His Wicked Embrace
Page 15
“Oh, Damien, my love,” she sang out merrily.
The earl took a startled step back from the bed, his dark eyebrows shooting up in surprise at Isabella’s words. He peered down at her, scrutinizing her lovely features, but her eyes remained closed and he realized she was still sleeping. Damien’s mouth curled up in a devilish grin.
“Ahh, so I am part of your dreams, my prim little governess,” he whispered in a deep voice.
The sound of her beloved’s voice caused Isabella to stir again, and Damien could see the curves of her breasts outlined against the thin fabric of her nightgown. It was a tantalizing sight.
She looked so free and open and giving. Damien felt captivated by the sensual warmth radiating from Isabella’s expressive face. Her invitation was simply impossible for him to resist.
Against his better judgment, the earl leaned down and drew her carefully into his arms. She moaned her approval and pressed herself closer to him. Damien felt himself starting to tremble with anticipation. His long suppressed passions momentarily overtook his common sense as his mind conjured up erotic sexual images of the two of them. Shaking his head violently, he threw those wicked thoughts aside. Yet he could not help himself from wondering. Could he steal a kiss before she awoke?
Encased in her delightful dream, Isabella sighed contently and snuggled closer to the earl. She could feel his warm breath in her hair as his lips pressed fervent kisses on her temple. Isabella shifted her body and tightened her grip around his neck. In a faraway voice, she whispered to him urgently, “Kiss me, Damien. Please, kiss me.”
Isabella’s sensual request ignited the banked fire within Damien. He grasped her chin firmly in his fingers, lifted her head, and brought his mouth swiftly down on hers. He kissed her hard, torn between his sense of honor, hoping she would awake, and his raging passions, praying she would not. Isabella automatically parted her lips for him, and his tongue eagerly penetrated her mouth. She responded immediately with her own tongue, and Damien softened the kiss, skillfully stroking the escalating tension between them.
Nearly overwhelmed by her response, Damien regrettably broke the kiss. “God only knows how much I want you,” he muttered thickly.
He was breathing fast, and his body felt heavy and taut with arousal. Unable to resist, he nuzzled her delicate throat and flattened his large palm on her shoulder. Isabella again responded to his touch, lifting herself against his hand, moving her body under the warm strength of his fingers. Slowly, with a will of its own, Damien’s hand inched toward Isabella’s chest. When he softly touched her breast, she moaned and moved closer.
Sweat broke out on Damien’s forehead. He should stop. Now. This very instant. Yet he could not. Again he caressed her rounded breast, and her nipples tightened. Caught up completely in the moment, Damien’s fingers deftly unfastened the tiny buttons down the front of her nightgown, exposing her glorious breasts.
His mouth went dry as he viewed the creamy white flesh. He tightened his hold across her back and lifted her eagerly to his mouth. Just one small taste, he fiercely promised himself. His tongue darted out, and then he took the entire nipple in his mouth and suckled her gently, his groin hardening painfully as he tasted the sweetness of her flesh.
Isabella suddenly felt a darting blaze of heat throbbing deeply within her body, centering on a growing dampness between her legs. She groaned loudly in restless excitement, thrashing her head from side to side. The sharp movement, coupled with the sound of her own voice, abruptly woke her. Isabella’s eyes flew open in surprise. Confusion reined within her as the compelling fantasy of her dreams suddenly became a startling reality.
Nearly lost in his passion, Damien nonetheless felt the change in Isabella’s body. She stiffened noticeably in his arms, and he knew she had awakened. He muffled a curse and lifted his head to look at her. Isabella stared back at Damien in total shock, an expression of horrified bewilderment etched on her beautiful face.
Isabella’s unbound hair was tousled, her lips puffed and red from his kisses. Her nightgown was open to her waist, and Damien could see the creamy flesh of her breasts peeking out. His fully aroused manhood tightened painfully.
“Isabella.”
The sound of his husky voice unfroze Isabella, and her violet eyes widened even more. She opened her mouth to scream. Correctly reading her intentions, Damien reacted instantly, covering her mouth with his large hand. Her eyes darted frantically to his face as she struggled to dislodge his grip. Damien could feel the terror radiating from her as she fought to free herself, and in desperation he uttered the words he felt certain would control her outburst.
“If you make too much noise, you will wake Catherine and Ian.”
His words had the desired effect. Slowly Isabella ceased her struggles, but the wild fear did not leave her face. When he felt certain she would remain silent, he removed his hand.
“I’m sorry,” he said finally, not sure how he could begin to explain his bizarre behavior.
Isabella blushed furiously, her hands clutching the ends of her nightgown closed. She barely acknowledged his apology, she was so flustered. She edged away from him toward the center of her bed, traces of fear still in her eyes. Her wary expression clearly indicated that she expected him to pounce on her at any moment.
Damien retreated from her, watching her struggle to conquer her fear with anguish in his eyes. He felt like an utter cad for allowing his raging desire to overcome his inbred sense of decency and honor. In retrospect, his humble apology seemed almost as insulting as his physical advances.
“What are you doing in here?” Isabella’s voice was raspy with emotion.
“It’s Maggie,” Damien replied softly, thankful he was able to provide a legitimate excuse for invading her room. “Her labor has begun.”
Isabella lifted herself off the bed in concern, her thoughts momentarily distracted. “Has the midwife arrived?”
“No. We can’t ride into the village to fetch her. The creek has overflowed from the rains and flooded the bridge. It is impossible to get across.”
“Merciful heavens! Is Mrs. Amberly with Maggie?”
The earl grimaced slightly. “Mrs. Amberly has been suffering badly with a toothache for two days. Unfortunately, she chose this evening to douse herself with brandy. I’m afraid she’s passed out cold. Neither Jenkins nor I could revive her.”
“My God.” Isabella gave a nervous giggle. “I find that a difficult picture to imagine.”
Damien briefly returned her smile, then leaned forward and spoke soberly. “Maggie is very frightened. Fran is with her now, but she is more terrified than Maggie. Can you help?”
“I have no experience with childbirth.” Isabella’s eyes went dark with fear. “When I was about nine years old, there was a dreadful carriage accident on the village road. There was lady in the coach, and apparently the accident triggered her labor. I remember the shouting and screaming and two men carrying her into our house. They brought her into my bedchamber. I hid behind the draperies and dared not reveal myself all through the long hours that followed. I shall never forget the raw pain and shear agony of that poor woman as she struggled to give birth.”
Damien’s eyes were sympathetic. “What happened?”
“The child was stillborn. The mother died the following day.” Isabella bit her lip. “I don’t think I can be of much help, Damien.”
“There is no one else,” Damien replied carefully. “Please, Isabella. Will you come?”
Isabella forced herself to breath slowly and deeply. It was imperative that she gain control of her emotions and her queasy stomach, she thought ruefully. Maggie needed her.
Isabella stared at the earl in the shimmering candlelight. Very slowly she nodded her head in agreement.
“Wait outside,” she said softly. “It will only take a moment for me to dress.” With obvious relief, the earl turned from her and walked to the door. As his hand touched the brass handle, Isabella whispered from the shadows of the bed.
Chapter Thirteen
Fortunately, the scene that greeted Isabella and Damien when they entered Maggie’s bedchamber was not as gruesome as Isabella’s active imagination anticipated. Maggie, dressed in a loose flowing nightgown, was pacing the room slowly while her husband, Fred, impatiently watched. Fran was fussing over the bed, smoothing down the sheets, arranging and rearranging the pillows. Jenkins was hunched over the fireplace, methodically adding logs to an already blazing fire.
“It was very good of you to come, Miss Browning,” Fred said the moment he spied Isabella.
Isabella smiled nervously at Maggie’s husband. Although he was outwardly calm, she observed the sporadic twitching of Fred’s hands. His eyes darted constantly to his wife, and Isabella saw him wince visibly as Maggie suddenly ceased her pacing and bowed her head in pain.
“Well, Maggie, I am told the moment is upon us at last,” Isabella proclaimed brightly. She gave the maid a look that she hoped conveyed the confidence and reassurance she was far from experiencing. “If you gentlemen will excuse us, I believe Maggie and I can handle things from this point on.”
The men shuffled silently out the door, and Fran hovered expectantly by the bed, clearly torn between her desire to go and feelings of loyalty to remain. “It is best if you leave too, Fran. I promise I shall call if I need you.”
Fran hesitated a moment, then bestowed a wavering smile on Maggie. “Do you want me to leave?”
“Would you please see to Fred for me?” Maggie requested. “I know he is trying to be brave for my sake, but I swear he turned paler each time a pain gripped me. I’d feel much better knowing you were watching out for him.”
“Of course, Maggie,” Fran replied, clearly thankful to be able to perform at least some useful task for her friend.
The room turned eerily quiet after Fran left. Maggie took a tentative step toward Isabella, but stopped short when a strong contraction overtook her body.
“Is it true the bridge is flooded, Miss Browning? The midwife won’t be coming?”
“Yes, the bridge is impassable,” Isabella confirmed quietly. She reached out and tenderly brushed the hair from Maggie’s face. The maid looked so frail and frightened and alone. “But I’m here, Maggie. And I’m going to help you. Did I ever tell you my ... father was a doctor?”
“I recall Mr. Jenkins mentioning it once.” Maggie cautiously straightened her body and pressed a fist into her aching back. Isabella watched her every movement.
“You learn things growing up in a physician’s household,” Isabella lied baldly. “I have more experience than you might think.” There was no point in scaring Maggie any further. What she needed was reassurance. As far as Isabella was concerned, a white lie at this point certainly seemed in order.
“What should I do?”
Isabella felt a tiny stirring of relief. Maggie accepted her. Isabella looked at the young girl hugging her cramping abdomen and prayed she was up to the task. “Does walking help ease the pain?”
“Some.”
“Good. Then let’s keep at it.” Isabella moved next to Maggie and placed a comforting arm around her. “I’ll help you.”
The next few hours passed slowly for the two women. Maggie’s pains were obviously increasing, though she made a gallant effort to hide it. When Isabella noticed Maggie tiring, she insisted they abandon the pacing in favor of the bed. She wiped the maid’s face with a cool, damp rag and tightly held her hand when the contractions grasped Maggie’s body. And Isabella talked. Endlessly.
She’d gotten it into her head that keeping up a constant stream of inane chatter would distract Maggie from her pain. So Isabella told amusing, and for the most part fictitious, stories from her childhood. She talked until her voice was nearly hoarse and her throat felt dry and raw.
It seemed to work for a while, but after a time Isabella noted a marked change. Maggie’s contractions came closer together, and Isabella could tell by the way Maggie clenched her teeth that they were fierce and violent.
Isabella reached out a comforting hand and rested it on Maggie’s abdomen. She could feel the intense tightening of the womb through the nightgown as the babe within lurched and quivered. As the pain washed over her, Maggie dug her heels into the mattress, arched her back and lifted her convulsing body off the bed.
“It hurts, oh, how it hurts.” Maggie winced, twisting her head from side to side.
It was nearly unbearable to watch Maggie suffer so intensely, but Isabella forced down her own fright. Her torment was nothing compared to the agony Maggie now endured. Helplessly, Isabella pushed back Maggie’s dark, sweat-dampened hair.
“Have courage, Maggie,” Isabella whispered. “It will all be over soon.”
For the thousandth time, Isabella again reviewed in her mind the few birthing instructions she knew. Over and over the stern voice echoed in her head, a memory of that long-ago day in her childhood when she had witnessed that awful birth. You must push as hard as you can when the head appears, you must push as hard as you can when the head appears.
Gently, Isabella lifted Maggie’s nightgown and looked between her legs, praying for a glimpse of the baby’s head. Maggie moaned sharply, and her head sank back against the pillows in exhaustion. She closed her eyes and seemed to struggle for the strength to take a few shallow breaths. A sharp chill of fear ran down Isabella’s spine. The maid was obviously tiring; Isabella was uncertain how much longer she could endure the pain. She desperately hoped Maggie would have the strength to push the child from her body.
“Everything is going very smoothly, Maggie,” Isabella said in a soothing voice. “You must try to conserve your strength and rest between the contractions. Soon you will be able to begin pushing the babe out.”
A slight movement startled Isabella, and she turned to find Damien by her side. The earl had slipped unnoticed into the room, and he stood now at the foot of the bed, his eyes riveted in horror and wonder on Maggie.
“She looks as white as the sheets beneath her,” Damien whispered hoarsely. “Is everything all right?”
“How the devil am I supposed to know?” Isabella hissed in a loud whisper. Desperately needing to vent her fear and frustration, the earl provided a convenient target for Isabella. “In case you have forgotten, sir, my experience with childbirth is rather limited.”
Embarrassed by her outburst, Isabella anxiously turned her head toward Maggie, fearing the young woman had overheard. She need not have been concerned. Maggie was oblivious to her surroundings. Her eyes were tightly shut, and she made low, whimpering sounds deep in her throat.
“I’ve sent Fred down to the stables to check on the horses,” Damien told Isabella. “The poor man is frantic with worry and desperate not to show it.”
“His fears are not unfounded,” Isabella said solemnly. “Birthing can be a dangerous business.”
“Mrs. Amberly is still out cold, but Fran and Molly have volunteered to help,” Damien informed Isabella.
Regretfully, Isabella shook her head. “They are both expecting children of their own. As much as I would appreciate their assistance, I cannot subject them to this. After witnessing Maggie’s ordeal, I am sure they would dwell overlong on their own forthcoming births.”
“Then I shall stay,” Damien declared softly.
Isabella’s knees went weak with relief. “I suppose it would be too much to hope that you have done this before,” she said with a curious mixture of sarcasm and elation in her voice.
“I’ve delivered some livestock,” Damien replied in all seriousness.
“Perfect,” Isabella snorted. “Your vast experience nearly exceeds my own.” She turned with concerned eyes toward Maggie. “She is so tired. I only pray this will be a swift and normal delivery.”
At Isabella’s instruction, Damien took up a position at the
head of the bed, behind Maggie. The poor woman was so consumed by her labor pains, she was barely aware of his presence.
Isabella climbed onto the mattress at the foot of the bed and gently raised Maggie’s knees. “With the next pain you must bear down and push hard, Maggie.”
Isabella placed her hand on Maggie’s distended belly and waited for the tightening of the next contraction to begin. When she felt the muscles tense, Isabella calmly issued instructions. “Bear down, Maggie. Now.”
Disoriented, Maggie struggled to obey, but she lacked the strength to lift her upper body off the bed while pushing with her lower extremities. Collapsing against the pillows in exhaustion, Maggie sobbed brokenly, “I cannot. Dear God, I cannot.” Tears seeped from her eyes, wetting her temples and falling into her sweat-soaked hair.
Numb with fear, Isabella stared beseechingly across the bed at Damien. The earl was pale under his tan, but he did not hesitate once in his actions. He sat down on the bed, braced himself against the wooden headboard and carefully lifted Maggie so that her back rested flush against his chest.
Barely half-conscious, Maggie whimpered as the next racking pain gripped her body. Waiting for Isabella’s silent cue, Damien whispered encouragingly to Maggie and, miraculously, the maid was able to follow his commands.
After an agonizing hour, Isabella began to panic. How long could this possibly continue? Maggie was almost beyond reality, awash in a constant sea of pain. The grim expression on the earl’s face confirmed that Damien shared this view. But what could they do?
Isabella was so consumed with worry that she nearly missed the sudden appearance of the tiny dark crown of hair between Maggie’s legs. “My God, it’s. the head! I can see the baby’s head!”
“This is it, Maggie, the baby is finally coming,” the earl elatedly announced.
Dazed, Maggie somehow managed to bear down once more. She let out a harsh, blood-chilling scream and pushed with every ounce of strength her overfatigued body could muster. A minute later, the infant slid into Isabella’s waiting hands.