Irish Linen

by Candace McCarthy

  His touch was soothing. There was nothing sexual in his actions … only comfort … until Meghan opened her eyes and saw him leaning down to kiss her lips.

  Her niggle of guilt disappeared as his mouth brushed hers in a contact so quick and innocent that the kiss could have been exchanged by friends.

  “Good night, Meghan.” He started to rise. She grabbed his arm.

  “Lucas,” she whispered, aching.

  He groaned and then lowered his head a second time, capturing her mouth in a kiss wild with desperation and need.

  When he straightened, Meghan gasped and caught him back to her, this time taking the initiative. She kissed him with abandon, her fingers entangling in his hair as she clutched his head. Lucas responded with a shudder, deepening the kiss with the invasion of his tongue.

  Meghan’s world spun; her body pulsed and vibrated with never before sensations. Lucas filled her senses … his touch … his taste … his scent … and the ravaging glory of his mouth.

  With gasping breath, Lucas gazed into her eyes before lowering his mouth to her neck. He trailed kisses beneath the collar edge of her gown, while he cupped and fondled a feminine breast burgeoning to life.

  “Meghan,” he murmured, his voice thick with passion.

  “Aye,” she said. She couldn’t help herself from wanting him, although somewhere in the back of her hazy mind she knew that to want this man was wrong.

  Driven by a pulsing need so great he wanted to possess her quickly, Lucas captured a cloth-covered nipple, wetting and tugging on her breast hotly. He was hard, never before had he been this hard or this desperate to bury himself in a woman’s warmth. The blood had gathered between his legs, making him uncomfortably anxious to take her. Meghan’s little whimpers and cries drove him higher up the pinnacle of desire, and he lowered his head, trailing his mouth down her fabric-clad belly.

  He was driven to explore further, lower to the place where he knew her gown shielded her moistening femininity. He spanned her hips with his hands and held her while he gently nuzzled her sensitive area.

  “Lucas,” she gasped, moving beneath his hands.

  “I know,” he said hoarsely in understanding.

  He ran his hands up her sides to her breasts, palming and rubbing the tips, before he moved to the buttons of her gown. Meghan was wild and sweet under his hands as he unfastened her garment and helped her to slip it from her shoulders. She wore a shift that revealed more than concealed, and he could see her swollen, pink nipples ripe from his attention.

  “God, Meghan,” he whispered, “have you any idea how lovely you are?”

  She stared at him, and he saw the way her throat worked as she swallowed. “I’m not beautiful,” she began.

  He nodded. “Yes, you are,” he said, while he lowered the collar edge of her chemise to expose one tight-budded breast. “How can you think you—this—is not beautiful?” he asked in a thick voice.

  Her eyes glistened with moisture. Lucas’s throat tightened as he studied her, and his feelings for this woman frightened him with their intensity.

  She was beautiful and vulnerable. And engaged, he thought, releasing her breast. Closing his eyes, he fought the lust that strained his loins and made his staff hard and ready for her. If he took her now, she’d despise him later. He didn’t want her hatred; he wanted … what? He wanted her in his bed, yes, but he wanted her for more than one stolen night.

  “Lucas?” She sat up, feeling his withdrawal, covering her breasts with her arms.

  He saw her confusion. “I should go.”

  Her throat worked; a bleak look entered her blue eyes. “I see,” she whispered.

  “No,” he said, “no, you don’t.” He stood abruptly, spun from the sight of her nakedness, and rubbed his nape with a trembling hand. He gathered his composure enough to face her again.

  “Lucas, what’s wrong?”

  He inhaled and exhaled sharply before answering her. “I want you, Meghan, but you’ve already had my offer. Nothing—this—” He swept a hand over her on the bed. “—won’t change things.”

  Meghan’s face paled with her understanding. “I see.”

  “Do you?” he asked raggedly.

  Her stomach burning, Meghan nodded and then grabbed her gown, holding it to her chest like a shield. “Ye are willing to bed me, but not wed me. Isn’t that what you’re saying?”

  His expression gave her the answer.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, mortified by her wantonness, feeling ashamed. She’d been the one who’d invited him to stay. It was her fault that Lucas had nearly taken her. She shuddered as her lashes flickered closed. Dear God, what had she been thinking—her an engaged woman!

  Lucas spun back to the bed, regarding her with a flaming look that told her that he was struggling hard to be honorable. “I promised myself that I wouldn’t touch you.”

  She felt impelled to say something. “It wasn’t your fault …” Her voice trailed off. What more could she say—that she’d invited his kisses, his touch? It was true, but to admit it would only make the situation more impossible. She was going to marry Rafferty.

  “I’d best go,” he said.

  She nodded, her throat tight, knowing it was the right thing for him to do, but still her whole being silently screamed for him to stay.

  “We’ll leave at first light,” he said brusquely. He hesitated and then asked more gently, “Are you all right?”

  She swallowed. “Aye.” But she didn’t feel all right. She felt as if she’d bared her soul and it had been ravaged beyond hope … past the redemption of sin.

  The tension grew and there was a lengthening silence.

  “Well, good night then,” he said, breaking the quiet. He’d schooled his features, and she was unable to gauge his thoughts. “Sleep well.”

  She didn’t reply as he went to his room and shut the door.

  Sleeping would be long in coming if at all, Meghan thought, her throat tight.

  “Good night, Lucas,” she murmured, and the tears she’d never allowed herself to indulge in after the loss of her father fell silently and unchecked down her cheeks.

  She was alone.

  She felt guilty.

  She wanted a man who wasn’t her fiancé.

  Eleven

  The sun was high in the early November sky, but the wind was brisk, buffeting the carriage and howling through the cracks in the vehicle’s sides. Huddled within her forest green cloak, Meghan shifted closer to Lucas for warmth.

  It wasn’t until an hour later that Lucas steered the carriage onto a narrow road that seemed to disappear into the forest. But as the horse pulled the conveyance along the dirt path, the lane continued to open up before them. A cloud covered the sun for a moment, and the darkness added to the air’s chill. Meghan peered through the window to gauge her surroundings as the sun broke clear again.

  Glancing to the right, Meghan saw, through the trees, a glint of sunlight reflected off a ribbon of water paralleling the roadway. The river ran for a distance where she could see it before disappearing off in the opposite direction.

  Suddenly, buildings loomed ahead and to the right as Lucas maneuvered the carriage along the lane. Meghan realized they’d entered a small village.

  “Where are we?” she asked.

  “We’ve just entered Somerville. There’s the Somer-ton Mill,” he said, pointing to a large factory building off in the distance.

  “We’re here?”

  He nodded. “The name on the note—it must be your fiancé’s boardinghouse.”

  “Aye, I suppose so.” The reminder of her fiancé gave her mixed feelings.

  “Down there,” he said, gesturing toward a house off in the distance, “is the Somerton residence. The workers generally refer to it as the Big House.”

  She tilted her head to study Lucas. “How do you know all this? I thought you lived at Windfield near Dover.” He’d told about his Kent County home during the journey.

  “I do,” he said wit
h a smile that sent her pulse racing. “But I’ve an aunt in the area. Not in Somerville, mind you, but still on the Brandywine River several miles from here. In Delaware, the Somertons and my aunt are considered neighbors.”

  “I see,” Meghan murmured, but she didn’t, not really. In Ireland, she’d been able to see Rafferty’s cottage in the distance, over the open green meadows.

  “You said your fiancé works at the store?” Lucas asked.

  “Aye.” Meghan’s heart had begun to thump faster. She had reached her destination, and Lucas would be leaving her. She’d probably never see him again; the knowledge created an odd little ache in the center of her chest.

  Lucas had stopped the vehicle, and he glanced over to study her, his expression unreadable. If he was disturbed by his leaving her, he apparently wasn’t going to let her know. “You have Rafferty’s note?” he asked.

  She nodded and silently gave it to him.

  He bent his head to read, and Meghan took pleasure in watching him, even while the fact of their parting caused her pain.

  “Pridgly,” he read aloud. “I’ll get out and ask that gentleman over there if he knows someone by that name.”

  He jumped lithely from the carriage and spoke briefly with a man in the shadow of a porch roof. Lucas returned within seconds, obviously pleased with what he’d learned.

  “It’s that house over there.” The structure to which he pointed was linked to another one to its left that had been built similarly, a simple two-story house with four windows across the top floor and three on the bottom with the door. “The owner is Amanda Pridgly.”

  “ It’s lovely.”

  “Yes, it is,” he agreed. Something in Lucas’s tone drew her gaze to him, and she saw that he’d lowered his guard. He was studying her, and not the house, with a look that made her face flush with heat.

  “Lucas,” she breathed. She leaned toward him with parted lips.

  There was a brief awkward moment after he stared at her mouth and then turned abruptly away.

  “Let’s go,” he said. “Your fiancé is waiting for you.”

  The muscles along his jaw worked as Lucas clicked to the horse, and the carriage started to move again. Neither said a word as he reined in the horse before the house and stopped the vehicle.

  Her stomach churning with the knowledge that the time had come for him to leave her, Meghan turned to face him. She extended her hand. “Thank ye for everything,” she said. She heard the catch in her soft voice, and she fought the urge to cry.

  Lucas ignored her hand, hopped out of the carriage, and came around to her side. With a smile, he reached up and assisted her down. Her heart skipped a beat as he set her on her feet. She was aware of his heat, his scent, and the dark intensity of his gaze when their bodies brushed while he lowered her to the ground.

  Meghan had only her small bundle of clothes so there was no reason for him to see her to the door, but Lucas insisted.

  “I’ve brought you this far. I’ll see you the rest of the way,” he stated in a tone that brooked no argument.

  Meghan balked. “I don’t think it’s wise.” What would the landlady say to see her with a man other than her fiancé?

  Lucas’s mouth tightened. “You’re right, of course.”

  She felt a lump of dread clog her throat as she watched Lucas turn abruptly and climb into the carriage.

  “Have a good life, Meghan McBride,” he said softly.

  She nodded, fighting tears, and wished him the same. But as she watched when he started to pull the carriage away, she cried out to stop him. “Lucas! Wait!”

  He pulled on the horse’s reins, halting the vehicle, and glanced back. Meghan ran to him and offered him her hand. “Can we not part as friends?”

  He stared at her hand so intently that she was afraid that he was going to reject her.

  Then, he shifted his gaze, and she felt the impact of flaming black eyes. “Friends,” he said, mimicking her speech pattern. “Aye.”

  Her chuckle of amusement sounded strained. “Thank ye,” she said with quiet sincerity. “I’m grateful for all you’ve done.”

  He gave her a half smile. “It’s not gratitude I want from you, Meghan McBride,” he said, as he took her fingers and raised them to his lips. His mouth seared the back of her hand, making her tremble, before he released her. “But then you know that.”

  “Don’t.” She closed her eyes, fighting to control her emotions. “How am I expected to be happy with Raf-ferty when ye say such things?” she whispered.

  “What?” He tensed. “What did you say?”

  She pulled away. “Goodbye, Lucas.” She forced a smile.

  His gaze flamed as he studied her. “Meghan—” He started to lift his hand and then dropped it again. “If you should ever change your mind …”

  “I won’t,” she said, perhaps too quickly.

  He didn’t move, but stared at her unnervingly. She wanted him to go, yet she wanted him to stay.

  “Please don’t make this more difficult,” she said.

  He inclined his head, his expression unreadable again. “Be happy.”

  She nodded and then turned away. Meghan felt her stomach lurch as she heard the carriage pull away, and realized that never again would she see Lucas Ridgely. But she didn’t look back. She knew it would hurt too much to see the carriage—and the man—heading down the road until it disappeared.

  She turned toward the house that waited. Her knock brought a maid to the door, who left her alone to wait in the foyer.

  The interior of the boardinghouse was pleasant and bright, but Meghan was in no mood to appreciate it. She studied her surroundings, feeling more lost and alone than ever before. She missed Lucas already. How was she going to get over him?

  A middle-aged woman came into the hall from a back room and approached.

  “I’m Mrs. Pridgly. May I help you?” The landlady was thin and reedlike. Her graying dark hair was pinned back severely, making her features appear austere. She seemed pleasant enough as she inspected Meghan from head to toe, but Meghan had the feeling that her polite manner was forced.

  Meghan refused to be intimidated. “I’m looking for Mr. Rafferty O’Connor,” she said. “Does he live here?” She saw a flicker of dislike in Mrs. Pridgly’s expression before the woman hid it.

  “I’m his fiancée. I’m newly arrived to America.”

  The landlady’s expression seemed to thaw. “Why, you must be Meghan McBride.”

  “Aye,” the young Irishwoman breathed. “Is he here?”

  Mrs. Pridgly shook her head. “I’m afraid not.”

  “But he lives here,” Meghan asked, wanting to make certain she hadn’t misunderstood.

  “Why certainly, dear.” The landlady gestured for Meghan to follow her as she climbed the stairs. “Mr. O’Connor has secured a room for you. If you’d like, one of the maids can get your things for you after I’ve shown you your bedchamber.”

  Meghan paused and glanced down self-consciously at her meager bundle of belongings. “That won’t be necessary,” she said.

  Mrs. Pridgly had stopped on the steps to wait for Meghan to catch up; and as the younger woman did so, the landlady patted Meghan’s arm. “Come then, dear. I imagine it’s best to travel lightly. Rafferty can always get what you need later.”

  The room was on the southwest side of the house. The afternoon sunlight flooded the chamber through two windows and fell across the rose pattern print of the chintz bed cover. Directly inside the door against the wall to the right stood a washstand with a white porcelain ewer and basin. There was an upholstered chair, a dressing table with mirror, and a fair-sized chest of drawers that could hold more clothes than Meghan had ever dreamed of owning.

  Rafferty had been right, she thought. America was a land of blue skies and vast riches. But would she be happy here? Her heart thumped. Without Lucas?

  “Breakfast is at seven, supper at six thirty,” Mrs. Pridgly was saying. “We have dinner between noon and two,
a simple meal of warm bread and pastries, and when in season we have fresh garden vegetables and fruit.” The woman went to a window and showed Meghan how to close the drapes.

  “Milly keeps the rooms dusted and swept, but I’ll expect you to pick up your own belongings. I’ve got little enough help without you expecting any of my girls to be your lady’s maid.” She barely paused for breath before continuing. “Mr. O’Connor will be home by five-thirty, after the store closes. You, I imagine, will be getting back near enough to the same time.”

  The woman stopped to stare at her. “Now I know that you and Mr. O’Connor are betrothed, but I’ll allow no—” She cleared her throat. “What I’m saying,” she said with a businesslike air, “is that I expect you to keep to your room and Mr. O’Connor to keep to his.”

  Meghan blushed and mumbled her agreement.

  “Good.” Mrs. Pridgly was suddenly friendly again. “It’s wonderful to have you here.”

  “Meghan, please,” Meghan invited.

  The landlady’s smile grew. “Meghan, I hope your journey wasn’t too difficult for you and you’ll be content here.” She frowned. “Your father—he’s not with you.”

  Meghan’s throat tightened as she shook her head. “Me father died on the journey”

  The woman clucked with concern. “I’m so sorry to hear that.” She approached and placed her arm about Meghan’s shoulders. “Then you’ve only Mr. O’Connor now.”

  Meghan nodded. Mrs. Pridgly released her.

  “Well, if there’s anything you need,” the woman said. “Anything at all, you come to me.”

  “I don’t expect I’ll need to bother you.”

  “Ah, well, good then.” Mrs. Pridgly eyed Meghan’s length. “Have you eaten?”

  “Aye.”

  “How about a cup of tea then?”

  Meghan admitted that she would enjoy a cup of tea.

  “You take a moment to freshen up,” Mrs. Pridgly said, “while I put the water on the stove to boil.”

  The door to the company store jingled as it was opened and shut.

  “Afternoon, Rafferty.”