Patience (26 page)

Her chest suddenly felt tight, like she might cry. Lord in Heaven, she’d cried more in the past two days than she’d cried in years.

Annoyed by her emotions, she jerked away from the empty spot beside her and turned onto her other side. Right before her, on her bedside table, was one of her small note cards propped against a candlestick. Her heart quickened as she picked up the note.

A smile turned Patience’s lips as she read the last line, and then she read the note all over again—and again. Such a brief little note, yet it banished her ill humor completely.

Sitting up, she saw the breakfast tray by the hearth. A silver dome hid the contents. Considering her ungratefulness for the previous day’s breakfast, she was surprised that he had brought her another. But she also felt exceedingly happy that he had. Happy and—and, well—happy.

Hurriedly scooting out of bed, she crossed to the hearth and peeked beneath the dome. A poached egg, toast, and tiny sausages were prettily arranged beside a baked apple. The plate was still very warm. He could not have left it long ago.

She inhaled the smell of cinnamon. Would he have stayed and breakfasted with her if she’d awakened to his kiss? That would have been nice.

Replacing the lid, she crossed to her dressing table. As she opened the small drawer on the left, she read the note one more time, pausing on the words “for I know I am your prince.”

Her heart fluttered.

Her prince?

Was he?

Clearly, he thought so.

Yet she’d been certain there was no prince for her. She’d been certain she would reign over her life alone—certain that she needed no one.

She brushed her thumb across the cleanly penned letters as a small frown turned her brow. Only, last night, she had admitted she needed him. And he had confessed a need for her. Her frown deepened. But what did they need each other for? Pleasure and physical fulfillment? Clearly, there was that.

But there was more. She felt it at the deepest moments of her submission—a profound peace and comfort. And happiness—sweet and undiluted.

She felt it at other times, too—as when they’d danced together, and when she’d seen him leaning against the doorway at the musicale. And when he said things. Those startling, wonderful things she would never forget. And now, when he wasn’t even with her—but was thinking of her.

She slipped the note in her drawer along with the folded slip of paper that had graced her breakfast tray the day before. Lifting her gaze, she looked at the reflection of her torso in the dressing table mirror. Bringing one hand to her breast, she smoothed her other hand along the curve of her waist. Were they destined for each other—for a life together? Her hands trembled and her heart beat fast at the thought. Was that the inevitable something she had sensed from the first moment she’d seen him?

That would mean all her certainties were wrong. How could that be? How could that be when she’d been so sure, so decided?

Turning slowly, she let her gaze wander down the curve of her waist to her bottom. Her eyes widened and, looking over her shoulder, she turned more. Pale little bruises dotted the skin of her buttocks, and a larger, darker love-bite sat on the curve of her left cheek. Her clitoris pulsed and a sigh passed her lips. The sight pleased and excited her. Like the fading love-bite on her thigh, it was a small view of her submission—tangible proof of something sweet, yet secret—tangible proof of Matthew’s strong touch upon her.

She smoothed her hands over her bottom, gently pressing the pale bruises. She barely felt them, and wondered at why that was disappointing. As she continued to stare at the small marks, she realized that the sight of them made her feel proud and protected. But while she could recognize her feelings, she could not explain them.

She sighed as a small frown turned her brow. Was this the woman she was becoming? One with strange, inexplicable emotions that made no sense?

She turned and stared at her cello case. How could she trust such odd emotions? Was she being blinded by the intense experience of her submission?

She frowned. Or was it, rather, that her eyes were being opened?

Lately, everything seemed to be working in opposites. Submission was power. Vulnerability was strength. Bonds were freeing. There was pleasure in punishment.

Her frown deepened as she stared hard at her cello case.

And old truths felt like lies.

 

 

How he hated telling lies.

Matthew leaned back in his desk chair and shoved his fingers through his hair. Rosalind merited the fullest expression of his honest loathing and disgust. But, instead, he had participated in a revolting exchange that, in the end, had left him feeling unclean.

Even though Rosalind had provided him with valuable information—information that had increased his determination to destroy Archibald Benchley—he still could not get rid of the feeling that he had somehow tainted himself.

He frowned. When he’d returned and found Patience still sleeping, he had thought to wake his Sleeping Beauty with a kiss. Only she had not awakened. It stuck him now that it was as if his kiss were not pure enough—as if he were not worthy to be her prince, strong and true.

His frown deepened. It was a silly thought. A fanciful thought.

But he couldn’t shake it.

A knock on the door interrupted Matthew’s thoughts. He called for admittance, and Mickey Wilkes sauntered in.

Matthew indicated the chair across from his desk. “I’m sorry to have awakened you so early this morning.”

Mickey sat. “Tha’s a’right, Mr. ’Awkmore. I’s a’ways up fer a early mornin’ ride.”

“Pinter’s riding lessons have served you well. No one would know that you only recently learned.”

“Thank ye.” Mickey smiled. “I really enjoy th’ ridin’, I do. And me mum were so surprised when I rode right up t’ ’er ’ouse las’ month. She were out milkin’ our cow, Molly. An’ she thought I were some fancy trav’ler stoppin’ fer a cup.” Mickey winked. “Didn’t e’en recon’ize ’er own son, she didn’t.”

Matthew nodded as he jotted a brief note on a piece of his stationery. “A few lessons in etiquette, and you could pass for quite the young gentleman.”

“Really, Mr. ’Awkmore?”

Matthew raised his eyes to Mickey. “Yes, really. Get me what I need and I’ll see that you get those lessons.”

Mickey smiled. “I will, Mr. ’Awkmore. I will indeed.” He leaned forward. “So, did ye get wha’ ye wanted, this mornin’? Are ye goin’ back wit’ th’ lady?”

“Hell, no.” Matthew frowned as he shoved the note in an envelope. “Rosalind Benchley is merely a means of getting information—a necessary evil in my war with her father. I’d rather never see her again. Which is why you need to hurry up and get me something I can use.”

Mickey grinned. “I mus’ say, I’s ’appy to ’ear you ain’t goin’ back to th’ lady what lef’ ya.”

“Are you?”

Mickey shrugged. “Well, yeah. I jus’ cain’t respec’ a man ’oo goes grovelin’. ’Sides, yer rich an’ yer a’right t’ look at. Ye’ll find yerse’f a new lady in no time.”

Matthew lifted his brows as he put his seal on the envelope. “Rich” was relative. “I’ve actually already found the one who shall be mine.”

“Yeah?” Mickey leaned forward. “Good fer you, Mr. ’Awkmore. Wha’s she like? Pret’y?” He raised his brows. “Fair or dark?”

“None of your business.” Matthew opened his desk drawer and took out the letter to Cavalli. “All you need to know is that the lady’s name is Miss Patience Dare. Since I plan for her to be in my company often, I’m certain you shall meet her at some point. When that happens, say nothing of the Benchleys.” He tapped the letter on the desktop. “For I’m of the strong opinion that she would not approve.”

Mickey nodded. “I got it, Mr. ’Awkmore. Me lips are sealed. Mum’s th’ word. Devils couldn’t drag i’ out o’ me.”

“Very good.” Matthew slid the note to his jeweler and the letter to Cavalli across his desk. The moment his fingers left the latter, he almost grabbed it back. But then he envisioned Patience, asleep beside him, as she’d been that morning. His heart thumped. He couldn’t let her go. She would wake to his kiss. And she would be his.

He looked back at Mickey as he was picking up the two missives. “You will take the next train to London. Before you do anything else, deliver the letter to Maestro Cavalli at the address written on the front. Then, take the note to Smithfield and Sons Jewelers. You may get directions for both at the train station. Once you’ve finished those errands, return to Benchley Hall and get me what I need. I have it from Rosalind that they have no plans to be there anytime soon, so it’s the perfect opportunity for you to do some deep digging. In the meantime, I have business to attend to; so I will keep you informed of my whereabouts by messenger. Now”—he pulled out his cash box—“let’s discuss how we’ll handle the finances of this venture. Bribes may be necessary.”

“They might be.” Mickey grinned. “Tho’ I’s very persuasive, ’specially wit’ th’ ladies.”

Matthew watched his letter to Cavalli disappear, along with the note to his jeweler, into Mickey Wilkes’s breast pocket. He, too, could be persuasive.

He would persuade Patience that he
was
her prince—for now and forever.

SONG OF SOLOMON 2:8

 

 

 

 

“The sky is far too dark today, my dear. I think it very ill advised of you to attend the hunt. Why don’t you stay at home with us?”

Patience turned from the window where she had been looking at the clouds overhead. She crossed to Aunt Matty and Passion, who were sitting comfortably before the family drawing room fire eating their breakfasts. Patience poured her aunt a fresh cup of tea. “I’ll be fine, Aunt Matty. What’s a little water, after all?”

“My dear, if it were just water I would have no worries. But it is sure to storm. What if you catch a cold? What if your horse becomes skittish and throws you? Oh”—Aunt Matty’s eyes widened—“what if you’re struck by lightning? Passion, tell her what happened to my good friend, Mrs. Nobhew.”

Passion smiled at their aunt. “But, Aunt Matty, I don’t know what happened to Mrs. Nobhew. I don’t even know who Mrs. Nobhew is.”

Aunt Matty looked worriedly at Passion but then patted her hand. “Dearest, I’m afraid your delicate condition has started to affect your memory, for I am quite certain that I told you all about my good friend, Mrs. Nobhew.”

Passion nodded. “I’m sure you’re right. Forgive me.”

“Always, my dear. And, of course, I shan’t say a word to Mrs. Nobhew about your completely forgetting her harrowing story.” Aunt Matty sipped her tea. “And if I do say a word, I shall be certain to explain the reason for your forgetfulness, which is, after all, completely understandable.”

Patience shook her head and exchanged an exasperated glance with her sister. At this rate, it would be noon before they discovered what had happened to Mrs. Nobhew. “Well for goodness’ sake, Aunt Matty, tell us what happened.”

Aunt Matty frowned up at her. “Really, Patience, you would do well to exercise the attribute for which you were named. Heavens, let me catch my breath a moment, will you?”

Patience crossed her arms over her chest while her aunt made a show of clearing her throat. Passion hid her smile behind a spoonful of baked apple.

“Gracious, look at the time,” Patience said casually. “I suppose I should be going.”

“So,” Aunt Matty immediately continued, “as I was saying about Mrs. Nobhew. Just last month she accompanied her son and his family for a picnic in the park. They were having a splendid time until a sudden storm came up. Well, in their haste to leave, no one considered the dangerous ramifications of packing the silverware beneath Mrs. Nobhew’s seat.”

“Good Lord.” Patience raised her brows at her sister, unsure whether their aunt’s story was going to go down a serious or an amusing path.

“Good Lord, indeed,” Aunt Matty said dramatically. “Imagine their shock and dismay when a ferocious bolt of lightning came down right behind my good friend, Mrs. Nobhew, electrifying the picnic utensils to such a degree that, right before the horrified eyes of her entire family, every hair on Mrs. Nobhew’s head sprang into curl!” Her eyes widened. “Including, even, her eyebrows!”

Patience and Passion both looked at her for a brief moment before breaking into laughter.

Aunt Matty frowned at them sternly. “This is no laughing matter, girls. It’s positively dreadful. You should see her—tufts of wiry curls sticking out in every possible direction. She can’t do a thing with them. And the last time she invited me to tea, my eye was constantly drawn to her eyebrows, which, no matter how I tried to tell myself otherwise, looked like two fuzzy caterpillars creeping across her brow. It was terribly distracting.”

Choking with laughter, Patience held her aching side and leaned over the back of a chair as her sister covered her face with her hands, her shoulders shaking with silent hilarity.

Aunt Matty sipped her tea whilst waiting for them to contain themselves, which they did fairly quickly despite a couple of relapses.

Aunt Matty raised her own silvered brows. “If you two are quite finished, I shall return to my point.”

“Which is?” Patience asked, trying to keep from laughing.

“Which is that lightning can have a frightful effect upon the hair, and possible contact with it should be avoided at all costs.”