Patience (25 page)

Excitement simmered in his gut. Battling down her defenses would be a great pleasure. He would be both her conqueror and her emancipator.

Carefully, Matthew rose onto his elbow. His blood coursed as he gazed down at her. “I will have you, Patience,” he whispered low. “I
will
have you.”

 

 

 

Matthew wrapped the collar of his coat more securely around his neck as he looked up at the dawn sky. His breath, and that of the big bay beside him, steamed in the cold air. Fortunately, Hawkmore House and Gillyhurst, the Filbert residence, were set relatively close, with their lands stretching in opposite directions. Still, it had been over an hour’s long ride to Lord Filbert’s estate. Matthew checked his watch. A little after six. It had been three o’clock in the morning when he’d forced himself from Patience’s sweet embrace.

His heart tightened. She’d asked him not to go, but he had decided it was better to leave her then, than to have to leave her later. He had plans for her later. Besides, if he could inconvenience Rosalind, all the better.

Rosalind.
He shoved his hands in his coat pockets. He’d better get something useful out of her, for he would rather have never seen her again. Even still, he was tempted to change his mind and leave.

Behind him, a couple of ravens cawed. Turning, Matthew found them perched on the old mill wheel that hung, still and decaying, alongside the crumbling wall. A river had once fed the sad stone building, but Lord Filbert had diverted it long ago. Meadow grass now brushed the lower slats, forever touching and pushing, but forever ineffectual at bringing the mill back to life.

Matthew stared at the moldering wheel.

Patience was his river. Her very presence brought him to life—her strength, her loyalty, her goodness, and her guarded heart. She moved him and fueled him with the desire to succeed. That’s why he couldn’t leave this meeting. He was going to make Patience his wife, and he needed to give her everything he could—wealth, status, and security. Not poverty, contempt, and worry.

He drew back his shoulders. She would never regret choosing him. He would give her a brilliant life. And no one, least of all Archibald Benchley, would prevent him.

In the quiet, Matthew heard the muffled canter of horses’ hooves approaching. The ravens took flight with loud caws and squawks. He turned as the horses rounded the bend—Mickey Wilkes at the front and Rosalind following.

Pulling his hands from his pockets, Matthew crossed his arms over his chest and waited. It was strange. Before he received her recent note, Rosalind had receded so far from his mind that he’d hardly thought of her. Rather, it was her father who had become his fiercest enemy. But as she rode toward him, a smile on her face, he realized how much he really did hate her. Not because she’d left him—he was glad of that. But because of
how
she’d left him. Because of how she’d vilified him after leaving him. And because of how she was trying to come simpering back to him.

Mickey and she drew up. The boy dismounted and then moved to assist her when it was clear Matthew wasn’t going to. Rosalind didn’t say anything, but she kept her smile as she accepted Mickey’s assistance and handed the lad her reins.

Regarding Matthew coyly, she closed the remaining distance between them. Her dark hair was tied back loosely at her neck and loose strands fell around her cheeks, which were reddened from the cold. Her dark eyes held a flirtatious satisfaction, and her smile deepened as she stopped before him.

He’d once found her beautiful, but now all he saw was a selfish, shallow fraud. He wished he were back in bed with Patience. He shouldn’t have left her for this.

Rosalind stayed silent as Mickey collected Matthew’s horse and then moved off. Matthew let his arms fall to his sides as he remembered the last time he’d seen her. It had been in her London home. She’d turned her back on him, before quietly disappearing behind a closed door. Her father had raged at him—and then had him thrown out. Yet, this morn, there was no sorrow or remorse in her expression for that day. In fact, she was looking at him as if he owed her something.

“I knew you would come to me,” she said.

Matthew gritted his teeth. “Really.” He entertained himself with thoughts of slapping the cocky smile right off her face. “How did you know?”

She took a step closer to him. “Because you loved me, Matt. And love doesn’t disappear in four months.” She looked up at him through her lashes. “Which means you still love me.”

It was all he could do not to blurt out the truth—that she was right, love didn’t disappear in four months. Which proved that he’d never loved her at all. He clenched his hands into fists. It only made him angrier that he’d thought he had—that even when he’d known better, he’d clung to the illusion that he loved her—and the illusion that she loved him.

He looked into her brown eyes and spoke around his hatred. “What of you, Rosalind? Do you still love me?”

She pressed her hand to her breast. “Yes, my dearest.”

“Look.” She opened the neck of her cloak. “Look what I’m wearing.”

Matthew stared at the sapphire necklace while ignoring the bit of bosom she artfully revealed when she opened her cloak. He’d given her the necklace as an engagement gift. He wanted to rip it off her neck. Rosalind was wearing sapphires—sapphires he’d bought for her—while Patience wore cut beads.

“Is that supposed to prove something?” He couldn’t keep his lip from curling. “Because I’m afraid it doesn’t. You already failed the ultimate test of love, Rosalind.” He could still remember the horrified look on her face when he’d told her he was a bastard. “And then you sealed the break in writing.”

“You know Father made me write that letter. I didn’t want to do it.”

“Yet, you
did
do it.”

A pained frown twisted Rosalind’s brow. “You’re not being fair. I’ve been in such shock, Matt.” Her frown deepened. “Your news was devastating, and I was very hurt by it. What woman wouldn’t be?”

“And, yes, I admit I was angry with you.” She shook her head. “But can you really blame me? Mine is an old and pure line, which has had its dignity besmirched by this scandal.” Her lower lip trembled. “Yet, despite the sad truth of your parentage, and despite the awful consequences that have been forced upon me as a result—still, I am here. I am here, Matt.”

Christ, he hated her more with every word she spoke. “I repeat, is that supposed to prove something? Am I to feel grateful that you have deigned to dignify me with your presence?”

Tears welled in her eyes.

“Oh, stop it,” he snapped.

Her expression looked truly repentant. She clasped his hand between hers and then clutched it to her breast. “Dearest, I know I hurt you. But I regret it. Really I do.” She leaned close, her eyes brimming. “No one loves me like you, Matt. No one treats me like you did. How could I have known that what we had was so special, when I’d never experienced any love but yours? Oh, Matt”—she released his hand and pressed herself against him—“please, I miss you so much.”

Matthew stood unmoving. She didn’t miss
him
. She missed how he made
her
feel. She’d thought he would be easily replaceable, and now she felt fucking sorry for herself.

He forced himself not to hurl her away from him.

She looked up, her dark eyes glistening with a sudden sensuality. “Kiss me, Matt. Kiss me like you used to—with all your strength and passion. Just kiss me and everything will be fine.”

“No.”
Never.
His kisses were only for Patience now.

She stared at him for a long moment before lowering her eyes. “It’s all right. I know you’re angry with me. But I also know you still love me.” She paused and looked up at him through her lashes. “And I know you’re furious over my engagement to Danforth. I heard about the fight, dearest.” The smallest of smiles turned her lips. “And while I admit that the thought of you fighting over me is thrilling, you must never, ever be jealous of him. Promise me you won’t be.”

Matthew wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or spit in her face. He did neither. “Very well, I promise.”

Her small smile faded only to be replaced with a resentful frown. “Danforth is such a dimwit. But soon I shall be a countess in my own right, and I’ll do what I want.”

He stared at her for a moment and couldn’t resist forcing her to show her true colors. “Or, we could go to Gretna Green right now.”

A flash of shock and then dismay showed in her eyes.

Matthew held back a sardonic smile.

“But . . .” She looked down, and when she looked back up at him her expression was full of regret. “I wish we could, Matt—I truly do. But Father is completely against you. He would disown me. I wouldn’t get a penny.” She touched his cheek. “And who knows what
your
future holds.”

“Yes, who knows?”
Patience.

“But if I marry Danforth, as loathsome as it will be, I will get his title. And I’ll keep my money.” Rosalind gave him a small hopeful smile. “Dearest, I could even find a way to help you if you ever needed it. You know, financially.” Her smile deepened. “Wouldn’t
that
get Father’s goat. Of course, I could never let him know.”

“Of course not.”
Because you’re a lying cheat.

“But the important thing is that we will be together, dearest—secret lovers forever.” She pulled him close. “Oh, Matt, it will be so wonderful and exciting. And Father and Danforth will never know.”

“No, never.”
Because it’ll be a cold day in hell before I ever become your lover.

She pulled back and covered a giggle with her hand. “Father is so angry that Danforth lost that mine to you. You should hear him. He’s still raging about it.”

At last.
“Is he?”

“Yes. Do you know, he practically threw Danforth across the room when he found out? He called him an imbecile, and accused him of ‘ruining everything.’ ”

Matthew tensed. “Really?”

Rosalind’s expression shifted to one of concern. “Oh, I’m sorry, dearest.” She pulled him close. “I shouldn’t be speaking about this.” She gripped his arms and brushed her cheek against his chest. “But I want you to know that if Father does succeed in taking over GWR, that I don’t care. No matter what, I want to be with you always. And I want . . .”

Matthew stood frozen as Rosalind’s voice faded.

Taking over GWR?
Benchley wanted to take over GWR? Benchley wanted to fucking take over Grand West Railway?

Matthew’s body stiffened with rage. Yes, of course he did, the goddamned son of a bitch! Benchley need only starve GWR and wait. After all, barring any brilliant escape, it would have just been a matter of time before Matthew could no longer sustain the railway’s losses. Stockholders would have dumped their shares, and he, a bankrupt, would have been forced from the board. Then Benchley, and likely the other large mine owners as well, would have swept in to save the day. And in one fell swoop, Matthew would have been thoroughly ruined, whilst Benchley would have acquired GWR for a fraction of its value.

Matthew felt as if his blood were boiling. Benchley was to have been his father-in-law for Christ’s sake. Yet the man was not only plotting Matthew’s ruin, but, simultaneously, his own ascension—upon Matthew’s back and in pursuit of Matthew’s throne!

Matthew clenched his jaw in an attempt to contain his wrath. Benchley’s villainy, it seemed, had no bounds. What else was the man capable of? Matthew curled his fingers into fists. He couldn’t afford to find out. He must destroy Benchley completely. He had a future to protect—a future with Patience.

“Matt, dearest, are you listening to me?”

Matthew stared down at Rosalind, and his anger was almost as much for her as for her father. “I have to go soon.”

Rosalind’s expression turned to one of surprise. “But I only just arrived. I thought—well, I thought we might spend some time together.”

Matthew turned her toward the mill path. “Another time, perhaps. I can’t stay today . . .”

 

 

Why hadn’t he stayed with her?

Patience stretched her arms across the bare sheets where Matthew had lain. For the second night in a row, she’d fallen asleep with him at her side yet awakened alone. She didn’t like finding him gone. For some reason, it made her sad.

She wanted to wake and see his strong angel-face beside her. She wanted to be able to reach for him and feel the comforting warmth of his presence. She wanted . . .