Irish Linen

by Candace McCarthy

  “And she believed ya?” The last thing he needed was for Alicia’s husband to discover that he was being cuckolded. Rafferty’s gut lurched when she shook her head.

  “I doubt it, but it doesn’t matter.” She grabbed his hand and instructed him to continue his fondling. “Yousee, Lynna needs her job desperately. Her mother is dead, and her father is ill. It’s the only employment that will keep her and her family from going hungry.”

  Rafferty squeezed her breast tightly in reaction until she cried out, and his touch immediately softened to a caress. He knew what it was like to go hungry. It was a feeling he’d never forget—or forgive. He hated that Alicia had used food—or its lack—to manipulate one of her household staff. “I don’t like it, Alicia.”

  She curled an arm about his neck and rubbed his nape with teasing fingers. “Lynna will be fine, Raff. know how to treat my employees,” she purred. “You should know, my dear. You’re the perfect example of my generosity and goodwill.”

  Eyes narrowing, Rafferty wondered if Alicia had just threatened him. But then she was stroking him while nibbling and tonguing his ear, and all of his thoughts disappeared with the increasing, raging spiral of his lust.

  Meghan felt butterflies in her stomach as she stared up at the huge Gibbons mansion. Nerves tingling, she fought back her fears. Do I knock on the front door, she silently asked herself, or do I go around to the servants’ entrance? She was hired help. She skirted the house and rapped on the back door.

  A middle-aged woman responded and eyed Meghan carefully. “Yes?”

  “Me name’s Meghan McBride, and I’ve been called by Mrs. Gibbons,” Meghan said.

  Recognition flickered across the servant’s face. “Come in, Meghan McBride. I’m Mrs. Riker, Mrs. Gibbons’s cook.”

  Meghan studied the woman’s flour-coated apron and smiled. “Aye, I can see you are.” She grinned. “I’mpleased to meet ya. Ye cooked all the wonderful treats at Christmas.”

  When the lady looked surprised, Meghan explained. “I work in the weaving room at the mill.”

  Mrs. Riker beamed. “You enjoyed my lemon cakes?”

  “Aye, they melted in me mouth, they did.”

  The woman waved Meghan further in the kitchen. The room smelled of wonderful scents … of baking bread and roasting meat. “Sit yourself down, and I’ll make you some tea. Then, I’ll find Mrs. Gibbons for you.”

  “That won’t be necessary, Mrs. Riker,” Lucas said as he entered the room. “I’ll take Meghan up to my aunt.” He paused to flash a devastatingly handsome smile. “After we share some tea.”

  Mrs. Riker obviously saw nothing unusual with Lucas drinking tea in the kitchen, for she immediately went to put on the kettle. Then, with a grin, the cook placed a plate of pastries on the table directly in front of Lucas.

  “You share, you hear?” she warned him goodnaturedly.

  Lucas laughed, and Meghan’s heart beat faster at the rich, musical sound “I promise.”

  Meghan tensed as Lucas handed her a plate and then offered her a pastry. The memory of their late night snack was sharp in her mind … and what had happened afterward when Lucas had kissed her and she’d responded wildly … wantonly. As Mrs. Riker set out two cups and saucers, Meghan could almost taste the flavor of Lucas’s lips.

  Lucas seemed unaffected by her presence as he chatted easily with Mrs. Riker while they waited for the water to boil and then the tea to steep. Meghan had trouble keeping her gaze off him. It had been some time since she’d sat across the table from him, but thesensation wasn’t new … only different after their exchanged kiss at the Pattersons’ inn.

  His blond hair had been combed into place with a hint of macassar oil, no doubt used to try to tame its tendency to curl. His sideburns were shorter than most men’s and he was clean-shaven, while the gentlemen of the day wore moustaches or clipped beards.

  She studied his jaw and had the wildest urge to run her lips over his smooth skin. He caught her staring, and warmth spread from her neck upward. She averted her gaze, only to be drawn back with fascination to look into his sparkling ebony eyes.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked.

  She shook her head.

  “Could have fooled me,” he whispered for her ears alone.

  Ignoring his remark and her flushed face, Meghan bit into a pastry and found it delicious and sweet.

  “Here you go, dears,” Mrs. Riker said as she poured out two cups of tea.

  “Eat and drink up, love,” Lucas murmured while he held her gaze. “You’re going to need all of your strength to get through your day here.”

  It was as if he’d read her mind—and her heart, which didn’t help her state of mind and didn’t bode well for the remainder of her time here.

  Twenty

  Mrs. Gibbons appeared delighted to see her. Meghan greeted the woman with a smile; and then with Lucas by her side, she followed her employer up the staircase to a sitting room on the second-story level of the house.

  “I’d like you to make a new set of drapes for this room,” Flora said, drawing Meghan’s surprise.

  A quick glance at Lucas told Meghan that he was as startled by his aunt’s revelation as she. “I thought you wanted a gown altered,” he said.

  The woman waved the notion aside. “The gown can wait. The drapes in this room are too glum for my taste.” She went to a sewing table along one wall and fingered a folded length of fabric. “Can you do this for me, Meghan?” she asked.

  “Aye,” Meghan assured her. “I’ll be glad to.” She moved to touch the material. “ ‘Tis lovely cloth.”

  Flora smiled. “I had it specially printed at the mill for this room.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “The pattern is one that was designed by my late husband. This will be the only printed cloth. I never thought to use it before … until now.”

  Meghan heard the emotion in her employer’s voice and chanced a look at her nephew. Lucas was regarding his aunt with a soft expression that made Meghan’s insides melt.

  The older woman cleared her throat and gaveMeghan a brief smile. “Lucas will help you remove the old drapes.”

  “But I thought—” Lucas began.

  “I can manage—” Meghan said simultaneously.

  “Nonsense!” Lucas’s aunt declared. “Lucas, you’ve been working too hard at my accounts these last few days. You can certainly use some time off from them to help Meghan.”

  Meghan refused to meet his gaze. The thought of him working by her side made her nervous … and yet it pleased her, too.

  Flora had moved to the window, and now she gave Lucas instructions on how to remove the drapes. Then she began to address her seamstress. “Meghan?” she said when the young woman didn’t respond.

  Meghan glanced over and flushed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear what ye said.” Her gaze slammed into Lucas, whose dark eyes twinkled as she approached. She shot him a silent reproving look, and his lips curved with amusement.

  “I said that the style of the old drapes is fine,” Flora said. “There should be everything you need here. If you run out of thread, you can let Mrs. Riker or one of the housemaids know.” She paused to grin. “We have plenty of cotton thread.”

  Meghan shared her grin. “Aye.”

  Flora’s gaze ran the length of Meghan’s serviceable gown. “Did you make your dress?” she asked.

  The Irishwoman shifted uncomfortably. She’d restitched the gowns that Rafferty had purchased for her, but they were plain, not at all like the garments that Flora Gibbons wore. “Actually me fiancé bought it for me,” she confessed. “I had to alter it, but—”

  “Your fiancé?” Flora seemed startled. “I didn’t know you were engaged.” A furrow appeared on her brow.

  “Is it one of my workers?”

  Did she see her employer’s gaze slide briefly to Lucas? Meghan wondered. She shook her head.

  Lucas’s voice boomed into the ensuing silence. “He works in Somerville, Auntie.”

  This time there w
as no denying Flora’s surprised glance toward her nephew.

  Lucas’s facial muscles tightened at the subject of Meghan’s fiancé. He stared at his aunt with speculation and wondered why the existence of Meghan’s fiancé should bother his relative.

  Meghan looked uncomfortable, and Lucas couldn’t blame her. Why should it concern his aunt whether or not Meghan was betrothed?

  His eyes narrowed. Unless … But no, the idea was too ludicrous to make sense, he decided. Meghan McBride wasn’t someone his family would approve for him. She was not of their class. Odds are Aunt Flora was simply worried that she might lose a good worker.

  “Meghan is not ready to leave your fold yet, Aunt Flora,” he said, testing his theory.

  His aunt laughed and seemed to relax. “I hope not.” Her gaze studied Meghan intently. “There are still matters at the mill that Meghan and I need to resolve.”

  “Matters?”

  “Yes,” the woman said. “I want to know why Meghan felt the need to stop production.”

  “It’s being investigated,” Lucas said quickly, uncomfortable with his aunt delving into such matters.

  “By whom?”

  “George Simmons … and me,” Lucas replied.

  “Handle it yourself, Lucas.” When Lucas looked at her with surprise, she explained, “I can trust your findings will be honest ones.”

  Sensing Meghan’s uneasiness with the conversation, Lucas agreed and then suggested that Meghan startwork. She seemed tense to him as Flora showed her where the sewing supplies were kept.

  Soon, Aunt Flora left the room, and he and Meghan were alone. He hated to know that she was uncomfortable in his presence. He wanted to regain the relaxed camaraderie they’d shared on the ship … and then later again on their journey to Somerville. The way it was before he’d lost reason and got carried away by lust.

  Meghan was pulling things out of the sewing table drawer when Lucas came up behind her.

  “Meghan.”

  She jumped. She had known he was still in the room, but she hadn’t realized that he was so close. You’re a liar, me girl, she silently told herself. Ye’ve known every movement, every breath, that he’s made since he greeted ya in the kitchen.

  “I apologize for that awkward moment with my aunt,” he said, surprising her.

  She faced him. “Neither your aunt nor ye has anything to apologize for. It’s her mill.”

  He sighed, and it seemed as if the tension had left his large frame. She gazed up into his handsome face, and the brightness of his smile stole her breath away.

  She blinked and then averted her gaze downward. Why, God, did I have to fall for this particular man? Was his aunt right? Would Lucas report honestly and see Phelps punished for his behavior? Wanting to believe it, she felt her guard lower toward this man.

  She felt his fingers on her cheek. She lifted her chin, and with the gentlest caress, he tucked a stray lock of her hair behind her ear. Meghan closed her eyes, moved by his tenderness, and the hollow feeling she’d felt for so long began to fill up again with warmth.

  “Meghan,” he murmured.

  Her eyes met his. “Lucas, this is mad. I should havestayed at the mill. We’re courting danger with me being here.”

  His mouth twisted into a tender half smile. “Contrary to what you may think, this was my aunt’s idea, not mine.” He bent his head until she could feel his breath whisper against her mouth.

  “I could have denied her request,” she admitted, unable to keep herself from leaning toward him. She was caught in his spell, a web of magic that stroked and caressed her with heat … and caring.

  There was something genuine about Lucas Ridgely, she thought. Something good and kind and true. She didn’t believe for one minute that he played a poor knight in shiny armor, as he’d said. He had rescued her how many times now? Twice? Three times, she realized, although she didn’t want to recall the third when he’d saved her from being a willing wanton.

  He didn’t move to kiss her; yet, he was close enough that if she leaned forward an inch their mouths would touch … and ignite.

  Lucas? She didn’t realize that she’d said his name aloud … not until he answered her.

  “Yes?” He moved away slightly and cupped her face with both hands, sensitizing her cheeks. He shifted his fingers lower to rub his thumbs across her lips. “You know I want to kiss you.”

  She swallowed. “Aye.”

  “And you want me to, don’t you?” His dark eyes held her gaze.

  Her eyelashes fluttered closed briefly. “Aye,” she confessed with a rasping breath.

  Still, he didn’t immediately kiss her. He stared at her mouth while his fingers and thumbs caressed her lips, and she gloried in his tenderness, even while she experienced an urgent desire.

  “Meghan.” His gaze searched hers.

  “Aye, Lucas,” she whispered. “Do it. Do it, before I think of all the reasons why we shouldn’t kiss.”

  With a groan, he bent his head while he lifted her chin, and then his warm mouth slanted across her lips with hunger. The hot searing contact made Meghan’s blood rush and her knees weaken.

  Lucas lifted his head, ending the kiss too soon. “Sweet,” he murmured in a tone that made her shiver. “So sweet …”

  And then he captured her mouth with a gentleness that brought tears to her eyes. She leaned closer and sighed with pleasure when his arms surrounded her. He stroked her back, while he used his mouth to caress her lips. He trailed a path across her cheek and nibbled on her ear.

  “Lucas,” she begged. She wanted more … to feel his hands, his mouth on her breasts.

  “I know,” he whispered. “I feel it, too.”

  She could hear the increased rate of his breathing.

  It mirrored the rasp within her own chest.

  Suddenly, Lucas stiffened, and it was then that Meghan heard a sound in the corridor.

  “Later,” he promised. He released her with a smile of regret and a look that rocked her.

  As the haze of magic began to dissipate, Meghan’s reasoning powers returned with an awakened sense of horror. She’d known it was dangerous to have him near, but she hadn’t realized how dangerous. There was no denying that she had invited his kiss. She spun away from him, berating herself for her lack of control, as she pretended to be busy with the folded cloth. Her face warmed as she thought of her behavior.

  What was it about him that stole her reason along with her breath?

  A wave of guilt hit her hard; she grabbed onto theedge of the fabric until her knuckles whitened and her fingers ached.

  His hands closed over hers, gently easing them from the cloth. “Don’t fret, Meghan McBride,” he said. “I can tell how your mind is working, but it’s my fault more than yours.”

  Her gaze shot to gauge his expression. His dark eyes and the curve of his mouth hinted at self-reproach. She wanted to tell him the truth, to take the blame for what had just occurred between them, but shame kept her silent.

  “Think about this, Meghan, when you’re with your Rafferty,” he said through tight lips. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her deeply before he set her away. “Now about these drapes …”

  Meghan’s mouth throbbed with the imprint of his kiss. She heard her thundering heartbeat as she followed Lucas to the window and attempted to gather her composure enough to get on with the work at hand. Lucas’s high-handed attitude started to make her simmer with anger. “How are ye and Phelps different?” she dared.

  He froze in the act of taking down the first set of window drapes. Then he turned slowly, his frame taut with tension, and then climbed down to place them over the edge of a large mahogany desk. He faced her then, his gaze mocking. “The difference, Meghan McBride, is that you like it when I kiss and touch you.”

  He ignored her gasp and returned to work. “Do you need anything else?” he asked harshly after he’d taken down the second and last pair. The tension was so thick it nearly choked off their breathing air.

 
She shook her head.

  “Then, I’ll be helping my aunt at the mill. If you find you need some more thread, tell Mrs. Riker.”

  Which means don’t come to me, Meghan guessed. Sheagreed to his terms and then set to work, as if dismissing his presence, which she actually couldn’t do. She heard him leave, and at the sound of the closing door, she released a shuddering breath. With trembling fingers, she touched her mouth, recalling the pleasure brought on with his tender kiss. His third and more demanding kiss had aroused her physically; his gentle kiss had tugged on her emotions and her heart. And then she had gone and said something nasty to him, because she was afraid of her feelings …

  Confused, Meghan fought the urge to follow Lucas and call him back. Then she felt guilt, for she hadn’t been thinking of her fiancé from the first moment she’d seen Lucas downstairs. Lately, her only thoughts and desires during each wakened and sleeping moment involved Lucas Ridgely, not Rafferty O’Connor.

  Her hands shook as she unfolded the cloth, and she stared at the cotton print until her vision blurred with terars.

  “What am I going to do?” she whispered.

  Abandoning the fabric, Meghan sat down in a nearby chair and bent forward to cradle her head in her hands.

  “I’m in love with a man who wants to bed, but not wed me.”

  Twenty-one

  “Why can’t ye come to Somerville next Saturday?” Rafferty scowled at his fiancée as he pulled the carriage to a stop before Patty Rhoades’s boardinghouse.

  Meghan sighed. “I told ye that I’ve been working for Mrs. Gibbons. I promised to alter two gowns for her.”

  “Work on them in the evenings.”

  She shook her head. “I cannot. ‘Tis my position now. I’ll not lose it.” She shot him a look of irritation. “I’m earning a living, O’Connor. What else would ye have me do? Quit me employment here and work at the powder mill?”

  He shook his head. “We’ll need evera bit of our resources for our cottage after we’re married.” He studied her with speculation. “Ye’ve been saving yer money, haven’t ye, Meghan? Perhaps I should hold onto it for ye.”