Patrica Rice (32 page)

“It’s a dashed good thing we did, too,” Neville said harshly, his normally easygoing features distorted with anger and worry. “Had anyone else heard of this escapade, your reputation would be in tatters. Have you taken leave of your senses, Blanche? Had anyone discovered you traipsing about the countryside with this gypsy, you’d have to marry him.”

For the first time in many days, a smile twisted at the corner of Blanche’s mouth. Switching her gaze from Effingham to her noble cousin, she answered softly, “I
am
married to him. He’s my husband.”

Pain shot up his arm and into his head as Michael struggled against grogginess. “Blanche,” he murmured, and tugged restlessly at the covers.

A hand pressed his wrist against the bed. “She’s sleeping,” a familiar voice said. “She’s fine. You can rest now.”

Gavin
. Michael’s eyes flew open. His adopted brother sprawled in a chair beside his bed— a strange bed in a strange room. Gavin looked like hell. He apparently hadn’t shaved in days, his hair needed washing, and his clothes looked as if he’d slept in them. Obviously, Dillian hadn’t accompanied him.

“Where’s Blanche?” Michael demanded, the roughness of his voice startling him.

“Your wife is sleeping.”

Michael sensed the hesitancy in Gavin’s words, the curiosity in his gaze, but his memory remained cloudy. What exactly had Blanche told him? “What are you doing here?” he asked.

Gavin shot him a look of irritation. “At the moment, preventing Neville from throwing you out the window. We found Lady Blanche nursing you, and His Grace had one of his rare fits.” He watched Michael closely for reaction. “She declared herself your wife, and promptly took herself off to bed. It’s a pretty close call what might kill you first, Neville’s rage, your burns, or my curiosity.”

With a sigh of resignation at Michael’s non-reply, Gavin crossed his arms. “I’ve been waiting for the day when you brought home one of your strays and declared yourself wed, but Lady Blanche? If it’s true, I must congratulate you. I seriously underestimated your charms.”

Michael eased his pounding head against the pillow and stared at the ceiling. Pride welled at Blanche’s public declaration of their marriage. She finally trusted him.

He couldn’t lie to Gavin. Perhaps he should for Blanche’s sake, but for the child’s sake, someone must know. “We married in Scotland months ago. I left it to her to make it public, or not.”

During the ensuing silence Michael savored the reality. Blanche was his wife.

“Neville will croak,” Gavin said flatly. “He held out hope that she would settle for him. To have that fortune in your hands...”

“I make no claim on Blanche’s fortune, or the lady herself unless she requests it. Don’t expound upon it too much. How is she? The fire...”

“We’ve talked to the villagers. It seems fairly certain gunpowder started a small explosion near your room. The fire burnt strongest in that part of the building, and the windows exploded before the flames took over. Apparently young Seamus’s tale had truth behind it.”

“Eamon,” Michael answered bitterly, struggling to sit up. “Eamon O’Connor. We have to find him.” He pulled to a sitting position and began the laborious task of easing his legs over the side of the bed without the use of his bandaged hands. “We can’t leave Blanche alone. Have Neville send his men after a tall beanpole of an Irishman. Dark hair, green eyes, probably speaks French. Since he missed the first time, he may try again.”

Alarmed, Gavin pressed Michael back toward the bed. “You’re not going anywhere. I’ll take care of O’Connor. You’re in no shape to do anything.”

Michael shook him off and glared at his useless hands. “I’m going to Blanche. O’Connor will have to go through me first.”

Gavin looked at him dubiously. “You’ll have to push through the miners waiting outside first. They’re concerned about the mine. It seems you have acquired some influence in the matter, and the manager has absconded.”

Michael scowled and worked at his makeshift toga, even accepting his brother’s aid in his anxiety to reach Blanche. “Tell them they’re being paid while the mine is inspected. Have them send the man down who claims he knows another seam, along with a man who can determine how to shore the place up. Set soldiers after Barnaby and Weatherton, then have the rest of them help you find bloody O’Connor.”

“I’m glad I’m the one with the title and authority around here,” the marquess said wryly as he finished tucking the sheet over his shoulder. “Maybe I should send in the duke so you can order him about, too.”

Michael shot him a venomous look. “Keep His Mighty Grace away from Blanche. Let him do something useful for a change. Finding O’Connor should keep him busy.”

“We’ll find the bastard,” Gavin said grimly. “And we’ll hang him down the mine.”

Satisfied, Michael set out to find his wife.

* * *

Michael jerked awake the moment Blanche stirred. Lying beside her, he could almost forget his pain in his pleasure at having Blanche beside him again. The bandages on his palms prevented anything more than running his fingertips along her bare arm.

Leaning on his undamaged elbow, he studied the streaks from her tears. She had whimpered once or twice as she slept, curling within herself until he’d held her as best as he could. He knew she had nightmares of the fire. He caressed the delicate bridge of her nose with an unburned fingertip.

She opened her eyes, meeting his blankly, then with comprehension and a smile. “Michael,” she murmured, and it was music to his ears, worth every minute of pain.

“My lady,” he said in return, admiring the blue of her eyes. “How do you feel?”

She smoothed her hand downward, and Michael followed the path of her hand with wistful gaze, longing to touch as she did.

“I’m famished. And you?” Concern lined her face, and she tried sitting up, but he held her down with the weight of his arm.

“I’ll live.” He studied her face with care. “Have you told Neville of us?”

Confidence tinted her voice. “I did. He will no doubt demand proof, and even then, he will demand the sanctity of the church. But he cannot change our vows.”

“Will you take my name then? I have no other but Lawrence to give you. Will you mind being just a Mrs. Michael Lawrence?”

She wrinkled her nose, but her eyes smiled. “Actually, it will be Lady Blanche Lawrence. It’s hard for the daughter of a marquess to give away her title. Will you mind?”

“You will always be Lady Blanche to me. A name does not matter. Will you live with me?”

Blanche brushed his raspy jaw. Amusement colored her words as she replied, “I will live with you. Where shall it be, in the hedgerows or a gypsy wagon?”

Michael collapsed against the pillow and luxuriated in this moment of pure joy before reality intruded. “We’ll live anywhere you’re happy.” He basked in the radiance of her smile. “I just want you in my bed at night.”

She began a careful exploration of his burns. “I can arrange that. What will you do when I swell to three times my size and there is scarce room for all three of us in the bed?”

The caress of her hands had focused his agony in new places. “I will sleep on the floor, if necessary. I won’t leave your side.”

“You lie,” she replied softly, twisting her fingers in the singed hairs on his chest. “I know you too well, Michael Lawrence. You have itchy feet and they will carry you away from me often enough. You must make me one promise.”

He watched her questioningly.

“You must promise to always say farewell before you go,” she said, her gaze steadfast. “I will not have you disappearing like some phantom every time the urge comes upon you. If we argue, you must stand and fight, or tell me farewell. You cannot just walk out.”

He’d never tried staying in one place. He liked new places, the wind in his hair, the blue of the skies above him. He would give them up for Blanche and the children they would have but it might kill a piece of him. Still, he would willingly sacrifice whatever it took to keep Blanche.

The ache in Michael’s loins escalated as he considered her request. Her fingers traced tantalizing paths along his chest, circling his nipples and teasingly drawing lower. Michael condemned his useless hands to hell, longed for the bliss of her body beside his as he reassured her of his faithfulness. But he couldn’t even remove her nightgown.

“I cannot imagine ever leaving you, or wanting to, but if that will ease your mind, I solemnly vow I will always say farewell.” He eyed the swell of her breasts beneath the cloth. “Now, you had best go fetch your breakfast before you start something I cannot finish.”

At her teasing smile, he filled with desire. This was the lovely fairy nymph of love and laughter he remembered. When her soft palm slid lower, Michael groaned aloud, and his hips rose of their own accord.

“It’s been a long time, Michael. Do you think I just imagined the loveliness of those nights? Will it ever be like that again? Does bliss only come once in a lifetime?” She tugged her gown upward and discarded it over the side of the bed.

Oh, God, she was torturing him. Squeezing his eyes closed and gritting his teeth, Michael let the wave of half-pain, half-pleasure sweep over him as she nibbled delicately at his nipple while her hand played its elusive game. He glued his bandaged palms to his sides.

“Unless you wish to ride astride, I am in no condition to show you, my lady. I do believe there is only one part of me fully functioning, and I would not risk harming you or your child by using it in the manner my lascivious imagination conjures.” He peeked, soaking in the splendor of the globes of her breasts before valiantly raising his gaze to meet hers.

An unholy light illuminated fine blue eyes as her hand stroked lower. “What if we’re no longer good together? I would not shackle you with a useless wife.”

“Believe me, Blanche, there is no way in heaven or hell that you could not please me now should you choose to do so. But by all that is holy, if you do not choose to do so immediately, I shall most likely expire on the spot.”

He closed his eyes and groaned again as her fingers closed about his aching member. Sweet temptation, but he would walk through fire again for just this touch. “I cannot caress you in return,” he complained.

She leaned over to ease his complaint with a kiss. “You have not burned your lips, have you?”

That, he hadn’t. Wrapping his arms around her slender waist, he pulled her downward until her breasts brushed his chest and their lips merged in a hunger long denied. When she swung her leg astride him, he nearly exploded with the passion he’d carefully repressed. He plundered her mouth, sucking the sweetness from it, then bent his head to her breasts.

She moaned so seductively, Michael nearly took her right then. He suckled deeply, and was rewarded for his efforts by the glide of Blanche’s thighs over his hips. Small tremors built there, rippling along his abdomen as she rubbed against him. He wanted to touch her there, prepare her, but he had only the tips of his fingers to work his commands. He used them cautiously, sliding his bandaged palm between them, tracing the ever-so-slight curve of her abdomen, finding the sensitive nub between her thighs and circling it. He couldn’t hold out much longer. He felt like one of Eamon O’Connor’s bombs. The merest spark would set him off.

”Michael, please,” Blanche breathed in his ear as he circled her with his finger.

Not needing further encouragement, he wrapped his arms around her once more and pulled her down to cover him. She slid over him easily, adjusting her position until she understood how they fit together, taking him deeper with each movement until she sheathed him completely. Michael wanted to shout his joy and triumph as at last, he thrust his hips upward.

She had no need to ride him long for their needs were too strong. Feeling her contract around him, Michael carried her deeper, driving her to the peak and over, before he tumbled after. Despite the pain he had caused himself with his exertion, the need to stay inside her grew again. He never wanted to leave.

“Will that suffice as evidence of our pleasure for now, or should I show you more, my lady?” Michael asked with eyes closed.

She moved gently along his building desire, but blessedly, she slipped to his side and settled for resting her palm against his chest. “I think there is much we can show each other, but we have a lifetime for exploring. I think I’d best find us some food for now.”

Instantly alert, Michael wished he could grab her arm. “You will not go outside this room alone. Send someone for the food. Gavin will have placed a guard outside the door.”

She stared at him in incredulity. “There is someone standing outside our door?” A crimson blush colored her cheeks. “They could hear us?”

Michael chuckled. “I’m certain Gavin would have left a deaf mute out there. He’s quite practical about these things.”

Blanche pinched an unburned piece of his hide. “Why would the marquess post a guard outside our door? Does he fear we’ll escape again? That sounds more like something Neville would do.”

“The fire was deliberate, my love. Seamus warned us O’Connor and his lot meant to close the mines. I think they chose an easier route and went after us instead. It’s possible he recognized you. If not, he no doubt recognized me or heard I acted as your representative. He probably thought us asleep in our bed that night.”

Reluctantly, she pulled away, searching amid the covers for her gown. “I saw a man staring at me. A tall man, thin, with dark hair. Is that him?”

Michael bit back a curse and nodded. “That’s him. With any luck, Neville has men looking for him. It shouldn’t be long. But I will take no chances until he’s caught.”

She didn’t have time to respond. A sharp rap on the door sent her diving for her gown. Michael awkwardly worked the sheet over him with his elbows. “Who is it?” he demanded irritably.

“You want the full title?” the duke answered angrily. “I don’t have that long. I’ve someone here to see you.”

Michael watched as Blanche glanced at the bed where he lay naked. Once her cousin saw them together, there was no turning back. He met her gaze challengingly.