Chapter 17
Blythe’s nephews surrounded their mother, enraptured by the little bundle in her arms.
Violet clambered onto the bed. “Did you really help, Mama?”
“Of course she did.” Papa beamed with pride. “Your Mam helped deliver Young John when he was born too.”
Heat clawed up her neck. “Doctor Sharpe did most of the work on both occasions.”
At the head of the bed, her brother’s gaze locked on her and lingered. What—
“It seems you managed without me.” Mama murmured next to her at the foot of the bed. “Just like the pair of you did before.”
Blythe had no stomach for her mother’s inferences, but she refused to sour the family’s elation. “Excuse me.” She left the room, dashed down the stairs and out of the kitchen door.
Raucous music, singing and laughter still rang out from the tithe barn.
Blythe collected two pails from the dairy and carried them to the cowshed. The light of the waning harvest moon cast eerie shadows across the yard.
A soft glow already spread from within the shed. Courage, Blythe.
Daisy turned her head while munching on a mouthful of hay when Blythe entered and set down the pails.
Gabriel stood at the far end, leaning against the wall with his arms folded. His navy tailcoat hung from a nail in the wall behind him. “You came.”
She gestured to the cows. “I still have my work to finish. A farm girl’s jobs do not cease even during the harvest supper.”
Her body ached to feel the press of his warm chest against hers. How foolish it would be to repeat old mistakes, no matter how much she longed to release the pent-up desire that still burned within her.
She remained immobile, held by his dark eyes.
Gabriel straightened. The cream silk of his waistcoat clung to his lean torso and shimmered in the lamplight. His sleeves remained rolled up above his elbows. Dark hair covered his skin, now tanned following his work in the fields.
Her heart skipped a beat when he prowled towards her. The soft whisper of their inhalations accompanied the jolly tunes from the barn, the grumble of a cow and the cluck of a hen. Her gaze dropped to the curve of his lips.
He cupped her face and melded their mouths.
The fire that had been smouldering within since her return to Midthorpe blazed to life. Her hands went to his waist, her fingers digging into the fabric of his waistcoat and the firm flesh beneath it. Their tongues tangled, their lips devoured, and their teeth clashed.
He guided her backwards until her shoulders hit the wall.
His mouth drifted along her jawline. He nipped the skin beneath her ear, and a shiver of ecstasy raced down her spine.
She gasped for air in the stuffy cowshed.
But all she could breathe in was him: the hint of citrus on his shirt collar, the floral tinge of lavender soap and the musky tang of his skin.
She ached for him to be closer, to be inside her, moving in that dance as old as time, for them to join as they had before.
She curled her foot around his calf. Her feverish skin itched to feel his.
Her hands fumbled beneath his waistcoat and pulled his shirt from the waistband of his breeches until her fingers skimmed across his smooth skin.
She spread her palm across the dip of his lower back and over the curve of his buttocks, her fingers digging in, pressing his hips into hers.
He hissed when she rubbed her pelvis against him. Her loins throbbed, crying out for more. She longed to feel that firm shaft moving inside her. “I want you, Gabriel. Take me.”
His hands grabbed her thighs, wrapping her legs around his waist. She grappled with the fabric of her skirt and petticoat, dragging it above her hips and grumbling when it became trapped between them. He angled his pelvis to allow her to remove the barrier.
The fingers that had inspired more than a few feverish dreams drifted along the sensitive skin of her inner thigh and delved between the lips of her sex.
She gasped in delight when he found her mons. Those dextrous digits caressed the tingling nub.
“Come for me, Blythe.” Gabriel whispered against her hair while his fingers alternated between circling motions and firm strokes. “Let me take you to the stars again.”
The tension spiralled, sending waves of pleasure throughout her body. “Gabriel,” she gasped when the pressure burst inside her skull.
Before the haze of her pleasure had subsided, she fumbled with the buttons of his fall, and her hand wrapped around his stiff penis. She ran a thumb over the slit, spreading the drop of liquid released over the hot purple tip.
He groaned, then captured her lips with such force that her head hit the wall.
The smooth heat of his shaft nestled within the lips of her sex. He jerked his hips, coating himself with her juices and rubbing her still-tingling mons.
She nudged the tip of his penis into her opening.
He plunged in, and they both gasped in ecstasy. Setting a blistering pace, he thrust almost in time with their racing hearts.
She cupped his cheeks. The stubble prickled against her palms. Their gazes held, and their breaths mingled with every thrust. Her eyes rolled when the pressure built again, each stroke taking her higher until she exploded with a strangled cry.
“Blythe…” he moaned, inhaled with a sharp hiss, then slowed his thrusts before he lowered his forehead to hers, their sweat blending between their brows.
The ringing in her ears faded, and jovial singing from the barn filtered back.
A soft moo from a cow and a disapproving cluck from a hen would not dampen her elation.
She had believed that returning home was what she wanted.
But she was wrong. This was home, being with Gabriel as they should have been all these years.
Years she had lost because she had been a coward.
“I love you,” she whispered. “I never stopped.”
His fingers dug into her thighs, keeping her close.
Her ragged breath tickled his skin. She stroked the back of his head. This must be a dream.
The grumbling of the cows suggested otherwise.
Summoning what remaining common sense he possessed, he withdrew his softening cock.
His seed dribbled from her quim and his prick twitched.
Damn it, man, have you no self-control? God save him; he did not care.
He would fill her with his seed again and again.
No one would doubt that she belonged to him and he to her.
He set her on the floor, and she wobbled. “My legs have turned to jelly.” She chuckled and re-arranged the shimmering blue silk of her skirts.
A bubble of male pride swelled. He re-buttoned the fall of his breeches. “I must admit, I could sit down.”
He tucked his hand behind her knees and set her on the pile of straw on the other side of the cowshed. The roosting hens shuffled before settling back to sleep.
Blythe flopped onto the straw, and he lay with an arm slung across his face.
“Have you nothing to say?” Blythe sighed.
He blew out a long breath. “I apologise if I became a little distracted.”
“All I did was enter the cowshed and put down the pails.”
“As always, I have no self-control when it comes to you.” Dear God, he was a poor excuse for a man and a physician.
“I am sorry, Gabriel.” The straw shifted. “I should not have said… It was unfair of me to say those words after all I have done to you.”
He let his arm flop and rolled onto his side.
Blythe sat with her back to him.
“Did you mean it?”
She peeked over her shoulder. “Yes.”
He tugged her down and wrapped her in his arms, tucking her head beneath his chin. “Then never apologise for saying so. I want you to be honest with me, Blythe, or we will never overcome this.”
She leaned away. Liquid shimmered in the corners of her eyes. “I do not think we can overcome this. I should never have returned, and I should leave. All I do is cause you pain.”
“Do you think my pain would be any less if you leave me again?” His arms tightened around her. “I want you with me. Whatever you have done or whatever you do, I will always love you. Nothing can change that.”
Warm droplets seeped into his waistcoat and shirt, and his heart cracked. “I am to blame for our sorry tale, not you.” He longed to stop her tears, but all he could do was press soft kisses on her hair.
She leaned away. “Why?”
“I should not have spilled my seed inside you. My mother was a midwife, and I had worked in the apothecary shop since boyhood. I should have known better.”
“We both should have demonstrated more common sense, then and now.”
“Yet, I continue to repeat past follies. I sh—”
She rested a finger against his lips. “I do not regret what we shared, and I did not before. It was my decisions afterwards that caused so much pain.”
He kissed her finger and set her hand over his heart, holding it in place. “We have each made mistakes, and they cannot be changed. But I believe we can find it in ourselves to put those blunders behind us and create a happy future together.”
“But—”
“No more buts or whys.” He tucked a finger beneath her chin, tilting her face upwards. “Marry me, Blythe.”
“But—”
He tapped her nose. “I said no more buts.”
She wriggled out of his arms and sat with her head in her hands.
He rose to whisper in her ear, “What do you want, Blythe?” He pressed a kiss to her shoulder. “Ignore everything else and tell me what you want in this moment.”
She ran her palms down her face and turned her watery gaze upon him. “I want to be your wife. I want us to work together and help others, to care for the sick in Midthorpe.”
“Then we shall.”
She released a frustrated breath, and her chin dropped to her chest.
“What is done is done. Let us look to the future, our future, as we always planned.”
“You make it sound easy.”
“Why should it not be? We are both free to marry; I have a profession that will support us and your children. Not that you need it, because according to the gossips, you are a wealthy widow.” He offered her a small smile.
“There is nothing to stop us being together if you will only forgive yourself. You were young, you were afraid, you listened to someone you trusted and took their advice.” As much as it pained him to say out loud that she had trusted her mother over him, he would be a hypocrite if he did not heed his own advice and let it go.
“Your mother will never train me once she learns the truth.”
“Do not be so certain. You forget, I am her only child, the apple of her eye. There is nothing she would not do for me.”
“But I hurt her son.” Finally, Blythe's lips spread into a small smile. “While I regret my decisions, I cannot regret my children. They have brought me a joy and solace I do not deserve. I would have difficulty forgiving a woman who mistreated Elijah.”
“Then let us pray he finds a good woman who does not break his heart, unlike his callous mother.” He winked.
Blythe frowned.
“Is it too soon to make light of our situation?”
“Perhaps.” Blythe ran a hand down her face. “Zachary knew.”
Resentment bubbled in his stomach. Part of him wished to remain ignorant regarding the details of her marriage. “You need not tell me.”
“I want you to know the truth.” She chewed on her lower lip. “I did not hoodwink him into marrying me. After a meeting with Papa, he came across me when I was upset. He offered his protection because he said he had always loved me, but knew my affections lay elsewhere.”
He ignored the rising bile in his stomach and said, “I suspected so, and you said I need not be concerned.”
“It seems I have a talent for attracting forgiving men who should know better.” She offered him a tight smile. “Still too soon?”
“Perhaps,” he grumbled.
“Zachary’s only condition was that I promised never to return to Midthorpe. He was a good husband, and I tried my best to be a dutiful wife, but…” she placed a palm against his cheek. “I have only loved you.”
Joy burst, burning away the guilt and past hurts. “Put your faith in us. Together we can accomplish our dreams.”
She nodded. “I promise I will never betray you again.”
Touching his forehead to hers, he asked, “So, Blythe Dixon Simmonds, will you do me the honour of consenting to be my wife?”
Tears flowed down her cheeks. “Yes.”
He rushed in to seal their agreement. Salty liquid coated her lips, so he wiped it away with his thumbs. She was his, now and forever. He pulled her to stand. “Let us announce our betrothal before the end of the harvest supper.” He moved towards the door, but she tugged at his arm.
“No, let us wait.”
His elation evaporated. “Why?”
“I have not changed my mind.”
She changed her mind before.
“Let us not steal the attention from Jane.” Her fingers tightened around his. “We should wait a day or two before we make our announcement.”
He urged the nagging doubt within him to remain silent.
“I meant what I said, Gabriel. I swear I will not betray you again.” She wriggled out of his grasp. “You believe me, do you not?” She wrapped her arms around her middle. “We must learn to trust each other again.”
“And we can only do so by taking a leap of faith.” He cupped her face. “I love you. Let John and Jane enjoy the expansion of their family, and we will celebrate soon.” He pressed a soft kiss on her lips.
A loud moo interrupted their bliss.
Blythe giggled. “I forgot to milk them.”
“Then I shall distract you no more, my love.” Following a quick peck, he returned to the merriment of the tithe barn.