It didn’t matter that the man hadn’t known about her father’s death. There was no excuse for the stupidity that must have driven the man to hire a twelveyear-old youth to see that his fiancé and future father-in-law—two strangers to America—reached Somerville over twenty miles away.
Rafferty O’Connor was not worthy of Meghan, Lucas thought as he removed Meghan’s small bundle from the back of the carriage.
Despite what Meghan believed, what she’d said, deep in her heart she must know this!
Why else would she have responded to me with so much passion? He was experienced with women, but he wasn’t that good.
He rummaged through his sea chest and pulled out a fresh change of clothes. But how can I get Meghan to admit that she would be better off with me … better off without Rafferty O’Connor?
He couldn’t do a thing, Lucas realized. He’d promised Meghan he’d behave; and to Meghan, behaving meant abandoning all of his attempts to convince her to change her mind.
Damn! He’d never concerned himself with a woman like this before! What was it about Meghan McBride that was so special?
Why was he so desperate to have her in his bed?
Trembling with the thought of having Lucas behind that door, Meghan sat in the upholstered chair and stared without seeing. Suddenly, the prospect of sleeping here was frightening. Suddenly, she wished they’d braved the dark and dangerous road, which seemed far safer to her than sleeping this close to Lucas’s room.
She rose on wobbly legs to check the condition of the connecting door. What she found didn’t please her. The doorknob worked perfectly, so the door would close shut, but there was no key, no lock, nothing to protect her from the wild and churning feelings that made her fear she’d step past the threshold sometime during the night.
Lucas was right, she thought. It wasn’t him that concerned her as much as her own response to him. She enjoyed his company more than she should. She had tasted his kisses and been unable to forget … Lord help me, I’m an engaged woman. Please help me to be strong.
She opened the door and stared at the room. This was the room where Lucas stayed often; she moved in to take a closer look, wondering what it was there that had first attracted Lucas’s pleasure.
A sound in the hall drew her attention, and she hurried from Lucas’s room. She made it to her window before Lucas called to her as he tapped gently on her bedchamber door.
She was shaking so badly when she went to open the door that her hands shook on the knob, and it took her longer than normally necessary to turn it. Finally, she managed to swing open the door, and she stepped back to allow Lucas to enter with their belongings.
“A good thing we decided to stay the night,” Lucas said after greeting her. He set her bundle on the bed. “It’s raining.”
Meghan didn’t answer him, but watched as he turned from the bed and readjusted his own things in his arms as he straightened.
He captured her gaze. “Meghan—”
“I know,” she whispered, feeling as if the lump in her throat was strangling her. “It’s good that we’ve stayed. I know that.”
Moving until he was within feet of her, Lucas touched her cheek. “I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you.”
Her lashes flickered as she looked up. “Ye may not wish to, but—”
“There’s a door that closes,” he told her, stroking her skin with his thumb. There was something in his expression that tugged at her heart, that urged her to comfort him, but she didn’t. “Close the door, and I’ll not venture past.”
“You won’t?” Her reply was on a breathy puff of air.
Lucas shook his head. He dropped his hand from her cheek abruptly and headed toward his room.
“Lucas!” she cried when he’d gone into his room and she thought he would shut the door. He stiffened and turned. “I believe ya,” she said softly. “I trust ye.”
He regarded her for a long moment, before his lips formed a half smile. “Then you trust in me more than I do.” He laid his garments over a wooden chair and then swung back to find her still watching him.
“I’ll not be closing that door, Meghan McBride,” he warned. “Unless you’ve a liking to tempt the devil, then I suggest you take the initiative.”
The look in his dark gaze and the gruff sound of his voice had her hurrying forward to take his suggestion.
Somerville, New Castle, in Delaware
The bell on the shop door tinkled as someone came into the Somerville store. Rafferty’s head rose from his book of accounts.
“I’ll be right out,” he called from the back room.
There was no answer, but he wasn’t concerned. He scribbled a few marks, closed the ledger, and went to the front room. His gaze widened as he saw who it was.
“Hello, Mr. O’Connor.”
“Mrs. Somerton!” he gasped, his face reddening. “I didn’t expect ya here. I wouldn’t have kept ye waiting—”
The woman was blond, beautiful, and built, Rafferty thought, like an angel sent down from heaven to comfort a man of sin.
“That’s all right,” she said in her soft, husky voice. “I didn’t mind waiting. Mr. Somerton and I appreciate when our storekeepers are careful.” She gave him a flirtatious smile that made the blood flow hotly between his legs.
“You’d like something from the stock?” he asked, uncertain as to her reason for being here.
She nodded, and Rafferty came out from behind the counter, ready to help the woman find whatever she needed. It was unusual for the mistress of Somerville to purchase her own supplies.
Mrs. Somerton wandered about the room, checking the shelves as if looking for something special. “I don’t see what I’m looking for, Mr. O’Connor. May I check the stores in the back?”
“Of course, Mrs. Somerton,” he said, following her to the door to the back room.
The woman went to the shelving built onto the back wall, rummaging through boxes of food goods, piece fabrics, and tools, while Rafferty watched her with puzzlement.
“Is there something I can get for ye, Mrs. Somerton?” he suggested tentatively.
She closed the door for privacy, and Rafferty waited for her to confide what she needed. Mrs. Somerton flashed him a look before approaching to touch his arm. He faced her with surprise.
“Rafferty, it’s been so long,” she breathed as she slid her hands down his muscled chest.
His groin throbbed as she pressed her lips to the pulse at his throat. “Now, Alicia?” he gasped, realizing her intent. “Here?”
“Yes, Rafferty. Here. Now.” And she began to tug open his shirt buttons.
Ten
It was late. The house was dark, and the rain beat softly against the window glass in a rhythmic sound that normally Meghan would have found soothing, but not this night. She lay in bed, staring up at the white tester of the bed, her thoughts on the man in the next room.
I’m an engaged woman. Why can’t I forget him?
Because no man had ever made her feel so special, so physically and emotionally aware of him.
She rolled onto her stomach and cradled her chin on her hands. What would have happened if they’d met under different circumstances? In Ireland, by chance … would Lucas have been as intent to bed her?
A mental image of him in bed in the next room flushed her with heat. Several times she’d fought the urge to go to the door and take a peek, but each time common sense had kept her away.
The last thing she needed was to carry the actual memory with her. How could she marry and live with Rafferty if she kept remembering Lucas … the way his golden hair fell on his forehead and curled about his ears … the way he occasionally rubbed his temple when he was deep in thought?
Gasping with desire, she flung herself onto her back. Dear God, she wanted to feel his hands on her … to experience his kisses and to know the full force of his unleashed passion. But would Lucas allow himself to let go? He was a careful man; could a woman ever make him lose control?
Lord in heaven! What was she thinking? She was a betrothed woman with Catholic beliefs. She had no business having such sinful thoughts!
“Our Father … “she prayed, “… forgive me my temptation … and deliver me from evil.”
Evil, she thought. How could sharing the man’s bed be evil?
“ ‘Tis a sin outside of marriage, me girl,” an inner voice said.
“Aye,” she whispered, closing her eyes. “Aye, but I want him anyway.”
A sound at the connecting door made Meghan freeze. She heard it again—the gentle turn of the doorknob.
It was difficult to pretend she was sleeping as she heard the click and realized that Lucas had opened the door. She forced herself to breathe deeply and evenly. She couldn’t control her body’s reactions as his footsteps creaked on the wooden floor before they were muffled when Lucas reached the carpet.
She sensed him near the bed, and her heart pounded so loudly she thought he surely must hear it. But he said nothing, so she continued to feign sleep and waited for him to leave.
A long moment passed, and he still hadn’t moved. Meghan prayed harder for him to go as she fought the urge to confront him, to throw back the covers and invite him to join her …
Rafferty. She was engaged. She silently said another prayer and waited.
“Meghan?” Lucas’s whisper affected her like a shot in the dark.
She opened her eyes wide. “Lucas!”
He wasn’t as near as she’d first thought. He stood near the edge of the bed table, studying her where she lay.
She lifted herself to her elbows as he moved closer and stepped into the soft light that drifted past the open curtains of her room. He wore nothing but a pair of trousers that hugged his thighs and calves. Inhaling sharply, her gaze fastened on his sleek, muscled chest. His skin gleamed in the faint light. Meghan’s fingers tingled with the itch to touch him.
She sat, clutching the sheet to her breasts, and met his dark gaze. “Lucas, what’s wrong?”
“I can’t sleep.”
His deep voice sent ripples of pleasure down the length of her spine. “Is it the rain?” she asked.
He shrugged. His eyes glowed in the darkness. “I thought I’d pilfer something from Anne’s pantry.” He suddenly looked like a little boy, confessing a transgression he’d yet to commit. “I didn’t mean to disturb you,” he said softly. “I was just …” His voice trailed off without finishing.
She sat straighter. “What were ye going to say?”
Her heart pumped as she waited for his answer. She could see his features enough to watch the play of emotion. She felt strange … wildly exhilarated and anticipatory, yet scared, too, of her newly awakening feelings.
“Lucas?”
“Would you like to come?”
Meghan blinked. He wanted her to help him steal some food! It was the last thing she’d expected him to ask her, especially after his previous, bold pursuit of her. She had anticipated a renewal of his offer to bed her … to feed and clothe her … and give her a home. Not a home with him, but somewhere close by.
His kept woman.
Instead, he acted like a young boy begging a friend to be his accomplice in mischief. The idea lightened her mood and appealed to her.
Meghan grinned. “Aye,” she said. Lucas and the Pattersons were friends; she didn’t think the innkeepers would mind them helping themselves from their larder.
She started to get up, only to stop, suddenly self-conscious of her state of dress. She wore only her threadworn shift, that was thin and too transparent.
He seemed to understand. “I’ll wait for you in the hall.”
She nodded, and once he’d closed her door, she hastened to pull on her gown.
Lucas was standing in the hallway, a few feet from the door, when Meghan exited the room. He gave her a conspiratorial grin, which she returned. An oil lamp had been left burning with lowered wick to gently light up the corridor.
Meghan was startled to see the light. She flashed Lucas a look that questioned.
“Anne leaves a light burning when there are guests,” he whispered.
But the expense, she wanted to say, but didn’t.
Again, Lucas seemed to read her mind. “It’s barely burning. John will come at dawn to extinguish it.”
They snuck, like two children, down the curving staircase to the foyer below where there was another burning wall sconce.
Lucas knew where the pantry was located, and he led the way as if he’d made the trip a hundred times in the past.
“Ye’ve done this before,” she whispered.
He froze, turned, and held his finger to his lips. “The Pattersons,” he mouthed, while he pointed to the door of a room. Meghan’s eyes widened.
Lucas’s head tilted as he listened for sound, and then he waved her to follow him through the door to the kitchen and to the back of the work area until they came to the pantry.
They found bread, a plate of cookies, and a bowl of apples. Lucas grabbed some cookies and shoved them into Meghan’s hands. Then, he picked out two large, shiny apples and tucked them in his left arm. Next, he selected two glasses from a top cabinet. With his arms full, he slipped past Meghan, and with a nod of his head, instructed her to follow him once again. He stopped in the common room, shifting his burden, to take a bottle of wine from a cellarette.
Soon, they were climbing the steps to the second floor, and Meghan listened for sounds that they’d been discovered. She released a pent-up breath once they’d reached the safety of her room without waking their generous hosts.
Lucas set down the glasses, apples, and bottle of wine on her bed. He pulled the wing chair nearer to the bed and then cleared off the bed table by the headboard and moved it between the edge of the bed and the chair. “Sit down, Meghan,” he coaxed softly, “and we’ll share.”
She gave a soft, nervous laugh, before she sat on the bed while he took the chair, the food on the bed table between them.
The cookies were delicious with a lemon flavor. The apple was juicy, succulent, and sweet. It was a new experience for Meghan, sharing food with a man in the middle of the night… and she decided that she liked it.
Lucas grabbed the bottle and opened it. “Wine?” he offered.
“Won’t Anne and John miss that?” she asked breathlessly. She felt tingly and off balance in Lucas’s presence. Dare she risk drinking a glass of wine?
His smile was sensual and most decidedly male. “The Pattersons usually leave a bottle in my room.”
She was surprised. “You stay here often?”
He nodded. “Since I first stopped here five years ago, I’ve found it hard to stay away.” Without waiting for her consent, he poured her, and then himself, a half glass of the dark liquid. “Sometimes I just stop for dinner on my way through. Other times—more often than necessary, I’ll admit—I spend the night.”
Had he shared stolen meals in the middle of the night with other women? she wondered. The notion bothered her.
Then, Meghan noted how his lips curved in a soft smile as he stared at some point beyond her shoulder. “Beth loves the place, too,” he said, and her stomach muscles tightened. He met her gaze. “Beth is my sister.”
Her stomach unclenched, and she smiled back.
“Here.” He picked up a glass and held it over the table. His eyes gleamed as their gazes held while she accepted the wine.
Her skin tingled at his look. Her blood flowed, spreading warmth and a prickling sensation. She took a tentative sip from the glass and found she liked the wine’s taste. Meghan swallowed a second and then a third, and felt heat slide down her throat with each disappearing mouthful. She closed her eyes as she fought the effects of the wine and her attraction to the man seated across from her.
“Are you all right?” Lucas asked.
She opened her eyes and nodded. “The wine,” she said, her Irish brogue thickening, “it’s vera good.”
A glimmer of amusement brightened his ebony eyes.
“I’m glad you like it.”
She jerked her head yes and experienced a swimming sensation that made her set down her glass and grip the table edge.
“Meghan—”
She heard Lucas’s concern. “I’m fine.” For some strange reason, she felt light-headed and weak all of a sudden. A reaction to the wine?
Frowning, Lucas set down his glass, rose, and came around the small table. “Perhaps you’d better lie down.”
His hands gripped her shoulders and gently swung her to lie down. She could detect about him a wonderful, wildly intoxicating woodsy fragrance mingling with the faint odor of wine on his breath. But most of all, she loved the scent that was entirely male, pleasant, and instantly recognizable to her as belonging to him alone … a scent that stirred her emotions as well as her physical desire for him.
Meghan felt the effects of the wine and Lucas’s nearness drugging her senses. She eyed him from beneath lowered lashes as he straightened and moved the table back to its original position beside the bed. Seeing his intention, she fought back panic.
“You’re exhausted,” he said, turning to face her. “I’ll leave you to sleep.”
She didn’t want him to go. “No! Please, I—” She gazed at him, appalled by her entreaty, but unable to conceal her need.
He froze, his gaze glittering, his jaw taut, as he stared down at her on the bed. “Meghan—”
“Sit here a minute, Lucas, will ye?” she asked, trying to sound casual. She padded the edge of the bed be- side her, knowing that she was playing with fire, but uncaring of the danger. She waited with held breath for his decision.
He hesitated before lowering himself to the bed. “This is crazy,” he breathed, lifting a hand to touch her hair.
“Aye,” she said, unable to deny it. But they weren’t doing anything wrong, she reminded herself. Merely talking … as friends.
But when Lucas tangled his fingers in her hair and twirled the silky strands before tucking them behind her ear, she didn’t feel like merely his friend. She closed her eyes on a silent sigh of pleasure as he continued to stroke and caress her scalp.
Irish Linen Page 8
