Read Online Comfort and Joy by Sandra Madden - Free Book Online Page B

fairy tale. She was the same girl she had been moments ago but somehow not the same. With head held high, she clutched the banister with one hand. Despite the murderous look still flashing in her eyes, she was startlingly beautiful. The flush of her cheeks contrasted against her delicate porcelain complexion put Charles in mind of rose blossoms drifting on a blanket of snow.
    His rather uncommon poetic thought was quickly followed by another. Her soft colors were in marked contrast to Maeve’s headstrong nature. And she was humming, a characteristic Charles had come to recognize as manifesting itself when she was nervous. And when Maeve was nervous, anything could happen.
    “Your daughter looks splendid in her new dress, don’t you agree?”
    Maeve’s father grunted.
    “He is ashamed of me, Dad!”
    “No!”
    “Aye.”
    “I am not —”
    But Mick O’Malley cut Charles off, speaking about him as if he were invisible. “The man’s damn lucky to have ye!”
    “Damn right,” Shea agreed.
    Charles rubbed his forehead. Torture was too good for the culprit who robbed and beat him and left him at the mercy of the O’Malleys. The villain should be forced to spend eternity with Mick O’Malley in particular. Nothing seemed cruel enough for the thief or thieves who had stolen his prized sketch and left him with an Irish shrew and her contentious family.
    Nevertheless, a Rycroft must do the right thing. If only he knew what that might be in a situation like this.
    Shea stepped forward to stand beside Mick. Maeve’s brother was a big, broad man, almost as tall as Charles. His shabby jacket did nothing to hide his brawn. The young, handsome Irishman possessed the same coal black curls as Maeve’s but his eyes were a blue-gray shade.
    “Me sister is a good woman and deserves the best,” Shea said, aiming a cool gaze at Charles. “If ye don’t treat her with respect, sir, ye’ll be answerin’ to me.”
    “I assure you, Maeve will be accorded all due respect,’’ Charles replied. To his relief, Shea spoke softly and appeared more levelheaded than either his cantankerous father or spirited sister.
    A movement above shifted Charles’s attention.
    Holding her dress up so that her ankles showed in a most indecent manner — Charles overlooked her breach of etiquette to admire their slim turn —Maeve skipped down the steps to join the small circle of men.
    She lashed into her father and brother.
    “Saints above! Now tell me true, what are ye doin’ here?”
    “We wanted to make sure ye were all right,” Shea replied.
    Mick held up the sack he carried. “And we brought some things ye might be needin’.”
    “Like what?” Her hands went to her hips.
    “Yer knittin’ an’ nightshirt, most important.”
    Maeve’s stomach knotted with an unpleasant blend of tension and frustration. Her father would be her undoing yet. Maeve slept in a man’s nightshirt, a secret she did not take kindly to having shared with her high society husband.
    In the hopes Charles hadn’t heard the nightshirt announcement, she took up another evil. “Me knittin’?”
    Blue-blooded Boston ladies did not knit.
    “The cranberries and ribbon, too.” Mick lowered his voice. “Ye’ll still make the decorations for our Christmas, won’t ye?”
    Her father was in his cups. Maeve turned on Shea. “What was ye thinkin’, bringing his own here after he’s been drinkin’?”
    “I thought it was better than him comin’ without me.”
    Swallowing her embarrassment, Maeve looked to Charles for his reaction, knowing she would be mortified if she found disdain in his expression.
    But her taciturn husband did not evidence displeasure, nor hesitate. “I’ll have Stuart take Maeve’s things to her rooms.”
    Lowering her voice, Maeve spoke to her father in soft, gentle tones. “Da, go now. I’ll come by and visit with ye soon.”
    “Yer a good cailin.”
    She turned to Shea then. “Are you stayin’ out of the ring?”
    Her brother gave a