Unraveled By The Rebel (43 page)

“Yes.”

Paul gave the other breast the same attention, nipping at the hard nub and circling the tip. “I could taste you for hours, Juliette. But I ken these are too delicate right now.”

He drew his hands lower, over her rib cage to her stomach. It was still flat, but he trailed his mouth over her skin. Upon her womb, he pressed a kiss. “I think you are pregnant. And if you carry our bairn inside you, I swear to you that I’ll do everything possible to keep you safe.”

She wanted that more than anything. But she didn’t want to lose him. Now that they were together, with the earl gone from their lives, she felt the need to savor their marriage.

“I am afraid,” she admitted. “But in spite of that, I do want this child. I’ve always thought you would make a good father.”

“You’re already a good mother, Juliette.” He embraced her, and she tried to push away the fears, imagining the joy of a second baby. One she could keep forever. One who would have his father’s smile.

The fear was still there, lurking. But she forced herself to dwell upon the joy instead of the uncertainty. There was time enough later to worry. For now, she wanted to enjoy this moment with Paul.

“If I am going to have a baby, then there’s no harm in making love to me,” she whispered to Paul, trying to pull him up.

“Aye,” he promised. He parted her legs, his hand moving between them. The moment he touched her, she grew wet, and his caress made her catch her breath.

“You’re sensitive here, too, aren’t you?” This time, when he
explored her flesh, she couldn’t stop the soft moan. He delved inside her, and she shuddered against the invasion.

“Yes.” She trembled against him, and when his thumb brushed the nodule of her arousal, a delicious warmth poured over her.

He continued to touch her, his hand stroking and coaxing her higher. Gently, he lowered his mouth to her nipple again, his warm breath hardening the tip. She couldn’t stand it any longer and lifted one leg over his hip, guiding his length inside her.

The moment he filled her, the motion set her on edge, pushing her toward the aching release she craved. It took only a few strokes before she arched back, her nails digging into his shoulders. She squeezed him inside her, welcoming his easy thrusts as her body trembled with the unexpected fulfillment.

“That didna take long,” he teased, withdrawing slightly and entering her again. “But I’m not finished with you yet.”

She was quaking against him, her body welcoming his invasion. “You can do anything you wish to me.”

For it didn’t matter now. The damage was already done, and she fully intended to enjoy this aspect of marriage.

Over and over, he penetrated, his hands splayed over her hips as he thrust. She couldn’t stop herself from shaking, the exhilaration rushing through her.

“More,” she begged, and he quickened the pace, driving against her until perspiration broke over her skin.

She gripped him with both legs around his waist, and he thrust deeply, staring into her eyes as he murmured, “I love you, Juliette. And always will.”

“I love you, Paul.” She met his hips with her own, watching as he began to come apart, his body growing harder as his thick length merged with her flesh. She saw the moment he gave a cry, flooding her with his seed.

And she smiled, loving the feeling of his body inside hers. This was right, always meant to be.

She could only pray that these months remaining would not be their last.

Seven months later

“Have I told you how beautiful you are? Especially with ink-stained fingers?” Paul closed the door to his study, admiring his wife.

Juliette sent him a half-smile as she looked up from the desk. “I’ve been sorting through the accounts, and everything is in order. All the bills have been paid, as well as the taxes. I have a listing of the profits, and if you’ll look—”

“I don’t really care,
a chrìdhe,
” he said, moving closer. “The accounts are yours to do with as you wish.”

Her body was distended with the pregnancy, her hair tucked in a neat chignon. When he moved to kneel beside her, he saw that her shoes were off and her feet were swollen.

“You should look at the ledgers,” she insisted. “I’ve done what I could to ensure that the estates are successful.”

He knelt at her feet and pressed a kiss against her womb. No longer did she have the smooth curve of pregnancy; now there were sharp edges where the child’s elbows or knees poked out. It would not be long now, and he didn’t like the way she was anticipating the worst.

“How are you feeling?” he murmured, massaging her ankles.

“Afraid.” She touched his face, pulling him up to kiss her. “I want to hold our baby in my arms. I want to be there every moment as he grows older.”

“You will be fine,” he promised. Not only had he been trained to deliver babies, but he’d also sent for his mother a fortnight ago. As a midwife, Bridget had seen many labors, and her practical knowledge was welcome. Then, too, he’d spoken to his colleagues
at the medical college in Edinburgh, studying every case of childbirth that had gone wrong. He’d spent late nights poring over the books, learning everything he could.

“I’m glad we had this time together,” she admitted. “And I pray that all will be well with our child.” She reached out to take his hand, saying, “I’ve had a letter from Charlotte. Matthew is running around now and has begun to talk.”

Though she spoke the words in a neutral tone, as if sharing news of the weather, Paul knew how much it meant to her. “After our bairn is born, I’ll take you to London. You’ll want to see Matthew.”

Thankfully, there was no longer any threat in Juliette visiting Matthew from time to time. Although Strathland had eventually been found in the Highlands, he’d nearly starved to death. In the meantime, the unentailed property in Scotland and all the sheep were sold off to pay his massive debts. The last they’d heard of him, Strathland had gone into seclusion, and there were whispers that he’d gone mad after the experience. Months had passed, and Paul took satisfaction in knowing that the earl would never again bother them.

“I would like to see Matthew, yes,” she said, but Paul could see that Juliette was distracted. A tension crossed her face, and her lips tightened.

“What is it?” he asked, noting the change in her expression.

“My back has been hurting all day. I think I’d like to go and lie down.”

Her mention of back pain made him uneasy, but he would say nothing to make her afraid. “I’ll help you.”

He eased her up, and she sent him a rueful smile. “I wonder if I’ll ever see my feet again.”

“Of course you will.” But as he helped her up, he saw the visible discomfort. She said nothing, but she hesitated before taking another step.

The contractions had started; he was sure of it. And she hadn’t intended to tell him—at least, not yet. Each step upstairs was a struggle for her, but he led her past their bedroom, to another room he’d prepared.

“I thought you wanted me to lie down,” she protested, when he opened the door.

“And so you will. But here, instead of in our room.”

The bed he’d prepared was stripped of all coverings except clean sheets. He’d given her a pillow, and upon the dressing table, he’d laid out the instruments he would need. Although they had been cleaned before, he intended to boil them again to take no chances.

She sat down on the edge of the bed. “I wasn’t going to tell you.”

“I’m a physician, Juliette. Of course I recognize when a woman has begun her labor.” He went to sit beside her, loosening her gown. His hand passed over her womb, and he felt the skin harden during another contraction. Juliette closed her eyes, her face pale.

“The contractions only just started this morning. It will be a while yet.”

“We’re going to remain here,” he said. “This is your second child, and your labor will not be as long as the last one.”

“And how many babies have you delivered?” she said, half in teasing.

“Seventeen.” Most had been normal, but he’d delivered two breech children and one stillborn. He knew well enough the danger they would face together. But his greatest fear was having to perform surgery to take the bairn out. He had no desire to put Juliette under the knife, particularly with all the risks.

Her hands dug into the sheets, and she closed her eyes as another wave of pain struck. God, it made him feel so helpless. He wanted to take the agony from her, if he could. But the only medicines that would suppress the pain would also endanger the labor.

He rang for their housekeeper and ordered her to begin boiling some water. The pains were beginning to come closer together, and Juliette was struggling.

Paul began talking to her, telling her stories to set her at ease. Of how their cat Dragon had brought a live mouse into the kitchen and scared the life out of a scullery maid. He talked endlessly, but when her labor intensified, he saw that the conversation was becoming more of an irritation to her than a comfort.

“I need to examine you, to see how you’re progressing,” he told her. He helped her to remove her clothing and then washed his hands again.

Superstitious, perhaps, but it seemed right to do so.

Juliette’s stomach was hard, and he felt the position of the child, noting where the sharp corners were. She was fighting against another contraction, and he knew it would only be a few hours longer, if that.

A knock sounded at the door, and after he covered his wife with a sheet, he ordered the housekeeper to come in. But instead of the servant, his mother stood there, a basket over one arm.

“There’s my wee lamb.” She smiled at Juliette and came over to give her a kiss. “It’s glad I am to see ye.”

“I thought I was your wee lamb,” Paul remarked drily.

“Once, ye might’ve been, aye. But now, I’ve come to see my first grandchild delivered, and to help as I’m needed.” Bridget poured water into the basin and washed her own hands. “I see ye started without me.”

Though his mother had an air of command, Paul wasn’t about to leave the room. He leaned in and kissed her cheek in welcome. “I am glad that you’ve come.”

She nodded and went to examine Juliette. As soon as her hands passed over his wife’s stomach, he saw the flicker in her eyes. She knew, as he’d guessed, that the infant was breech.

“Juliette, love, I want you to lie back,” Bridget urged. “Your sweet bairn is facing the wrong way, and Paul and I are going to turn it.”

His wife obeyed, but he could see the rigid terror in her face. “I was afraid this would happen.”

“Every bairn has a mind of his own. And we’ll fix the wee one, don’t you fret. It may not be comfortable, but it can be done. Paul, come and help me.”

“It will be all right,” he told Juliette. “Try to relax, and we’ll do what we can.”

“You’re going to hold your wife and help her through it while I turn the bairn,” Bridget instructed.

Though Paul could do it, his mother had done it far more often, and he wasn’t about to intrude upon her expertise. Juliette was fighting to breathe, perspiration upon her forehead while she held his hands.

“It hurts,” she moaned. And when Bridget pressed against her womb, she cried out, shuddering as another pain wracked her. His mother continued her attempts to turn the baby, but he suspected it wasn’t working.

The contractions were constant now, one coming on top of the other. Bridget met his gaze, and her sober expression confirmed what he already knew. The child could not be turned.

His eyes drifted toward his medical bag nearby, in silent question. His mother shook her head, as if to say,
It’s too grave a risk.

He knew that. But if it meant saving Juliette’s life, he’d do whatever was necessary.

“Ye must stop pushing, Juliette,” his mother warned. “It’s too soon for that.”

“It’s—the only thing that helps me endure the pain,” she said, her voice trembling. A cry tore from her lips as another contraction seized her. Paul had never felt so helpless in his life. Bridget continued to manipulate his wife’s womb, trying once again to turn the bairn.

“P-Paul,” Juliette whispered, gripping his hands so tightly, it was a wonder she hadn’t broken his fingers. “I love you. I always have.”

“I know,
a chrìdhe.
As I love you.” He smoothed back her hair, meeting her eyes. “Hold on, and soon you’ll have our wee bairn in your arms.”

Her green eyes were bleak. “I was afraid this might happen. But I don’t regret being with you.” Tears threatened, and her voice grew hoarse. “If I die, promise me you’ll take care of our baby. And tell Matthew one day… that I loved him.”

“You’ll tell him yourself,” he insisted. But the surrender in her expression terrified him. She didn’t believe she would live to see this child born. And if they didn’t get the bairn out soon, both of them would die.

“She’s ready,” Bridget pronounced. “My girl, it’s time for you to push now.”

“H-has the baby turned?”

“No. But we’ll do as ever best we can,” Bridget promised.

Paul prayed to God he wouldn’t have to cut in. A breech birth was dangerous enough, but surgery could claim Juliette’s life in any number of ways.