Willoughby 01 - Something About Her

by Jeannie Ruesch

  “I’m not leaving until you unlock this door and talk with me.”

  “How did you know I locked the door?” Her voice was distinctly closer, and he knew she stood just on the other side of the door.

  “Because I heard the lock.” He sighed. “I refuse to stand here and speak through a door.”

  “Then I suppose you’ll be leaving, because I have no intention of opening it.”

  “What are you afraid of?”

  “Nothing. I just wanted some time alone.”

  “After inviting me on a walk.”

  “Yes.” Silence and then, “I simply changed my mind.”

  “Then I’ve changed my mind, as well. I don’t care to take a walk with you, either.” He turned to walk away. “Blasted woman.”

  “Why not?”

  He turned around. She’d opened the door and stood in the hallway, hands on hips and an indignant look on her face.

  “Because you are being difficult,” he told her.

  Her lips set in a thin line. “Well, what if I am?” She crossed her arms. “You are exceedingly irritating.”

  “How is that precisely?”

  She stalked toward him. “You’re charming.”

  “And this makes me irritating?”

  “And you are being attentive. You have escorted me everywhere for the last week.”

  “Yes, I can see that might be tiresome.”

  “And you are more handsome than you should be,” she continued and then gasped as she seemed to realize what she had said.

  Michael grinned down at her. “You think me handsome?”

  “Well, no. I mean, yes, but…Oh!” She threw her hands in the air. “Here you go again, being charming! Making me smile when I shouldn’t.”

  “You have such a compelling smile, though.” She stood so close he could feel the indignant heat rising off her body. Her glanced down and watched her chest heave as she drew in a deep breath, and his body stirred.

  “Because I shouldn’t enjoy being with you,” she admitted softly. “It is so very wrong, I do not even know where to start saying how wrong it is.”

  “It’s wrong to enjoy my company?”

  “Yes!” She took another deep breath. “You see, my judgment is not the best when it comes to…feelings.” She nodded for emphasis. “In fact, it would be appropriate to say I have rather horrible judgment. So if I’ve developed a…well, an ever so small tendre for you, I suppose, it likely means that you are bad for me.”

  “Why do you believe you have bad judgment?” His mind reeled. She had developed a tendre for him?

  She sighed in exasperation. “Michael, you do not strike me as stupid. Just look who I married.” She sucked in a breath. “Oh, goodness. Thomas was your cousin, I do apologize.”

  “Thomas and I have never been close,” Michael assured her. “Why was your judgment about Thomas wrong?”

  She turned and started toward her room.

  Michael followed close behind, and once inside, sat in a chair by the window. He felt like he was on the edge of discovery, and yet he wanted there to be nothing to find.

  But he couldn’t stop the desire building that she was not party to Thomas’s schemes. That she was…exactly what she seemed.

  Perfect.

  “What exactly happened between you and Thomas?”

  She turned to face him. “I prefer not to discuss this now. If you’ll excuse me, please?”

  Frustration pushed at the edges of his patience. Michael stared at her for a moment, but somehow stopped himself from demanding answers. He had a strong feeling it wouldn’t get him anywhere.

  After a blessed hour of silence—all right, so she was brooding—Blythe inched her door open and tiptoed into the hallway. Michael was nowhere to be found, but she certainly hadn’t expected him to loiter about in case she changed her mind.

  She headed downstairs and into the study, hoping to find a bit of work to occupy her mind. She didn’t want to spend another moment thinking about Thomas, Michael or the jumble of emotions she couldn’t seem to control.

  She slid into the cushiony chair behind the desk and sifted through the papers on the desk. Since her family’s arrival, her desk had become Adam’s domain and a good portion of the papers belonged to him. The least she could do was organize things a bit. She started a pile on one side of the desk for her files and another for Adam’s. Keeping her mind intentionally blank, she focused on each paper, reading just enough to decide which pile to place it in.

  She picked up the last paper on the desk and noticed it was addressed to Adam. Just as she dropped it onto his pile, the first line caught her eye.

  Enclosed is the address of Thomas Ashton’s mistress, Anne Cathaway.

  Her grip tightened on the thick piece of stationery, but Blythe read through the entire letter, which explained how the woman had been located. Her chest tightened, as if someone had dropped a large weight upon it.

  Anne Cathaway was the woman he’d left their wedding to be with.

  She looked at the address, but the village name, Andover, wasn’t familiar to her. Reaching into one of the desk drawers, she pulled out a bundled series of maps and unfurled them. She scoured the villages surrounding her own until she’d touched on every one in the county. So it wasn’t in Gloucesterhire, she thought. She started searching through the next county over, Warwickshire, and read each and every name. And there it was. Andover. Less than half a day’s ride away on horseback.

  Had Thomas been so close this entire past year?

  Blythe set the letter down. It did no good to wonder. It wouldn’t change anything. Thomas was dead. Her marriage had been over before it started. And his mistress lived on.

  She picked the letter up and focused on the words.

  16 Alcove Lane in Andover.

  Before she could stop to reconsider, Blythe dropped the letter on the desk and hurried out of the room. Two feet out of the study, she barreled into Michael with a loud “Oomphf!”

  Michael’s hands snaked around her waist. “This is becoming a habit,” he teased.

  “Perhaps if you were not dogging my heels every which way, it would cease happening.”

  “Dogging your heels? Have I been such a pest, then?”

  “No, of course not. It’s just…Well, it’s not important. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m on my way out.”

  He didn’t move. “Going for that walk now?”

  Blast it, she hadn’t had time to think up an excuse to leave the manor. In fact, she’d rather hoped to depart without an explanation at all, other than she would be returning late that night. She didn’t anticipate her visit taking long. She had no idea what she would do once she arrived in Andover, but she didn’t imagine she would introduce herself to Thomas’s mistress and be invited in for tea and scones.

  “Because if you are, the garden is that way.” Michael pointed in the opposite direction of where she was going.

  “I know where the garden is,” she snapped. “I just…have a friend to visit.” She hurried past him. If she could just get to her room, change her clothing and be on the road before anyone noticed, she could escape the questions.

  She arrived at her chamber door and quickly enlisted Mary to help her strip her morning dress off and replace it with a riding habit. If she took the trip on horseback, she would move much faster.

  Blythe shooed Mary out and sat on her bed a moment to catch her breath. Did she really want to do this? What was the point of torturing herself even further by seeing the woman Thomas had chosen over her?

  She squared her shoulders. It wasn’t torture to try and find a way to put the past behind her. If she could do that, then she could look toward the future.

  Whatever that meant.

  ****

  “What are you up to, Blythe?” Michael muttered as he strode back toward the study. Whatever she had been doing in there, it had made her as skittish as a doe.

  He closed the study door behind him. He’d been through this room—tw
ice—searching for anything that would lead him to Thomas. He hadn’t found a damn thing.

  Michael turned to the papers in stacks on the desk and frowned. Something must have upset her for her to hurry out and leave things untidy. He picked up a paper on the edge and glanced at it. Nothing unusual—household accounts.

  He gazed at the papers until a half-folded letter caught his eye. He scanned the words.

  Details on how to find Thomas’ mistress.

  Where had this note come from, and why was it in Blythe’s possession? He recalled the rumors that Thomas had left Blythe for another woman, and this obviously must be that woman. But how did she fit into the entire scheme?

  And how had Blythe gotten the information, and what did she intend to do with it? It seemed more than odd that she would seek out the woman her husband had left her for. Unless…unless somehow, this woman was the connection to finding Thomas.

  Michael slipped the letter into his coat pocket and left the study. Blythe was headed to Andover; he knew it without a doubt. And he had no intentions of letting her go there unescorted.

  He left the study and headed upstairs to his room to change his clothes. In his dressing room, he grabbed clothing more appropriate for riding and headed back into his bedroom, where he found the small stack of letters still waiting upon his bed. Picking them up, he glanced at the first one and saw Keenan’s handwriting. He dropped the letters back on the bed, and after changing, grabbed them again as he headed back downstairs. He tore open Keenan’s letter and scanned it. He slowed at the bottom steps, the meaning of Keenan’s words settling inside him with a sense of dread.

  “Damn him to hell.” Damn his lying bastard of a cousin. Michael strode out of the house and jogged toward the stable. He had to stop Blythe from leaving.

  No matter what else Blythe had involved herself in, Michael had no doubts that she hadn’t the first clue about who Anne Cathaway really was.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Harold, how long does it take to get Satin from the west pasture?” Blythe snapped, aware she unfairly shoved her frustration at the groom.

  “I’m sorry, my lady. I didn’t realize you’d be taking her out today. Johnny went to fetch her; it will be just a minute or two more. I can saddle up another horse if you’d like?”

  Blythe shook her head. She was being unreasonable and she knew it. “No, please forgive my lack of manners. I did not mean to snap at you.”

  Harold bobbed his head. “Never you mind, Miss Blythe. I’m sure you’ll enjoy the peace of a ride by yourself.”

  She smiled to cover up her discomfort at the lie she’d told. She couldn’t very well tell Harold, or anyone else, her true destination, so she’d simply told him that she’d needed to escape the hustle of the household and guests for some peaceful quiet.

  Though, that was far from a lie. The entire house had been turned upside with first, the arrival of her family and then Michael’s surprise visit. She’d not had more than moment to herself in the past weeks and if her ultimate destination didn’t cause such butterflies in her stomach, she thought she might actually enjoy the solitude.

  “Are you going somewhere?”

  Blythe closed her eyes for a brief second before turning around to face Michael. “I’m going for a ride. Alone.” She frowned, noticing he appeared slightly out of breath. “Were you running?”

  He lifted a shoulder in casual disregard. “I thought I’d go for a ride myself. May I offer you escort?”

  Blythe clenched her teeth. “I would prefer to ride alone.”

  “Perhaps we could take a picnic and find a nice spot to relax. There is still plenty of your land I have yet to see, I’m sure.”

  “I am riding alone. Without escort. Without you.”

  The casual expression faded from his face. “I can’t let you do that, Blythe.” He looked at Harold. “Would you excuse us a moment?”

  “Of course, Your Grace.” Harold bowed slightly before heading into the barn.

  “You have no right to tell me I cannot ride.” She dropped her arms, her hands making fists at her side.

  Michael didn’t smile. “I can’t let you go where you’re going. Not alone.”

  “I…I don’t know what you mean. I am just going for a quiet ride.”

  Michael took a small step closer to her. “No, you are not.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the letter. He didn’t know any other way to stop her than by telling her the truth, or at least a portion of it.

  She paled as she stared at the letter. “Where did you get that?”

  “On the desk in the study.”

  “You went through the personal letters on my desk? That letter was addressed to Adam! How dare you read it?”

  “You obviously did.”

  She snapped her mouth shut.

  “You’re going to Andover, aren’t you?” He placed the letter back and reached out to place a hand on her arm. “Why, Blythe? Why would you want to see this woman?”

  She shrugged her arm away and looked past him. “That is none of your concern.”

  “My concern is for you.”

  Uncertainty and confusion swam in her eyes. “Why?”

  “We are family.”

  Disappointment crossed her face. “I have plenty of family. And forgive me for being so blunt, but why should you care if I go to Andover?”

  He knew he had to tread carefully, or he’d expose more than he intended. But if he could just get her to open up to him, to tell him the information he needed, he could find Thomas and be done with this farce.

  He frowned. He wasn’t sure where the farce ended and any true feelings for Blythe started. But he knew he didn’t want to see her pummeled over the head by the truth of Anne Cathaway’s identity.

  “If this letter is true, what good will you accomplish by going to see her? Why do you want to hurt yourself that way?”

  “It isn’t about hurting myself. This is more about understanding why he—” She stopped and took a deep breath. “Why he wanted her. And not me.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Thomas was charming.” She smiled, almost sadly. “Rather like you in ways.”

  Michael had the distinct feeling that was not a compliment.

  “He always knew the right thing to say at exactly the right moment. He was attentive, romantic. Everything a girl could hope for. And I fell for it, every bit. But it was all a lie.”

  “What was?” he asked quietly. His heart pounded.

  “On the day of our wedding, I went up to his room to find him for our reception.” She looked down at her hands. “He…he told me I had been easy to manipulate, and that he intended to go on with his life and his lovers, and I was free to do the same. And then he left me with a houseful of wedding guests.”

  “But he came back.” He had to have come back for her. Thomas had been traveling with a wife, and Blythe was his wife.

  “Therein lays my humiliation,” she said lightly, though her eyes spoke of her pain. “He never returned. He died while with his mistress, and somewhere along the way, spent my entire dowry.”

  “You had no idea where he was? Where he went? What he was doing?”

  She frowned. “No, I did not.”

  “No communication with him, from him? He left and that was all…he never sent a letter or returned to talk with you?”

  “No. Nothing. I haven’t seen him since he left this house on our wedding day.”

  “And you have no idea where he is.”

  “He’s buried somewhere in the village where his mistress lives. In Andover. Why are you asking me all these questions?”

  She truly believed he was dead.

  Either that or she was a consummate actress. Michael just wished he could be certain either way.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “As well you should. You know Thomas is dead. I told you the humiliating truth about my husband, and you practically interrogate me. I don’t understand what this is all about. Am I under sus
picion for something?”

  “No.” He ground the word out, irritated with her. Irritated with himself for pushing, for asking questions he shouldn’t ask. If she was involved with Thomas, if she knew where he was right now, it would only serve as a warning that he knew.

  And if she weren’t, if she was as innocent as she portrayed herself, then he’d just taken a small needle and dug at the wounds Thomas had so carelessly caused.

  Michael didn’t know which possibility made him feel even more the bastard.

  “And while we are being so forward,” she continued, “perhaps it is approaching time for you to return to your life. I do not believe you expect to remain here forever.”

  “I’m not leaving.” He stood up, took a step toward her and watched as wary uncertainty crossed her beautiful face. He needed to distract her. His gaze sank to her lips, slightly open. “I’ve enjoyed getting to know you. I am not quite ready—” he took another step “—to leave you yet.”

  He stood just in front of her, close enough if he leaned in, he could inhale the clean scent of her hair. He lowered his eyes, again focusing on her delectable mouth.

  “Why…why do you keep staring at my mouth?” She tilted her head downward, and Michael reached out, placed a gentle hand under her chin and titled her face upward until she looked at him.

  “Because I intend to taste it.”

  He bent his head down.

  “This isn’t a good idea,” she whispered against his lips.

  “You are probably right,” he whispered back before claiming her lips with his own. He brushed his lips across hers with gentle persistence, and in that moment he wanted her to be the innocent she appeared. He wanted her to be nothing more than the gentle, wonderful woman who melted in his arms. As her body sagged against his, he wrapped his arms around her and tightened his hold until every inch of her met with the hard planes of his own body. The kiss meant to distract her instead filled him with longing, with need. Against her softness, he felt strong and invincible and suddenly had the urge to touch every inch of her, to bathe in her very taste. He wanted to please her, to hold her. He wanted to be inside of her.

  He urged her lips to part and moved the tip of his tongue over her teeth, feeling their sharp edges, smooth surfaces and then delved deeper until he coaxed her tongue out to play. A soft moan came from within her throat, and Michael pressed deeper, as pure desire raged inside of him.