Irish Linen

by Candace McCarthy

  “You’re wrong about this, Catherine. I’ve no interest in Mr. Ridgely,” she lied, “and he has none in me.” She felt raw, exposed, and she hoped the other woman couldn’t see it.

  The spinner looked unconvinced. “Mrs. Gibbons doesn’t put up with girls who are immoral, McBride.”

  Meghan bristled. “Then I suggest ye look to yourself,” she snapped, “for I’ve done nothing to be ashamed of.” She raised her eyebrows. “Can you say the same?” Then she spun on her heels and strode away.

  By the time she reached Patty’s, Meghan felt a tight-ness in her chest. The raw nerve exposed by Cather- ine’s accusation had been replaced with her anger. How dare the woman speak to her like that? If she wanted to speak with Lucas Ridgely, then she would do so—and anytime she desired!

  Catherine Brown can go jump off the mill building roof for all I care! Hadn’t Susan warned her about Cather- ine? She mustn’t let the woman bother her!

  But as the evening wore on, Meghan’s anger faded and turned against her, and she felt shaky and vulner- able again. She had lied when she’d told Catherine that she wasn’t interested in Lucas. She had promised her- self she’d marry Rafferty, yet she couldn’t forget Lu- cas … The fact of Phelps’s absence at the mill that day had led Meghan to believe, to hope, that Lucas had believed her after all and done something about it.

  Late that night as she stared up at the ceiling at Patty’s, Meghan wondered what she would do if Lucas asked her to be his wife. But did her answer really matter? Lucas was gone. Rafferty was her fiancé, and she owed him her new life.

  But would her gratitude to Rafferty sustain her for the rest of their married lives? Would she be happy with Rafferty—after experiencing a taste of heaven in Lucas’s arms?

  She sighed and closed her eyes. She’d find out in the years to come, she realized.

  When she finally fell asleep, Meghan dreamed not of her marriage to Rafferty, but of a man with golden hair and gleaming dark eyes. When she awoke the next morning, she had a heart made heavy by the reality of her life. She rose, dressed, and prepared for another workday.

  Meghan received a summons to see the head foreman in his office just before the midday dinner hour. The day had started badly when she saw Phelps back at work on the weaving floor. So much for her faith in Lucas Ridgely. Ignoring the odious man, she shut down her looms and, then, fighting her feeling of trepidation, she descended three flights of stairs to George Simmons’s office.

  They are going to dismiss me. They’ve decided I’ve lied, and I’m the one they want to leave, not Mathew Phelps. She wanted to rant and rave at the injustice of it all, but she remained outwardly calm as she knocked on the office door. The door swung open immediately.

  “Miss McBride,” Mr. Simmons greeted her without a smile, which increased her apprehension.

  She nodded. “Mari Bright said ye wanted to see me,” she said as she took his invitation to step inside the office.

  The mill foreman shut the door before turning to answer. “Sit down, Miss McBride.”

  Meghan sat as instructed and placed her trembling hands on her lap.

  “Miss Bride—” he began as he skirted his desk and sat in his chair.

  “Ye’ve decided that ye don’t believe me,” she said. “That’s why the man is back at work.”

  “There is no one to substantiate your story”

  “Ye’ve not questioned anyone!” she burst out.

  “Don’t you be raising your voice to me, young woman!” he barked back.

  “Ye are calling me a liar, and I’m not to get angry?” She eyed him as if he’d gone mad.

  “I’ve a generous proposition to make to you; I suggest you listen and keep quiet!”

  “A proposition like Phelps’s?” she dared, and was immediately sorry when she saw how his mouth worked and his face turned a bright shade of red.

  “Why you little ungrateful—!”

  “George!” boomed another male voice. Neither Meghan nor Simmons had seen the door behind them open.

  “Lucas!” he said, looking uncomfortable.

  “It doesn’t sound like you’re offering her the job.”

  The man scowled. “She hasn’t closed her mouth long enough to allow me to,” he said.

  “I’ll take care of it then,” Lucas said.

  “Fine, I’ll be happy to leave you alone with her.” He rose and left, looking more than happy to oblige.

  Meghan was slightly mollified by the way Lucas’s mouth tightened at Simmons’s behavior and the man’s tone when he’d said “her.”

  “Meghan,” Lucas said as he took Simmons’s chair.

  “Lucas, I don’t know what kind of position ye have in mind, but I’ll not stay where I’m not believed.” Anger had stiffened her frame until her muscles hurt.

  His dark eyes narrowed as he regarded her intently from across the desk.

  “What makes you think I don’t believe you?”

  “Simmons said—”

  “George Simmons is entitled to his own opinion. The matter isn’t over yet; we’re not done with Mathew Phelps.”

  “But none of the workers have been questioned.”

  Lucas frowned. “But I thought—” He stopped. “Never mind, it will be taken care of,” he promised.

  Meghan felt herself relaxing. “Then why am I here?” she asked.

  “My aunt has a special request for you.”

  “Mrs. Gibbons?” Meghan echoed.

  He nodded.

  “How can I help her?”

  “By entertaining me?” The twinkle in his gaze was mischievous.

  She gasped with outrage, got up, and headed toward the door.

  “Wait!” He rose quickly to hurry around the desk and grab her arm. “Sorry, bad joke I’m afraid.”

  “Very bad,” she said, shaking under his touch.

  He released her. “I said I’m sorry. I can see you’re not up to a little teasing.” His mouth had formed a half smile, but his amusement wasn’t in his eyes.

  “No.” Her reply was short and strained.

  Lucas’s gaze flickered, and then he became all businesslike. “My aunt needs some stitching done, and she thought you’d be just the one to do it.” There was no softness to his features as he held her gaze. “You sew, don’t you?” he snapped.

  “Aye,” she said, regarding him with confusion. “But how did you know?”

  “My aunt has a gown to be altered,” he said, ignoring her question. “Can you do it for her?”

  “But what about me work at the mill?” Had her accusations caused her to lose her employment there? What of the good wages she earned by running three looms?

  “We’ll—she’ll,” he amended upon reading her expression correctly, “pay you for both positions.”

  “You’ll be paying me for me work at the mill while I sew the gown?”

  He nodded.

  Meghan was surprised by the woman’s generosity, especially since Flora Gibbons knew about Meghan’s part in the disturbance in production at the mill on Christmas Eve day. “I don’t know …”

  “Meghan, take the position,” he said gently, “until we get everything at the mill straightened out.”

  She bristled as realization dawned. “Is this a bribe not to cause more trouble here?” She felt a frisson of warmth when he touched her arm, a reaction she didn’t want to feel or notice.

  It was his turn to get angry. “There’s an easier way to ensure that, isn’t there? My aunt could simply fire you, and be done with the whole mess. Instead, she has offered you a better job.”

  Meghan flushed. Put like that, she sounded like a rude ingrate. “I’ll take the position.” She paused. “And I’ll do a good job for her.”

  “My aunt will be happy to hear it.”

  And ye? Meghan wondered, her gaze narrowing on his satisfied expression. How do ye feel about me working at the house”? But before she dared to ask, she was astonished to hear him thanking her with sincerity.

  “I�
��and my aunt—appreciate this, Meghan.”

  She gave him a crooked smile. Why? she wondered. If she’d been nothing but trouble, why would he want her around? Her heart tripped. Because he still wanted her? “Tell me, Lucas, did I really have a choice?” she asked after she’d paused as she turned to leave.

  He looked startled by her question. “Of course,” he said.

  Damn, she thought. I should have declined the offer and kept to me weaving looms and away from this man and his family.

  She must be mad to tempt the hell fires of fate. For if he did still desire her, the lure of the devil would be harder and might be much too strong for her to resist.

  Damn his good looks! Meghan thought. And curse her for her continued weakness for him.

  Nineteen

  “I’ll not be returning with you to Windfield,” Lucas informed his family.

  “What?” Beth said. “Why not?”

  “Lucas, you can’t stay in this house forever,” his mother said, sounding put out, and his sister rolled her eyes. “James, tell your son that he must come home!”

  “I’ll not tell him anything, Mary,” her husband said. “He’s a grown man.”

  “You’ve never taken my side, have you?” Mary accused, and then an argument ensued that had both of the couple’s children wincing at the harsh tones and epithets that neither man nor woman tried to conceal.

  Lucas intervened by addressing his father. “There’s nothing immediately pressing for me at home, is there?”

  “No, of course not. Not for a month at least.” James Ridgely shot his wife a mean glance before turning back to Lucas. “Stay as long as you like, son. Just be back in time for the spring planting.”

  “James!” his wife objected.

  “Never you mind, Mary,” James replied sharply.

  “I want to stay, too,” Beth announced.

  Flora Gibbons, Lucas’s aunt, had been amazingly silent through the whole exchange. She spoke up now. “No, Beth. You know I love having you, but you’ve been here long enough. Why don’t you come again after the spring thaw?”

  “But—” the young woman began.

  “No buts, Elizabeth,” her brother intoned. “I’m staying to help Aunt Flora. There’ll be no time to coddle or entertain you.”

  Beth looked crushed. “Is that what you think—that I’m a child to be entertained?”

  His expression softened. “No, you’re anything but a child.”

  With tear-glistening eyes, Beth turned her gaze on her aunt. “Aunt Flora—”

  “Lucas is right, Elizabeth. We have to attend to business matters. I’ll have little time to spend with you.”

  Beth’s shoulders slumped with defeat.

  “What is wrong that my children choose to neglect their mother?” Mary Ridgely cried.

  Lucas sighed. “We’re not—”

  “They’re not neglecting you, Mary,” his father interrupted in a gentler tone than he’d used with her before.

  “But James—”

  “Lucas is a grown man,” James reminded her again. “He’s done more for us than any parent has a right to ask of a son.” He regarded his son with warmth. “We’ve got no right to complain or dictate.” His voice had sharpened during his last words as he turned back to his wife.

  “Beth,” he said softly, “I’d like you to come home with me and your mother. You’re becoming quite a young woman. Soon, you’ll be leaving with a husband of your own. Is it wrong for me to be selfish of the time left with my little girl?”

  Beth’s brown eyes misted. “Oh, Daddy,” she said, “of course, I’ll come home.”

  “Dear God!” Mary cried, seeming oblivious to theemotional scene being played out by father and daughter. “Spare me this nonsense!”

  James’s mouth tightened as he raked his wife with a telling glance. “Mary, I suggest you remember your place here.”

  “Place!” she cried. “I’ve got no place it seems. Not one in which I’m welcomed!” The threat of another fight hovered in the air.

  Lucas had had enough. “Please, no more arguing.” Was it any wonder he refused to wed, when he’d been a witness to the travesty of his parents’ marriage? “What time will you leave tomorrow?” he asked his father, drawing the man’s attention from his wife.

  “Immediately after breakfast,” James replied.

  Lucas nodded and thought with guilt that he’d be glad to see his parents go. These holiday occasions with his family in attendance could be trying at times. He needed the time away from his parents. He wished he could keep Beth here with them, but Aunt Flora was right—they’d be too busy to entertain her.

  “Aunt Flora,” he said, drawing his aunt’s attention, “may I have a private word with you?”

  Flora nodded; and ignoring her sister’s whining protest, she followed her nephew from the parlor and down the hall to the library. Lucas closed the door and then faced her.

  “I’ve spoken with Mr. Simmons,” Lucas said without preamble, “and he’s agreed to release that young woman, Meghan McBride, to come and alter your green gown.”

  The woman’s eyes flashed with satisfaction. “Good”.

  “What made you choose that particular girl?” Lucas asked, watching his aunt closely.

  Flora Gibbons stared back without wavering. “Mari Bright has been singing Miss McBride’s praises since she first came to us weeks ago. It’s obvious she’s skilledwith cloth. I made a few inquiries and learned that she’s as proficient with a needle.” She paused, and a twinkle of mischief entered the woman’s eyes. “And the girl has spirit.”

  “Because of the incident on the weaving floor?”

  “She got everyone to shut off their machines,” his aunt said. “It takes spunk to jeopardize your employment to make a stand. It’s obvious to me that she needs and likes her position. Whatever caused her to risk losing it must have been important to her.”

  He felt the tension leave him. His thoughts had been running along the same lines as his aunt’s recently. He’d been startled when his aunt had approached him with the matter of hiring Meghan as a temporary seamstress. It wasn’t like Flora not to make her own arrangements. His gaze narrowed. It still wasn’t like her. Had Aunt Flora guessed he had … feelings … for Meghan? Had she perhaps seen the two of them talking in the weaving room Christmas Eve day? No, he thought, that was ridiculous. His aunt’s interest in Meghan’s sewing skills was genuine.

  Heat warmed his insides. Meghan would be in Flora’s house daily … within his range. He’d be able to see her, talk to her, whenever the desire took him.

  He frowned as he suddenly saw their offer of employment from Meghan’s point of view. After the way George Simmons had treated her in his office, could he himself blame Meghan for being wary of her new position? He’d made his intentions toward her known from the start, believing it was best to be honest. He still believed that, but he realized that he’d done little to try to win her.

  Behave be damned, he thought, recalling his conversation with Meghan. He had behaved as he’d promised … on the road and at the inn, but this was his territory now and he’d be damned if he didn’t playthe game by his own rules. He still wanted to bed her, but he wanted her to desire it, too.

  Meghan McBride. His lips formed a smile. I’m going to kill you with kindness. By the time I’m through, you’ll find me irresistible.

  It wasn’t fair, he realized. But then life wasn’t fair, was it. His father had married the woman he loved, and she’d become a shrew to be tolerated for the rest of his life.

  He wouldn’t make the same mistake, Lucas vowed. He would marry eventually, but there would be no desire … nothing to make him vulnerable to his wife. Marriage would be strictly a business arrangement.

  Thinking of Meghan made his stomach tighten and caused a throbbing at the base of his shaft He desired her more than he’d ever wanted a woman. He would take her to his bed, pleasure her, and when they tired of their relationship, he’d give her all the money she nee
ded to see that she wouldn’t have to work for the rest of her life.

  She wouldn’t have a hold on him like his mother had on his father. He’d gift her with everything … but his heart.

  “Did you give her the ring?” Alicia Somerton shifted up on her elbow as she stroked her lover’s arm.

  “Aye.”

  “And?”

  Rafferty reached over and caressed her cheek. “Meghan loved it.” He grinned as his hand slipped to her breast. “You have exquisite taste in jewelry my love.”

  The woman made an unladylike sound. “It was given to me by a friend. I had nothing to do with choosing it.”

  “Well, it worked perfectly. Meghan was charmed. Mourning or not, she’ll be ready to marry me soon.”

  Alicia regarded him without expression. “Lass?” Rafferty asked, disturbed by her look.

  A dark gleam entered her green eyes. “Why do you have to marry her?” She spoke of her as if she was loath to say Meghan’s name.

  The Irishman sighed. “We agreed that I should marry. Meghan was me fiancée long before I met ya. She’s the best choice, ye know that.” He leaned over and drew her nipple into his mouth, laving it with his tongue. His head lifted, but he continued to stroke her with his long fingers.

  “She’s a child. I’ve no desire for her,” he lied.

  In truth, his lust for his young fiancée had intensified with each day. Since she had come to Somerville, he’d not bedded another … except Alicia, but then he’d never give up Alicia, not even after he and Meghan married. Alicia Somerton had given him everything he owned, and she could so easily take it all away.

  His mind worked quickly. He had to keep Alicia happy; he could keep both Alicia and Meghan happy, he thought with arrogant confidence, without anyone being the wiser of their true relationship.

  “Lynna saw you leaving the other night,” Alicia said.

  Rafferty’s hand stilled on her breast. “What did ye tell her?”

  Alicia’s smile was cruel. “Lynna is no one to worry about, I can assure you. I told the little chit that we were going over the books.”