Patience (41 page)

Where the hell was Mickey? He needed the proof Mickey was looking for. Once he had it, he would make Benchley entirely and eternally irrelevant. For he was in a fight to the death.

He looked at Patience.

And he had too much reason to live.

He watched her sip her lemonade, and let the vision of her soothe his tension. They had a music lesson scheduled for that afternoon. He’d given her three in the past week, but she was proving a difficult student. She was very resistant, and continued to claim that she didn’t even want to play—which was a curious sentiment for someone who had formerly played every day. It didn’t make sense. Nothing about her playing had ever made sense, which was why he had to get to the bottom of it. Besides, he didn’t want her to go without instruction, as he was the reason she’d given up Cavalli.

And then there was her virginity. His desire to claim it was becoming almost impossible to control. When would she give him her whole self? He turned back to the tennis match.

“So, are you really going to attend Lady Millford’s ball?” Fitz Roy asked, not taking his eyes from the game.

“Yes,” Matthew answered, following the ball.

Fitz Roy turned to him. “The Benchleys will be there.”

Matthew nodded as he continued to watch. “Of course, they always are.”

“You know, Lady Millford’s reasons for inviting you are entirely selfish. By having you and the Benchleys at her circus, she ensures that everyone who’s anyone will be in attendance—just so they can be present for the drama that is sure to unfold. Everyone who knows I’m staying with you has written to me about it, asking if it’s true you’re really going. They can barely contain themselves.”

Matthew turned to Fitz Roy. “I am entirely aware of Lady Millford’s motivations. The woman will do anything, including ask
me
into her home, to ensure she has the most talked-of event of the season.”

“So why give her what she wants?”

“Because if I don’t go, it will be presumed that Benchley’s presence is the reason.” Matthew frowned. “He will walk around with his chin in the air, and everyone will start talking about how I was too ashamed or too afraid to appear. Anyone who has any belief in me will begin to doubt. Those who are uncertain will fall into Benchley’s camp. And those who already malign me will look righteous. No.” His frown deepened. “I’ll be damned if I’m going to turn tail and hide whilst Benchley holds court at Lady Millford’s.”

Fitz Roy rested his chin lazily on his fist. “Shame you two can’t just whip your cocks out and lay them on the table for everyone to measure. Then we could put this whole thing to rest.”

Matthew was forced to smile. “I’d win.”

The corners of Fitz Roy’s mouth twitched. “I’m sure.”

They both turned back to the tennis match, in which Asher seemed to be completely eclipsing his cousin.

After a moment Fitz Roy asked, “Will you bring Miss Dare and her aunt as your guests?”

Matthew glanced over at them. “Of course.” He wanted everyone to see Patience on his arm. He wanted everyone to know she was with him.

Fitz Roy nodded as he turned back to the game. “I heard Miss Dare asking you about visiting Gwenellyn the other day.”

“Yes.”

“I never heard a lady make such a vehement argument for visiting a coal mine.” He still watched the game. “In fact, I’ve never heard a lady make
any
argument for visiting a coal mine.”

“Yes, well”—Matthew looked at her—“Patience isn’t just
any
lady.” She made him feel proud. Rosalind had never been to one of her father’s mines, yet Patience was insisting upon going.

“So I take it we’re all paying a visit?”

Matthew turned back to Fitz Roy. “I have to return to Gwenellyn for about a week. I thought I’d invite you all up for the day. We’ll go on a tour of the place, take dinner together, and then you can escort Miss Dare and her aunt back home the following morning.”

“Very well.”

They both turned back to the game.

“Thank you, Fitz Roy.”

“You’re welcome, Hawkmore.”

 

“You’re a dear,” Aunt Matty said as she accepted Patience’s help with her coat. “But hadn’t you better get to your lesson? You don’t want to be late.”

Patience took her time arranging her aunt’s collar. “Are you sure you don’t want me to go to town with you and the gentlemen?”

Aunt Matty drew back, looking shocked. “Absolutely not! My dear, it’s vitally important that you spend time with Matthew engaged in mutually satisfying activities. This is the sort of thing that brings a couple closer together.”

Patience sighed. She and Matthew engaged in more mutually satisfying activities than Aunt Matty could ever imagine. But the music lessons were not nearly as satisfying as everything else they did together. “You know, I really do need some new blue ribbons for my velvet bonnet.”

“I’ll get the ribbons for you, dear,” Aunt Matty said, pushing her toward the door.

“Royal blue,” Patience added.

“Yes, dear.” Aunt Matty opened her bedroom door and waited.

Frowning, Patience strolled out. She looked back at her aunt. “Satin. They must be satin, and not too thin.”

Aunt Matty nodded. “Yes, dear. Now off you go.” She made a shooing motion.

Reluctantly, Patience turned and meandered down the quiet hallway. She looked back once more, but her aunt was gone. Clasping her hands behind her, she continued toward the upstairs parlor. It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate Matthew’s efforts to teach her—she just didn’t understand his methods. At her first lesson, he’d spent the whole time trying to reposition her. She hadn’t played a note. At her second lesson, he’d attempted to get her to play without thinking.
Impossible.
And at her third lesson, he’d asked her to play off tempo.
Equally impossible.

She paused at a window to watch Aunt Matty leave. Fitz Roy led the way to the carriage. Lord Rivers walked beside her aunt, and Farnsby and Asher brought up the rear. One by one, they boarded, and the conveyance left. It bobbed and swayed as it picked up speed then finally disappeared around a curve in the long drive.

Apart from the servants, she and Matthew had Angel’s Manor to themselves. Perhaps she could gently coerce him into a more exciting exchange than a musical one. She smiled to herself and her heart beat a little faster as she hurried the rest of the way to the parlor.

She found Matthew standing by a window, his arms crossed over his chest. “You’re late.”

Patience nodded. “I was seeing Aunt Matty off.”

She immediately noticed that Matthew’s Montagnana and another chair had been placed beside her chair and instrument.

Crossing to her seat, he laid his hands on the back. “Come.”

Patience obeyed immediately, but instead of sitting down, she stood close to Matthew. He smelled so good. Sliding her hand over the semifirm bulge in his trousers, she lifted her gaze to his and smiled. “It’s such a beautiful day, Matthew. And we’re alone.”

His dark eyes delved into hers but their intensity didn’t seem to shift or soften. “Yes, we are. Take off your clothes.”

Patience’s eyes widened. That had been a little too easy. A shiver of excitement tightened her nipples as she raised her hands to the row of tiny buttons on her bodice.

Stepping away, Matthew took off his jacket and set it over the back of his chair. His broad shoulders and narrow waist were even more apparent clad only in shirt and waistcoat. She watched him as he moved to the hearth and put on more coals. Thank goodness; for though the day was unseasonably sunny, there was a definite nip in the air.

“Thank you, Matthew.”

“To keep you warm,” he said, turning from the hearth, his impenetrable gaze moving over her.

Shrugging out of her bodice and corset cover, Patience laid them on another chair before reaching back to loosen her skirt and crinoline. Her clitoris pulsed as Matthew watched her step out of her skirts. Per his rule, she wore no pantalets; and he had cut several of her chemises to midthigh. This was so that he need only pull her into a private corner, or claim a brief but private moment to avail himself of her body. Just that morning, he’d brought her to the brink of orgasm three times—and all whilst his staff and guests had been in fairly close proximity. And the day before, he’d given her a firm spanking during their walk through the wooded portion of the rear garden.

Patience laid her skirts with her other things.

His gaze moved slowly over her stocking-clad legs as he crossed the room. Turning, he closed the double doors. “The upstairs staff is belowstairs this afternoon,” he said, removing his cuff links as he returned.

They were?
A small tremor of tense anticipation moved through her. No wonder everything had seemed so quiet. And no wonder he’d been so quick to have her undress. He’d had other plans for her all along.

Reaching behind her, she pulled the laces of her corset then unhooked the front. As she peeled it away and put it aside, Matthew began rolling up his sleeves. Patience’s sensual tension grew, for that simple act, which revealed his handsome forearms, was portentous.

Crossing her arms, she grasped her shortened chemise and, pulling it over her head, added it to the pile of her clothes. She watched Matthew watching her. His eyes seemed to darken as he stared at her in naught but her black high-buttons, black silk stockings, and blue garters. His erection was full and prominent.

When she bent to untie her garter, he said, “No. Stay.”

Patience stood straight and let her hands fall to her sides. Her cunt tightened. She was gaining greater comfort with her nudity, but it felt different to be wearing her shoes and stockings. It felt different to be standing before him in the full light of day. And he was regarding her differently.

He was deep in thought. Below his obvious arousal and his powerful gaze, he was weighing and considering . . . something. She looked at him intently and when his eyes returned to hers, she saw . . .

Her heart beat a little faster when he moved, but it was only to step toward the chair that was beside her cello. “Sit.”

Patience frowned as she looked first at the chair and then at him. What did he mean to do? She moved slowly to the chair and sat. Then she watched Matthew as he came around to sit beside her.

“Now, take up your cello,” he said, placing his own instrument between his trousered legs.

Astonished, Patience stared at him. “You’re still giving me a lesson? But I thought . . .”

Matthew looked at her. “You thought what?”

Patience raised her brows then, expelling an exasperated huff, she shook her head. “I can’t play in the nude, Matthew.”

His gaze gentled. “But you must.” He brushed the backs of his fingers softly against her arm. “For I desire it.”

His touch elicited a tingly shiver that lifted the gooseflesh on her skin and stiffened her nipples.

“Trust me, Patience.”

His eyes were so deep.

With a disgruntled sigh, she parted her legs and swung her instrument before her. “I do trust you.”

“Good.” His eyes moved slowly over her as he spread his knees wide. His Montagnana fell close against him. The fingerboard rested against his shoulder. “Now,” he said in a low voice, “I want you to bring your cello close, like I have mine. Then I want you to touch it. I want you to touch it as if it were your lover. Like this.”

Placing his hands on either side of his instrument, he stroked slowly along the curving body—down the shoulder, into the waist, and back up. Then he went down again, his fingers tracing the delicate edges and purfling before slipping to the f- holes. His fingers rubbed the upper holes, swept along the elegant curves, and then pressed just inside the lower holes. Top to bottom and bottom to top, then back again.

Patience’s mouth went dry. She knew the feel of those long fingers pressing her clitoris, sliding along her folds and pushing into her cunt.

She lifted her gaze to Matthew’s face and found him looking at her, his dark eyes full of fire. Holding her in his stare, he moved his hands down and, flattening them against the lower belly, pulled his cello even closer. His legs opened wider, and then his hips began to rock.

Patience’s blood rushed to her womb as she watched him thrust sensually against the back of his instrument. His eyes closed and he turned his face toward the fingerboard. His cheek pressed to it. His lips parted. His fingers stroked up the strings.

And then he stilled.

His eyes opened and captured hers. “Show me that, Patience.”

Patience stared at him, enthralled and enflamed—sorrowful and desolate. “I can’t.”

“Why?”

Tears welled in her eyes. “I just can’t.”

Matthew frowned as he set his cello in its stand. When he turned back he rested his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands. His head fell forward. A heavy silence filled the room.

“Did you love him, Patience?” He lifted his head, and there was tension in every line of his face. “Did you love this music master who filled your head with lies?”

“No.” The answer had come quickly and unequivocally. Patience stared into Matthew’s beautiful, bottomless eyes. How could she have ever thought she loved Henri Goutard? “I once thought I loved him.” She shook her head. “But I never did.”

“Then why do you cling to his lies?”

A tear slipped down her cheek.

Perhaps if he read Henri’s letter he would understand. “In my cello case, there’s a bit of loose lining at the bottom. Inside is a letter. You may read it.”

“A letter?” He frowned as he retrieved it. Then, sitting back down, he unfolded the single sheet.

Patience braced her hands on the shoulders of her cello as she watched his eyes move across the page. She silently recited the words she knew so well.