The Notorious Bridegroom (21 page)

Patience smiled down at the little girl, safely tucked in her own bed. She did feel like a Fairy Queen tonight, and terribly afraid she would wake from this dream. She couldn’t help but feel a sadness and frustration, not knowing how to help Rupert, but content with Bryce’s promise to her.

She turned to look around at the little bedchamber they had made for Sally. The housemaids had helped Patience and Martha turn a third-floor room into a cozy place where Sally could be comfortable and unafraid. The small bed’s counterpane of bright blue brightened the chamber, as did the white curtains at the window. One of the maids had even borrowed a few stuffed animals to cheer the little girl.

A normally affectionate child, Sally had everyone wrapped around her little finger, except for Lem. He felt the girl received entirely too much attention, especially since Sally was an orphan, just like him.

Sally looked up at Patience, who was tucking Spring under the covers.

The little one’s smile of gratitude lit the tiny room. “Do ye have time to read me a story? Lem says you read to him sometimes and no one ever reads to me.”

Patience smiled, hoping Bryce, Martha, and Lady Elverston wouldn’t mind waiting for a few minutes. She brought a small chair next to Sally’s bed and began the story of Sleeping Beauty, a favorite story that her father had read to her a long time ago. Since Sally didn’t know the story, Patience felt sure she could tell a shortened version, but the little girl kept interrupting her with so many questions that Patience spent more time than she had anticipated.

Neither one noticed the dark shadow at the door nor how long Bryce stood there watching them. When Patience finished, Sally’s long eyelashes caressed her tiny face.

He called softly to Patience, who looked up in surprise. She nodded and rose to move her chair when Sally’s voice halted her. “And they lived happily ever after?” she asked sleepily.

“Yes, darling, they lived happily ever after. I must go, and you must go to sleep,” Patience whispered. She bent to kiss the little girl’s brow, but Sally shot straight up when she saw Lord Londringham at the door.

“Mr. Long, you ’ave a story to tell me, just like Miss Patience?” All traces of tiredness had fled from her chipper voice.

Lord Londringham came into the room with his head slightly bent. His tall form not easily adjusting to the shorter ceiling, he was elegantly attired in a black dress coat, his white shirt shining in the darkness.

Patience, wary of his nearness, remained rooted to her spot.

Lord Londringham crouched by her bed. “Sally, Miss Patience and I have an appointment for tonight. May I promise you a story for tomorrow night?” His low baritone voice reverberated around the room, striking nervous cords dangerously near Patience’s heart.

The little girl wrinkled her face as if trying to make a decision. “I guess so. Good night.” She fell back down to her pillows, grabbing her doll close to her chest, eyes shut tight.

Relieved to be able to vacate the room, Bryce had difficulty breathing in this small room, with Patience’s perfume floating over him, every crinkle of her gown firing all his senses.

He escorted Patience down the stairs and helped her into the waiting carriage, sweeping the ends of her cloak behind her. She settled herself next to Martha, who had been reading Mrs. Radcliff’s latest novel while she waited for Miss Patience and Lord Londringham.

Martha gazed at Lord Londringham seated across from her and considered him from a writer’s perspective. He certainly fit the picture of one of Mrs. Radcliffe’s heroes: tall, strong, handsome in a darkly sinister manner. The way his sharp eyes pinned Miss Patience to the seat, Martha could sense the tension in the carriage and thanked the heavens above she was not his target.

She knew that if Miss Patience and Lord Londringham were to have a happy ending, like in any good novel, they would need to overcome great danger. She smiled at her fancifulness. This was not one of Mrs. Radcliffe’s page-turners, but real. Martha wondered what the next “chapter” would bring.

She felt Patience fidgeting beside her. These two were in love if ever she saw it. And how was she supposed to keep them apart? Lord Londringham looked ready to pounce on Patience and devour her whole. Now that would surely make things interesting.

What if she failed in this assignment? She knew Lady Elverston despaired that she would ever find a secure position and would be a burden indefinitely. But Martha would not let that happen. No, something would turn up. It must.

Bryce knew he was being obvious and unrestrained by staring so openly at Patience’s loveliness. Her cheeks blushed with the bloom of England’s roses and the way she gnawed on her lower lip made him insane to taste those sweet red lips again. But he had vowed that he would touch her again only if she asked him.

Hmmm, what was that little mark on her neck? He leaned forward to stare at a small brown spot on the left side of her neck. Could it be a smear of chocolate?

“What is that spot?” he asked, pointing to her neck.

Her gaze shot nervously to his. “What, where?”

“There on your neck. “Wait a minute.” He deftly produced a pristine handkerchief, wetted the tip with his tongue, and reached out his hand to dab at her neck to remove the spot. Martha looked on in avid interest until Bryce shot her a black look, at which point she suddenly found something fascinating outside the window.

Patience’s voice sounded husky in his ear. “I…I carried Sally…Sally to bed and she must have had a piece of chocolate when she rubbed her face…um…” Her voice faded in explanation because she couldn’t remember what came next. She watched him bent over her breast, completely absorbed in his task. “Thank you, my lord. I am sure you have it,” she told him, trying to get his attention.

Bryce looked up, his eyes guiltless. “What? One more moment.” He leaned forward off his seat as if to whisper something in her ear, his mind only on the now-clean spot at her neck. He quickly pressed his lips to her neck, snaking his tongue out to taste any lingering chocolate.

She jumped and uttered a little cry as he returned to his seat, calmly replacing his handkerchief. Martha turned and looked first at Patience, whose face was bright red, and then to Lord Londringham, who had acquired a rather bored expression on his face. His feigned indifferent mask proved difficult to continue with Martha staring him down in silent accusation.

He shouldn’t have touched her. Touching her sweet skin had nearly undone him, and now, before they had even arrived at the Gardens, he was as hard as the Handel Statue.

At last, to almost everyone’s profound relief, the carriage rolled to a stop outside the entrance to Vauxhall that led to the central gardens, supper-boxes, and orchestra. Bryce assisted the ladies from the carriage with the help of the footman, and escorted them into the gardens where Lady Elverston and a circle of her friends awaited them. They found Lady Elverston in one of the supper-boxes sitting in front of one of the famous beautiful engravings depicting children playing.

Patience sat beside Martha, who gaped at the exquisite colorful gowns of the ladies present and admired all the sparkling jewelry shimmering on so many white necks and hands. But it was Lady Elverston’s fantastic ruby-and-diamond necklace that caught Patience’s attention.

“I’ve never seen anything like it, Lady Elverston. It is truly magnificent.”

Lady Elverston smiled and inclined her head in acknowledgment. “These jewels have been in Lord Elverston’s family for generations.” With a twinkle in her eye, she added, “If rumors are to be believed, his great-great-great-grandfather was a pirate who fell in love with a viscount’s daughter. He bestowed these jewels to her as proof of his love and that one day he would return to marry her, even against her family’s wishes.”

Martha leaned forward, enthralled by this tale of true love. “And did he return?”

Lady Elverston shook her head. “No, I believe he died at sea, and she died giving birth to his only son and heir. On her deathbed, she showed a devoted friend their marriage license. Her child was named heir and called Henry Charles Elverston.”

Patience’s wistful expression attracted Bryce, who stood next to Lord Elverston and his friends. “How very sad that he was never able to return to her. But, at least she loved and was loved in return.”

Lady Elverston made a clucking sound. “You and Martha are such romantic ones! I’m sure this tale is a fable. The true story probably did not match the magnificence of these jewels and someone in the family decided to create a little fiction to do them justice.”

The orchestra had begun to play as fine ladies paraded past their box, intent on a table near the orchestra or a walk to enjoy the rest of the gardens.

Lady Elverston’s party watched the blaze of gown colors as they listened to Haydn’s popular
The Seasons,
when a tall gentleman, rather distinguished-looking with a handsome black moustache, intruded.

“Does this party contain a certain lady who posed as a maid in Lord Londringham’s employ? The story must be too fantastic to be true.”

“La, sir,” replied Lady Elverston, “the story certainly is true and there the lady sits,” pointing to Patience.

Patience felt a slow blush rising, trying not to roll her eyes at yet another admirer.

The gentleman nodded formally, addressing Lady Elverston and Patience. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Lord Ralingford of York and am delightfully intrigued by this enchanting story. Might I impose upon the young lady for a dance?”

Patience opened her mouth to refuse his invitation but saw Lady Elverston’s slight shake of her head. Puzzled, she rose and accompanied Lord Ralingford to the dance floor.

Lord Ralingford held her comfortably during the country dance, his admiration bold enough to take her breath away. If only Bryce would look at her in that way. He asked a few questions about her tenure as a maid, and laughed delightedly when she told him about deceiving the countess and her French cousin, and about surprising the other household staff.

As he led her back to the supper-box, Lord Ralingford requested a second dance later in the evening, but she hesitated to commit herself and instead withheld an answer until he obtained a glass of refreshment for her.

She started toward the ladies lounge when she caught sight of someone familiar. Rupert? Here in London? It had to be he! She would recognize that profile anywhere. But where was he headed? Was he looking for her? She hurried after him as he left the pavilion, walking toward the Rural Downs. Did he not realize the danger he was in?

Although she saw a few couples on the dark walkways, and heard a few whispers and tinsel laughs, Patience ignored them, intent on the figure twenty yards ahead of her. She called after him, but he acted as if he hadn’t heard her.

A few drops of rain made her wish she had picked up her cloak before hurrying outside. Why didn’t he answer her? He actually looked to be running
from
her.

“Rupert, it’s me, Patience. Please stop. Why are you running?” she cried. But he disappeared down the maze of paths, leaving her breathing heavily by an ivy-covered gazebo. When rain began to fall, she rushed into the shelter to avoid a soaking.

She gazed anxiously back at the bright lights of the orchestra building and wondered if anyone missed her, knowing she would have to wait out the storm just overhead. Crashesof thunder and blinding lightning had everyone scouringfor cover.

There he was again. Rupert headed back to the Grove and turned when she called, looking directly at her. She saw at once it was not Rupert after all, but someone that could be his mirror image. The man smiled at her before running toward the building, pulling his coat around his head.

“Well,
ma chérie,
what are you doing out here? Meeting with a lover? You know, we still have some unfinished business.”

The poisonous tones of Sansouche bit into Patience as she spun around to confront this dangerous man. His dark shadow leaned against the edge of the gazebo while lightning flashed behind him, creating a more eerie and sinister edge to his overwhelming presence.

She swallowed her fear and bravely confronted Sansouche, her shaking hands behind her back. “I thought I saw someone I knew, but I was wrong. I’m merely waiting for the rain to cease to rejoin my party. Perhaps there is another gazebo nearby where you can wait?” she mentioned pointedly.

Sansouche abruptly started toward her. “Possibly, mademoiselle, but, I think, none with your charms.” His words and presence frightened her beyond measure. With his company, the storm in all its harsh elements offered more of a sanctuary than did the gazebo.

She turned to run, but the Frenchman, sensing her flight, caught her arm and brought her up against one of the wooden columns. “I’ve been planning this since the day I discovered your identity. I’ll not disappoint you, like other men.”

His moist, foul breath threatened to gag her. One of his hands captured both of hers behind her back, bringing her damp bosom closer to his wet greatcoat. Sansouche reached his other hand up to grasp her breast while she turned her head to avoid his wet lips, summoning the strength to wrench herself away from him.

Her movement only served to tear her thin gown at the shoulder, revealing even more of her breast, which the Frenchman eyed hungrily.

She couldn’t breathe, her fear all-consuming, seeing the mania in his eyes.

Then she was free. The Frenchman fell to the floor at her feet. Patience stared in horror at the still form. What had happened? She glanced around frantically to see who had saved her, but there was no one. Deciding this was her
only
chance to find safety, she ran down the path, quickly becoming drenched, her gown soaked through. She could feel her hair falling around her shoulders. Perhaps if she could gain Martha’s attention, she would be able to repair the damage and hide her wet gown underneath her cloak.

And, of course, then there was the body. She had to tell someone about the body. Bryce. She fervently hoped he would believe her.

Blinded by the rain, she felt strong hands reach out to grab her from behind, halting her flight. She fought to free herself, when she heard Bryce’s voice.

“Patience, it’s me. What’s the matter? Where have you been? Everyone is searching for you.”

She caught the concern in his voice as she felt the smooth, warm silk of his coat across her back. Shaking in his arms, she allowed him to lead her to a small shelter in a copse of trees. He stared down into her ashen face with large eyes, her fear still quite evident.

“Tell me what has happened.” His voice warmed her like his hands and coat.

Patience gulped and tried to catch her breath, determined to hold back the tears. “I…I thought I saw Rupert near the entrance and followed him. But…but it wasn’t him. It was someone else. When the…the rains began, I found a gazebo that provided shelter, only he showed up.” She gulped and began to shiver again.

He held her firmly in the protection of his arms. “My dear, who is he?”

“The…the countess’s cousin, Sansouche. He grabbed me.” When Bryce’s coat slipped down from her shoulders, he noticed her torn dress and the smudged bruises beginning to form on her pale arms.

“Where is he?” He cast his eyes quickly over what he could view of Patience, assuring himself she had suffered no further harm.

“I think he may be dead. Someone came from behind him and then he dropped to the floor.” Her voice barely rose above a whisper.

“Did you see anyone?” Bryce had difficulty following her story.

“No.” She looked up at him, her face flush and damp from the rain. “Do you suppose perhaps he had a heart condition?”

He shook his head. “Doubtful. Can you show me where you last saw him, if you feel you are able? I’ll be with you. You have no reason to fear him anymore.”

She nodded and led him back to the gazebo where she had left the Frenchman. She was cold, shaken, tired, and only wanted to go home. They rounded the ivy-covered walls and entered the little shelter. Empty.

He turned to inquire, “You’re sure this is the place?”

She nodded, frowning. “Yes, I know this is it.” She spied an article of clothing on the gazebo floor and recognized it as part of her torn dress.

“Look over there,” she told him, pointing.

Bryce walked over, leaned down and picked up the ragged-edged silk cloth and stared at it before he crumbled it in his hands.

She walked over to him, still trying to put the pieces of the puzzle together, feeling much braver with Bryce by her side. “Who could have moved his body? He was right here. I know he was.” She sneezed.

“This certainly is strange, but I intend to find out what happened to him, and when he and I meet, he will regret ever touching you. Now I think I should get you home before you catch a chill.” He adjusted his coat to fit more snugly over her slender frame. “I think it would be better to send a note with a footman to inform Lady Elverston to bring Miss Krebs home and not to worry about you. The fewer questions asked, the better.” He stopped to think for a moment and said to her humorlessly, “This habit of leaving early and sending a message to Lady Elverston appears to becoming a habit with us.”

In no time, Bryce had Patience safely ensconced in his carriage. He sat beside her with her nestled in his arms for the entire journey home and wondered if she wanted his comforting—something that would pleasure him greatly. It had been a very long time since anyone had needed him.

He had been quite concerned fearing for her safety and felt great relief in finding her on one of the paths. He burned with a hatred that knew no bounds at the man that had touched Patience in violence. Sansouche would pay, he vowed, as she fell asleep against his shoulder.

Upon reaching home, he carried her out of the carriage and up the stairs to her bedroom, asking Verna, one of the new maids, to follow and assist Miss Patience.

Bryce laid her gently on the bed and removed his coat. He heard the little maid gasp at the sight of Patience’s torn gown gaping open and her bruised arms. Silently, he drew the edges of her gown together, then, before quitting the room, requested Verna to oblige the young woman in whatever she needed.

He finally left the room, assured Patience would be well looked after, his face set with promised retribution.

As soon as the guards he had sent for arrived at the house, he would return to the Gardens with the Runners to learn more about what had happened in the gazebo and to try to find the missing Frenchman.

Patience struggled out of her deep sleep. What was that noise? Something wouldn’t allow her to return to the welcoming darkness of forgetfulness. She brushed a lock of hair over her shoulder and slowly sat up in bed, wondering what had awakened her.

She listened for a moment. All still. The storm, which earlier had thundered over the house, had settled into a gentle rain. She heard the drops tapping at her window, but that wasn’t the same noise.

Wait.

There it was again.

She closed her eyes to listen more clearly. A faint sound of an animal. Yes, a meow. A cat’s sad cry. If it indeed was an animal, it must be in trouble. She pushed away the blankets with her feet and slowly rolled out of bed. At first she felt a little light-headed, but the cold floor beneath her bare feet soon repaired her senses.

Her dressing gown missing, she grabbed a thin blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders while walking toward the door. Cautiously, she opened it and peered around the edge, wondering if anyone else had heard the crying and planned to investigate. Silence, except for the cat.

She padded down the hall, stopping every now and again to listen for the cat and to follow the noise. The longcase clock downstairs in the hallway chimed one o’clock in the morning, scaring her heart into a race. What was she so afraid of? Bryce discovering her in her present condition in a nightdress and blanket?

Earlier tonight, when his hot tongue had touched her, she knew she would never be free from him—his smile, his warmth, his strength, his touch, his kiss. Not even long after she had returned home to Storrington. Sansouche’s touch was already a nightmare locked away from remembrance.

The third squeak on the stairs halted Patience in her tracks, surely her thundering heart would wake the household. The quiet held, no doors swung open, no light shined on the stairs revealing Patience to be the intruder she felt.

On the first landing, she heard the cat’s plaintive cry from outside. She raised the sash, slowly revealing the night filled with a thousand dewdrops, a thousand stars, and one big, fat black cat sitting in a wet tree.

Martha’s Satan.

She called softly to him. “Come here, little kitty. Come to Patience.”

The stubborn cat sat in the tree, glad to have an audience but not willing to budge one inch. Judging the distance between the window ledge and the tree, she thought she might be able reach out and grab the cat. She looked down, then wished she hadn’t. Even one floor off the ground looked a great distance.

She wrapped the blanket around her waist, took a deep breath, and leaned across the wet window ledge. The cat remained just beyond her reach. A few more inches and she could grab the fat cat. Edging out farther, her waist now across the sill, one arm holding onto the window sash and one hand outstretched to Satan.

So concentrated in her efforts to save the cat, she didn’t feel her feet leave the landing or her blanket slide farther down her body. Satan almost in her grasp, the playful cat batted away her hand with his paw.

“You stupid cat, I’m trying to save you. You should be more cooperative,” she told Satan in agitation, but he sat there and continued his mewing. “All right, then.”

She made one last attempt and lunged for the cat.

And began to fall out the window.

Someone roughly grabbed her legs in time and pulled her to safety. Patience shuddered in her rescuer’s arms, grateful for the assistance and forgetting the thin nightgown that kept her decently covered.

It could only be Bryce.

“Patience, what were you doing out the window? I left you asleep in your bed.”

She looked up at Bryce. Here he was, saving her again.
Is it possible I may have as many lives as a cat?
Flicking her damp hair out of her face, she gestured toward the window.

“Martha’s cat, Satan. He’s caught in the tree. I heard him meowing from my bedroom and tried to save him, except he wanted no part of my help.”

They both leaned out the window to discover the black cat had ventured even higher in the tree, obviously seeking safety from any troublesome humans, and blending into the night, his gold eyes their only target.

She stared in dismay before turning a beseeching look on Bryce. “Can you help him? I’m rather afraid of heights.”

He grimaced, knowing bed would have to wait. Remembering how her wet and warm body felt in his arms, it was going to be a long night.

To keep his thoughts off her very desirable body, he bent to pick up her forgotten blanket and wrapped it around her before leaning his head out the window to plan his cat-saving mission.

No other windows on this side of the house would enable him to reach the troublesome cat, who no doubt would eventually come down on his own accord. But one look at Patience’s countenance ensnared him: the hero-worship look. He sighed. Did she never take a respite from saving children or animals? He pulled his head in from the window, closed the sash, and started down the stairs.

“Where are you going?”

He stopped and turned to look at her, trying to ignore her bare feet and shapely calves showing below her nightdress, but it was too Herculean an effort. Once again, her body wielded control over a certain part of his body, almost as if his member had a life of its own. He wished the rain could help cool his passion, but he knew nothing ever would.

“I plan to save that damn cat. The only clear way is to climb the tree,” he told her succinctly.

“Oh, but is that the only way? You might fall out of the tree and hurt yourself.” She followed him down the stairs.

“My lady, you disappoint me with an obvious lack of faith in my abilities. I’ve climbed that tree many times in my youth. I think I can save one miserable cat.” He stalked away, leaving the house, clad only in his white shirt and black breeches.

Patience rushed back up the stairs to watch him out the window. She saw him nimbly climb the lower branches of the tree, seeming to know which ones would hold his weight. She chewed her lips, fearing for his safety and afraid to look and watch him fall.

But up and up he went until he finally reached the cat’s resting place. He reached over and managed to grasp the black cat, who appeared quite unwilling to accompany his champion. But Bryce had a firm grip on him and slowly, methodically, rerouted himself down the tree.

Once he slipped and nearly dropped the ungrateful animal. When Satan dug his claws well into Bryce’s shoulder for salvation, he concentrated harder on descending the tree and not on the sharp, throbbing pain delivered by Satan himself. Irony abounded.

Reliving the miserable evening, he could not wait for this night to end: Patience looking so damn fetching yet he couldn’t touch her, her attack in the gardens by that scum Frenchman, and now climbing down a wet, slippery tree with a cat making mincemeat out of his shoulder. All for Patience.

She opened the kitchen door and watched Satan leap from Bryce’s shoulder onto the wooden floor and calmly make his way toward the hall. Bryce was wet through and through and obviously not in the mood for her gratitude. He brushed by her, intent on having a stiff draught of whiskey and retiring to bed with the bottle. Maybe then he could forget her wet curves and her warm mouth. Or was it her warm curves and her wet mouth?

“My lord?”

Bryce turned around and faced her, wondering what more she could possibly want from him.

She warily approached him, sensing the tension in him and thinking he looked like he could explode. Although she greatly feared the fierce expression on his face and the wild, dark look in his eyes, she reached up to touch his shoulder where blood had seeped through his shirt from the cat’s claws.