan’s hands. “I suffer frequently,” she admitted. “This helps me.”