Irish Linen (18 page)

“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.

“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 the
emotional 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 skilled
with 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 play
the 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 needed 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.”

“And she believed ya?” The last thing he needed was for Alicia’s husband to discover that he was being cuckolded. Rafferty’s gut lurched when she shook her head.

“I doubt it, but it doesn’t matter.” She grabbed his hand and instructed him to continue his fondling. “You
see, Lynna needs her job desperately. Her mother is dead, and her father is ill. It’s the only employment that will keep her and her family from going hungry.”

Rafferty squeezed her breast tightly in reaction until she cried out, and his touch immediately softened to a caress. He knew what it was like to go hungry. It was a feeling he’d never forget—or forgive. He hated that Alicia had used food—or its lack—to manipulate one of her household staff. “I don’t like it, Alicia.”

She curled an arm about his neck and rubbed his nape with teasing fingers. “Lynna will be fine, Raff. know how to treat my employees,” she purred. “You should know, my dear. You’re the perfect example of my generosity and goodwill.”

Eyes narrowing, Rafferty wondered if Alicia had just threatened him. But then she was stroking him while nibbling and tonguing his ear, and all of his thoughts disappeared with the increasing, raging spiral of his lust.

Meghan felt butterflies in her stomach as she stared up at the huge Gibbons mansion. Nerves tingling, she fought back her fears. Do I knock on the front door, she silently asked herself, or do I go around to the servants’ entrance? She was hired help. She skirted the house and rapped on the back door.

A middle-aged woman responded and eyed Meghan carefully. “Yes?”

“Me name’s Meghan McBride, and I’ve been called by Mrs. Gibbons,” Meghan said.

Recognition flickered across the servant’s face. “Come in, Meghan McBride. I’m Mrs. Riker, Mrs. Gibbons’s cook.”

Meghan studied the woman’s flour-coated apron and smiled. “Aye, I can see you are.” She grinned. “I’m
pleased to meet ya. Ye cooked all the wonderful treats at Christmas.”

When the lady looked surprised, Meghan explained. “I work in the weaving room at the mill.”

Mrs. Riker beamed. “You enjoyed my lemon cakes?”

“Aye, they melted in me mouth, they did.”

The woman waved Meghan further in the kitchen. The room smelled of wonderful scents … of baking bread and roasting meat. “Sit yourself down, and I’ll make you some tea. Then, I’ll find Mrs. Gibbons for you.”

“That won’t be necessary, Mrs. Riker,” Lucas said as he entered the room. “I’ll take Meghan up to my aunt.” He paused to flash a devastatingly handsome smile. “After we share some tea.”

Mrs. Riker obviously saw nothing unusual with Lucas drinking tea in the kitchen, for she immediately went to put on the kettle. Then, with a grin, the cook placed a plate of pastries on the table directly in front of Lucas.

“You share, you hear?” she warned him goodnaturedly.

Lucas laughed, and Meghan’s heart beat faster at the rich, musical sound “I promise.”

Meghan tensed as Lucas handed her a plate and then offered her a pastry. The memory of their late night snack was sharp in her mind … and what had happened afterward when Lucas had kissed her and she’d responded wildly … wantonly. As Mrs. Riker set out two cups and saucers, Meghan could almost taste the flavor of Lucas’s lips.

Lucas seemed unaffected by her presence as he chatted easily with Mrs. Riker while they waited for the water to boil and then the tea to steep. Meghan had trouble keeping her gaze off him. It had been some time since she’d sat across the table from him, but the
sensation wasn’t new … only different after their exchanged kiss at the Pattersons’ inn.

His blond hair had been combed into place with a hint of macassar oil, no doubt used to try to tame its tendency to curl. His sideburns were shorter than most men’s and he was clean-shaven, while the gentlemen of the day wore moustaches or clipped beards.

She studied his jaw and had the wildest urge to run her lips over his smooth skin. He caught her staring, and warmth spread from her neck upward. She averted her gaze, only to be drawn back with fascination to look into his sparkling ebony eyes.

“Are you hungry?” he asked.

She shook her head.

“Could have fooled me,” he whispered for her ears alone.

Ignoring his remark and her flushed face, Meghan bit into a pastry and found it delicious and sweet.

“Here you go, dears,” Mrs. Riker said as she poured out two cups of tea.

“Eat and drink up, love,” Lucas murmured while he held her gaze. “You’re going to need all of your strength to get through your day here.”

It was as if he’d read her mind—and her heart, which didn’t help her state of mind and didn’t bode well for the remainder of her time here.