The Notorious Bridegroom (13 page)

Patience’s heart caught in her throat. She could not speak for the fright whipping through her as her body tensed.
I must be brave. There must be a way.
She studied each man briefly, weighing the dangers before her.

The first man on the left, tall and thin in his saddle, struggled to control his horse with one hand and hold a pistol in the other. The thief leading their little band rode between the other thieves but carried no weapon. The last thief was by far the largest man controlling his skittish horse. He looked uncomfortable both on his horse and at holding a pistol at their carriage.

Something seemed familiar about them.

The thin man to Patience’s left snorted. “Ye don’t ’ave to ask politely, jes’ say, ‘Give up yer money and yer jewels or forfeit yer life,’” he told his companion in disgust.

His companion shook his head with such spirit that his handkerchief fell away from his face and floated away into the night. A quick grab came up empty.

“Blast it! Damn the mask!” He hurriedly raised his hand in front of his face, but though Patience peered intently into the dark, she still could not quite make out his features.

She grasped Lem’s hand with her right hand, holding the little mare still with her left. For some unknown reason, she believed they would not hurt her or Lem. These men were obviously unskilled robbers. And what was it about them that sparked a hint of recognition?

The voice of the man who had lost his mask—“Begging yer pardon for me language,” he surprised them all by saying.

The tall, thin man grew impatient. “Enough of these gentrified pleasantries, General.” Looking at Patience and Lem, he told them, “Folks, ’and over yer valuables. We don’t want to ’urt ye.”

Patience straightened her back and looked determinedly at the trio. The would-be smugglers had apparently decided not to find an honest job. “We have nothing of value,” she told them matter-of-factly.

The men stared at her blankly, unprepared for her answer before the thin man told her, “But ye must ’ave something to steal. Per’aps I’ll ’ave to take a look inside yer carriage.” He must have thought this statement would dampen Patience’s bravado.

But she planned to wait them out. “Gentlemen—I may call you that?” Not waiting for them to acknowledge her, she said, “I must needs bring to your attention that we happen to be fleeing from the French who have been sighted and are probably bringing their boats to shore as we speak. We are headed to safety and carry nothing of value. I assure you no trinkets or coins do we possess on our person,” she stated succinctly. She heard Gulliver issue a low growl.

The thin man quickly changed his tune. “The Frenchies—’ere? Max, let’s get away from ’ere. They’ll shoot us for sure.”

“Don’t ye remember? Ye are to call me General! And yer not supposed to use any names! Can’t ye see the lady is bluff ’n? Those frog-eat’n Frenchies are too afraid of we brave Englishmen. Now, back to the matter at hand,” the General finished.

The thin man and the large man did take a cautious look from side to side, as if expecting unwanted French intruders. In the dim lantern light bumping along the carriage side, the three men turned to each other, talking animatedly. The General forgot to keep his face in the shadows, obviously not too concerned that Patience might recognize him.

Patience decided to continue to press their cause. “Please let us pass. Our enemy will soon be upon us, and
all
our lives will be forfeited.”

Just then a rustling noise in the forest bed placed everyone on guard. The thin man jerked his horse anxiously around and accidentally nudged his cocked pistol. The pistol roared in his hand, whistled off the General’s hat, and frightened gentle Calliope, who charged toward the thieves, effectively routing them from their blockade.

Patience and Lem left the men far behind on the Tyler road. But not before hearing in the night wind, “Ye almost killed me and made a ’ole in me ’at,” shouted a voice.

“Me? You stole the pistol. ’ow was I to know it were loaded? Ye think that was a Frenchie?”

Where was she? Bryce deliberated while swatting his whip against his boot in agitation. Winchelsea’s streets were almost empty at this late hour. After racing to Winchelsea’s port and conferring with a lieutenant, he had learned that the raging bonfires had been misinterpreted. Men were already dispatched to inform the alerted countryside that British soil was still safe from French invaders. Bryce informed the lieutenant he would make sure everyone from his district found their way safely home.

He had already sent his servants heading back toward Paddock Green. One of the maids told him that Miss Simmons and Lem had stayed behind.

But why? Unless she was meeting with someone. In which case, why was Lem involved? And whom was she meeting?
He did not want to believe Patience capable of treason, but why was she not here? Marlow said the wagons had arrived over an hour ago at their arranged meeting place.

He would find her and learn the answers. Barely winded, Bryce’s horse pawed the ground, ready for a run. He mounted Defiance and tore off into the night. And he wondered what story she would spin in her defense as a lost goat
baaed
from the side of the road.

Lem looked around at Winchelsea’s quiet and deserted streets before turning to Patience, a puzzled look on his countenance. “Where is everyone, miss? Where’d they go? Are we too late?” his voice slightly wavering.

Consternation knitted Patience’s brow. She reined the mare next to the inn and flexed her shoulders tiredly. They saw no one. She noted many muddy paths grooved by several carriage and wagon wheels as well as hoofprints.

Where had everyone gone? The tracks, lit by the dim moonlight, seemed to head in all directions, with no deliberate course. As she smelled the damp air and wet animal fur, she contemplated their next step.

Lem jumped down from the gig and volunteered to find someone who could help them, running to the inn steps. She heard the little boy’s knock and then his voice in conversation with another, and in her dampened and dirty condition waited impatiently for news.

She watched as Lem returned, his face flushed with a smile. “It were all a mistake as ’e tole me in there.” He poured forth his story: that his lordship had arrived over an hour ago and sent everyone home. The bonfires had caught a wind unexpectedly, and a watcher from the tower thought they were meant as a signal that the French flotilla had been spotted.

Patience dropped her head in relief and exhaustion. Every muscle felt cramped in her body and every bone still resounded from the jarring on their perilous flight. Her heart began to beat normally again.

Unbidden, a thought came to her. This might be the time to speak with the constable and discover what he knew about the earl’s activities. Then she would know whether he was friend or foe.

Hieing the gig up the street, she located the constable’s office next to the gray prison building. Instructing Lem to wait in the carriage and to hang on to Calliope’s reins, she slowly climbed down the steps, gingerly holding her wet clothes away from her body.

She found the constable, Cavendish, who was preparing to leave for the night and had just begun blowing out the lanterns.

“Constable, sir, perhaps I could have a moment of your time?” she asked with a hesitant smile on her face.

Cavendish stood behind his desk, his fingers folded over his belly. “Miss, what do you here so late? Should you not be at home in bed? It t’weren’t an invasion afterall.”

Patience moved to forestall him. “Yes, I understand, but I just wanted to ask you about his lordship, Lord Londringham?”

The constable straightened his back, looking surprised. “Good man, that. What would you know?”

Adjusting her cap, she inquired, “Lord Londringham, is he, does he—”

“Out with it, gel, home is calling and I don’t have time to dawdle, and you look all wore out and wet,” obviously noticing for the first time her dishabille.

“Yes, I must get home, but first, I need to know if Lord Londringham could be guilty of treason.” The words flew out, and she raised a hand to her mouth too late to halt them. She took a step back, aware that she had just said what she previously had only thought.

His response surprised her. Cavendish squinted at her behind his spectacles, then began laughing, his belly undulating. “Londringham, what, treason?” He chuckled again before replying, “My dear woman, I haven’t an idea where you heard such stories. There was never a truer Englishman. He doesn’t have a treasonous bone in his body.” He collected his coat and walked to the door. “Now, why don’t we both go home?”

He showed her out the door and began walking down the street, still shaking his head over Patience’s suggestion.

Thankful and relieved, she climbed once more into the gig and wheeled it around, heading back down the Tyler road, with Lem and Gulliver asleep on the floor. Heading home. To Bryce.

The cook Melenroy greeted Patience at the door after she left Calliope, Gulliver, and Lem to Lucky’s sleepy ministrations. Tired, but anxious to remove the grime and filth collected on the hasty trip, Patience helped Melenroy fill a hot, steaming bath. While Patience undressed, Melenroy hunted for soap and a towel, Patience regaling her with a soliloquy on what had transpired after she and Lem were left behind. No one noticed they were missing until the wagons were halfway to Winchelsea, and by that time, no one wanted to turn around. Myrtle had never mentioned waiting for them.

Relaxing in the bone-melting warmth, Patience listened with one ear to the cook’s raspy voice as water flowed over and swirled around her body. She could almost envision falling asleep in the soothing bath.

“’is lordship was right worried about you. After he notified everyone we was safe from ’arm and sent us ’ome, ’e went looking for you.” Melenroy settled her wizened body in her favorite chair by the fireplace.

Patience sat up quickly when she heard that Bryce had gone looking for her, sending waves of water rushing over the rim. Patience’s eyes widened in shock, her heart beat loud enough to drown the rest of Melenroy’s report.

He was looking for me? But of course, Lem and I were not in the wagons, and he would be worried about us.
In the turmoil of the night, she had been anxious to get to safety and lent no thought to what Bryce might wonder about their disappearance.
He probably realized we became lost on the road and couldn’t find the village. But how long would he search for us?

She bit her lip and sank down into the now-cooling waters. He had to return sometime to get some sleep, and then Marlow could tell him that they had returned safely. Actually, their story was quite amusing, and besides, she and Lem had been trying to save his dog. Of course, at the time they couldn’t know that they weren’t in any danger.

Melenroy helped Patience wash her hair, and then stoked the fire to warm the kitchen further before leaving to fetch an old robe that Patience could wear to bed.

Finally ready to seek her bed, Patience grasped the edge of the tub and pushed herself up, gasping slightly as a chill swept her body. Quickly grabbing a large warm towel, she patted herself dry, wrapped the towel around herself, then swept thick strands of wet hair out of her face, wrenching the water back into the tub.

The towel gaped open slightly, allowing Bryce a lovely view of her rounded flushed breasts. He stood in the doorway with his hands on his hips, having arrived as she toweled herself by the fire.

“Had an eventful night, my dear?” he asked laconically, trying to check his wandering thoughts, which proved impossible. Slender calves and legs molded superbly underneath shapely buttocks. He had even caught sight of her flat stomach and the dark thatch of curls resting at the top of her thighs.

After an exhausting night of riding, he was now the one who wanted to be ridden, as his hardened manhood pushed against his breeches. Her body surely did not appear innocent, not in any possible way.

She let out a little scream and groped for the ends of her towel to cover herself more completely. He smiled a little as he watched the lovely flush on her face, warmed by the fire and his stare, no doubt.

“My lord, I…I…you startled me. I know you need an explanation.” She hesitated before appealing to him. “Perhaps I can give you the details tomorrow morning when I am more presentable, and you have had a night’s rest?” Her voice faded.

He thrust a hand through his hair, disheveled from his journey. He felt more alive than he had ever remembered before.

With hooded eyes, he grabbed a chair, turned it around, and swung a leg over one side, resting his wrists on the chair’s back. “I’m not so patient. I would like my answers now,” he told her firmly.

Their eyes locked as he awaited the truth, damp tendrils curled over her shoulder by the fire.

Melenroy bustled in without seeing her master. “I ’ope this will do you, dearie. It ain’t much to look at but it keeps a body warm,” her voice rambling on as she held out the robe for Patience to slip her arms into.

At Patience’s nod, the cook turned, caught sight of the earl, and pressed her old body into a stiff curtsy. Patience quickly threw Melenroy’s robe around herself, keeping the towel tightly wrapped to her body.

The cook hesitated, unsure whether to stay or leave, but Bryce made the decision for her by dismissing her.

“Now, where were we before we were interrupted?” His voice feigned casual indifference.
And before the robe,
he thought with disappointment. He had rather enjoyed her flushed, warm body, quite a beautiful subject for an artist to paint. Yes, he tried to tell himself, he was interested in her body from a completely aesthetic point of view. The artist’s subject hid beneath a rust-colored wool night robe whose tattered edges hung right above graceful ankles and finely arched feet. Then his imagination started to wander, about what lay beneath the clothes she grasped tightly to her chest in protection or shield from him. And he tried to remember.

“My lord, it’s all so very innocent. Lem wanted to take your dog with us and was afraid the French would get him. Since he was so worried, he asked me to help find Gulliver, which we did, but by that time, the wagons had left us behind. We followed as soon as we could in the gig.”

“Why did they not wait for you? I gave Marlow strict instructions not to leave anyone behind.”

She shrugged. “I told Myrtle to wait for us. I guess she forgot to tell someone.”

He could believe that. But he wasn’t nearly through with her. “Where did you go when you left here?”

She licked her lips. “We had a slight difficulty finding the Tyler road, which Lem said would take us to Winchelsea. And the rain and mud added to our delay.

He nodded thoughtfully. “Did you meet anyone on the road to Winchelsea?”

She hesitated. “Actually, we were stopped by some gentlemen, but they only wanted directions, and we were unable to assist them.”

He watched as she shifted uneasily from one foot to the other.
Was there something she had left out of her story? Probably, but nothing more he would learn from her tonight.
He closed his eyes briefly and waved his hand. “Very well, you may retire.”

Her eyes flicked around the large kitchen. Her only escape path lay between his lordship and the servants’ door, which led to the backstairs. She hastened across the room, still clutching the robe to her chest. When she drew near him, he caught her right arm.

He felt her tremble like a frightened animal, but the warmth of her touch lightened his next words. “Patience, I want to believe you.”

She stared down at him before giving him a brief smile. When he released her arm, she ran out the door and flew up the stairs without a backward glance.

Melenroy watched from her peephole and smiled. “That gel is no servant.”

Patience could not sleep. Again and again, she tossed and turned, entangling herself in the bedclothes. He clearly didn’t believe her, even though he told her that he did. She thought, despairing, she wouldn’t believe her either.

This was not how the night was to have ended. He should be thankful that their efforts saved his dog, in a roundabout way. What could she do or say that would make Bryce trust her, believe in her? She felt he was the kind of man that would accept only complete honesty from someone whom he cared for.

She looked at her locket watch she had brought with her from home. Three o’clock and too early for signs of the sun. She needed to talk to him. Convince him to trust her. But could she trust him about Rupert’s predicament?

Although her feelings toward Bryce were in a complete jumble, she no longer wanted to continue this deception. She knew this was the only way.

Calmly, she dressed in a forest green velvet gown by the light of one small candle. Braiding her hair with quick, practiced motions, she smiled at her appearance reflected in the mirror. Pale, but with a pinch to her cheeks to give color, she thought he might find her attractive.

Her plan was simple. She would go to his bedchambers and see if he stirred. If there was no sound, she would continue down the stairs and work in his study until morning. The chances he would be awake were too remote to even contemplate, however, at least it might ease her mind somewhat that she had made the effort.

She had not yet formulated her declaration of innocence, but with palms moist and her heart jumping loud enough in her ears to echo in the unlit long, dark corridor, she walked down the stairs to the second floor. This undertaking would truly not be difficult because, she reasoned with herself, his lordship was sure to be fast asleep. Her slippers slipped along on the dark, glossy stairs.

Down the long hall she slowly walked until she reached his bedchamber. She paused to listen. An early-morning wind shook the hall windows playfully. But the noise spooked Patience, who wondered what sprites were awake at this time of the night.

She paced outside his room, until she decided in relief that she would wait for a conversation with his lordship later in the morning. Meanwhile, she planned to finish cataloguing his library until the sun came up.

As she stepped away from his door, it opened. Bryce stood in the doorway wearing breeches and a fine linen shirt with his sleeves rolled up, his feet bare. His stormy blue eyes caught her gaze, effectively preventing her from moving another step. She twisted her hands in front of her, her mouth too dry to speak.

“Patience, it is approximately three o’clock in the morning. May I ask what you are doing up and about? Or, more specifically, at my door?”

She chewed her lip nervously before opening her mouth to speak. He did not look or sound as if he had just arisen.

“My lord…I wanted to explain. That is, about tonight, I mean, last night.” Her hesitation allowed him to reply.

“I thought we already had this conversation earlier.” He folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the doorjamb. “Surely, what you have to add could wait until the night has broken?”

His reasonable voice relaxed her, slightly. “Yes, you’re right, of course. I couldn’t sleep, and thought, that is…I’ll wait for you in your study.” She retreated a few steps toward the stairs. “Please forgive me for disturbing you.”

“You do disturb me. However, since it is so very important to not wait for full morning to have this discussion, come in.” He stepped outside into the corridor and beckoned her in.

She wrung her hands with indecision, and then, thrusting thoughts of repercussions to the back of her mind, slid past his towering frame into his apartments. A fire, which had seen greater glory, now trembled on the brink of extinction on the far side of the room. Sitting on his desk by a large window was a fading candle, which betrayed his late-night activities. She dared not look toward the opened doors to her left. Doors that opened to his bedroom, which reminded her of one dark, wet night.

She took a deep breath, studying a speech mentally, while waiting to see what Bryce would have her do. He stood directly behind her.

“Please. Be comfortable. You can only imagine how interested I am in hearing what you have to say,” came his low timbre near her left ear. He ushered her into a wing chair by the fire and stooped to stoke the coals before drawing his chair near hers.

She swallowed hard, noting his sinewy muscles flexing under his thin shirt as he moved around the room. Perhaps this was not the best idea she had ever had, she thought distantly, growing warm from the nearness of the fire or from his presence, unsure which. In these close quarters, all she could sense were sandalwood and port. She would know the scents blindfolded, it was Bryce.

All her senses grew taut, reminding her of the night on the balcony, when he had set her aflame. Perhaps that is what she had been longing for ever since. She put her hands to her face, feeling her cheeks flush.

His look missed nothing. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “Patience, you have my complete attention. Please place my mind at peace, for I am at a total loss to your presence here.”

His low voice hummed in her veins. He was infinitely too close for her present state of mind. His strong arms, his large hands, his firm legs flexed beneath his breeches.
You must rein those thoughts in,
she thought firmly.
It just will not do thinking about the other night, especially when his bed is in the next room.

She fluttered her eyes and smiled shyly. “I couldn’t sleep because you see, my lord, it’s terribly important to me that you believe me.”

He shook his head slightly. “Why is it so important?” The growing flames flickered shadows across his strong visage.

She hesitated and gulped. “Because I thought, now that we were friends”—she hurried on before she lost her courage—“it is important that we trust each other and believe each other, don’t you agree?” she asked while twisting her gown beneath her hands.

“Friends,” he said softly, almost to himself. “Friends? No, that will simply not do. We cannot be friends.” He hesitated, and she jumped into the breach.

“You, you, don’t want to be friends?” She held her breath almost in disbelief.
Then he will surely not help me,
she thought, sensing disaster headed her way.

“No, friendship is definitely
not
what I want from you.” He rose and walked over to lean on the fireplace mantel, his gaze unwavering from her face.

Patience, unable to look at him, stood to depart the room. In a thrice he crossed back to her, grabbing her hand in his. With his other hand, he reached out and tenderly stroked her soft cheek. “With all this excitement, I’m surprised that you are not fast asleep in your bed.” He continued, “Patience, look at me.”

She looked up at him, amazed at the fires blazing in those depthless eyes. “I want something more from you.” Holding her gaze, he whispered, “Why are you here? Are you here to tease me or torment me, little sprite?”