The Notorious Bridegroom (15 page)

“You’re not fit to touch her shoe, you jackanapes,” he returned.

“Sh…Rupert, I must leave before your yelling awakes the guard. Take care, dear brother. We’ll be home soon.” Then she was gone into the night she knew so well, her hood again covering a face warm from the memory of her beloved brother.

Having retrieved Calliope and the gig from the inn, Patience started her journey home, anxious to see Bryce and reveal her identity to him, and perhaps more. The rain was a missing guest and the wind had died down, leaving the forest’s home feeling friendlier and safer.

She felt so happy she decided to hum, confident that all would be well. But her song whispered away as she tried to think how to tell Bryce about her brother and how to address the bigger question: why had she maintained this subterfuge? The answer to that was not quite clear in her mind.

Over a particularly hard bump, a muttered oath broke into her musings. Halting the little mare, Patience turned around and swept back the blanket to discover Lem, smiling brightly at her.

“Lem, what are you doing here? You should be home in bed,” she admonished the little fellow, trying to appear displeased at his presence.

Lem climbed over the seat to sit beside her. “After last night, I couldn’t let ye go off to the village without protection. Remember, I’m a soldier on a mission to provide safe escort home for a lady,” he told her with a proud smile.

After such a pretty speech, Patience couldn’t stay angry with him. She hugged him with a free hand and whispered, “I’m glad to see you.”

They continued on, Patience hurrying Calliope as fast as the small horse would go. The moon’s light led them down the village road when suddenly a huge black horse jumped in front of their gig, scaring the little mare and the carriage’s occupants. It took several minutes to calm down the horse.

Patience couldn’t determine the rider’s identity and hoped it might be Bryce out for a midnight ride. But given Lem’s frantic grip on her arm, that didn’t appear likely.

“Well, isn’t this a charming scene? I’ve been awaiting an opportunity to gain my revenge, and you’ve so kindly provided me with one.”

She thought she recognized the voice, peering into the dark at the man. “Mr. Gibbs?”

“Yes, it is I. Mr. Gibbs, who has spent the last several days with plans to finish your punishment that I never quite started before his lordship interrupted me. And the same for you, little boy,” he cooed in a nasally voice to the terrified boy, shaking beside Patience.

“Let me pass, you monster. I will report you to the constable if you lay a hand on myself or Lem,” Patience commanded him, her eyes narrowed in bravado.
He will not hurt Lem, not as long as I am alive.

A thin, shrill voice came from the left of the carriage. “Mr. Gibbs, ye said I was to have the girl, ye only wanted the boy.”

“Shut up, old man, I owe her a few bruises first, then you can have her.”

Patience fumbled in the back of the gig for her fireplace tongs and held them up to Mr. Gibbs as he reined in his jittery horse. “If you come near here, I shall brain you with this,” she roared, in protection of her cub.

“What a little grappler you are. Quit wasting my time. Get down from the carriage now.” To make his point clear, Mr. Gibbs drew a revolver from his cloak and pointed it at Patience’s heart.

She hesitated. She had nothing to use against his firearm.

Again he issued an order, not a very patient man. “Now, young woman.”

The shot came from nowhere, knocking the revolver from Mr. Gibbs’s grasp, which caused him to squeal in agony. Blood spurted from his wound in a water rush. Pounding hooves from behind their carriage in the opposite direction signaled the escape of his associate.

Mr. Gibbs pulled a smaller pistol from his chest pocket, aimed at his assailant and fired. Not waiting to see if he hit his target, he pulled his mount around and spun off into the forest’s dark embrace.

The past few minutes had passed so quickly, Patience was afraid to move. Was it another highwayman, intent on harming them? Or was it a friend?

His voice came from the side of the carriage. “Hurry home, you should not be out at this time of night without a proper escort.”

She grasped the reins in her hands and took deep breaths to slow her racing heart. “May…May I know the name of our champion to thank him properly?”

“You may thank me later,” he told her, before he too left them on the deserted road to home. But she knew their defender would see that they made it home safely.

Bryce rested Defiance in the nightshade of the trees, looking for the gig soon to follow him. Damn, that had been close! If he had been a second late, Patience might—he dashed those thoughts from his mind, realizing that saving Patience from various perils occupied more of his time than he had realized and that perhaps next time he might not be so fortunate.

Mr. Gibbs. He should have known the man wouldn’t simply disappear. He would have to guard both Patience and Lem from now on, until the constable’s men had a chance to track down the culprit. He wouldn’t let Patience out of his sight, a duty made bittersweet.

He had decided not to reveal his identity at the carriage. It was most important that Patience come to him with her confession rather than him questioning her on the open road. She would be bound to give him more lies.

What had she been doing in the prison? Perhaps one of the guards could tell him whom she had seen. He was suddenly very resentful of this unknown man who had beget such loyalty in Patience that she would risk her own life and Lem’s to see him. And what kind of ogre did she think he was? She had only to ask him for a favor, and he would be hard-pressed to refuse her lovely entreaties, framed in rosy cheeks with full pink lips and a quivering tongue that he longed to explore.

The gig rattled past him, awakening him from his errant thoughts.

In the morning, the longcase clock tick-tocking in the hallway deafened the still silence in the study. Bryce deliberated by the fireplace, his arm hung over the marble mantel, as he gazed down into the banked embers as if they would spell answers. Although the parlormaid had opened the shutters earlier in the morning, the grayness outside haunted the room with a misty sadness.

He waited for her. Patience. His appointment with the prison guard had provided some insight. Although the man had not noticed a woman slipping into the building, he did detect small mud prints outside Rupert Mandeley’s cell this morning, and another prisoner mentioned as how he had overheard voices near Mandeley’s cell. But the young man himself was reluctant to tell him anything.

What was she doing in the prison visiting Mandeley? Why were her movements furtive if she was innocent of any wrongdoing? And, blast it all, why didn’t she confide in him? Nothing made sense, but that he knew he had to get her away from here.

She would be safer with him in Town. Safer from Mr. Gibbs. Safer perhaps from the French spies he was confident still hid along the coast. He refused to acknowledge his other purpose was to remove Patience far from this Rupert Mandeley, scoffing at any green thoughts.
If they were not lovers, then what was the connection between Patience, Mandeley, and Sansouche? Or was there? If only she would provide some answers.
Bryce pounded his fist on the mantel.

Yes, he acknowledged silently, given Patience’s actions so far, he would need to keep a close watch on her in Town while he met with his compatriots. Everything would be perfect between them—if there was not the little matter of distrust between them.

“My lord, you sent for me?” Her husky voice floated across the room, mixed with the scent of lavender. Bryce spun around to be confronted by a demure picture of Patience in a plain gray gown, her remembered thick dark hair swept neatly behind her. For someone who had quite a full night’s activities, Bryce noted she looked so refreshed and guiltless that Admiral Nelson himself would divulge his battle secrets at her slightest honeyed gaze.

Patience broke into his musings with a shy smile. “My lord?”

A smile which lit the room from where he stood. He gestured toward a nearby chair and watched as she sank gracefully onto its upholstered seat.

Bryce relaxed against the mantel while he studied her before beginning.
I wonder if she knows she has been caught. What will she reveal to me? “
I mentioned a few days past that I will be journeying to my town house in London with some of my staff. I will still have need of your services there and request you accompany me.”

Her reaction was unanticipated. Patience’s face turned slightly ashen as she wet her lips nervously. Bryce thought he detected a shine of tears in her green eyes before she looked away. What the devil! Did this Rupert Mandeley mean so much to her that she couldn’t bear to leave him? Who was this man that earned her loyalty and her heart? Bryce pondered in frustration. Would that he could ever know such steadfastness in any woman.

“Is this not to your liking? Most of my staff usually enjoys the change,” Bryce mentioned, trying to ease what seemed like a painful blow.

When she returned her gaze to him, her face was composed, all anxiety neatly hidden from him behind her paper mask of duty. “I’m only surprised. I wasn’t expecting the change. Yes, of course, I’ll go with you,” she said falteringly.

“Patience, you know me well enough that I wouldn’t force you to attend me. But for many reasons that I cannot divulge at this time, I think it best that you make preparations for Town. And you need not wear the cap and spectacles any longer. You will be safe from discovery by your brother with me.”

She nodded her acceptance, then retired from the room with Bryce staring after her. He returned his gaze to the fire, disappointment pumping through his veins. She didn’t want to go with him and wanted to stay behind. Since it was his utmost desire not to be separated from her, what persuasion could he offer rather than making it a command that she accompany him?

Bryce now found himself arming his wits for battle with this young woman who had proven many a time to be as distrustful as any of her species. Perhaps his wound had affected more than his leg. His senses, indeed. But surely not his heart.

Patience walked slowly toward the kitchen, trying to collect her scattered thoughts that continued to butterfly around in her head. She was traveling to Town. This was good, she would be with Bryce. This was bad, she was leaving Rupert behind. This was good, she could ask Bryce to go with her to the high court to see about releasing Rupert. This was bad, she had lost her heart to a man who would never allow anyone to look into the window of his soul. To a man that needed no one.

Patience set her chin in determination. By the time she was through with him, Bryce would need her. Would not be able to live without her. How she planned to accomplish this, she hadn’t the slightest notion.

Patience breathed in the warm sunshine after yesterday’s moody drizzling rain. No thunderstorms either. She had spent a good part of yesterday packing her trunk as well as assisting in packing the rest of the house for supplies needed in Town. The household appeared in a state of confusion as the servants hurried to ready their belongings and house necessities.

Later that evening in the study, she had hoped to speak with Bryce about Rupert, but she hadn’t caught sight of him all day, and now she was out of time.

Very early the next morning, Patience stepped into his lordship’s carriage. The coat of arms sparkled like gold dewdrops in the sun, its black surface glossied and polished, shining bright enough for reflections. Lucky looked resplendent in his navy-and-gold livery, as did Lem, sitting beside him on the high coachman’s box, aping his movements—flicking an imaginary whip and pretending to spit.

Although Londringham brought Defiance along, he surprised Patience by insisting she join him in his carriage for their journey north. Two other smaller coaches conveying the rest of the staff trunks and household goods fell in line behind them.

Just the two of them. Patience was careful to keep her skirts out of Bryce’s way. She shyly stole a glance at the man seated across from her. He neither smiled nor frowned but wore the same expression Patience had viewed many a time before, bored indifference.
How to get the trip started off right? When would be the best time to divulge my identity? Will he throw me out of the carriage when I tell him? And why will he not look at me the way he did that night in his room?

She ventured a topic of conversation, already knowing the answer but hating the silence stretched between them like an acrobat’s wire. “My lord, will our trip be long?”

Opening his vest pocket, he withdrew his watch and flipped it open. “Two full days, depending on the roads and the weather. We shall stop overnight along the way.”

“Oh, thank you.”
What a stupid thing to say. I must think of more clever words to capture his attention. I need an opening to discuss Rupert.
Patience noticed him rub his left leg gingerly.

“Does your wound pain you overmuch?”
Such a dolt! He would not be rubbing it if it did not hurt.
She could have bitten her tongue. Watching his big hand resting on his muscular thigh reminded Patience of other times when he was rubbing her in the most exquisite places. She squirmed slightly in her seat.

He looked up, startled, unconscious of his gesture. “I am accustomed to it now. Sometimes it is a bit stiff. Who told you about my leg, one of the servants?” His sly blue gaze caught Patience’s flush.

She rummaged in her small reticule for her fan to cool her meandering thoughts.
Sometimes stiff, eh?
Coughing first to clear her throat and gainsay nervousness, she said, “Oh, someone mentioned it in passing. Is there naught one can do to spare you the pain?”

His irritability snapped a reply. “I do not wish to discuss my leg.”

“My apologies. I only thought…” But she trailed off due to the harsh set of his face.
What have I said? Perhaps he was remembering his brother and the dark night the deed was done.
Patience dug her nails into her palms, wanting to reach for him and offer him comfort, erase the dark lines on his lean face.

Bryce, with almost closed eyes, watched her like a cat watching a mouse, Patience thought.

“It certainly is hot in here. Not much of a breeze.” He opened his coat and leaned back in his seat. Spreading his long legs in front of him, Patience could feel his boots touching the edges of her traveling gown.

She glanced down at his feet before lifting her eyes to meet his as she flicked her fan faster.

“Yes, so it is. Not much for it, I suppose.”
What sparkling wit!
Patience did not like the way he was grinning at her. She could have sworn he just licked his lips like a hungry wolf, and she was his closest meal for miles around. What was on that man’s mind?

“Have you been to Town before?” Bryce asked casually, hooking his hands dangerously near his loins, where Patience was trying desperately not to look.

Patience sighed. “No. Yes. That is, I visited as a child with my parents. But I do not remember much about our trip. It was very damp, very dirty, and the noise hurt my ears.”

“Will it be very hard for you to leave the country for a time?” Bryce asked.

Was it my imagination or did he place a little stress on the word “hard”?
There was that word again. If only she could keep her imagination in hand. He also seemed to be taking up more than his share of space. Patience looked down to find herself neatly pinned between two lean muscular thighs. When she glanced up and caught him staring again, she blushed and squeaked, “Oh. No, I look forward to seeing Town. Can you advise how long you plan to remain in London?”

“As long as it takes,” he answered, his hooded eyes closed from her. “Do you enjoy keeping my books, working under my authority?”

Under him.
She closed her eyes, and a large bed ignited her imagination. Patience’s pulse quickened.
Yes, I like being under you.
Her eyes snapped open.
Did I say that out loud?
One look at Bryce assured her he had not heard anything. “Yes, I like keeping your looks, I mean, your books.”

He jerked his head up at her words, watching her closely. “I have been wondering about you, Patience.”

Patience’s eyes widened in alarm. “Ah, what could you possibly be wondering about me, my lord?” Perhaps he would overlook the anxious twisting of her fan tassel.

“You are a lovely young woman. Surely there have been other men in your past whose hearts you have broken.”

Did he seem to lean toward her ever so slightly, waiting for her answer? She tossed her fan as if to say,
“what a silly thought,”
then dropped it into his lap, quite by accident, and sat and stared at it, wondering how to retrieve it. She quickly told him, “No, no hearts broken, none I can think of,” sounding awfully flighty. She watched as he rescued her fan and handed it back to her.

“Interesting, I thought perhaps you were leaving a loved one behind,” he told her, inquiring eyes meeting hesitant eyes.

Her eyes widened in something akin to surprise. Whatever could he mean? Did he know about Rupert? Should she—

But Bryce did not wait for a reply, almost as if he didn’t want to hear the answer. “Lucky says it might rain tonight.” He lazily opened one eye piratically.

Patience almost jumped, her emotions bubbling over like Melenroy’s tea kettle. The dam burst with her words as perspiration beaded her brow. “For heaven’s sake, would you please stick to one subject? I swear I cannot follow this conversation, and if I had known you were to plague me with questions I would have ridden with the others.” With a snap, her fan broke in two.

Bryce drew in his legs and leaned forward to knock on the roof, a signal to stop. “Miss, you have the manners of a shrew.” He hesitated and softened his insult by adding, “But you look lovely when you are angry. Is it not hot in here?” And he slammed the door before Patience could fashion a retort.

A few minutes later she heard a horse thunder past the coach. Out the window she saw Bryce’s broad back, but soon he was swallowed up by Defiance’s dust, and she realized she had lost the opportunity to inquire about Rupert. Her temper could get her into such trouble sometimes.

A day and a half later, the streets of London came into view, houses lined up together like cards, peddlers shilling their wares, and coaches clogging the thoroughfares. In front of his town house in Mayfair, Bryce climbed out of the carriage, favoring his wounded leg, and ignoring the stares of a few lonely street waifs and vendors wheeling their carts home. After making sure that his other coaches were close behind, he strode up the stairs and disappeared behind the door opened to receive him, knowing Patience and his other staff would soon follow.

Red Tattoo greeted Bryce as he entered the hall. Large and opulent it had a brilliant gold chandelier hanging above and a massive iron staircase with two stairwells in an arch leading to the upper floors. Bryce nodded quickly to the few servants standing at attention in the hallway and addressed the short older man with thinning brown hair, who executed a perfect bow.

“Stone, I believe?”

“Yes, my lord. We welcome your return to Wyndham House. I beg your pardon, my lord, we haven’t had much notice to open the house. I—” His thin voice sounded a nervous pitch too high.

Bryce waved his hand as if this news was inconsequential. “My staff from Paddock Green has followed me. I will expect you to show them their quarters and their duties.”

When Stone moved his jaw to reply, Bryce, with Red Tattoo a step behind, headed for the stairs and the front parlor. Bryce had forgotten how much he missed the brightly painted rooms, his mother’s legacy. Although Paddock Green was where he called home, he had not lived in any one place for several years, that is.

Ever since he had begun work for Prime Minister Addington in the early years of England’s first war with Napoleon, his assignments had taken him on many covert operations in Europe, Spain, and the Baltics. Since he spoke French, Spanish, and Italian fluently, his services as a master spy served England in good stead.

A year ago, Londringham had begun his most dangerous mission yet. After the Treaty of Amiens was signed between France and Britain, there was a brief span of a volatile peace before the secretary of war, Lord Hobart, delegated Bryce back to France, distrusting Napoleon to keep the treaty’s terms.

In this new mission, Bryce had begun a game of wits with three French spies, two men and one woman, all unknown to each other. Each spy passed on information about the enemy’s plans on land or sea. The challenge was to discover what was true and what was false.

And so Bryce had walked a tightrope, working hard and fast to uncover the French army’s locations and Napoleon’s plans for invading England. His excellent sources were able to prove fairly quickly what information would serve England well. The woman spy was actually British and the most effective transmitter of actual latitudes and longitudes.

After Edward’s death the prime minister and the secretary of war called him home. His next assignment was to search for the French spies on the British side of the Channel. Lately, the trail had grown cold, especially after Sansouche went up to Town. Soon after, Bryce had been summoned to London to meet with Addington and Hobart.

In the front parlor, Bryce was pleased to see this was one room that had been cleaned, dusted, and polished. He threw off his coat, dusty from travel, and turned to confront his friend and valet.

“I have missed your skinny hide. How have you done?”

Red Tattoo, his face and whiskers as red as the hair on his head, responded, “I have some news. You were correct m’lord, about the Frenchman. It took me two weeks of play-in’ his shadow—he spends his time and money a-gamblin’ and with women, but I think I might have located where he and his friends are meetin’.” His valet smacked his rough hands together.

“That is indeed good news, Red. However the PM requires evidence that they act on Boney’s orders. If a host of expatriates wish to meet to recall France’s grander days, that is no offense against the Crown.” He rolled back his less-than-pristine white sleeves and relaxed against the settee’s arm.

“Yes, yes, but I see many what look like foreign gents go into this place, but it’s down at the docks in an old tavern. I think it is owned by a Frenchman. I can’t get in.” Red rubbed the knot on his head.

“Good work, my friend. We shall find a way to get Sansouche and the rest of his flock of spies and rout them from here. I just might have something to make Sansouche talk,” he told Red, remembering the tarnished silver buckle young Mandeley had given him in prison.

A soft knock on the door forbid the men continuing their conversation. With permission curtly granted by Bryce, Stone braved the parlor, tottering in with a teapot and a bottle of claret on a tray, unsure which refreshment would please his master most.

“Something to cool your dry palate, my lord?” Stone proffered hopefully, cups and saucers noticeably rattling.

“Yes, yes, set it down, man. No cause for distress, Stone, you’re doing fine,” Bryce said by way of apology for his abruptness. “Has my staff arrived yet?” his mind on one particular person.

Stone bobbed his head. “They just arrived and everyone is helping with unloading. The cooks are in the kitchen, my maids are showing the others where their stations will be, yes, all is in order, my lord.” His proud smile glowed with his master’s praise.

Bryce started to inquire after Patience but decided to look for her later, assuring himself she needed to acclimate to her new surroundings. Then maybe they could have that delayed talk about Mandeley.

He and Red sat down to enjoy the pot of tea whilst exploring plans to infiltrate the Frenchmen’s retreat.

An hour later, intervention by Stone again prohibited further talk. The butler announced the Marquess and Marchioness of Avecmore. Red Tattoo hopped up and, with Bryce’s slight nod, slipped out the other door that lead to the library.

Bryce stood to greet his old friends, quickly rolling down his sleeves, retrieving his discarded coat and shrugging it on.

The marchioness marched into the room like a woman with a purpose, dressed all in black but ablaze with light itself. She made a fashionable habit each year of choosing one color for the Season for her entire wardrobe. Her shiny bombazine pelisse, draped snugly over her large, womanly frame, enhanced her silver hair and sparkling sky blue eyes.

The marchioness launched into Bryce’s arms, pecking a kiss on both his cheeks. “I’m so glad you’ve joined us for the rest of the Season. We’ve missed you so. You never wrote to prepare us!” Her hands moved in constant motion as if she were waving a horse in to win.