“I-I know you weren’t,” she conceded. “But it didn’t frighten me any less.”
Michael quirked a smile at her. “Well, at least you have a firm handle on your double negatives this morning.”
Beth’s lips twitched up into a half smile as he handed her his handkerchief. She accepted it and used it to dry her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” she finally said, her voice still slightly shaky. “I was just, um...examining what work needed to be done in here. I didn’t hear you come in.”
“Clearly.” Michael followed her gaze and glanced about the room. Nothing very special about it. It was just as dusty and the furniture just as worn as in any other room.
“How did you know where to find me, anyhow?”
He turned his attention back to Beth, who had admirably gotten herself back under control, and shrugged. “You weren’t in your room. Bonnie said you left without a word—” He watched her bristle at Bonnie’s name, “—and since you hadn’t made an appearance in the drawing room, well...I just assumed you would want to come back here.”
It was surprising. She didn’t blush or blanche, she merely looked at him with those startling azure eyes and nodded. He should have stopped, but he continued on.
“Ghosts don’t exist, Beth. You know that, don’t you? And even if they did, I’m fairly certain you wouldn’t be able to see them in broad daylight. Sun shines right through them, you know?”
And there it was. The reason he should have stopped, changed the subject, and let her believe what she wanted. She bristled again, only in a more permanent fashion than when he’d spoken the dreaded name of Bonnie. This time she was prepared to argue.
“I don’t care if you believe me. I came here to see for myself if what I saw was real...or not.”
She turned on her heel and made for the door, but Michael was too quick. They still had something to discuss.
“Hold on, Beth,” he said as he grabbed her by the elbow and swung her around. “I came here to find you for a reason.”
She blinked up at him, clearly surprised. “Oh,” she said and then her expression turned rather cynical. “You mean you didn’t come all the way to the west wing just to tell me I was a silly ninny?”
“I never said you were a silly ninny, you...ninny.” He waited for her to smile at his jest. Instead, she raised her brows and waited for him to continue, clearly not amused. “But I did want to ask you about a certain conversation you had with Mrs. Kerr of late.”
“I’m afraid you’ll have to be a little more specific, Michael. I’ve had many conversations with our housekeeper since we arrived.”
“Yes, but I’m certain if you think hard enough, you’ll figure out which one I’m referring to.”
He could hear her gulp in the quietness of the room. “She told you?” she asked, her voice small.
Michael nodded, slowly. “Why, in God’s name, didn’t you tell her she was mistaken?”
“I don’t know,” Beth admitted. “She just seemed so sure and I didn’t want to make her feel...foolish.”
“So you let her think you were pregnant? She blindsided me this morning, Beth. Now what are we going to tell her when she realizes you’re not getting any bigger?”
Beth grew very quiet and shifted her gaze to the floor. “Well, I could be now, couldn’t I?”
Michael bent at the waist and tilted his head to the side, trying to catch her eye. It worked. She looked up as he straightened, never breaking their gaze.
“Yes,” he finally said, softly. “You could. And I’m sorry for how I acted this morning.”
“No, I’m sorry!” she interrupted. “I want you to know I don’t think those things. At least not anymore.”
“What things?” he asked, just for clarification purposes.
“Well, I don’t think you’re the wrong man, for one. And I don’t think that you’re not ideal to be my…my husband.”
Michael couldn’t help but smile. “So, let me get this straight. You don’t think that I am not ideal to be your husband? My, you are quite the orator.”
She blushed to her roots then. “You know what I mean,” she bit out. “And I don’t want you to be sorry anymore. You’ve done enough penance, I think.”
“Really?” he drawled, trying to appear as nonchalant as possible despite the fact he wanted to jump and cheer for joy. Was she truly offering forgiveness?
“Really,” she confirmed.
“What has happened in the last hour to make you change your mind?”
“I haven’t changed my mind. You just didn’t stop to listen to me before. Didn’t I invite you back into the bed? Weren’t you the one who denied me and stormed from the room?”
Yes, he was. And there was a reason for that. “Will you answer my question, then?”
“Question?” Beth’s blond brows shot up.
Michael moved closer until they were but an inch apart. Her delectable smell was wreaking havoc on his senses, but he couldn’t move away. “Do you want to carry my children?”
Eighteen
Beth swallowed hard and stared back at her husband, knowing that she could not allow silence to be her answer to his question again. She had to be truthful, but how? If she voiced her fear of childbirth aloud, it would give the fear even more power over her. She was already gripped by terror whenever the idea crossed her mind. But she couldn't do this to Michael. He didn't deserve it. So she nodded.
“Truthfully, Beth? Don't lie to me,” he begged. “It would be better to know where I stand. I know I was upset earlier, when you didn't answer, but I would rather know the truth.”
“That is the truth,” she said, and it wasn't a lie entirely. If she was going to have children, of course she wanted them to be Michael's. He was her husband, for heaven's sake. If not with him, then who? Certainly not Andrew. And if she were honest with herself, she would willingly admit that she'd come to care quite a bit for Michael. He took a great deal of care with her, even when she was being difficult. He was patient and kind, and what she'd seen of him last night...
Heat rose to her cheeks and Michael smiled as if he knew what she was thinking, which made her blush even more. And then he stepped closer and took her hands in his. They were big and warm and comforting and for a moment, Beth contemplated telling him the whole truth. Would he understand? Maybe, but it wouldn't matter. He wouldn't take kindly to being denied an issue. No man would.
He leaned forward and kissed her forehead. Beth wanted to lean into him, to have his arms around her again. But he pulled back and she was forced to smother her longing.
“Mr. and Mrs. Kerr will have assembled the staff by now,” he said, taking her hand and leading her from the room.
Beth turned back on impulse, part of her wishing that the ghost would appear so that Michael would see her. But there was nothing there. Only the near-empty room with bright sun sending shafts of light onto the dusty rug.
The rest of the day went rather quickly once they'd assigned duties to the staff. There were a lot of them—thirty-three in all—and by dinner that evening, the house was practically sparkling. A fresh lemon scent permeated every room in the main part of the house. The hardwood surfaces that had, only that morning, been covered in inches of dust, shone as if they were brand new. Cobwebs no longer dominated every corner, and they had once again gained back control of the dining room from the spiders. Or so Beth hoped.
She shivered at the memory of walking into the dining room and seeing the infestation. Good Lord, it was positively disgusting.
Dinner with Michael was quiet and amicable, but both were far too tired to do much more than eat. They'd done their fair share in the trenches that day as well. Beth had never so much as lifted a finger toward household duties, but today she donned a serviceable gown and secured a scarf around her head and worked alongside the servants. There was just too much to do, and every extra pair of hands counted.
For the first time in her life, Beth picked up a rag and swabbed down hard surfaces. S
he helped to beat out the dusty rugs and scrubbed at their stains before hanging them to dry in the sun. At one point she found herself alone with Bonnie, polishing the ancient silverware in a small parlor at the back of the house.
“Lovely, isn't it?” Bonnie had asked in her chipper tone. “My mother had lovely things like this.”
Beth looked up at her and noted the light that was typically evident in the girl's eyes had vanished. “Had?” she asked, wondering where Bonnie's mother was now.
Bonnie nodded her head. “My mother passed away several years ago, in childbirth.”
I had to ask, didn't I?
“I'm so sorry,” Beth choked out. “And the baby?”
“Died with her, I'm afraid.”
“What about your father?”
Bonnie gave a cynical snort and then caught herself. “Sorry, milady, I don't mean to be rude. But my father was...well, I don't know who he was, actually. My mother's profession put her in contact with a great many gentlemen, you see.”
Beth blinked several times, wondering if she was drawing the correct conclusion. “Your mother was a...?”
“Mistress. Yes, she was.” Bonnie sighed heavily as she placed a polished spoon back into its velvety compartment. “Not to say that she wasn't a wonderful mother. Never shirked her duties there. And she loved me, I know that. We were really all that the other had. She's the reason I know so much about attending to a lady.”
“You mean you...”
“Yes. When I was old enough, of course. I helped her prepare for callers and then she would tuck me into my bed—at the far end of the house, where I couldn't hear anything—and go to work.”
“You had a large home?”
Bonnie smiled nostalgically. “We called it a cottage, but it was more of a manor. Mother and I were well taken care of by her benefactors.”
“You miss her.” Bonnie nodded.
“I miss my mother too,” Beth admitted. “Of course she's still alive, but somehow it doesn't feel that way. She's so far away and she's a horrible letter-writer, so I don't expect to hear from her often. I suspect my sister will write on her behalf.”
“You have a lot of siblings?” Bonnie asked, interested in Beth's life all of a sudden.
“Four.”
Bonnie's eyes widened. “No wonder your mother isn't a very good letter-writer. I doubt she's had time to so much as dip the quill in the ink. Tell me more about your family.”
“You really want to know?”
Bonnie nodded. “My only sibling died before she was even born. I like to live through those who know what it's like to have a family.”
“Well,” Beth began with a smile, “I am the eldest, and then there is John. I dare say the two of you are of an age. He'll be nineteen in December.”
“We are, then,” Bonnie confirmed, beaming. “I will be nineteen next summer.”
“Then there is Percival—Percy. He's just turned fifteen and has quite an obsession with horses. Peter is twelve, and then there is Julia. She is about to turn ten, but the things that come out of her mouth make one more apt to believe she's turning forty.”
“And she enjoys writing letters?”
“She does.” Beth smiled, thinking of her precocious little sister.
“I should like to meet your family someday. Do you think they will come to visit Dunbocan?”
“Dunbocan?” Beth repeated, her brow furrowing in confusion.
“The name of your home, milady. Dunbocan.”
Beth wondered why Bonnie knew the name of her home, but she didn't. How odd.
“No one told ya that?”
“No, they didn't, but it's no matter. I'm glad to know it now.”
The afternoon had passed quickly in Bonnie's company, and as much as Beth was loathe to admit it, she was actually starting to like the girl. She was pleasant and polite, but candid and open. Beth had never known anyone quite like her.
Now, as she nestled into her bed, having kissed Michael goodnight a few minutes earlier, she reflected on the day. It had been a lovely day, full of new things and interesting conversations. She thought about her home, Dunbocan, and wondered what the name meant. It was probably just a family name, nothing to truly ponder, but still...
***
Michael sat in his room, trying very hard to focus on the text in front of him. It was a letter from his elder brother, Benjamin, updating him on the most recent news from Ravenscroft Castle. Nothing terribly exciting, except that their sister Katherine was expecting again. As was one of the mares in the castle stables.
But it was hard to concentrate when his body was in such horrific pain. Oddly enough, the pain had nothing to do with the hours he'd spent in manual labor that day, repairing the roof, tearing down rotted walls and carrying buckets of water in so everyone could bathe after such a trying day. All of them smelled something akin to horse manure by the time they were done.
No, the pain came from something far more base, and it was concentrated in one particular area that, despite his exhaustion, refused to stand down.
He shot a glance at the door that connected his room to Beth's. Should he go to her? Was she sleeping? Did he care? He was sure it wouldn't be too difficult to get her to open for him, even if she was asleep.
Or perhaps he should simply pleasure himself and let her rest. Lord knew they both needed sleep after their day. But Lord also knew he'd never be able to sleep unless he found his release.
With a new determination, he tossed the letter on the side table and stalked across the room to the panel. He knocked lightly—enough so that if she were awake she would hear him, but not enough to rouse her from sleep. Silence. Slowly, he opened the door and peered inside. It was almost dark; the fire had burned down to embers and a chill was beginning to permeate the room. Still, it did nothing to soothe his hardened state.
Beth moved slightly in her sleep and mumbled something incomprehensible that sounded more like a moan. A moan that reminded him of the night before, of being inside of her, hearing her scream with pleasure. He quickened his pace until he stood next to the bed. She lay on her stomach, the covers up around her shoulders, her face nestled into the downy pillow.
Michael watched her for a moment, marveling at how she'd come to be his. How he'd finally wooed her to his bed. How she had warmed to him and actually wanted to be the mother of his children. And his heart rejoiced, along with the rest of his body.
Without further ado, he tossed his robe aside and climbed into the large four-poster. He turned her onto her side, so he could cradle her in his arms. She mumbled again, but didn't wake, only nestled into his shoulder and smacked her lips a couple of times. Her perfect, plump lips.
He leaned down to kiss them, wrapping his arms tight around her body, getting to know the planes and curves that made up his wife. She was soft, supple, perfectly made. She molded her warm body to his and pressed into him, and Michael worried that he might lose all self-control in that moment.
Dear God, I really should wake her!
She mewed as he kissed her again, deeper this time, forcing her lips to open to him. In her unconscious state, she opened willingly at the same time she threw her leg over him and began pressing her womanhood against his leg.
God help me!
She wore no bloomers, and in the motion of throwing her leg over him, her nightrail had shifted until it was up around her thighs. Which put her in direct contact with his leg. Dear God, she was wet, soaking wet, and so very warm. He could think of nothing but diving inside of her.
“Beth,” he whispered in between kisses. “Darling, are you awake?”
“Mmm-hmmm,” she mumbled and that was all Michael needed to hear.
Deep down, he had a feeling she wasn’t completely coherent, but she’d replied just the same. And he couldn’t wait anymore.
He was so hard, so very painfully hard that it hurt. And here was his wife, writhing against him like a wanton goddess, moaning with need. And who was he to deny her needs?
Pulling away slightly, Michael rose above her and nestled himself between her legs. She spread and then wound her legs around his calves. Michael pressed his manhood to her opening and waited to see if she would wake. Nothing. Her eyes remained closed. But before Michael could make another move, Beth reared her hips off the bed and took him inside her.
He fought to keep from exploding within her right then, but good God, it was difficult! She was so wet and warm, so accommodating, and then she began to move. Her sleepy moans made him even harder—a magical occurrence, to be sure—and he finally gained enough control to move in rhythm with her.
Never did she come fully awake, never once did her eyes even hint at fluttering open, but when Michael took her nipple into his mouth and pressed deep into her womb, she cried out, she shuddered, then she held perfectly still, tensed against him, before collapsing back to the bed with a heavy breath.
A sleepy little smile played at the corners of her lips and she mewed contentedly when Michael began to move once again, in search of his own release. It wasn’t far off. Within seconds, he was there, climaxing, emptying himself so deep in her, he feared he might cry with the pleasure of it. It wracked his body, he tensed and shook and grunted in ecstasy. And then it was over, and all that was left was the warm glow of being in her arms. Of having her in his. Of holding her close in the dark room, while the fire burned low in the grate.
Nineteen
Beth woke suddenly from a very strange and highly erotic dream to find she was not alone in her bed. Nestled comfortably alongside her was her husband, sleeping contentedly with his arms wrapped tightly around her. He stirred when she wriggled to look at him and placed a chaste, unconscious kiss to her forehead. She blinked in surprise. Perhaps I am still dreaming?
Though she had to admit if it was a dream, she really didn't care to wake from it. Her room was normally freezing in the morning, but not today. Not with Michael pressed against her. His masculine form chased the chill away.
Bedeviled Bride (Regency Historical Romance) Page 11
