Patrica Rice (18 page)

She saw only kindly interest in the minister’s face. “It is lovely. I was wishing I was a shepherdess so I could live with that beauty every day.”

Both men beamed at that statement. Mr. MacGregor was first to respond. “And would ye leave yer husband for such a chore?” he asked with a laugh.

Blanche darted Michael a look, and the warmth of his gaze gave her courage to carry on the deception. “No, sir, I could not. I suppose he would have to be a shepherd with me.”

The men laughed at the sally, and the minister pounded Michael on the back. “Ye have a fine lady, my lord. Do ye have family waiting your return, or may ye linger as ye like?”

Michael’s grin made Blanche blush and look to the floor again.

“We’ve no family to hurry us home. My lady lost her mother young and her father in the war. I was raised by my brother who just recently married. Blanche is my family now.”

The minister gazed at them more soberly. With an understanding nod, he said, “May the blessings of the Lord be upon ye, then, and may your marriage be long and fruitful.”

Blanche thought she might die of embarrassment right there and then, but Michael helped her to her feet and replied solemnly, “We thank you for the blessing, sir, and now I think we’d best repair to our chambers. We’ve journeyed long and hard to get here.”

Blanche sighed gratefully as they hurried up the narrow wooden stairs to their chamber. She could hear the rain beating against the slate roof. Michael’s hand was warm and comforting as they reached the landing and found the open door welcoming them.

He swept her through and closed the door before releasing her. Blanche’s breath caught at the intensity of Michael’s expression as he brushed her cheek with his nimble fingers and whispered wonderingly, “Mine.”

They did this now with clear intent, not in a moment of mindless passion or drunkenness. She savored the reassurance of his caress.

“I’ve thought of how my wedding night would be,” Michael said slowly, holding her gaze. “I’ve many dreams. But marriage is a sharing of dreams, and I would know yours. Would you have me go outside until you’ve readied yourself? Or may I have the honor and the pleasure of undressing you?”

Relief swept through Blanche in the same manner as the wind swept through the bare trees outside. She didn’t feel shy or uncertain with Michael. He brought the power of the storm inside with his fiery, windswept hair, and the freshness of the wind perfuming him. Still, she did not fear what came next. Not with Michael. The chiseled bones of his handsome face might appear harsh and unforgiving, but not when he looked on her. Eagerness returning, she reached for the knot of his cravat. “I would not have you leave me.”

Michael caught her in his arms then, crushing her gown and her mouth and bruising her ribs with the joyous strength of his embrace. Blanche surrendered to this possession, understanding that in some way, he surrendered something more vital to him than just his body. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and returned his kisses.

Before she realized what he had done, her gown gaped at her back and fell loose across her shoulders. Blanche looked up, startled at his surety in this, and Michael grinned as he held the sleeves so she might slip her arms out.

“You have no idea how many times I have found those buttons in my dreams.”

The heavy cloth pulled easily over her hips, falling in a puddle at their feet. In the small room with a cozy brazier, she felt no draft, but burned with the heat of Michael’s hungry gaze as he took in the sight of her in only chemise and stockings.

“I had no chance to see you that other night,” he murmured, tugging the ribbons of the chemise. “I would see all of you now.”

Blanche resisted the urge to cross her arms over her breasts. Instead, she took the buttons of his waistcoat between her shaking fingers and pried them loose. Obligingly, Michael shook off his unfastened coat, then shrugged off his waistcoat. She already had his cravat unfastened, and it took little to untie the neck of his shirt. Clothes fell about them everywhere as they stripped each other and themselves.

Blanche stared in amazement at the broad bare chest revealed when Michael threw off his shirt. She had never seen a man’s naked chest. It had nipples like her own, but the powerfully sculpted muscles beneath took her breath away. He wore a small silver coin on a necklace that nestled in a dark patch of curls. Her gaze followed the scattering of hair to his navel and beyond, but he still wore his trousers.

Michael caught her chin and urged her gaze upward. “If you touch those now, you will be on your back with me inside you before either of us knows what’s good for us. I’ve waited a long time for this. Let’s take it slow until we know our way.”

That image shot a surge of heat through her, but Blanche offered no objection when Michael lifted her from the floor and laid her across the turned-down bed. When he rolled down her stockings, kissing her legs as he went, she thought she would come undone, but he had the silk off before she lost control. She wasn’t certain when he removed his own shoes and stockings, but when he came to her, he wore only his trousers. She slid her hands over the smooth solidity of his back as he covered her against the cold.

His mouth took hers at the same time as his hands claimed her breasts, and she was truly lost after that. Blanche caressed him everywhere, discovering those places he liked to be touched, losing herself in the places he touched her.

They lost no time in returning to the heights of passion they had reached before, only now in the privacy of their chamber, the urgency was stronger, more demanding. When Michael finally stripped off his trousers, Blanche was more than ready for him.

She cried out when he finally surged into her, but then the familiarity of his possession claimed her, and she surrendered to his pace with ease. They belonged this way, joined together beneath the pounding rhythm of the rain, in the gloom of day, with the fire sending shadows across all the hills and valleys of their bodies, secure in their knowledge of each other.

When Michael cried her name and shuddered with his release, she went with him, clinging and weeping with the joy of their joining.

* * *

They slept briefly, waking with the roll of thunder as the rainy day gave way to rainy night. Michael rolled onto his side and stroked his hand over the fullness of Blanche’s breast, scarcely believing he’d achieved this much-desired gift. After years of denial, he was acutely sensitive to every nuance of her beauty, from the shy delight of her smiling lips to the way her graceful fingers held a teacup.

Just the ability to touch where he wished aroused him to painful hardness. He would exhaust her with his demands. Fascinated, he watched the pale pink bud of her breast pucker and harden against his hand. Feeling her stir, he met her eyes.

“I wish I could be beautiful for you,” she said sadly, catching him by surprise.

Startled at so insane a comment, Michael caressed the puckered skin of a scar. Brushing his fingertips over the old burn, he sought others, medals of her courage and heroism.

“I love the way you feel,” he whispered as he brushed a kiss against her cheek. “I love the way you look and smell. You’re everything beautiful I’ve ever known in this life. You’ve the softness of a kitten and the scent of hyacinths in spring. Your skin is the finest silk, and if I start upon your lips, we will do naught but talk for the rest of the evening.” He slid down to press his kiss lower, murmuring, “I can find better things to do with my tongue, I think.”

She gave in to him without hesitation, and joy flooded Michael’s soul. He wouldn’t consider the whys and wherefores. He only knew she had come to him, and she was his now. He had few illusions in life. A treasure as rare as Blanche could never fully belong to him. But he had done what he could to ensure that he would always be part of her life.

With tender care, he slid his hand down the flatness of her abdomen, marveling at her dainty build. She gasped as his fingers located the curls below, and he propped himself on one elbow to smile down at her.

“I love the way you respond so easily. I didn’t think ladies could do that.”

She made a face at him, then brushed his stubbled cheek with her fingers. “Dillian told me that was nonsense. It only requires the right man.”

“Dillian’s tongue runs away with her sometimes,” he said wryly, stroking her breast, reveling in his freedom to do so. He watched her with curiosity, wondering if she had any understanding at all of what they did. “Did Dillian tell you what happens to ladies who find the right man to play with?”

Her gaze wavered, but her answer was bold enough. “They get with child. I’m not a total ninnyhammer, as I keep reminding you. But I have wealth enough to arrange anything, so you needn’t worry about being tied down or trapped.”

Michael didn’t like the sounds of that, but he must tread carefully here. Even England recognized the Scots law under which they had just married. Declaring themselves married was a binding contact. He had witnesses and the inn’s record book proving they entered into marriage willingly. MacGregor had promised to record the event in his church record.

Unfortunately, he now had a wife who didn’t know she was married. A bit of a problem, that, but he’d not bring it up unless a child came of their lovemaking. He didn’t mind bending or ignoring laws in Blanche’s best interests, but he would never abandon his child.

Michael knew the impossibility of a real marriage between them. A duke’s mansion and a king’s ransom frightened him more than the idea of giving up his travels. Blanche’s inevitable anger and frustration when she discovered what he’d done worried him even more. But he’d had no choice.

He’d made a vow when he was very young that no child of his would ever go without a name. Keeping that vow had ensured a life of near chastity. He saw no reason for breaking what he had endured so much to keep just because the woman he’d finally chosen had wealth beyond his comprehension.

“I don’t consider myself trapped,” he answered. “You’re the woman I want, the only woman I’ll ever need. You may find yourself uncomfortable with the bounds I set, however. I would not share you with any other man.”

Michael thought he heard relief in the soft assurance of Blanche’s reply. “I want no other man. I just want a child of my own to love and hold. Give me that, and I will be content. I’ll not hold you to any other promise.”

Michael couldn’t prevent a twinge of anger at her reply. “You want my child but not me?”

She squirmed beneath him, but he did not let her go. He caught her hip and held her pinned to the bed.

“How can you say that?” she asked, pressing a hand to his chest. “Do I act as if I do not want you?”

“As lover, but nothing else,” he reminded her.

Her chin firmed stubbornly. “I will not have a husband, neither you nor any other. And if you are honest, you know you do not want me as wife. You have no interest in the society in which I live. You don’t know my friends and would probably despise them if you did. I do not accuse you of wanting my fortune. I know you better than that. You have no use for all my mansions and wealth. But if you had it, you would fritter it away on your orphaned waifs and lost causes. I cannot allow that. I have responsibilities, a word you do not comprehend.”

So much for love and tenderness. Growling under his breath, Michael flattened his hand against her abdomen. “If I give you a child, I want full responsibility for raising him. I would have him know his father. There are some responsibilities other than those of wealth that I recognize.”

Again, she looked slightly frightened by his vehemence. “You do not even have a name to give him,” she protested. “I would go to the continent and buy him a name, then return as a widow. He will have all the advantages a loving mother and money can offer.”

“He will have a father to teach him right from wrong,” Michael insisted. “You will not shut me out of his life or I return you to London right now.” He returned his fingers to the place between her thighs, brazenly reminding her of what she would miss.

Her hips rose, drawing his fingers deeper into her liquid warmth. A fire kindled in her eyes, and Michael recognized relief. She would not deny him this much, then. He would have dried up and blown away with the wind if she had.

Michael took Blanche’s mouth with his and began the wondrous process of stoking her embers to roaring flames. When at last they reached that ultimate pleasure, when he felt his soul sink into hers with the blending of their bodies, he knew he had been right to save matrimony for this moment. The joy of Blanche’s acceptance melded them more certainly than any mere physical release. She was his. It was done. Even eternity wouldn’t separate them now.

Later, he would worry about what would happen when the world learned of their marriage.

Michael had no doubt that time would come much too soon for their liking.

Blanche sleepily noted the howl of the wind tearing at the slates on the inn roof. She considered discovering the cause of a tug at her hair, but instead, she found a warm spot, and wriggled nearer the source of heat in hopes of returning to sleep.

A hard naked leg wrapped around hers. Startled, she rolled over and brushed against a distinctly masculine appendage. She pried her eyelids open and blinked up at Michael.

“Sleepyhead,” he murmured, smiling as his fingers continued their play in her hair. “Another few minutes, and I would have it all plaited.”

His simplest gestures warmed pathways to her heart that no one else had ever touched. His fingers in her hair tingled her scalp and all parts south. And that wasn’t even taking into account what happened when he tightened his leg around hers.

Michael pulled his handiwork over her shoulder, tickling her breasts with it. Magic fingers had somehow plaited her hair with sparkling gold and silver ribbons while she slept. She smiled at the festive effect. What other man would ever dream of adorning her hair with pretty ribbons? Most thought presenting a wife with the family jewels sufficient sentimentality for a lifetime. She stroked the flaxen braid admiringly. “Now I need only have a ball to attend to show off my finery.”