Patience (17 page)

She thrust her hips against his prick. It felt as hard as steel, but, yet again, he quickly withdrew. Patience shivered. As he closed her corset cover, her eyes kept dropping to his magnificent erection. She longed to touch it, at least. But though he surely noticed where her eye wandered, he did not acknowledge it in any way.

Instead, he ushered her back to her dressing table. “Sit,” he murmured.

Patience obeyed, squirming a little as her swollen sex was pressed deliciously by the seat cushion. She felt some surprise as Matthew picked up her brush and began taming her wild curls with firm strokes. Seemingly intent on his task, she took the opportunity to study, through the mirror, the soft curves and hard angles of his face.

His brow was smooth. His nose would have been completely straight but for a small chisel- like dip in the bridge that, somehow, served to make it more perfect. His wide, sensual mouth made her want to kiss him, and his chin, firm and square, hinted at his dominance. And then there were those expressive, long-lashed eyes that seemed to look inside her.

“God must have modeled you after an angel.” She didn’t realize she’d spoken the words aloud until his lashes lifted and she was staring into the reflection of his dark orbs.

Something flickered in his expression. “I assure you, I’m no angel.”

She thought of her dream. “Perhaps you are to me.”

He picked up her hair combs and looked at them for a moment before sweeping back her hair from each side of her face and pushing them in. He met her gaze in the mirror. “Your aunt says you’re an angel.” His hands rested on her shoulders and his long fingers traced her collarbone. “And I’m inclined to believe her.”

As she admired the sight of his sun-darkened hands against her pale skin, Patience smiled softly at the thought of Aunt Matty lauding her. “Well, you mustn’t believe everything my aunt says. She’s rather prone to exaggeration.”

Matthew stared at her for a long moment, his own mouth turning up slowly at the corners. Then he stepped even closer to her, his hips against her shoulder blades as he slid his hands over the curves of her breasts. “You mean you aren’t really the best croquet player in the world?”

Patience pressed back against him and shivered as his long fingers squeezed her breasts. “Well, that may actually be true,” she breathed.

Matthew leaned over her and kissed the curve of her ear. His moist mouth and warm breath lifted gooseflesh on her skin. Patience sighed as his hands swept lower, pressing between her thighs. She immediately let her legs fall open, and her body jolted as he rubbed her through her chemise. She groaned and, leaning back against him, her hips tilted up as strong prurient pulses erupted from her enflamed flesh.

“God, your clitoris is so swollen,” he whispered. “Look at it, Patience, look at how full it is.”

Panting, Patience looked down. Matthew had pressed the thin batiste of her chemise against her and, through it, she could see her clitoris, plump and round. He pressed his finger gently against it and Patience jerked—first back and then forward.

“So pretty, Patience,” he whispered against her ear. His other hand slipped into the top of her corset. “That’s how I like to see it—full and ready to burst.”

Patience gasped and moved her hips in tiny thrusts as he kept pressing it and stroking it gently. Then, shuddering, she choked back a groan as he pinched her nipple firmly between his fingers. He pressed and rolled the thickened nub harder and harder while he tenderly fondled the heart of her cunt.

Her mind reeled as the piercing sensation in her breast shot straight to her aching quim. They were connected—the feeling in one communicating to the other in a rapid pass of blood.

“This state—this heightened state of voluptuous readiness—is what you will learn to keep simmering at all times, Patience.” Matthew’s whispered voice spoke directly into her ear, overwhelming any other thought. “I shall help you, and soon you shall move through your days, doing all the things that normally fill your time—only you will do them with a swollen sex and a ready mind.”

Yes! God, yes!
An unstoppable trembling began in Patience’s body as the pressure he exerted upon her nipple became acute. She had no idea when she’d drawn her legs up, but now she pulled them back farther as she raised her eyes to her mirror. She sucked in her breath at the image of Matthew wrapped around her like some dark, beautiful demon. As she watched, his tongue slipped from his mouth and touched the outer whorls of her ear. Suddenly, she envisioned great golden wings fluttering at his back—not a demon, an angel.
Her
angel. And then her eyelids dropped as she listened to his whispered words.

“Tonight, as you dine, your breasts will throb and your sex will ache. And while you smile and exchange pleasantries with others, you will be aware of your body’s hunger. It will please you because you will know it is your proper state. It will please you because you know it pleases me. Isn’t that so?”

“Yes, Matthew,” Patience breathed.

He pressed his lips into her neck, and then he pulled slowly away from her, supporting her upper arms so that she didn’t tip off her stool. She shuddered and gripped the edge of her dressing table as he went to collect her crinoline and gown.

As he returned, she noted a small wet stain on his trousers. It darkened the part of the pearl gray fabric that was tight over the head of his erection. Moisture filled her mouth at the sight. Surely he would allow her to taste him again.

“Come,” he said firmly.

Patience forced herself to rise. Her legs felt tingly, and she almost moaned at the full, inflated sensation she felt between her thighs as she crossed to him.

He quickly dropped her layered crinoline over her head and secured the waist. Her gown followed and, just as efficiently, he worked the intricate closure. Her slippers came next and then her jewelry—a parure of dainty cut-steel beads. He regarded the pieces briefly before helping her to don them. Then he dropped a soft kiss upon her lips. “I’ll see you at dinner.”

Patience’s eyes widened as he stepped away. She glanced at his powerful erection. “But—but what about you?”

Matthew paused. “What about me?”

“Well”—Patience dropped her eyes to his wet trousers and licked her lips—“shouldn’t I assist you with that?”

Matthew crossed his arms over his chest. “No. If I allow you to fellate me, you’ll come and that would be counterproductive to my purpose.”

Patience shook her head. “I won’t, I promise.” She felt desperate for the taste of him. Once was not enough to fulfill the desire of a lifetime.

His eyes seemed to darken. “This is not a negotiation, Patience. When I say no, the answer is no.”

Patience bit her lip. How could he be so controlled, when he was in such obvious need? Wet and throbbing, she felt like a disciple of Priapus.

Stepping close, he stroked her cheek. “You are a goddess. My Persephone,” he murmured. “Your beauty is unmatched, and the sensual fire in your eyes makes you magnificent. If only you could see yourself through my eyes . . .” He shook his head, then frowned. “Your admirers will be clamoring after you tonight. Though you will be needy, allow none of them to touch you. You belong to me.”

Patience felt a swell of pride at his possessiveness. Of course she wouldn’t allow anyone else to touch her. No man but he would ever touch her again.

But she didn’t say that.

She just said, “Yes, Matthew.”

SONG OF SOLOMON 3:8

 

 

 

 

“I’m so glad that you are recovered from your headache, Miss Dare. I was mightily disappointed to miss my dance with you last eve. Indeed, I do believe at least half the gentlemen at the ball were quite put out with you.”

Patience lifted her emerald silk skirts as she descended the stairs with Lord Farnsby. Guests were slowly moving down to the main floor for dinner. But she barely noted them as each step she took sent luscious reverberations through her engorged sex. “I’m sorry to have disappointed you, my lord.”

Patience searched discreetly for Matthew’s broad shoulders and gold-tipped hair. She wanted to see him—to look into his eyes and feel the touch of his dark, possessive gaze.

“Well, you’re forgiven, of course.” Farnsby pushed back his thinning hair. “Ah, there’s Asher. Did I tell you, Miss Dare, that Asher and I are cousins?”

“No, my lord, you didn’t.”

Patience saw Lord Asher talking with another gentleman at the foot of the stairs. But where was Matthew? Her breasts felt heavy. Would he attend dinner? Her nipples tightened and tingled. What of the musicale afterward? Would he come to hear her play?

“I say, Asher!” Farnsby called over the din of the milling crowd. “Look who I’ve had the good fortune to run into—Miss Dare.”

Farnsby’s raised voice seemed to get the attention of every man in the immediate vicinity. Eyes turned toward her and remained on her. Indeed, it felt as if the entire crowd of males took a collective step toward her all at once. She paused but then raised her chin. Where was Matthew? With him, she felt protected.

Taller, leaner, and more handsome than his cousin, Asher smiled up at her and extended his hand as she approached. “Miss Dare, you have made this evening bright. Though I hardly know how it is possible, you look even more beautiful this evening than you did last night.” He hovered a bit over her hand before turning to his companion. “I believe you were introduced to Lord Fitz Roy at the ball.”

Patience smiled at the man who also seemed to be observing her intently. Though most all the gentlemen she had met the night before had blurred in her memory, she remembered Lord Fitz Roy for his black hair and extraordinarily pale blue eyes. “Good evening, my lord.”

“Good evening, Miss Dare,” the man drawled. “I can’t tell you what a relief it is to see you. Are you aware that you are one of only a handful of ladies here this evening who can claim some understanding of style and subtlety?” Fitz Roy raised his brow at a passing group of giggling young women before turning back to Patience. “What horrid plague has clouded the minds of ladies, that they adorn a single gown with enough lace and trimmings to easily ornament a dozen? I ask you”—he gestured to the crowd at large—“have you ever seen so many gewgaws, bow-ties, and gimcracks?”

The man had a beautiful voice, but he spoke in a bored monotone that made Patience smile. She nodded as she glanced around. “It does appear to be rather a strong night for gewgaws, bow-ties, and gimcracks.” She turned back to him. “Personally, I don’t mind a bow- tie or two. It’s the gewgaws and gimcracks that I cannot abide.”

The smallest of grins turned the man’s mouth.

“Good God, Miss Dare, you’ve actually got a show of teeth from our supercilious Fitz Roy.” Lord Asher turned to his cousin. “Surely, this is an incident worth recording in your Journal of Extraordinary Events.”

Farnsby nodded. “I shall make a note of it.”

“Well, while you’re at it,” Lord Fitz Roy drawled, “be sure you document the fact that the Lady Humphreys has actually adorned her shapeless personage in fewer than seven hundred fifty-two flounces today. Heavens, I barely recognized the lady in such a simple gown.”

Smiling, Patience glanced over her shoulder as three women passed behind her. The large lady in the middle wore a gown with at least a dozen lace flounces from waist to floor, and more upon her sleeves. Patience turned back to her companions and lowered her voice. “I think seven hundred fifty-two may be a slight exaggeration, my lord.”

“Only this eve, Miss Dare. Only this eve.”

Just as Patience began to smile, she heard the unmistakable voice of one of the gossips from the previous night.

“Doesn’t Hawkmore know that his presence is an embarrassment? No one knows what to say to him. You’d think he’d stay away for his brother’s sake, at least.”

When Farnsby began to speak, Patience stayed him with a hand upon his arm.

“I couldn’t agree more,” came the reply. “What do you say to a man whose illegitimacy is announced in the papers—and in such a scandalous manner? And what of his mother? Nobly born, but with both feet in the gutter. Why, if
my
mother were proven as low and horrid a woman as she, I’d never show my face in public again.”

Patience felt herself growing hot with anger as her companions shared uncomfortable glances. How dare these women speak of Matthew or his circumstances with such derision!

“Well, she’s our host’s mother as well,” said a third voice.

“Yes, but she clearly favored her illegitimate son. What must it have been like for the young earl, tolerating that all those years? And then to almost lose the love of his life, all to protect a bastard brother. It’s unconscionable, I tell you.”

Patience’s hands clenched in her skirts. Fitz Roy took a step forward but she stayed him with a shake of her head.

“Yes. And just what does one say to a gardener’s son who walks about in our midst as if he were our equal?”

“You say, ‘Pardon me, but can you tell me how to rid my roses of mildew?’ ”

More tittering. “Oh, Mildred! You’re shameless.”

Patience had heard enough. In a fury, she whirled around the column that separated her from the nasty gossips. “Yes, Mildred, you are shameless. Shameless and cruel.”

She glared at the three ladies, who drew back in surprise at the sight of her. They were none other than the Lady Humphreys and her two companions. The two smaller women looked aghast. Lady Humphreys, who must be Mildred, looked haughty. It was the haughtiness that made Patience’s blood boil. Employing all her restraint, she kept her voice low. “How dare you? Tell me, are you Christian women?”

“Of course,” Lady Humphreys snapped.

“Then have you forgotten the words of our Lord?” When they looked at her blankly she took a step closer. “Very well, though I am only a common vicar’s daughter, I shall remind you. ‘But I say unto you, that every idle word that men shall speak; they shall give account thereof in the day of judgment. For by thy words thou shalt be justified, and by thy words thou shalt be condemned. ’ ” Patience took a deep breath. “You demean no one but yourselves with your malicious gossip. I pity you, and I shall pray for the redemption of your souls.” She started to turn away, only to turn back. “And so that you will not be tempted to engage in any more wrongful speculation, I will tell you that the earl loves his brother, and my sister loves him, too. Matthew Hawkmore is welcome in this house whenever he chooses to grace it with his presence.”