by Bush, Holly
“Albert. His name is Albert.”
“Does he have a last name?”
“Oh yes. His name is Albert Watson. He’s British!”
“Kirsty, you must relax. We’re going to have to take the streetcar. I would have rented a carriage for tonight if I’d known,” James said. “Why didn’t Alexander come for you?”
“I told them I wasn’t going,” she said.
“But we’re going now?”
“Yes, James!” she said, her eyes wide. “I’m not a coward. Please hurry and get your coat.”
Amazingly, they found Elspeth and Alexander outside the doors to the lecture hall. Kirsty clung to her sister while he and Alexander shared a smile. Just as they were going into the building, he heard his sister’s name, and they turned in unison.
“Mrs. Pendergast?”
“Hello! How lovely to see you again,” Elspeth said to Louisa Vermeal, nodding to the man beside her.
“Mr. Pendergast. Mr. Thompson. Miss Thompson. May I present a dear friend of mine, Mr. Renaldo Delgado, recently of Spain. These young people are two of his children, Geoffrey and Susannah.”
“Are you going into the lecture?” Alexander asked.
Mr. Delgado nodded. “Geoffrey is very interested in the subject and is considering a career in medicine or science.”
“How long will you be in Philadelphia?” Elspeth asked.
“Perhaps another month,” Mr. Delgado said and glanced at Lucinda’s aunt.
“Are you enjoying your visit?” Elspeth asked his children.
“Yes, ma’am. Thank you for asking,” the young man said to Elspeth, who turned to the daughter.
“I heard your party was a grand success and that your artwork collection is very lovely,” she said quietly.
“Thank you! Why don’t you come visit my husband and I some evening?” Elspeth said as she looked at the group. “Or perhaps you and Miss Vermeal can come for tea in the afternoon and leave the menfolk behind.”
The girl’s eyes lit up, and she looked at Lucinda’s aunt.
“I think we would enjoy that very much, wouldn’t we, Susannah?” Miss Vermeal replied.
“We’d best go in,” Kirsty said. “We don’t want to be late. It was very nice meeting you.”
* * *
“MacAvoy?” James hollered up a set of steps in the carriage house behind Elspeth and Alexander’s house. “MacAvoy? Are you here?”
“James? Come up. Come up and see.”
James walked up the flight of steps beyond a ground-floor door surrounded by an arch of roses. He could smell soap as he ascended and heard the chatter of a young child. He stepped into a large room where MacAvoy was painting walls. Various buckets of paint and mops and rags were scattered around the room. A little girl, her long hair plaited, in a paint-stained dress and pinafore, glanced up at him and ran at MacAvoy. He scooped her up in one arm and kissed her forehead.
“Mary, sweetheart, no need to be scared. This is my very best friend. His name is Mr. Thompson.”
The child clung to his neck and peeped out at James.
“It’s an honor to meet you, Mary.” James smiled at the little girl, a miniature of her mother. She shimmied down MacAvoy’s side, picked up a rag doll, and kissed its face. “What are you doing painting in Elspeth’s carriage house?”
“I’ve been meaning to tell you,” MacAvoy went on excitedly. “Eleanor and Mary and I are going to live here once we’re married. Alexander has been intending for a few years to fix it up for an employee, but he’d never gotten around to it. Elspeth suggested he rent it to us so Eleanor is close to her work. I can easily afford the rent and still save for a house. And there’s a small Catholic church two blocks away with a school. Mary can go there next year and learn her letters.”
MacAvoy led him through the large room, telling him where Eleanor intended to put their table and chairs and how sofas and overstuffed chairs would sit near the fireplace for them to sit together as a family after a long day of work. He showed him the bedrooms, one large and two smaller ones, and the other room where a stove and icebox would go when they arrived. A workman was building cupboards and running pipes for the water in the kitchen and in the bathing room. It would be cozy and perfect for MacAvoy’s small family.
James stood in the center of the room and made a slow turn. “It’s going to be perfect, MacAvoy.”
The next thing he knew he was wrapped up in MacAvoy’s long arms, hugging him, his friend’s fists pounding his back. MacAvoy released him and wiped at his face, his lip trembling.
“I never thought I’d have anything to call my own. Not a fancy flat like this or a woman willing to be my missus or a precious little girl. I never thought or expected it. If it weren’t for you and your family, I never would have,” MacAvoy said.
“You would have done fine without us.”
MacAvoy shook his head. “I don’t think so. Ma never really took any notice of me other than to filch her a bottle of gin. It was the Locust Street house where I learned what a family looked like, what respect was, what hard work got you, and when Ma died, I’d have been living on the street and she would have been resting in a pauper’s grave if it hadn’t been for all of you.”
“You’ve got to give yourself some credit too, MacAvoy. You worked hard and did your schooling even when things were bad at your house. I remember you hungry and cold in too-small clothes, but you kept your chin up, and that’s why you have Mrs. Emory willing to marry you, a good job at the mill, and you’re the best corner man in any boxing ring on the East Coast. You did it, MacAvoy. You had some help, but you did it.”
“Malcolm? Have you given our guest a tour?” Mrs. Emory said from the doorway. Mary ran to her and nearly disappeared in her voluminous skirts. “How are you today, Mr. Thompson?”
“Well, Mrs. Emory. Thank you,” he said. “This is going to be a perfect spot for you and MacAvoy. Congratulations. My sister thinks the world of you.”
“Mrs. Pendergast is a delight to know and to work for. Is there anything I can help you with? I’ve just stopped by to check on my painting crew.” She smiled at a grinning MacAvoy.
“I’ve just come to drop off tickets for my next match for Alexander. Is he home?”
“Yes. He’s in his study. Would you like me to come in with you?” she asked.
“I know the way,” he said and nodded to his friend and Mrs. Emory.
James made his way to the back of his sister’s massive home. He wondered if he’d see her beating rugs with the maids or peeling potatoes with the kitchen staff as he stepped through the servants’ door and up the steps to the family’s floors. He went down the long, wide carpeted hallway toward his brother-in-law’s office and heard his sister’s voice coming from a room on his right. He hurried to the open door and looked inside. Elspeth stood near the entrance with her back to him, examining a piece of paper. He picked her up, twirled her around, and dropped a loud smacking kiss on her cheek.
“James! You devil, you! You scared me!” she said after shrieking with laughter.
“How is my favorite sister? Now don’t you go telling Muireall or Kirsty I said that!” James said.
“I’m fine. Wonderful,” she said. “And enjoying some lovely female company.”
James tilted his head at his sister and turned as she began to walk farther into the room toward the fireplace and seating area. It was then he realized they were not alone. His eyes lit immediately on Lucinda Vermeal.
“You are blushing, Mr. Thompson,” she said.
Elspeth laughed. “Do you remember Miss Susannah Delgado from our meeting at the college, James? And of course, Miss Vermeal and Miss Vermeal.”
“I do,” he said and pulled his flat cap from his head. “It’s a pleasure to see you all again, ladies.”
“Won’t you join us, Mr. Thompson?” Louisa Vermeal said. “We’ve exhausted all the female conversation.”
“Did I hear a shout from this direction?” Alexander asked from the doorway
.
“Perhaps a shout of desperation since we’ve asked Mrs. Pendergast’s brother to join us for some conversation and tea,” Louisa Vermeal said with a smile.
“It was me shouting, Alexander,” Elspeth said. “James snuck up on me and frightened the wits out of me!”
“Won’t you join us too, Mr. Pendergast?” Louisa asked.
Lucinda was enjoying his discomfort, and she thought he knew it too. He was embarrassed to be caught surprising his sister and certainly hoping to elicit a shout from her, which he had. She’d swallowed a lump in her throat when he twirled his sister around and kissed her cheek. How marvelous to be so . . . open, so obvious with one’s feelings. She’d been taught all of her life to be demure and restrained. James Thompson was the very opposite. She loved that about him and envied him as well, even though Aunt Louisa was everything any daughter could want. There would never be any doubt in James’s sisters’ or his brother’s minds that he loved them unequivocally.
He made his way to the small sofa and sat down beside her, making her move her skirts so that they were not trapped under his leg. His sister reseated herself beside Susannah Delgado and her aunt while Mr. Pendergast leaned against the mantelpiece.
“Just had a tour of your carriage house. It’s going to work out well for MacAvoy and Mrs. Emory,” he said.
“I’m so pleased we could make this arrangement for them,” Elspeth said and glanced at her husband, who smiled at her fondly.
Lucinda glanced at James and raised her brows.
“Elspeth and Alexander are fixing the second floor of the carriage house for them to live in once they are married. MacAvoy showed me every nook of the place and their plans for it.” He looked at her steadily. “Would you like to see it?”
“I believe I would.”
He stood and offered her his hand to stand and then tucked hers around his forearm. “If you’ll excuse us for a few minutes.”
They walked down a long hallway, down a set of steps, and to the carriage house at the back of the property. It was a large building, with open doors at the bottom, all shaded by a massive tree. She followed him up the steps and through an open door.
“MacAvoy? Mrs. Emory?” he said and turned to her. “They must have finished their painting and cleaning for the day.”
“It’s a lovely room with these large windows,” she said and looked around.
“It is,” he whispered and stepped close to her. “We’ll have to get a tour another day. MacAvoy is proud as punch and wants to show it off.”
“By all means,” she said and glanced at his mouth.
He picked up her hand and kissed her knuckles, then twisted her arm behind her, pulling her flush against him, from her breasts to her thighs. She laid her other hand on his chest, feeling the strong, rapid beat of his heart under her palm. She licked her lips as he watched and heard him expel a short breath.
“I’m going to kiss you, Lucinda, and I’d like to do more.”
He moved his head closer to her, not quite touching her lips with his, but she could feel his breath on her cheek. She closed her eyes, drinking in the fragrance of him, something spicy and earthy, and felt him hard against her stomach through his pants and her dress and petticoats. She rubbed her hips up once against him and realized she was panting as if she’d climbed three flights of stairs—or was terrified.
“What would you like to do, James?” she whispered against his mouth.
He moved his mouth to her ear and ran his tongue around its shell. “Well, I suppose I should say I want to make love to you, to touch your naked body with mine, let down all that beautiful hair, press those pale breasts against my chest, and whisper love words to you. And I do want to do that and more, but it would be easier and more accurate for me to say I want to fuck you till you shout my name.”
She’d only heard that word once before, years ago, a lament from a driver, when she had been traveling and their coach lost a wheel.
She knew what it meant. She knew it was crude. But when James Thompson whispered in her ear, his words, oh, that word made her breasts tight and made her squirm against him. She moaned; she couldn’t help herself. He covered her mouth with his and held her tight to him. She pressed her hands to his face, his beard rough under her fingers, and slipped her hands into his hair, that dark, silky hair that drew her. She opened her eyes a fraction.
He was staring at her as he ran his tongue around the inside curve of her lips. Why this man? Why did this man’s touch make her yearn and let down her feminine guard to the degree that she didn’t care what others thought of her? Didn’t care that Edith had spread some innuendoes about her to their friends? Didn’t care if other men viewed her as less than virginal if they witnessed the lasciviousness of this embrace?
“James?” they both heard from the stairs below.
He held her close to him, one arm firmly around her waist. “I’m here, Elspeth.”
“Miss Vermeal and Miss Delgado are getting ready to go. Perhaps you and Miss Vermeal should come inside.”
He chuckled against her hair and whispered, “My sister knows exactly what is going on and is far too genteel to mention it.” He turned his head. “Coming, Elspeth.”
“What is going on here?” she asked and looked up at him from under her lashes.
His eyes slid from hers. “Just some harmless kisses. They don’t mean anything.”
She pulled herself away from him. “Of course they don’t,” she said and looked at him steadily.
* * *
James picked up the weights and brought them slowly to his chest, concentrating on pushing his muscles and not on Lucinda Vermeal when she agreed his kisses meant nothing. Granted, he’d been less than honest with her at the time. He knew they were not harmless kisses. He remembered how those lips teased him, showing him what he’d never have, what he’d never be worthy of, how furious he’d been when she denied their power.
“What do you think, MacAvoy?” he asked, hoping to rid himself of his anger.
“Better.”
“Better? I’m in the best shape of my life,” James said after dropping the weights to the floor.
“You’re looking good,” MacAvoy said.
James wiped a towel down his face and around his neck. “But not good enough, huh, MacAvoy?”
“Don’t be an ass. You know there’s nothing good about being overconfident. I’m telling you, you look good. But so does Jackson.”
“Overconfident? Who said anything about being overconfident? I always take my bouts seriously. I take my opponents seriously!”
“Calm down, James,” MacAvoy said and looked around at the other men training, all staring at them. “What are you looking at?” he shouted at one of them.
“I’m not a child. You don’t have to treat me like one.”
“The only time I treat you like a child is when you act like one.”
“Fuck you,” he said. “I don’t need to be patronized by the likes of you.”
MacAvoy’s head snapped back as if James had hit him. He’d gone too far, he knew he had, but he couldn’t stop himself.
“The likes of me,” MacAvoy whispered.
“You’re just one more that thinks I’m washed up! Thinks I’m not the James Thompson! Thinks I’m done for.”
“That’s not what I think, but maybe there’s someone else you’d like in your corner.”
James stared at his hands for a moment, trying to calm himself, but he couldn’t. His anger was red-hot, and whether MacAvoy deserved his sharp tongue or not, it hardly mattered. He was alone, and he’d always be alone, whether he was winning matches or whether he was digging ditches, and he’d best get on with the reality of it all. And if he wasn’t boxing, what would it matter? It was who he was. He looked up at MacAvoy.
“That’s probably for the best,” he said and walked away.
* * *
James was sprawled across his bed, soaking up the winter sun coming through his window and heating the sore mu
scles in his arms and shoulders. Even with the ointment Aunt Murdoch had made for him, he ached in the mornings until he could stretch out. He heard Mrs. McClintok telling Payden and Robert that breakfast was on the table. His stomach grumbled, and he swung his legs over the edge of the bed, taking his time pulling his arms over his head, letting the stiffness ease out. There was less than a week until his Jackson match, and he would only do one more intense workout before then, finishing the week with light exercise and massages.
He was afraid there was no recovering from the argument he’d had with MacAvoy. And knowing that it was his own bad temper that caused it made it twice as bad in his own head. He was embarrassed by his behavior but hard-pressed to admit it. He’d told no one that Billy Pettigrew would now be in his corner.
James seated himself at the large wooden kitchen table where he and the other early risers in his family often had breakfast, although the boys must have already eaten. Mrs. McClintok brought him a plate piled high with eggs, ham, and bread toasted in the oven. She moved a jar of plum jelly close to his plate.
“Coffee, Mr. Thompson?”
“Shouldn’t you be calling me James since we’re cousins?”
“No, I shouldn’t. Cousins or not, I’m the Thompson housekeeper. It wouldn’t be proper.”
He nodded and smiled. “Coffee, thank you, Mrs. McClintok.”
The kitchen door opened, and Elspeth came in, greeting Mrs. McClintok as she did and waving James back into his seat. She bent over and kissed his cheek.
“Tea, Mrs. Pendergast?”
“Yes, thank you, Mrs. McClintok.”
“Aren’t you looking lovely this morning?” he said as she seated herself beside him.
“Thank you, James,” she said. “I’m feeling well finally after a few weeks of . . . of being under the weather.”
“Are you sick, Elspeth?” He laid down his fork. “What is the matter? Do you need to see the doctor? Why hasn’t Alexander taken you to the doctor?”
She smiled at him and laid her fingers on his arm. “I’m fine, James.”
