Willoughby 01 - Something About Her

by Jeannie Ruesch

  Her mind reeled. His duchess. She’d never thought she’d find a man like him. He had invaded her life, irritated her as much as he’d made her laugh, and yet somehow he had settled into his very own place in her heart. She could feel the walls inside crumbling and the pure, sweet love she felt for him filling her.

  “Please?” he whispered, his eyes pleading.

  “Yes,” she whispered back. A smile tugged at her lips.

  He whooped and yanked her against him in a hug. Just when she thought she’d lose the ability to breathe from his tight embrace, his arms slacked and he looked down at her. “Say it.”

  She looked into his eyes. “I love you, Michael.”

  “Really?” What seemed like relief softened his expression.

  “Really.” And she did. Mistake or not, Blythe had taken the plunge and now fell head first. But at least this time, she was taking him down with her.

  Michael’s mouth descended on hers, soft yet full of promise. She opened her mouth to him, matched his tongue with hers until she couldn’t feel or see anything beyond the way his kiss melted her, the way his most simple touch inflamed her.

  He maneuvered her against his side, bent down to slide his arm under her legs and lifted her into his arms. Blythe wrapped her arms around his neck, feeling more safe and secure than she could ever remember feeling. He carried her to the bed and laid her on top of the rich coverlet.

  She lay on the bed, her eyes closed. Michael touched her cheek gently. “Blythe.”

  She murmured slightly, but didn’t open her eyes. His touch felt entirely too nice.

  “I want to make love to you.” His words were like velvet brushing against her skin, it tightened every nerve she had in anticipation.

  She wanted him. Completely.

  It seemed to be all the answer he needed. He bent down and touched her lips again, softly, as he reached a hand out to run over her neck, to gently press against her collarbone and over the swell of her breasts, leaving little shivers across her skin. He fingered the small edging of lace on her gown and circled his hand to cup her breast.

  She sucked in a breath as sensations coursed through her. She was a little afraid of the feeling building inside of her, the desire to touch him, the need for him to touch her. She placed her hands against his chest and took in a deep breath. “Michael, I’m…I’ve never done this.”

  He caressed her cheek. “I know. And I can’t tell you how much it means that I’ll be your first.”

  She nuzzled her head slightly into his hand. “Will you tell me what to do?”

  “How about I show you instead,” he murmured, bending down to capture her lips with his own.

  He lifted her slightly into a sitting position, and slid in behind her. He leaned against the wall and with one swoop of his arm around her waist, Michael pulled her back until she sat firmly encircled by his long, lean thighs.

  His arms came around and held her back against him for a brief moment, before moving slowly up her arms and over her shoulders. His fingers kneaded her shoulders and any remaining bit of tension she had melted away underneath the warmth of his touch. Blythe dropped her head forward and his fingers moved up to lightly caress her neck. Shivers ran up her spine as he sunk his hands into her hair, removing the pins and pulling her hair down around her shoulders. She’d always loved having her hair brushed, but this was nothing like she’d ever felt before.

  Luxurious, sensuous…and the merest caress sent spirals of heat all the way to her belly, into a slightly uncomfortable pooling of need between her legs. Blythe squirmed as the heat seemed to spread through her.

  Then Michael kissed her neck. His lips were as gentle as his hands, warm and slow, seeming to savor her very taste. His kissed the delicate space just behind her ear and Blythe tensed as heat shot through her body with a jolt.

  “Shhh,” he whispered against her neck. “Just relax for me.”

  His hands came around her, moving up her waist until they skimmed around the edges of her breasts. Blythe found herself moving ever so slightly to meet his hands. She wanted his touch against her with a need more powerful than she’d ever known.

  She wanted to feel him, to touch him. His fingers slipped just under the edge of her gown, touching skin to skin.

  Her heart skipped a few beats. She felt so alive.

  Blythe sucked in her breath as his thumb caressed under her bodice, across her nipple. She let her head fall back against his shoulder, her neck exposed to the kisses he pressed with a hot need. His tongue left cool trails along her shoulder as he slipped one sleeve down her arm, his thumb slipping underneath the material across her collarbone and over her breasts. The heat in his fingers penetrated her skin and sent shivers through her. The sensation coiled inside, tugged at her belly, and pooled between her legs, making her want something she couldn’t define.

  He slipped the sleeve of the other shoulder and pushed the bodice of her dress down around her waist. He deftly untied her stays to free her from its constraints and then pulled her back against him. Both his hands cupped her breasts, kneading them gently. He circled one breast with his fingers, plucking at the nipple until it stood out taut. Every flick sent urges through her, and she shifted herself until her behind pushed against him.

  The hard length of him pressed against her, and she drew in a breath.

  “I…I want….”

  “What?” he murmured in her ear. He squeezed slightly against her breast. “This?” His other hand moved down to hover over her most private part. “My touch here?”

  All she could do was groan as he pressed the heel of his hand against her.

  And before she could breathe, he’d moved from behind her and laid her back again. His hands deftly pulled the rest of her bodice down. He bent down and took a nipple in his mouth, and Blythe gasped at the pleasure that coursed through her. He suckled lightly as his hands continued pushing her nightgown downward.

  Perhaps a part of her had wondered where this night would go, for Blythe had chosen not to wear any undergarments under her nightgown. As he pushed it further, it bared her nude body to his gaze.

  Yet even as she felt bashful, she arched her back as his hands settled on her skin again. Heat sparked at every place he touched, until he moved his hands into her warmth. She groaned as wave after wave shattered through her body.

  Before she could breathe, Michael had slid upward until the length of his body covered hers. He captured her mouth and slipped his hands around her waist, pulling her into him.

  Blythe gasped as his hardness probed her gently, seeking her warmth.

  “This might hurt a moment,” Michael murmured into her ear. “We’ll take it slow.”

  Her eyes fluttered closed and all she could feel was the heat that seemed to shoot into her as he pressed further. He stopped a moment and then thrust into her.

  The pain was sharp like needles and it took her breath away, but just as she sucked in air, the needles softened to featherlike touches.

  “Are you all right?” Michael asked, poised over her.

  She met his gaze and knew in that moment if she asked him to stop, he would. So instead, she arched upward.

  His head fell back and he groaned. “Blythe, if you continue that, I cannot—”

  She reached up and touched his mouth. “Shhh. Just love me.”

  Michael began to move again, slowly. Blythe gasped, surprised at the heat that spread through her with his every movement. Her body opened to him and he thrust even deeper.

  They were one. Blythe had never felt so connected, so alive. “Please,” she gasped though she did not know what she begged for.

  Michael bent down to capture her mouth with his. Against her lips he whispered, “I want you to fly. Just let go.”

  His words barely penetrated, for Blythe was consumed by the insistent flame that licked inside of her. It grew stronger and heavier until she thought she could no longer stand it.

  At that moment, Michael drove into her. She cried out as e
verything inside shattered into hundreds of sensations. It rippled through her and as she opened her eyes and met Michael’s gaze, he cried out her name.

  ****

  Michael stirred and before he opened his eyes, felt an unfamiliar weight against his side. He opened his eyes and memory flooded him.

  The sweetness of their lovemaking. His words of love. Hers.

  Now he had so much to lose, and no way around losing it.

  She moaned slightly, and as she moved in her sleep, Michael slipped out from her arm and left the bed. He strode naked over to the window and looked out upon the moonlight-caressed grounds of the inn.

  How would her family react when they went home tomorrow? He half expected Adam to appear at the front door, pistol in hand and ready to challenge him to a duel. He’d definitely made it clear he didn’t trust—or particularly like—Michael.

  And now he, Michael, had thoroughly compromised Adam’s sister. It apparently was not a secret that she’d been abandoned on her wedding day, by a husband who was supposed to now be dead. It wouldn’t take but a modicum of intelligence to realize that she’d given her virtue to Michael.

  Even if he hadn’t proposed, he was obligated to marry her.

  Except her bloody bastard of a husband was still alive.

  “‘Ah, what a tangled web we weave’,” he murmured.

  He headed back to the bed. She looked peaceful. Beautiful. And he wanted nothing more than to climb back into the bed, curl up against her, wake her up and make love to her again.

  He reached for his clothes instead, quickly put them on and let himself out of the room.

  For the first time in his life, he didn’t have a plan and he desperately needed one. How could he keep from losing the woman he’d fallen so completely in love with?

  Chapter Fifteen

  Blythe floated through languid memories, flashes of caresses, of limbs entwined…of Michael inside her. She sighed softly as pleasure spread through her. She reached out to the other side of the small bed for him and found…nothing.

  Where had Michael gone?

  She frowned. When had he left? All the pleasures of the night before faded away as she remembered what had preceded it. Anne Cathaway. Thomas’s wife.

  And yet, with Michael’s sweet words in her heart, the memory didn’t hurt so much. Thomas may have done nothing but take from her, but Michael was giving it all back to her.

  She stretched out like a satisfied cat and lifted her arms above her head. She felt…different. Not just inside, although her heart seemed to be a spongy mess that softened every time she thought of Michael.

  He loved her. He wanted to marry her.

  Good lord, she was engaged!

  A smile tugged at the edges of her mouth, until she knew she grinned like an idiot. But she didn’t care. She’d found a man she could trust and love and who would spend the rest of his life loving her in return. And she would get a wonderful little girl as a stepdaughter.

  She threw the sheets off and sat up, vaguely aware of the slight uncomfortable sensation between her legs. She’d been thoroughly loved—twice—last night.

  She felt like…well, like a woman.

  Something she’d never experienced before. Her love, if she could even call it that, for Thomas had been so different. So immature, so ridiculously based on an ideal, not a reality.

  Michael was real. He could be overbearing and autocratic. He infuriated her at times and she had no doubt he’d continue to on many occasions. But he was real. Blythe was in love with the man he was, not a man she had made him out to be in her mind. He was a father, a lover, and soon to be her husband.

  And she wished he would appear in the doorway soon so she could greet him with all the love and desire she felt. Instead of being completely fulfilled by their lovemaking, it had only whetted her appetite for more.

  Blythe made quick work of getting dressed and straightened up her belongings, so she’d be ready to go whenever Michael reappeared.

  Just as she pulled her hair back into a serviceable braid she heard the click of a key in the door and it opened to let Michael in.

  She grinned at him. She couldn’t help it, she just felt so happy. “Hello, my love.”

  Michael, however, did not look as happy. And as he stepped into the room, he moved from the doorway to let in another person she hadn’t seen.

  Adam.

  This couldn’t be good.

  “Adam, what are you doing here?”

  His eyes were full of accusation. “I should be asking you that. What on earth were you thinking, running off like that? With him?”

  “It’s not what you think, Adam,” she replied.

  “Actually,” Michael interjected, “it likely is. But before this gets more tense than necessary, you should know I’ve asked your sister to marry me and she agreed.”

  Rather than looking relieved or pleased about it, Adam only looked more upset. “There’s time to discuss this later. Right now, you need to get home.”

  Blythe crossed her arms. “We’ll be along shortly.”

  “You’ll come now, Blythe,” Adam snapped. He sighed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to tell you now and have you worry the entire trip home.”

  Blythe frowned. “Worry about what?”

  “It’s Mabel. She’s gone into labor.” Adam’s eyes were sober.

  “Is she alright?”

  He shook his head slightly. “It’s not going well, Blythe. She’s been asking for you.”

  Michael grabbed their belongings. “Let’s get going then.”

  Hours later, they arrived in the village and Blythe wasn’t surprised to see many of the cottages ablaze with light. As soon as Satin skidded to a halt, Blythe vaulted her leg over and slid off the horse to the ground.

  Other villagers, men and women, stood around the porch. Everything was silent. Not a sound from inside, and the terror inside lodged into her throat. God, what if she was too late?

  She pushed past the crowd and strode up the few steps to Mabel’s door and hurried inside. The stifling smell of heat, blood and sweat assailed her as she walked in, stinging her eyes and nose.

  “Lady Blythe, you’re here.” A neighboring villager held an armful of towels as she walked in from the small kitchen area toward the bedroom.

  “How is she?”

  Veronica stopped before her. “The midwife says the baby is turned wrong. She had to reach in to try and turn it, and Mabel fell unconscious. That was hours ago. We’ve tried to revive her, but we can’t.” Tears filled her eyes. “If she doesn’t wake up soon, both she and the babe will die.”

  Pain gripped Blythe’s heart, and she fought her own tears back. She took the towels from Veronica’s arms. “Here, let me. Please, sit down for a minute. You look exhausted.”

  Blythe clutched the towels closer and forced the emotions down. They needed her to be strong for them.

  The door was slightly ajar, and Blythe pushed it open and moved toward the bed. Arthur knelt beside it, one hand grasping Mabel’s and the other mopping at her brow with a towel.

  Mabel lay drenched in red-stained sweat, her face pale and her baby-swollen body limp. The midwife stood at the end of the bed, and Blythe could see Mabel’s legs on either side of her. Blood saturated the sheets underneath her.

  “Mabel, wake up, love,” Arthur pleaded, his deep voice choked with tears. “You have to wake up now and birth our babe. Mabel, please wake up. Please wake up.”

  The midwife looked up at Blythe. “Lady Blythe, please put the towels over there.” She pointed in the general direction to her left, where another woman stood next to a small table.

  “I want to help,” Blythe said softly as she handed the towels to the other woman, Arthur’s sister, Susan.

  “There is the basin of water. If you could soak a towel in water and run it across her skin,” Susan whispered. “I can take the other basin to fetch fresh water.”

  Blythe nodded, set the towels on the table, took one and plunged it int
o the lukewarm water. Wringing it out, she turned to Mabel and knelt next to the bed. She pressed the towel against Mabel’s arm, shocked at the heat that radiated from her.

  Arthur looked up at her. “Thank you,” he said simply. He turned back to his wife. “Mabel, Lady Blythe is here to visit. She wants to see our babe, too. Please, Mabel, you must wake up.”

  Blythe sat there and brushed the cloth against Mabel’s skin until the heat dried the cloth. Then she plunged it back into the water and repeated the process over and over again.

  “Mabel,” Arthur continued, his voice hoarse from overuse. “Please wake up. You have a babe to deliver. Mabel…”

  His words paused, and Blythe looked up from squeezing the cloth over the water. He looked down at his wife, his face a mask of pain and sadness. Tears streamed out of his eyes as he stared down at the woman he loved.

  Blythe reached across and placed her hand over his. He raised his water-filled eyes to hers. “Don’t give up, Arthur. She hears you.”

  Blythe wrung out the cloth to place it on Mabel’s forehead one more time, but the heat emanated without change.

  Suddenly Arthur gasped. “Mabel!” He looked up at the midwife. “She squeezed my hand.” He bent over his wife and pressed kisses to her cheeks. “I know you can hear me. Please, my love, you have to wake up.”

  The midwife pressed closer. “Mabel, you need to push. Right now!”

  “You can do this, Mabel,” Arthur cajoled.

  “Lift her up,” the midwife commanded.

  Arthur looked at her helplessly.

  “Here, Arthur,” Blythe said, putting the cloth in the basin and helping Arthur to lift Mabel into a sitting position. He moved around behind her and Mabel fell back against him.

  “Now push!” the midwife yelled. She stood at Mabel’s middle and pushed on her belly.

  Mabel’s face twisted in pain as she screamed. Arthur, sobbing, urged her to keep pushing.

  Mabel let out a guttural cry, and Blythe jumped.

  Susan walked over to her and thrust an empty basin into her hands. “Lady Blythe, would you please go and fill this?”

  Blythe couldn’t take her eyes off of Mabel’s face, agony across each contortion of her expression. The groans that emitted from her didn’t sound human.