Irish Linen

by Candace McCarthy

  “Touch me,” he said.

  Her blood flowed with excitement as she brushed trembling fingers against his smooth, flat stomach. She felt his muscles contract, heard his sharp intake of air, and his reaction encouraged her to be bolder. Her hands grazed his nipples with their thumbs. Recalling her pleasure, she captured a male tip with her mouth.

  Lucas cried out, clutched her head, and then tugged her away from him. “You’re killing me by slow degrees,” he gasped.

  Meghan blinked up at him, her blue eyes wide and uncertain, as she released him as if stung. Tenderness seized hold of him, tempering the heat of his desire. He wanted to give her pleasure.

  “We must go easy, love,” he said softly.

  A sigh shivered from her lips. “Tell me what to do …”

  Emotion gripped him hard at her unwitting confession of innocence. He wanted to be the one to show her the joys of womanhood … and she was giving him the honor. Her gift humbled him.

  “Trust me?” he asked.

  She nodded without hesitation, and he felt a feeling close to love.

  He was gentle as he sought the hem of her gown and eased it up over her belly and breasts, and finally off her head. Her hair was a soft cloud of dark auburn about her shoulders. He felt like a nervous, untried youth as he combed the silky strands down her neck and back.

  He caught his breath as he studied her breasts, the tiny tight buds in full womanly mounds of white flesh … breasts made for kissing … touching. Flesh meant for tasting with lips and tongue.

  Her belly was flat, her hips perfectly formed. The curly nest of hair shielding her femininity was dark and beautiful against the white skin of her abdomen and thighs. His gaze caressed her legs. Lovely, he thought. He reached out to stroke one, and she jerked at the simple touch.

  “Open my trousers, love,” he said.

  She hesitated for only a second, and then he trembled as she undid the buttons. He heard her surprised little gasp as his desire burst free of cloth and constriction. But then it was he who made a startled sound as she encircled him with her hands.

  The simple innocence of her warm, soft fingers caressing him nearly sent him over the edge.

  “No, love,” he said. “Not yet.” He grabbed her hand, not without gentleness. “I want to pleasure you, and I love the feeling of your hands on me too much.”

  Meghan’s smile lit up her blue eyes. “I love your hands touching me, too.”

  Her admission surprised him, and then he realized why he cared for this woman. She was genuine and good.

  He stepped out of his pants. “Come here, Meghan.”

  He held out his hands, and she went to him, pressing against his naked length. He kissed her hard and then swung her into his arms before he lowered her on the bed.

  “I’m going to kiss you everywhere,” he said. “Frightened?”

  “A little.”

  “Don’t be.”

  She nodded. “All right.”

  Then while she lay across the white rumpled sheet covering the feather-tick mattress, he pressed his mouth to her forehead and then trailed a thorough path lower, kissing and nuzzling her, until he reached her soft belly.

  He raised his head. “Meghan—”

  “Aye, Lucas,” she said. “I trust ye.”

  Then he tasted beneath the damp curls, and she moved and whimpered as he felt her desire surge and threaten to burst free. He loved it when she shuddered; and when she stiffened and cried out, he closed his eyes and fought down his own rising passionate tide.

  “Okay, Meghan, now we fly together,” he said, as he covered her with his length. He wanted to be inside her so desperately his muscles strained with the need.

  Lucas parted her legs and positioned himself for entry, pausing as he prepared to thrust past her virginity … for there was no denying that Meghan McBride was a virgin.

  “Lucas?” He heard her uncertainty, her surprise that he hadn’t moved.

  “Remember the joy, Meghan, as you’ve just felt it. It will hurt at first, but then the joy … the feeling will be all the greater.” From somewhere came the realization that once he’d fully claimed her, his life would be forever changed. He pressed closer.

  Meghan embraced him, closing her eyes as he touched her opening. She gasped as he inserted the tip of his penis, and then she cried out softly as he went deeper, pushing gently against the thin membrane of innocence.

  “Meghan, I don’t want to hurt you.”

  She clutched his shoulders, her fingernails biting into his skin. “You’ll not hurt me,” she gasped, and he saw that she was aroused, not frightened as he’d feared.

  “Oh, love,” he growled before he reared back and thrust hard.

  Her sharp inhalation of breath made him pause with his staff buried deep. He could feel her pulsing softness. She felt so good … so damned good.

  “Are you all right?” he asked with concern.

  “Aye.” Then, she began to move, and he made a choked sound as he lifted his hips and rocked forward in a rhythm that teased and raised the level of his desire. He had to hold back a moment while he fought for control.

  Meghan cried out as Lucas filled her time and again. The world spun and her whole body started to shudder with ecstasy.I love you, Lucas, she thought. She stroked and fondled him from back to buttocks as he continued to move against her. Lucas groaned, his muscles tensing, and Meghan experienced the wet warmth of his seed. She gasped and stiffened as he brought her to the peak of pleasure again.

  She loved him. She held him tightly and smiled.

  Twenty-nine

  Meghan woke up and stretched. Her lashes fluttered as she reached across the bed linen. “Lucas?”

  The bed was empty beside her. She opened her eyes and sat up quickly. He’d left her! Her heart thumped wildly as she recalled the dark hours she’d lain willingly within his arms. Why did he leave?

  Then, she recalled the servants. It wouldn’t do for them to know that she’d allowed Lucas into her bed. She smiled. Lucas was being thoughtful again.

  Her gaze fell on the hearth in her room, and she shuddered, recalling the fire. She felt chilled and rubbed her arms. Everything she owned was gone. Her clothes and belongings, even her only pair of shoes! All that was left was her smoke-stained nightdress.

  Meghan rose, naked, flushing as she caught sight of her discarded borrowed nightgown and recalled when Lucas had removed it from her with tenderness. A tingling heat invaded her abdomen at the memory of Lucas’s hands on her breasts … his mouth everywhere. That time with him had been glorious! If she never knew what it was to have a husband, at least she’d had this.

  I love him. Tears filled her eyes as she realized that she couldn’t stay, for when the time came that Lucas no longer desired her, she’d be devastated. Better to leave now, she thought, before the pain became unbearable. But how could she leave when she had nothing to wear?

  A lump rose in her throat, making it difficult to swallow. She grabbed the night garment from the floor and slipped it over her head, glad to see that the gown wasn’t ripped or damaged in any way. Then she opened the door and peered into the hall, hoping to see one of the upstairs chambermaids, but she saw no one.

  She shut the door and leaned back against it, closing her eyes. Now what am I to do? She opened her eyes, saw a dresser, and went to rummage through the drawers, hoping to find something more modest to wear than a bed gown. Although the garment adequately covered her from neck to ankle, it was still meant for sleeping.

  The top two drawers were storage for bed linens and blankets, and the rest of the drawers were empty. But before Meghan had a chance to fret, her attention was drawn by a knock on the bedchamber door, and she answered it. It was Rachel, one of the housemaids.

  “Mrs. Gibbons sent me with some garments for ya,” the girl said.

  “Oh, thank ye,” Meghan said. “I was wondering what to wear.”

  The maid smiled with sympathy and handed her an armload of clothes. “There ar
e a few extras there as well from me and the others.” When Meghan would have protested, Rachel said, “We’ve got everything we need, Meg, while you’ve got nothing.”

  Meghan blinked back tears as she murmured her thanks. “I’ve got friends, it seems,” she said.

  Rachel nodded. “Do you need any help?”

  The Irishwoman shook her head. “I’m sure I can manage. Thank ye.”

  The girl started to leave. “Well, then, if you need anything, you let one of us know.” She paused. “I’m sorry about the fire, Meghan,” she said after Meghan had thanked her again. “But at least no one was harmed.”

  “Aye.”

  “I wonder who wanted to hurt Patty.”

  Meghan stiffened. “The fire was deliberately set?” It was the first she’d heard of it.

  Rachel told her what she’d heard from James about the lantern and whiskey bottle he’d found near Patty’s back door. When the girl left, Meghan suffered a strong feeling of foreboding. She recalled Rafferty’s vow to get even with her. Dear God, could Rafferty O’Connor have done such a thing? There was a time when Rafferty had a terrible weakness for whiskey, but that was a long time ago, so long ago that she’d been a child. She’d forgotten about it, because Rafferty no longer drank. But he’d changed so much, and she wondered …

  Meghan recalled Rafferty’s occasional outbursts of anger and shivered. Oh, Lord, don’t let it be Rafferty who did this.

  She dressed in a servant’s gown and went downstairs to eat. When she saw the servants hard at work, she felt guilty for having slept so late.

  Mrs. Riker seemed unconcerned when she glanced over and saw Meghan. “Meghan, you’re up.” She gave her a smile.

  “I’m sorry for sleeping in,” Meghan began.

  “Of course, you should sleep! You’ve had a terrible night.” The cook’s expression was sympathetic. “Come and sit, dear, and I’ll give you some breakfast.”

  “But Mrs. Gibbons—”

  “Said you’re to take it easy today, Meghan,” Mrs. Riker assured her. “Both she and Mr. Ridgely left specific instructions to see that you’re well cared for while they’re gone, and I aim to follow them.”

  “Gone?” Meghan’s heart tripped. Lucas had left without telling her again.

  Mrs. Riker wiped her flour-coated hands on the skirt of her apron and put water on the stove for Meghan’s tea. “The Mrs. and her nephew had to go to Philadelphia.”

  “Oh.” At least, Lucas hadn’t returned to his home in Kent, she thought. Meghan watched Cook set a plate filled with cinnamon buns before her. Then Mrs. Riker went about preparing eggs.

  “Please,” Meghan said, “there’s no need to trouble yerself.”

  “It’s no bother, Meg,” a kitchen girl said. “Mrs. Riker loves fussing, don’t ya, Mrs. Riker?”

  The older woman shot the young maid a look. “Get back to work, girl.” But her expression was soft and her eyes kind.

  “Have ye heard how Patty Rhoades and the others are faring?”

  “I spoke with Peter this morning, Meg,” another girl said, referring to Patty’s middle son. Meghan learned that the young woman was Mrs. Trill’s daughter. “They’re all fine. Shaken, but glad to be alive.”

  “Aye,” Meghan murmured with a shiver, recalling the fire. “We’re all glad to be alive.”

  The morning passed quickly for Meghan, as she went to see Patty and her sons. But by the afternoon, Meghan was having doubts about staying in Gibbons Mill. Everyone had been wonderful and kind to her, but then they didn’t know that she’d given herself to Lucas.

  Guilt began to gnaw at her conscience. She had lain with a man outside the bonds of marriage. She’d sinned, but—God forgive her—she loved Lucas Ridgely, and it was impossible for her to be properly penitent.

  Meghan became more nervous and ridden with guilt with each new hour of the day. When asked, Mrs. Riker had confessed that she didn’t know when Lucas and his aunt planned to return. It could be tomorrow, she’d said. Or could be as early as this evening.

  Despite orders to enjoy a free day, Meghan went back to her sewing, for she needed something to keep herself occupied. But she learned that busy hands still left a mind to think and worry. Several times during the course of the day, she’d found herself getting up to check the time on the mantel clock in the sitting room. On each occasion that someone opened or closed a door during the day, Meghan’s heart would race until she learned that the noise hadn’t been created by the returning aunt and nephew. Only then would her heart slow, and her breathing flow easier.

  Meghan had worked herself into such a state by bedtime that she felt shaky as she undressed. She’d convinced herself that to stay at Gibbons Mill wasn’t a wise thing to do after all … not since she’d responded so wantonly to Lucas’s experienced touch.

  Experienced, she thought with pain. How many women had Lucas taken to bed? Had he kissed and caressed them like he had her? Had he cried out the way he had with her when he’d finally found his satisfaction?

  She went to her bedchamber window and peered out into the February night. It was cold, but fortunately there was no snow. Her gaze rose to the sky, and she judged from the look of the cloud-hazy moon that it would snow soon.

  Should she leave now and chance it? And if she left here, where would she go? She owned nothing … not even the clothes on her back … not even the shoes on her feet.

  Her eyes stung as she turned from the window to examine the lovely room. She could be happy here if not for her feelings for a man who only desired her.

  He’d left for Philadelphia without telling her. If things had changed between them, he would have left a note—something!—if he loved her …

  Love! She made a face. Lucas lusted for her; he’d never professed to love her. Did ye forget what he wanted from ya from the start? He’d been honest; she couldn’t find fault with him for trying to trick her.

  Meghan threw back the bed covers and climbed onto the feather-tick mattress. Lucas’s scent still lingered on her pillow, and she could almost feel him beside her, touching her again. The pain was bittersweet.

  Tomorrow she’d speak with Patty. Patty would know where she could go, what to do, Meghan decided.

  Then she recalled Patty’s devastation upon seeing her house burn. No, she couldn’t bother Patty.

  Mari Bright. Mari had been a friend to her from the first day, Meghan thought. She’d ask Mari if she knew where a woman could start a new life.

  He was anxious to see her again. Yesterday morning, it had nearly killed him to leave her room. He’d risen before the sun and lingered for a long while just studying Meghan as she’d slept. The wealth of tenderness he’d felt toward her had amazed him. He’d never known he was capable of experiencing these feelings. He’d looked at Meghan and experienced a rush of warmth and happiness that he choked up just thinking about it now.

  Lucas glanced at his aunt on the carriage seat across from his. To his surprise, he found her watching him with a speculative gleam in her dark eyes.

  He questioned her with a smile. Inside, he felt quivery and vulnerable; it was both exciting and frightening for a man who’d never been in love before. He decided then what he must do about it.

  “You seem anxious to get back,” Aunt Flora said softly.

  A jolt passed through him. “Why do you say that?” he asked, managing to keep his tone light

  His relative smiled. “Son, it wasn’t hard to figure out when you woke me at five, hurried me to breakfast, and then bullied that poor Mr. Abernathy into loading the wagon at six.”

  Lucas shrugged as if he thought nothing unusual in his actions. “If it wasn’t for Mr. Abernathy, we’d have had the new machines by now. I paid that man good money weeks ago to see that they were delivered …”

  Flora raised an eyebrow. “I suppose that might be true—”

  “Are you angry that I disturbed your night’s sleep?” her nephew asked with amusement.

  “Are you saying I’m irritable?” />
  He chuckled at his aunt’s sharp tone. “Darlin’,” he soothed, “you’re never irritable, irritating perhaps, but never irritable.”

  His aunt scowled. “Whatever—or whoever—is calling you back to Gibbons Mill,” she said, “I hope she realizes how impossible you can be. Charming perhaps, but impertinent and impossible.”

  Lucas grinned. “I’m sure George Simmons appreciates me just fine.”

  Flora’s undignified snort told him that she didn’t believe for one second that it was business calling him back. “I hope she’s worth it,” his aunt murmured, making his amusement fade.

  Lucas looked away. Oh, she is, Aunt Flora, he thought, recalling Meghan’s loving response. She is worth it enough to me that I plan to marry her.

  He stifled a niggle of misgiving that his family wouldn’t love or accept the woman he’d chosen. A poor woman. A woman of Irish birth.

  They’d accept her, he vowed, because he loved and wanted her.

  Marriage to Meghan seemed like a wonderful, exciting adventure. She wasn’t his mother, and he wasn’t his father. He and Meghan would stay happy together for the rest of their lives.

  Marriage could make a person happy, couldn’t it? “Aunt Flora?” he said.

  She glanced away from the window to meet his gaze. “Yes, dear?”

  “You were happy with Uncle Walter, weren’t you?”

  Her soft smile was all the answer he needed. “He and I were very happy together.” Suddenly, she frowned. “What is this all about, Lucas?” Enlightenment entered her dark eyes. “Nephew, not every marriage is like your parents’.”

  “Lord, I hope not,” he said with great feeling.

  Her regard intensified. “Are you thinking of getting married?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Someone I know?”

  “Perhaps,” he said with a smile. When she tried to question him further, he refused to answer. Instead, he called up to the carriage driver to pick up the pace for home, and his excitement grew as he looked forward to seeing Meghan again.