“Satin?”
“My horse.”
Servants had their own horses in the country?
Then another thought struck. “Are you sure your horse is supposed to be in here?”
“Quite sure. I exercised her this morning and put her back.” She frowned. “Wait, you don’t think…your daughter couldn’t have taken her.”
“It’s possible.”
“But Satin wasn’t saddled. She wasn’t even bridled!”
“I taught her how to ride bareback last year.”
The woman’s jaw dropped. “How old is your daughter again?”
“Seven.”
“And you taught her to ride bareback?”
“You should—” He cut himself off. “I don’t have time to deal with you. I have to find my daughter. If she’s on horseback—”
“She could be anywhere,” the woman interrupted. “We’ll need horses to go after her.”
“I’ll need a horse. Do something useful and tell Lord Merewood that I require some assistance.”
“We shouldn’t waste time waiting for Adam, we need to—”
“Do as you’re told and get Merewood!” he snapped. When she stood, staring with a dropped jaw, he turned away in disgust. “I’ll bloody well get him myself,” he muttered to himself. Michael left the stables in long strides toward the manor house.
He’d just about made it to the back door of the house when he heard the light fall of shoes on gravel.
“Elisabeth, I-” He stopped as the woman appeared between him and the door of the manor, chest heaving and eyes flashing. Good God, she was the most audacious servant he’d ever met. How did she maintain a job?
“First off, you have no right to speak me like that. Secondly, I know this land better than—”
“I believe we’ll manage just fine without you. And fair warning, you would be wise to stay out of my way.”
“Are you threatening me?”
Michael took a step toward her, assuming she would move out of his way. She stayed her ground and met his gaze, the swirl of colors in her eyes— green, blue and a hint of gold—glittering at him in anger.
Michael knew only one way to get a woman to retreat.
He yanked her close until her body flattened against his.
“What are you doing?” she cried, as her hands moved to his upper chest to brace against him.
Against any logical reasoning, the feel of her soft curves pressed against him went straight to his groin. Even as he tried to ignore the heat, Michael leaned his head down and covered her protests with his kiss. As she gasped, he took full advantage and invaded her mouth with quick thrusts of his tongue.
“You can’t—” He silenced her muffled words by pulling her in tighter, so every bend of her curves lined up with the harder planes of his body. He pushed his hips toward her, until his hardness pressed in against the very core of her warmth.
He moved his mouth in increasingly hard, slashing motions, willing her to fight, to hit. Anything to douse the flame that licked inside of him.
Her eyes met his for a brief second, and with a fluttering of her eyelashes, they closed.
She surrendered.
Her body sagged against his, her hands clutching at his shoulders. And she opened her mouth fully, freely. She tasted of honey and fresh, sweet air. Her citrusy scent enveloped him and Michael succumbed to the desire that broke free and ran rampant through him. He brought a hand up to thread it through her hair.
His fingers stopped at her hairpins.
What the hell was he doing?
He tore himself from her, releasing her hard enough that she stumbled back. He fought the urge to steady her even when she stared up at him, lips swollen from his kiss and her expression adorably confused. “What…”
“Seeing as how you’re so anxious to be tumbled, I’m happy to oblige at a later date. But right now, I have more important priorities.”
She gasped. Her cheeks tinged pink with anger and he felt a momentary urge to take it back, to offer his apologies but he shoved it aside. He wanted nothing more than to get away from her.
And just as he started to turn away, the small palm of her hand cracked firmly against his cheek. “How dare you!”
With a quick shake of his head, Michael sidestepped her. He heard her angry cry as he moved toward the door and walked inside.
Merewood stood at the end of the hall, in conversation with an attractive older woman, perhaps in her late forties.
“Your Grace,” Merewood said when he spotted him, “we have searched—”
“Your Grace?” a shocked voice, her voice, shouted from behind him.
“The Duke of Ravensdale,” Merewood told her. “Thomas’s cousin.”
Even though he wanted at least a mile of distance between them, at the silence behind him, Michael gave in to curiosity and swiveled around. She stared at him as if horrified, but it was gone in a heartbeat as she masked the expression.
“Satin is missing,” she said. “His daughter took her.”
It was said like an accusation and Michael bristled. “It wouldn’t occur to her to ask for permission as she’s not required to at home.”
But at home, Bethie knew every path.
Merewood looked from her to Michael and back again. “I’ve already sent Derrick to gather a group together to search.” He looked at the woman. “Blythe, would you have Harold saddle horses?”
She nodded and, with a sideways glance at Michael, left.
Merewood looked at Michael. “Is there anything you can tell us that would be helpful in searching?”
Michael could have told him every one of Bethie’s favorite spots on his own lands. But he had no idea where she might go here.
“No.” He pushed the word out past the lump that had lodged into his throat.
“We’ll find her.”
Michael gave an abrupt nod. Of course they would. There was no other option.
At the stables, a small group had gathered. A few men sat on horseback already. A stocky, heavy-set man stopped in front of him, with a large, steady-looking horse. “I’ve saddled Midnight for you, Your Grace. I assumed you would want a fresh mount.”
“Thank you.” Michael grabbed the reins and patted the horse on its side before thrusting a foot into the stirrup and hopping into the saddle.
“We’ll take the east pastures,” Merewood was saying. “Blythe, you and James go west with the duke.”
“That’s not necessary,” Michael said, as a horse settled next to him. Blythe sat atop. “I’m sure I can manage with one of the men.”
Merewood shifted his gaze to Blythe, she as she didn’t seem inclined to say a word —or even look at Michael, Merewood replied, “Blythe knows the land better than anyone. She’ll accompany you and James.” With that, he took his group and headed east.
“I don’t have time to babysit you if the ride is too difficult,” Michael warned. “You aren’t using a side saddle.”
“You are welcome to one if you like. I warn you, though, they are quite uncomfortable.” She grabbed her reins. “Follow my lead. I know the land.”
She turned her horse in the opposite direction and kicked it into a trot without another word. Michael took a deep breath and said a quick prayer that he’d find Bethie soon.
And unharmed.
Chapter Five
Why was he here?
Of the two dozen questions flying through Blythe’s mind, that was the one she kept asking. She hadn’t even known Thomas was related to a duke until a few weeks ago, and now he was here?
And in less than an hour’s time, she’d assaulted and kissed the man. She reached up and touched her finger lightly to her lips. She could still feel the moist heat of his breath against her mouth, the pressure of his hands as he’d held her close against him.
Blythe imagined a kiss was nothing to him. Perhaps a slap wasn’t either. He likely dallied with women all the time. But why her?
What did he want?
/> And strangest of all, why was he playing hide and seek with his daughter on Rosemead grounds? Blythe hadn’t even known to expect him and suddenly here they were, searching the grounds for his wayward child.
Blythe had to believe the little girl would be all right. Anyone, much less a child, who could ride bareback was a force to be reckoned with.
The thunder of hooves gaining on her interrupted her thoughts and she peeked to the side as the duke’s horse settled in next to hers. His profile was stark, his lips thinned in a grim line. He jerked his head around in quick movements, like a bird surveying its area.
“Satin is very easy to spot,” she said, urged by an unexplainable desire to comfort him. “She’s named for her satiny white coat.”
He gave a barely perceptible nod, his gaze never leaving the horizon.
Uncertain what else to say, Blythe let silence reign again. She didn’t like the man. Given his relation to Thomas, the chances of the duke being a paragon of virtue and forgiveness were slim. But no parent should ever have to face the reality of a missing child.
“Where does that path lead?” His words jolted her, and she looked up and let her gaze follow the direction of his pointing fingers.
“It leads to the back meadow. Adam is checking it.”
“Adam?”
“The Earl of Merewood. You just met him,” she clarified.
A knowing smirk crossed his face. “Ah, I see now.”
“You see what?”
“You are…familiar with the Earl.”
“Of course I’m familiar with him.” Was the man daft? “In any case, Lord Merewood started in the front pasture and that path will take him through that meadow. We’ll eventually meet up with them around the edge of the river.”
His gaze snapped to hers. “River?”
“Yes.”
“Where is it?”
She pointed northwest. “That direction, just past the—”
He yanked on his reins and kicked his horse into a gallop.
Blythe coughed at the dust he kicked up and then alarm jumped into her throat. “Wait!”
The duke didn’t hear her, or he was purposely ignoring her.
“Stop!” The wind picked up and carried her words in the opposite direction, and the duke had a good lead on her. He’d never hear her warnings from here.
“Milady, does he know about the ditch?” James asked from behind her.
She shook her head. “We have to catch him, James.” She urged her horse into a full gallop. The thunder of horse hooves rang in her ears as they sped across the golden fields. Wind whipped hair into her face as she worked the horse to a faster speed. The ground flew by in a blur as she leaned close again. “Come on,” she urged her horse.
They slowly gained on the duke. Blythe sat straight in her saddle and yelled, “You have to stop!”
He didn’t turn around. The bend in the path approached and with a spurt of fear, she knew she would not reach him in time.
“Look out for the ditch!” she yelled again. He showed no signs of slowing as he neared the spot where the path bent toward the right, paralleled with the river and dropped about twelve inches where years of river overflow had eroded the ground into a wide, circular ditch. If you knew it was there, it was easy to maneuver around it. If you didn’t…
Blythe held her breath as he approached, watched helplessly as the duke yanked on the reins in a last-second effort to avoid falling, angling the horse away from the drop.
Then Midnight faltered. The horse screamed in pain and bucked her hind legs, before falling forward. The duke flew off to the side.
Blythe and James spurred forward. As they drew close, Blythe dropped the reins and slid from her horse, sharp needles of pain shooting up her feet as she landed flat-footed.
James rushed to Midnight with soft words meant to soothe and with a quick worried glance at her horse, Blythe moved past them into the brush looking for Midnight’s rider.
She saw him finally, his dark head just barely visible through the tuft of weeds a few feet away. “Your Grace!”
When she reached his side, Blythe dropped to her knees. His eyes were closed, his body still. She reached a shaky hand out and laid it above his heart. His chest rose and fell with strength, and she exhaled.
She leaned closer to him. “Your Grace, can you hear me?” Gently, she shook him. “Wake up. Please, God, wake up.” She shook him again with no result. She glanced at James. “Go and find Adam, let him know what’s happened. Bring help.”
“We need…to keep searching.”
Blythe looked down and saw the duke’s eyes flicker open. “Don’t sit up,” she said, with her hand still on his chest. She could feel his heartbeat speed up, even as he propped up with one elbow and felt around the back of his head.
He pulled it away to look at it. “Damn.”
“You’re bleeding.”
He wiped the blood on his shirt. “It’s just a small cut. It doesn’t hurt.” He brushed her hand away and sat all the way up, shaking his head a little. “We need to keep going.”
“You’re injured. Let me look at it.” She stretched her arm out toward his head but he stopped it.
“I don’t need you hovering over me. I need to find my daughter.”
“Then you shouldn’t have run off the way you did! Why didn’t you stop when I yelled at you?”
“I didn’t hear anything. And you should have told me about the ditch.” The duke slowly got to his feet and looked at James. “How is she?”
“Might be a break, I’m not certain,” James said. “I need to get her back.”
“Fine.” Ravensdale strode toward his horse. “You two take her back. I’ll continue looking.”
“If you think I’m going to let you search alone after this, you are daft,” Blythe said flatly, getting up. She moved toward them. “You’ve already injured one of the horses because you went off on your own. I’m certainly not going to let you add a child to that equation.” She ran a hand over Midnight’s nose. “Heaven only knows what condition Satin will be in after your daughter stole her.”
“Elisabeth did not steal your horse.”
“Then what do you call it, borrowing without asking?”
Michael granted her a stare she assumed was meant to encourage someone to leave his presence posthaste, but she glared back. She would not be bullied.
“This isn’t negotiable.” She looked at James. “Take Midnight back. Take your horse, she’ll respond better to following lead. The duke and I will continue searching.”
She snatched the reins of her horse up and lifted her foot into the stirrup and swung a leg over her saddle. She pushed her skirts down to cover the expanse of calf she’d uncovered. Ladylike was not in her regime for the day, obviously. “Hop up. You’ll ride me with me.”
“You are annoying.”
“You’re no great prize yourself.”
He placed a hand over hers and hauled himself onto the horse behind her saddle. His arms slid around her waist, the warmth of his fingers cutting through her gown as if she wasn’t wearing one at all.
His hands came to rest on her stomach, causing her muscles to tighten involuntarily. She could breathe in the scent of him — male, clean and strangely invigorating.
Suddenly, all she could think about was that kiss. She drew in a breath to calm the ragged nervousness she felt. She was intensely aware of his body behind hers, the way his thighs pressed into hers. How he almost enveloped her.
“Are we going to sit here all day?” he asked in her ear, his breath teasing strands of her hair.
She touched her heels to Midnight’s flanks and moved onto the pathway, finding it hard to concentrate and irritated at herself for that.
“I did not mean to injure your horse,” he said after a few minutes of silence. “You said there was a river and I jumped without thinking. If there is a body of water nearby, my daughter will find it, especially if she can swim in it.” He tensed behind her. “The river…is
it calm?”
“In most places, yes. There are a few fast moving currents.” With that thought planted in her head, Blythe spurred her horse as fast as possible without bumping the duke right off the back end.
Although that thought did hold some merit.
“Where is your daughter’s governess?” Blythe asked, back to the question of what brought the duke here in the first place…with a child, no less, and no one around to watch her.
“Why is everyone so concerned with governesses?” he muttered, sending a quick shot of air against the back of her ear that sent a shiver up her spine. “If you must know, Bethie has disliked some, well, actually, all of the governesses. I’ve had difficulty finding a replacement.”
“I can imagine,” Blythe shifted a little, only to realize that made her more aware of the man behind her.
“If you can suggest how to keep one employed, by all means, have your say.” His hands tightened at her waist. “I can’t seem to find one single governess in all of England who Bethie likes.”
Blythe laughed. She couldn’t help herself. “You do realize you’ve lost the battle already? How old did you say she was?”
“Seven.”
“A seven year old can be dangerous if allowed to run the household.”
“I will not have my daughter raised with the same restrictions I had. If that means she’s a little spirited, at least she isn’t broken.”
That admission was more telling that he realized, and Blythe fought the sudden empathy she felt for the boy he must have been.
“What about her mother? She didn’t come along?”
“She died when Elisabeth was two.”
Blythe wished she could see his face, as the tone of his voice gave nothing away to his emotional reaction. Had he loved her? Did he still mourn the loss?
She was finding it difficult to think of him only as an arrogant, unwanted visitor when she saw other things instead: a young boy stifled by a strict upbringing, a worried father, a man who lost his wife prematurely.
The man who stood to lose a child if they couldn’t find her.
The sight of the river just over a small hill pulled her attention and she skimmed the surface, looking for any sign of life. The current pushed small bumps to the surface as it streamed down toward the pastures where it melded with a small lake, but otherwise it was free of disturbance. Blythe hoped that meant Elisabeth hadn’t gone into the water. She hoped even more that the child was able to manage herself.
Willoughby 01 - Something About Her Page 4