Willoughby 01 - Something About Her

by Jeannie Ruesch

“Where is that Duke of yours?”

  Michael pressed himself closer against the wall, humiliated to be reduced to hiding from his future mother-in-law. But there was no way around it, unless he wanted to be draped-yet again-by another type of fabric to be considered for his wedding attire.

  How many different shades of black did one need to see? And what was wrong with the clothing he currently had at his home in London? It was perfectly serviceable.

  “Blythe, are you sure you saw him go this direction?”

  “I’m not sure, Mama. Perhaps I was mistaken.”

  Michael closed his eyes for a brief moment. Those words sounded entirely too close. He turned his head to the left and saw his bride-to-be standing in the doorway, arms crossed over her chest and an amused smirk on her face. She turned and stepped out of the room.

  “Mama, I’ve looked over here,” Michael heard her say. “Perhaps he went outside.”

  “Yes, yes, I’ll have Mary look.”

  Blythe turned back into the room.

  “What-”

  “Shh!” she interrupted him. She held a finger to her mouth and then motioned toward the door. Ah, so Hypatia hadn’t left the hallway yet.

  Blythe sashayed toward him. He raised an eyebrow at the flirty gait in her step and raised the other one as she approached, her eyes full of humor and promise.

  “We must…” she whispered, as she came to stand just inches from him, “be very quiet.” She ran a finger up his arm. “Or she will find us.”

  Her other arm snaked up around his neck. She leaned in, and Michael wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her the rest of the way. He held tightly until her curves fit tightly against him. The warmth between their bodies slammed into him and stoked his arousal.

  She pushed up on her toes and offered her lips to him. With a hearty growl, he took them with his own, loving the feel of her joyful surrender.

  She pulled back for a moment and looked into his eyes. “I love you, my Duke.”

  For a man who’d never put a lot of thought into emotions, he found he couldn’t get enough of those words. Since she’d agreed to marry him, he’d demanded them from her every day. Sometimes twice.

  “You are my world.” How it pained him to know how true his words were. He’d never met someone he loved so completely or stood to lose so completely.

  Fear slashed through him again, one of a dozen times in the last two weeks. He was allowing her to plan a wedding that couldn’t happen unless he rid her of her current—albeit presumed dead—husband. He’d already dashed off a letter to his solicitor to determine how to go about the legality of it all. If Thomas was presumed dead, did that mean their marriage was finished? Or because he was alive, was she still married to him?

  He could only imagine the expression on Mr. Sorensen’s face when he opened this letter. Pardon me, but could you tell me how to go about legally marrying my presumed-dead-but-not-quite-dead cousin’s wife?

  A hand waved in front of him, and he blinked as Blythe’s face came into focus.

  “Where did you go?” she asked with a smile.

  “To our honeymoon,” he replied and pressed a light kiss to her lips. He moved to the side and slipped past her into the room.

  “Michael?”

  He looked out the window, as pain clutched his heart. It was fear, pure and simple. He thought he could go along and ignore the nagging feeling of it, but it stalked him.

  He looked back at her, trying to memorize the slight smile that turned up her lips. The curve of her cheek, the love shining so brightly in her eyes.

  And he knew what he was doing was wrong. Even that sentiment didn’t cover the depth of his betrayal to her. He could not, in good conscience, continue letting her believe Thomas was dead.

  He sighed.

  “Michael, what is it?” Concern filled her green eyes. “What has you so upset?”

  “I have to tell you something.” He didn’t want to have this conversation. He’d give up all his money and possessions to avoid it.

  “All right.” Blythe stood still and waited. She looked at him so trustingly, concern for him clear but nothing else. No worry that he was about to break her heart.

  God, he hoped she’d forgive him.

  “It’s about—”

  “Your Grace?”

  Michael looked at the doorway and saw Mrs. Halliday there. He almost groaned. Now that he’d decided to be straight with Blythe, he wanted it over with so he could begin groveling and begging forgiveness.

  “Yes, Mrs. Halliday?”

  “You have a visitor.”

  Michael blinked. “A visitor? Here?”

  “Yes, Your Grace. Shall I show him in?”

  Michael nodded. Who on earth even knew he was here?

  A spatter of emotions splashed through him as Keenan sauntered into the room. What the bloody hell was he doing here?

  His eyes immediately veered with interest toward Blythe and a smile obviously meant to charm, the bastard, covered his face.

  Blythe glanced at Michael curiously and then back at Keenan.

  Keenan stopped directly in front of her and reached for a hand, swiftly lifting it to his lips for a quick kiss. “A more beautiful lady I have never had the pleasure of meeting.” He looked at Michael. “Assuming this lout deems to introduce us.”

  “Kindly remove your hands off my betrothed,” Michael warned dryly, “before I’m forced to pummel you.”

  Keenan’s mouth dropped. “Betrothed?” He glanced at Blythe with obvious distress. “But—”

  “Why are you here?” Michael interrupted.

  Keenan glanced at Blythe. “Business affairs in London.”

  Blythe patted Michael on the arm. “If you’ll excuse me a moment, I’ll just go see about a room for….”

  “Oh, right,” Michael muttered. “Lady Blythe Ashton, may I introduce you to Captain William Keenan.”

  “The pleasure truly is all mine,” Keenan said with a grin.

  “I’ll just see about getting your room prepared, Captain Keenan.” With a soft smile for Michael, she left the room.

  Michael immediately looked at Keenan. “What affairs in London?”

  “Bugger that. You are betrothed? What are you doing, Michael?”

  Michael ran a hand through his hair. “I wish I knew.”

  “Does she know about Thomas?”

  Michael glanced at the open door. He gave it a quick shove and turned back to Keenan. “I was in the process of telling her about Thomas when you walked in. I didn’t get very far.” He sighed. “I’m scheduled to be at Anne Cathaway’s house tomorrow morning to ‘help’ Thomas.”

  “What has been happening? You’ve been gone just over a month and you find yourself betrothed to Thomas’ wife? Isn’t that taking familial duty a bit too far?”

  “I love her,” Michael replied softly.

  Keenan shook his head. “Then that will make what I came here to tell you that much larger of a nightmare.”

  “I don’t see how I could be in a worse situation.”

  “Abigail Darlington is pregnant.”

  “She’s what?”

  “Pregnant. And telling everyone and anyone who will ask that the baby is yours.”

  “It’s not my child.”

  “Do you think anyone cares?” Keenan dropped into a nearby tufted leather chair. “You know the way the ton thinks, Michael, better than anyone. Given who you are, they’ve taken it and run. It only takes a grain of truth, sometimes just a possibility of truth. Facts be damned.”

  Michael sank into the chair behind him. “Why would she talk? She only reaps her own ruination.”

  “She is ruined either way. Her only salvation is in trying to make a good enough marriage to even be allowed in polite society.” He paused. “There is a bet at White’s.”

  Anger worked its way up his collar. “They placed a bet in the book about this?”

  “Betting whether or not you’ll marry her. The odds are on you marrying her.
”

  “Which means they believe I got her pregnant.”

  Keenan nodded. “It is the common perception, yes. But I am still not clear on how you came to be betrothed to the woman you believed involved in Thomas’ money schemes.”

  “What…money schemes?” Blythe said from the doorway.

  The air rushed out of Michael.

  “I…I wasn’t eavesdropping,” Blythe said. “The door wasn’t quite shut. What is he talking about, Michael?”

  Michael met her startled gaze. “I was going to tell you.”

  “You thought I was involved in some scheme? What did Thomas do? What is Captain Keenan talking about?”

  “Blythe, you know I love you.”

  “Why did you come here, Michael?”

  He took a deep breath. “Thomas stole money. A lot of it. I came here, intending to track it down.”

  Bewilderment, hurt and a host of other emotions he wished he understood filled her eyes. “You thought I helped him steal money?” She took a step back. “You came here believing I was a thief?”

  “Blythe, I can explain that…and everything else.”

  “Everything else? There is more?” She looked at Keenan. “Why are you here? What news did you bring my betrothed?”

  Michael winced at the anger in her words. Keenan looked at him. “Give us a moment.”

  “Happy to.” He strode out as if fire nipped at his heels.

  “What did he come to tell you?” Blythe demanded.

  Michael turned around and made eye contact. He hated the pain he saw in her eyes, but he knew no way around causing her more. “He came to tell me that a young debutante by the name of Abigail Darlington is telling all of society that she’s pregnant. By me.”

  She stilled. “And is she?”

  “No!” He strode over to her. “I never touched her. I told you I left London because of a problem. She had created a scandal by telling her father and anyone who would listen that I had compromised her. I assumed if I was not around to fan the flames of gossip, the furor would die down naturally.”

  “And instead, she ends up pregnant. And what about the money you think I stole? You arrived here under the guise of wishing me well. But that was a lie, wasn’t it? You were running from a scandal in London and coming here to catch a thief. Me.” Her shoulders shook. “You thought I was a thief.”

  “I didn’t know you.” His voice was hoarse for the lump of fear imbedded in his throat. “All I knew was that Thomas’ wife was involved somehow.”

  “His wife.” Michael saw the moment realization dawned on her, because her face drained of color. “You knew about Anne Cathaway. That’s why you wanted to go and see her. If you couldn’t find the money with me, you’d find it with her.”

  “Blythe—”

  “Everything you have said has been a lie. It was all a ruse to get me to confess to some scheme, wasn’t it?” Tears filled her eyes. “Did you seduce me and propose to me hoping I’d come forward with a bag of money as a betrothal gift?”

  “I will not even dignify that with a response.”

  Blythe shook her head over and over again. She wanted to shake the words out of her mind. Pretend she’d never heard them. That she didn’t feel this overwhelming pain.

  “When were you going to tell me, Michael? On our wedding night? ‘Oh, by the way, your first husband was a thief and I thought you were involved?’“ She laughed, the hollow sound ringing in her ears. “‘And don’t forget my mistress is having my baby.’“

  “I did not get her pregnant!” he roared.

  “But you did think I was involved,” she realized with a sinking heart. “You truly thought me capable of…what? What did he take?”

  “He convinced a number of gentlemen in London to join in an investment. He showed them his apparent earnings as proof positive of its success, and then when they had handed over tens of thousands of pounds to him, he disappeared.”

  “When?”

  “Just after you were married.”

  “But he left on my wedding day.”

  “I didn’t know that until I arrived here, Blythe,” Michael told her softly. “We only had reports that he’d been….”

  She turned around. “That he’d what?”

  “Married.” He glanced away from her for a moment. “I didn’t know you when I got this information. I didn’t know you when I arrived here.”

  “But you know me now,” she whispered. Tears choked her. “You made love to me. You proposed to me. You’ve allowed me to plan for our wedding. It did not occur to you at some point to tell me the truth?”

  He put his hands in the air in a helpless gesture. “I had started to, when Keenan arrived.” He took a step toward her. “Blythe, I fell in love with you. And I didn’t know how to tell you everything. I was afraid of losing you.”

  She looked into his face, trying to read his expression, trying to see inside of him to separate the truth from the lies. But all she could feel was the ache in her heart.

  “I love you, Blythe. I have never said that to another woman.”

  The tears pushed at the back of her eyes now. She wanted to believe him with every breath in her body.

  But she’d been lied to, manipulated before. And now he’d done exactly the same thing.

  She shook her head. “I…I don’t know what to think right now.”

  Michael took a step toward her.

  “Please.” The word sounded odd coming from him. She couldn’t actually recall a time he’d used it before. “I can’t lose you.”

  He took yet another step forward.

  “Don’t.” Why was it when he was the one who had caused her so much pain, he was still the one she wanted comfort from?

  He stepped closer until he was barely an inch away, and his arms enfolded her. She tightened her muscles against the sobs that wanted to break out.

  She would not cry.

  She clung to him, not certain how she could draw strength from his grasp. It hurt and helped all at the same time.

  Emotions bubbled inside of her and tears pushed at her eyes, begging to be let out. She pushed herself away from him. “I can’t do this.”

  “Blythe, please don’t leave me,” he said hoarsely. He watched her with eyes full of regret and love. Or at least that’s what she thought she saw…or hoped she saw.

  At this point, she just didn’t know. And suddenly, all she felt was exhausted.

  She turned toward the door.

  “Blythe?” He asked a dozen questions in that one word, none of which she had the answers to.

  Except one.

  “I love you, Michael,” she told him softly without looking back. The fiery pain in her chest pulsed. “But I’m not certain I can forgive you.”

  “You have to give me a chance.” He strode up behind her until the heat of his body permeated her back. She fought with every ounce of strength she had not to lean back against him.

  “Please, give me that chance,” he pleaded. His hand landed on her hair and he caressed it softly.

  She felt her heart soften around the edges a little and took in a deep breath.

  He paused. “I have to leave tomorrow.”

  “To see Anne. Perhaps you should ask her before you assume she’s involved in his scheme, too.”

  He said nothing.

  “Just go.” She sighed. Perhaps it would be easier if he wasn’t nearby, where her weak heart could give in and turn to him.

  She so wanted to turn to him and let him heal this pain.

  She jumped at the warm touch of his hand on her arm. She looked behind her, then up until she met his gaze.

  “I’ll have to go to London, as well, and deal with things there.”

  “Fine,” she replied flatly.

  “I’ll be back tomorrow, after I see Anne. Then Bethie and I will return to London, to make sure that things are handled before you arrive. For our wedding.” He sounded firm—as if he would accept no other alternative—and hopeful at the same time, as i
f he hoped she’d agree. It was an odd combination.

  Uncertainty filled her. “Just go.”

  He almost looked defeated. “I love you.”

  She looked at him, really looked at the features of his face - the strong chin, the mouth tight with emotion, the long, straight nose and the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. It all combined to make the most handsome man she’d ever known. And she wanted to believe the sincerity she read there.

  But she just didn’t trust it. Or herself.

  Without another word, she walked into the hallway. She didn’t stop until she made it to her bedroom, closing the door behind her.

  Then, and only then, did she allow the tears to fall.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Blythe yanked another weed from the flowerbed in front of her and added it to the growing pile on the ground beside her.

  There was something purging about pulling those miserable little weeds-—if weeds had a gender, she was certain they were male—out by their stems, helping the flowerbed breath and feel better. With every yank, the ache throughout her entire body seemed to diminish a tiny amount.

  And if she kept at it, hopefully, she’d continue weeding right past whenever Michael and his friend left. She’d come out here practically at the break of dawn, skipping breakfast, doing her best to avoid seeing anyone, specifically Michael.

  Because she wanted to see him more than anything.

  How did that happen, exactly? He lied to her, manipulated her and completely deceived her about his intentions and she—who apparently had learned nothing the first time around—wanted to seek him out.

  She reached forward and yanked on another weed.

  “Isn’t that a flower?” The deep voice made her heart race.

  Blythe looked down at the weed in her hand, noting it did look suspiciously like a plant, pink flower and all.

  “Weeds can have flowers.” She had no idea if that was true. “It doesn’t mean they belong here.”

  She wouldn’t look up, but Michael’s feet came to stand just inches away from her own curled up legs.

  “We will be leaving soon,” he said softly. He crouched down.

  “I know.” Her grip tightened on the weed, or rather the flower whose life she’d prematurely ended. If she grasped it tight enough, focused on the plant, she wouldn’t give in to the urge to beg him to tell her it was all untrue. To beg him to want her, love her.