Blythe, however, was finding it difficult.
The combination of friction in the horse’s rhythmic movements and the heat of the duke’s arms about her kept her heart pounding in her chest. Her lips tingled with the memory of his kiss. How different it had felt from Thomas’s kisses. Those had been sweet and chaste. He’d always claimed to respect her too much for anything improper.
Goodness, if she’d known how improper felt, she would have demanded it.
“There!”
Blythe jumped as the duke’s shout resonated in her eardrum. He pulled on her, bringing her tighter against him, as he grabbed the reins.
Just ahead of them, the snowy white coat of a horse was highlighted by the sunlight that filtered through tree branches.
When they closed the distance, Michael slid off the back of the horse before Blythe could even come to a full stop. He scanned their immediate area, but Bethie was nowhere in sight.
“Elisabeth!”
Blythe stood by Satin, running hands over her flank, checking for injuries. “She appears unharmed. That means Elisabeth stopped of her own accord.” Blythe looked around. “Where would she be?”
“Hiding, likely. Trees are her favorite.” He turned to the large oak trees and peered up into their branches. He continued on to the next tree, and Blythe turned in the other direction.
Michael moved away from her, scanning the area around him for any sign of his daughter. She had to be close. She had to be safe.
“Your Grace.” The words were almost a whisper. “What was she wearing?”
“A yellow…” Michael whipped around to find Blythe kneeling next to the water’s edge, a sodden rag held in her…Oh God. “…dress.” Every muscle in his body tightened with a painful twist. “What is that?”
Her eyes anguished, Blythe held out what was obviously a child’s dress. “Is this hers?”
He lurched at her, yanking the soaked fabric from her hands. There was no mistaking the dress for Bethie’s. A surge of terror ripped through him with a rawness that burned like fire. He dropped the dress and took a running leap into the water. “Elisabeth!” He didn’t know which way to look or where to go, he just dove.
The icy water burned his skin and his eyes. He searched the murky, muddy shallows. When he didn’t see Bethie, he kicked out farther, ignoring the fire that spread in his chest as his body demanded air. Finally, as his vision began to blur, he pushed toward the surface and crowned the waves with a gasp. Air filled his throat with a painful force. He blinked rapidly to clear his vision and after a quick scan on the river’s surface, he knew Bethie hadn’t come up without him.
“Duke!”
Blythe’s scream barely penetrated before he dove back under again. He swam with the current. If Bethie hadn’t been able to swim to shore, the river would have caught her up in its stream.
He pushed to the surface one more time and sucked in a gasp of air. Once again, he heard tidbits of Blythe yelling at him, but he ignored it and plunged into the dark depths of the water. Pain radiated from every part of his body, but most of all from his heart. God only knew how long Bethie had been in the river—
No! He refused to believe it. She was a fighter.
Over and over he dove, out further and further upstream. His limbs grew weighted as he struggled to move through the water that seemed to thicken with every inch he swam. His vision blurred, went hazy and refocused. He fought the urge to open his mouth, to take in air until finally his body’s survival instinct overtook his mind and propelled him reluctantly toward the surface yet again. He bobbed to the top and forced air into his gasping lungs.
He heard shouts, closer. Another deep, fiery breath. He turned to the side. Blythe. Waving frantically. Trudging through the water to get to him.
Focus, focus, focus, he screamed in his head. Find Bethie. Keep. Going.
“—not in—” Snatches of words.
He turned his head to scan the river again. Dove once again. Still nothing. He propelled to the top.
“—up in the—”
How had he let her get away from him? Why hadn’t he paid more attention?
“She’s not in the water!”
The words, screamed with a hoarse ferocity, cut through the sludge moving in his brain. Michael blinked the droplets of water from his eyes and swirled around, treading water.
“You have to stop! She’s not in the water!”
Not in the water?
Bethie wasn’t dead. She hadn’t drowned.
As the tension that held him up released, he dropped under the water. Water spurted into his mouth and he forced back to the surface, coughing and sputtering.
“Did you hear me?”
At the crack in Blythe’s voice, Michael thrashed through the water as quickly as his exhausted limbs would allow. As he neared, Blythe waded out into the water until she was waist deep, looking ready to dive in after him if he fell under again.
“Where is she?” The words croaked out on a whisper.
Blythe took a few more steps toward him, shaking her head. “What did you say?”
He put his head down and continued on. As he neared, she reached out and grabbed hold of his shirt, pulling him toward her and helping him out of the water.
“She’s not in the water. She never was. I thought you were going to keep going until you drown!”
“Where is she?” He thrust a hand out to her shoulder to steady his suddenly shaky legs. “Damnation, where is she?”
“Up in the tree. She cried out when you went under the water.”
“I need to see her.”
“I tried to get her to come down, but she wouldn’t listen.” She turned and pointed to a large oak tree farther down the bank. “She’s up there.”
The breeze slashed through his drenched clothes into his chilled body as he moved on to the riverbank, but he continued forward until he stood underneath the tree and looked up. Her white lawn undergarments fluttered in the breeze, and she crouched very still on the branch. He could just glimpse her eyes: wide-like saucers in her little face.
Relief stormed through him, buckling his knees until he had to lean against the tree to keep upright. She was safe. Alive.
And in a split second, his body began to hum with anger. He felt it bubble inside of him, one bubble on top of the next until it threatened to erupt like a gusher out of his ears, his eyes and sputter out of his mouth in words far from appropriate toward a child.
She was safe. On the shore. Up in the bloody tree, while he almost drowned looking for her.
He stared straight ahead at the trunk, trying desperately to get his emotions under control. If she dropped to the ground right now, he might throttle her.
“Elisabeth.” Her name came out in a growl.
No answer.
“If I have to call you down one more time, you might not sit right for a month.”
The branches shook as his precocious child shinnied her way down to land at his feet with the grace of a cat and a shake of brown curls.
“Papa, I—”
“Don’t.” His gut lurched and tightened and he dropped to his knees and yanked her into his arms.
“You’re wet!” she squealed, but she returned his hug with a tight squeeze. “Papa, I didn’t know you were going into the water until you did, and then I couldn’t stop you, and then I was afraid for you and afraid to come down and—”
“Elizabeth, hush up.” He held her tightly to him as fury and relief battered his heart. She’s safe. She’s safe, he repeated in his head until his heart finally seemed to believe it and stopped aching.
He looked up, where Blythe stood, half drenched, wringing her hands together.
“Papa?” His daughter’s small voice penetrated through the confusion and focused his anger once again.
He grabbed Elisabeth’s shoulders and set her back from him. “Do you realize what you have done? There are a dozen people looking for you, young lady. You stole a horse, you left without saying a word
on property you don’t know. My God, Elisabeth, I thought you had drowned!” The anger pushed upward until it filled him. He let go of her shoulders and stood. “This is not a game. Your hide and seek days are over. Over, do you hear me? You are never to play this game again, Elisabeth. Not on our grounds, not in the house, not even in your room!”
His voice had ascended with every word until he roared at her. Her body had shrunk back and tears filled her eyes, and Michael realized he couldn’t keep control of his anger long enough to deal with her right now. A little afraid of what the mix of emotions and exhaustion might push him toward — he turned away.
He met Blythe’s gaze. “I can’t deal with her right now. See that she gets back to the manor.”
He strode toward the horse Bethie had taken. With the lack of saddle, he curled his fist into the horse’s mane and pulled himself up.
“See that she gets back to the manor?” The servant’s echo was incredulous.
Michael settled into the saddle and, grabbing the reins, turned toward her. “You have the saddled horse. Please take her back to the manor and put her in her room. I’ll deal with her when I can get control of my anger.”
Even as Blythe sputtered behind him, he kicked a foot into the horse’s flank and moved quickly into a gallop. Fresh air would take the edge of his fury. No matter how many hours—hell, days—it took.
Chapter Six
Blythe stared after the Duke. Indignation scurried through her. He didn’t seriously intend to leave her to deal with his wayward child?
She took back every empathetic thought she’d had. The man was an arrogant ass, after all.
But as he and Satin made quick work of the ground in front of them, and the trail of dust was practically invisible now, she had no choice but to do what he told her.
“Elisabeth.”
The child continued to stare after her father.
“Elisabeth, please look at me.”
No response. Then, slowly, Elisabeth’s eyes shifted and narrowed as they settled on Blythe. “Are you my new governess?”
“No, I’m not.”
The child stared as if she didn’t believe it. “Why did Papa leave me with you, then?”
“That,” Blythe muttered, “is a very good question.” And a bigger question was what did Blythe intend to do about that?
Obviously, she had to get the child home. In one piece. But after that?
“Can we swim now?” the child asked.
Blythe squatted until she was eye level with her. The child had a remarkable beauty, and a definite resemblance to her father. Eyes the same cornflower blue, but rather than the dark winged brows her father had, Elisabeth’s were a delicate slash of brown.
“Elisabeth, do you realize that you did something very wrong today?” Blythe asked, not sure how to proceed. She knew what her own mother would have done, but this was not her child. This wasn’t even a member of her family, so exactly what did the duke expect from her? “You need to pay the consequence for your action, not simply go play.”
Elisabeth frowned. “What is that?”
“A consequence?”
The child nodded.
Why didn’t it surprise her that this child had never heard the word before? “A consequence is something you do to make up for something you did wrong. You behaved badly by taking my horse and worrying everyone. It’s your responsibility to make up for that.”
“I’m not just going to be sent to my room? That’s what my papa does when he’s angry. He says I can’t make him angry if he doesn’t see me.”
Blythe rolled her eyes. How like the man to stick to the ‘out of sight, out of mind’ theory, as amply evidenced right now. “So he sends you to his room and then…?”
Elisabeth shrugged. “I stay there until he isn’t angry anymore.” She leaned in, as if sharing a secret. “It usually doesn’t take too long.”
Blythe slowly stood up. Since the duke had left things in her hands, she would take care of them.
That meant she needed her mother.
****
“I don’t think I like con-se-qints very much,” Elisabeth announced a few hours later as she stared with obvious misery at the pile of clothing Blythe had placed on the settee in the drawing room.
Blythe met the gaze of her mother and did her best not to smile, but couldn’t help the corners of her mouth turning upward slightly. As soon as they’d arrived back at the manor—with no sign of the duke, of course—Blythe had sought out her mother for advice.
Hypatia, mother of five very mischievous children, had learned to create consequences that would limit freedom rather than simply let her children sit in the nursery, where they had ample time to come up with more mischief.
Blythe pushed the pile over and sat down on the settee. She motioned for Elisabeth to sit next to her.
The little girl plopped down and frowned. “How is a pile of clothing going to fix a mistake?”
Blythe threw her an admonishing look. “Because these clothes need to be mended, and we’re going to mend them.”
“But I’ve never sewed before.”
Why doesn’t that surprise me? “I’m going to teach you.” She held a threaded needle out to Elisabeth. “Now, I want you to hold this needle just like I’m doing with my other hand. See where the thread comes out?”
Elisabeth’s blue eyes swam with uncertainty as she looked back at her. “You’re going to stay with me? But you don’t have a conseqint, do you?”
“No, I don’t. But I’m going to stay here and help you with yours.”
“Why?”
Blythe found she didn’t have an exact answer, at least not one she could give a child. She knew that she had a mountain of her own difficulties to focus on, but she didn’t particularly relish thinking about a single one of them. And there was just something about this little girl. Blythe felt the same pull to make her smile that she’d felt toward the girl’s father.
Which wasn’t a thought she cared for at all.
“There are a lot of clothes to mend. Let’s get started, shall we?” She reached over to grab a shirt with a rip in the sleeve. “We’ll be mending this.”
Elisabeth looked down at the needle in her hand and took a deep breath. “What do I do?”
Blythe held her needle correctly and slowly wove it through the tattered shirt, closing the hole. When she was finished, she tied a small knot and broke off the thread with her teeth. “See? Just like that. Now you try.”
Elisabeth darted a wary look in her direction, but reached over to grab a sock with a hole in the toe. She pinched the hole closed and jabbed the needle through and then circled around to bring it back the other way. She kept jabbing back and forth until she came to the end of the hole. She held it back and looked with a critical expression at her handiwork.
Blythe’s mouth twitched. Elisabeth had closed the tear by sealing off a large portion of the sock, but Blythe would eat that sock before she said a word about it. It would certainly make for a long day however, if she would have to go back later and fix the errors Elisabeth made.
But Elisabeth threw the sock down. “It looks awful!” She dropped the needle on the table and stood up. “I’m not going to do this anymore!”
Before Blythe could utter a single word, Elisabeth ran out of the room.
“That went well,” Hypatia said dryly.
Blythe stood and followed her out. “I’ll get her. I have no desire to go out searching again, even before her father comes back.”
In the entryway, Blythe paused at the sight of the duke looking down at Elisabeth.
“Are you sorry?” he was asking.
Elisabeth nodded.
The duke patted her on the head. “Let’s get settled upstairs.”
Blythe watched in shock as they headed up the stairs. She felt her mother come to stand next to her.
“That was it? That’s all the reaction she’s going to get from him?”
“Some people are lenient with their childr
en.”
“That’s not lenient, Mama. That’s just ridiculous.”
“It’s his child. He can do whatever he wants. By the way, has anyone discovered why he’s here in the first place?”
That seemed to be the question of the day.
“I’m going to find Adam,” Hypatia said. “Maybe he has more information.”
Blythe stared at the empty staircase. She wasn’t going to wait for Adam to find out. She wanted to know now. Why had Thomas’s cousin decided to visit them?
She frowned. How had he even known to visit? According to Adam, no one knew she’d married Thomas. It was time to get some answers.
She headed upstairs and stopped in front of the doorway of the room he’d been given and raised a hand to knock. Before her hand hit the wood, the door swung open and the duke’s imposing frame filled the doorway.
“Is that your idea of discipline?” she asked without thinking. “Pawn her off on me and then pat her on the head? No wonder she’s…what did you call it, spirited?”
He leaned against the door frame. “Is that so?”
“Yes, that’s so.” She hadn’t really intended to blurt it out like that, but she refused to take it back now.
“I don’t recall asking your opinion.”
“You left her with me to return back to the manor!”
He shrugged a casual shoulder and stood straight up. “I needed time to cool my temper. I didn’t believe getting her back to the manor was a difficult request.”
Warmth flooded her cheeks at his mocking comments.
“If you’ll excuse me, I was just going to see the lady of the manor.”
Blythe glared at his back and wished she had a nice, heavy vase to throw at him. Then his comment penetrated. The lady of the manor? He wanted to see her, and yet he’d just left her?
Did he not know who she was? Blythe thought back to the various conversations they’d had. He’d mentioned her position. He’d certainly treated her as one might expect a duke to treat his servants.
Willoughby 01 - Something About Her Page 5
