The Notorious Bridegroom (7 page)

Suddenly, Patience longed to be finished with her masquerade. Longed for Rupert to be free. Wished to return to her brothers she missed and to her home.

But things had changed; she had changed. She now understood that she wanted something more, yearned deep in her soul for a new life. Perhaps when she returned home, she could persuade Louis to take her to London. Inconceivable to return to her past life.

Colette interrupted her musings. “I have been told Mrs. Knockersmith has arranged for new dresses to be delivered to you later today.” The maid rose from Patience’s bed and turned to go. “I must return to the countess or she will wonder where I am. I will return later for your tray.”

The click of the door reminded Patience how alone she was in a place where she could not be herself and with someone who knew her secret. How could she continue this charade as his lordship had requested—or, rather, commanded? She thrust aside the counterpane and tried to rise from the bed. The sudden movement brought a pounding to her head that forced her to return to a prone position. Exhaustion, worry, and pain caught her consciousness and drew her rapidly into a bearable forgetfulness.

Colette looked up from ironing the countess’s morning dress when Captain Kilkennen entered the apartments.

Immediately on her guard, remembering the antagonism between the countess and this man, she asked, “What do you here? This is a ladies’ boudoir.”

Kilkennen cocked one eyebrow in doubt as he sauntered around the room. “You call the shrew, Countess Isabella, a lady?”

“Captain, you offend me when you dishonor my lady.” Although Colette held no love for her employer, perhaps he would leave if she was rude to him.

A wing chair near Colette’s table provided Kilkennen a perch from which to watch her.

“The countess is not here. I must ask you to leave. It is not proper.” Colette did not tolerate well the idle English. Furthermore, he interfered with her work.

His sharp green eyes assessed her. “Are you ordering me to leave?” he asked with a grin.

Colette hesitated before replying, “No, I would consider it more of a request.”

“A request,” he repeated to himself softly. “Where is her highness? I mean, the countess?” he asked, ignoring Colette’s icy glare.

“I believe she and Mr. Sansouche went visiting.”

“Ah, visiting. Perhaps with other French loyalists?” His tone held more than a casual interest.

Colette stopped her ironing and stated emphatically, “Captain, I have no idea of the countess’s loyalties. I only know she will be extremely disagreeable if she returns to find I have not finished with my work.” She brushed a loose curl from her forehead in disgust.

“Londringham is in need of her. I shall have to report to him that she has flown the coop with the French rooster,” Kilkennen remarked flippantly.

“Now that you have accomplished your mission for information, perhaps you might find the door?” Colette petitioned him. This man disturbed her, and she could not afford to be distracted by him. For surely that is all
she
would be to
him,
a distraction. His startling green eyes and sharp, chiseled features in a tan-worn face had diverted many a maiden from her tasks, of which Colette had no doubt.

“I don’t believe you like me. Why is that?” Kilkennen asked in a boyish voice.

Colette rolled her eyes in annoyance. “You cannot dally with me as you seem want to do. I work for the countess and those are the only services I offer.”

Kilkennen sighed before rising from his chair and walking over to Colette. He shook his head. “Don’t you realize the harder you fight, the more challenge you become to me?” Before she had realized what he did, Kilkennen softly kissed her cheek, brushed the errant curl from her forehead, and strolled out the door.

When Patience next awoke, night had drawn its shades on the day. She had slept undisturbed, awakened only by pangs of hunger. Groggily pulling herself up, she glanced at the tray Colette had left hours ago. The food looked even more repellent than it had earlier. While considering a search for food, she noticed the new dresses hanging in the cupboard. Gray. They were all gray. That would certainly make what to wear an easy decision.

A quick knock broke her reverie and blew Lem through the door.

“Livin’ a life of ease, I ’ear tell. Cook swears you’re only tryin’ to avoid work.” He jumped on the edge of her bed, sat, crossed his legs, and cocked his head, first one way and then the other. “Ye don’t look ill to me. What ’appened? Ye was foine, yestiday. ’ow comes yore ’n bed?”

Patience held up a hand to halt the boy’s runaway tongue. “I actually feel fine, except for my arm.” She pointed to it for his inspection.

Eyes widened in surprise, Lem gaped at Patience. “You ’ave a wound, just like a soldier. Were you shot at by one of those Frenchies? Can I see? I want me a wound too. I’ll show everyone ’ow brave I am with me wound.” Lem leaned toward Patience and gently took her arm in his little hands. “Gore, that bandage is a beauty.” He looked at it from all angles, then pronounced it a piece of work.

“’ow did you come by that? Ye ain’t a soldier, like me.” Suspicion mocked his inquiry.

Patience tried not to smile at his inquisitiveness, and diverted his attention. “Lem, I need you for a special mission. I have not eaten anything all day. Could you possibly see if there might be something to eat in the larder? And try not to let anyone see you.”

Such a request had Lem beaming ear to ear. He smartly saluted Patience and hurried out the door.

A while later, the two enjoyed cheese and bread and a little whiskey. Lem had found it on the sideboard in the dining room and decided that all wounded soldiers needed whiskey to “fortify their spirits.”

Patience coughed down a few draughts, to the delight of the little footboy. He regaled her with stories of Gulliver, who was healing quite well due to her and Lucky’s administrations, so said his lordship. Melenroy absentmindedly had just baked bread with sugar instead of yeast. Lem told Patience they wondered whether the cook might be batty.

“And Mr. Gibbs? He has not been too unkind to you? I worry that he has given you too much work to do.” When she saw the pain in his eyes, she wanted to bite her lip. Something was just not right between Mr. Gibbs and Lem. The butler acted cruelly toward him, and Patience would discover why.

“I am sorry, I did not think…”

A sharp rap on the door froze the friends. Patience did not know whom to expect. Her bedroom was proving to be quite a popular place. Lem leapt into action by throwing her cap and spectacles at her, which Patience awkwardly pulled on. Then the little boy grabbed the tray and stuck it under the bed. Finally, he pulled the covers up to her shoulders with a serious look on his face and, motioning a tree, escaped out the window.

The heat in the room grew oppressive as she fought for air and courage. She managed a squeaky “Enter” and waited with hands clasping the sheets.

Bryce strolled in the door, placed a tray on the bed, kicked the door shut, and turned to examine his patient. He paused, then threw back his head to laugh. She obviously had not been expecting him with the mobcap covering most of her countenance, pushing her spectacles down her nose. Patience looked adorable even as she glared at him with an icy-green blast and higher-than-thou nose for, he assumed, his uninvited presence.

“What do you find so amusing, my lord?” A chill froze her words.

“You were obviously not expecting any guests, and I must say, you will need to find a smaller cap in the future.” So saying, he popped the cap from her head and threw it on a chair.

She pursed her lips, in anger or fear, he could not decide. With hands on his hips, he looked around the small room, his study missed nothing. The opened window, dirt on the wooden floor, and a half-hidden whiskey bottle in the folds of Patience’s sheets. She had had a recent visitor, but who? His examination took only seconds before he pulled a chair next to her bed and sat down, her narrow cot much too small and close for them both.

Bryce leaned back in his chair, placed his right ankle on his left knee, and folded his arms. He had quite a few questions to ask the young woman but something halted his tongue. He would learn the truth, all of it. But not tonight. For some reason, he found it difficult to remember his purpose here.

The warmth of the room brought a pretty pink flush to her cheeks and her lips were red from biting them as she did now. He noted her small, even white teeth as she chewed her lower lip. And when her tongue darted out to lick her lips, he placed both feet on the floor and admonished himself not to notice her charms and the scent of her rosewater soap.

She was a woman. Hence, untrustworthy, disloyal, and exceedingly dangerous to his well-being.

Her coyness and innocence and unpainted beauty were all part of a calculated game she would use to manipulate him. But perhaps he could seduce her to get the truth? A pleasure he intended for them both.

“Are you planning to guard me all night? Ensure I do not escape into the darkness with the silver?”

Her sarcasm made him smile. Plucky little thing, considering he held all the cards.

“Actually, I am here on a nobler mission. I wanted to rebind your wound to help prevent infection. Is it still paining you?” He kept his tone easy, friendly.

“What? Oh, my arm. Well, I have been sleeping a good part of the day, but now it is throbbing a bit.” She too adopted a casual manner, of surgeon and patient.

“The whiskey has not relieved the pain in any way?” He pointed to the bottle peeping out from the bedclothes, near her leg.

“Ah, I…I only had a few swallows, perhaps not enough for medicinal purposes or to cause a drunken stupor,” she replied defensively.

A cool April breeze tickled the air with honeysuckle and lilacs. Time for work. He studied her prim muslin nightdress before gesturing to Patience to unbutton it in order to gain access to her bandaged arm.

Heaving a heavy sigh, she turned away from him to present her back while undoing the top buttons and very carefully easing her arm out of one sleeve. He watched in amusement as she clung to her nightdress, obviously not wanting to reveal any more than necessary.

Bryce positioned the tray on his knees and leaned across Patience to gently lift her arm. As he unwrapped the old bandage, dressed the wound, and placed a clean bandage on her arm, he noticed that every time he brushed the front of her nightdress, he could feel her hardened nipple. He seemed to notice everything about her: the way her hair flowed across her shoulders, down her back and curled under her arm, the steady, lovely hazel eyes watching him as he watched her.

“Finished. Perhaps another day in bed should help ease the pain. I will send up some laudanum if it worsens.” He commanded no arguments and returned the tray to the other bed.

“I am sure I will be much better tomorrow and am most eager to see to my new duties.”

“We shall see,” came his vague reply. Bryce was kindling a fond memory of the kiss on the floor the other night. He had not forgotten and wondered if she had. He had no reason to remain but found himself reluctant to leave without tasting her lips again. Medicinal purposes only, to give her something else to think about.

He leaned over her bed, braced himself on one arm, and caught her cheek, all with such speed as to surprise her. He hesitated before capturing her sweet lips beneath his. Her startled little moan vibrated against his mouth. She tasted of whiskey, and gave him a shy answer to his gentle wooing of her lips.

For a moment he broke away from her parted lips. When her tongue came out again, he swept in for victory. Tongues mated, he could not get close enough to the vibrant young woman. His hip settled on the edge of the bed while his hand wandered down from her soft cheek to her waist, to clasp her more tightly to him.

She eagerly welcomed his kiss and embrace, but he had to stop before he joined her in bed, even though he knew that is what they both wanted. He lifted his head and gazed intently into her stunned face, heated from the passion they had shared.

Unable to think of a suitable excuse for his behavior, he swallowed and offered, “I wanted to see if your kiss was as sweet as I remembered it the other night.”

She continued to stare at him with wide eyes, perhaps still shaken by his actions.

He nodded. “Mmm, definitely, getting better with practice.” How quickly anger stormed into her bright eyes, he thought in amusement.

“I would request that you find another partner to practice with, my lord. I do not need or wish further instruction,” Patience told him, with her chin lifted.

“Yes, I do believe you do”—he paused—“need further instruction.”

And with that obtuse reply, he quitted the room with his ministering equipment.

Patience put a hand to her quivering, swollen lips as she watched the earl leave the room.
What have I done? What had he done? Rupert had been right, this man was dangerous, but not in the way either had imagined.

She still felt his hard lips on hers. It must be wrong. No man kissed like that unless the woman was his wife or his mistress. And she was neither. Was she already on the path to damnation? James would condemn her for responding to his kiss, for allowing misguided passion to rule her head. Confusion reigned because, try as she might to tell herself she was here for Rupert’s sake, part of her knew she was also doing this for herself.

Although she had not encouraged his lordship’s attentions, she had been the recipient of his soul-taking kisses and tender caresses. She fanned her cheeks, remembering how her good arm had rested on his powerful shoulder, her heart still clipping at a frantic pace.

She took deep breaths to regain her sense and sanity. It did not seem possible to regret what had happened between them, nor did she normally waste time wishing to change the past, reflecting only how the past would affect her future.

Her future. What did it hold? For so long, her history was one of continual love and support for her four brothers and her fiancé, Richard. When he died, a lifelong dream of family and home became obsolete, deemed appropriate for the hopes only of younger girls.

Contentment had been hers in caring for her family. Passion had never played a part in her relationship with Richard, but then, she had not known that there was more emotion and feeling to be realized from a simple touch or a searing look. That in life there is something sweeter than chocolate, more brilliant than rainbow colors, more fragrant than the promising nectar of a blossoming honeysuckle. All for the taking, if only one knew where to find it.

And her teacher had been indeed generous and skillful. There was more, and it was right to want it. Would God think her wicked for wanting to experience something she had never known before? And even though she disliked his lordship’s arrogance by insinuating she needed practice, his kisses lit long-dormant timbers of fire in her soul.

Wiggling down into the nest of her bed, she resolved to continue to search for a way to free Rupert and fight for something more which would perhaps bring her greater happiness. But could diverse propositions have hope in a happy reconciliation? She hoped she would not get more than she bargained for.

The next morning, Patience moved slowly down the shiny dark cherry staircase, careful not to move her arm overmuch. She had awakened early this morning with only a dull ache from her wounded limb, her stomach growling. Washing and dressing had proven to be quite a chore, taking over an hour because of her handicap. Oversized mobcap and glasses snug on her nose, she decided to venture out of her small chamber.

Mr. Gibbs, in the kitchen, told her authoritatively, “His lordship has instructed me to show you the account books in his study. He seems to believe you have some knowledge of arithmetic.”

A while later, she sat in the earl’s chair, safe from all prying eyes, and leaned back, melting into the leather. Tea and a half-eaten biscuit lay nearby. She closed her eyes and all her senses were attuned to his presence. She felt the very fiber of him, with his brandy, sandalwood, and the smell of tobacco permeating her musings.

She jerked herself away from those thoughts, opening her eyes to concentrate on the room. It took only minutes to realize that she could not work in this gloomy atmosphere. She left the large chair and headed to the windows to open the gold-brocade curtains stretched floor to ceiling.

Dust particles flitted through the bold stream of light filling the once-cavelike room. Scrutinizing the furnishings and the condition of the study, to her dismay, she found boxes filled with books piled high in the corner and empty bookshelves lining the walls. But for the desk and a few scattered chairs near the fireplace, the room looked unwelcoming. Actually, she realized, the whole house presented an unloved façade.

As she gazed around the sparse room, she concluded that the house had more of a flavor of an inn than a real home. After reflecting long enough about the earl’s manor and his manner of inhabiting it, Patience turned to the books at hand.

The morning stretched into the late afternoon, interrupted only by Lem bringing her a small repast when she had almost finished recording the latest house supplies for the month. She stood up and thought to take the finished tray to the kitchen.

What a sapscull! Why not look in his desk for possible clues to his plans? Her hands trembled with anxiety as she reached for the first knob. A niggling, conscience-grabbing, Methodist-forbidding instant halted her movements. But then she remembered she was on the honorable side of the law and hoped the constable would believe the same thing. Perhaps there was not anything to find, his lordship being far too clever.

Three drawers opened to a slight tug but revealed nothing. The other three remained tightly locked, with no sign of a key. Nothing to condemn the man, except his disturbing kisses and passion-filled bright blue eyes. Frustrating, yes, but perhaps not disappointing.

Who was he, truly? She herself had heard the earl proposing to sell England’s secrets. But suppose, imagine, he might not be the guilty party, at fault only for his purposeful seduction that she seemed to fall for time and again. While she might be slightly relieved, it still left two questions: Who had murdered her cousin? And who was the Englishman guilty of treason?

As she gazed at the huge bookcase behind the massive mahogany desk, she remembered Lem telling her a tale about secret passages that led to the shore. Hmmm.

Fifteen minutes later, she had still not found an opening but knew it had to be there somewhere. The mantel clock measured time lost, ticking noisily in her ears. She rubbed her palms against her skirts and tried again, her luck sure to change. Her fingers finally felt a small latch underneath the fourth shelf. She pulled it, and the bookcase opened smoothly, revealing a threshold beckoning the unknown.

Only one way to discover more of the earl’s secrets. A little harmless trip down the passageway to see where it led. Before taking a step over the entryway, she remembered to take a weapon, hoping it would not be necessary to use it. She reached over and grabbed a letter opener and candle off the earl’s desk. The letter opener fit snugly in her deep pocket. She swiftly lit the wick, hitched her skirts higher, took a deep breath, and stepped into the darkness.

Water drip-dropped and echoed throughout the black corridor. The candle wick in her hand flickered from a faint draft. She placed her right hand on the nearby wall to steady herself down the uneven stones, slick under her feet from condensation. One step, then two. A shiver ran through her from the damp air. In the distance, she could discern running water.

She stopped. Was that a voice she heard? Patience hoped it was not the earl and his friends returning. In an echoing chamber, it was difficult to tell whether sounds were coming from in front of her or behind her. She held her breath for what seemed like hours before proceeding. The voices faded away, and her heart returned almost to its normal beating.

She nearly lost her footing when a small animal ran across her shoe. A shriek escaped her lips.
I don’t think I can do this. I don’t like the dark, nor the cold, nor an unknown destination, nor mostly anything I can’t see.
With a battle of wills arguing in her head, she stubbornly continued her journey farther down into the cave.

Quickly learning to walk on the difficult path, with the candlelight providing only glimpses of what was in front of her, after several slight missteps, she could hear the Channel water slurping the beach. She drew closer to a larger pool of light as she approached the cave’s opening. When a mischievous breeze extinguished her candle, she hugged the side of the cave as she made her way to the entrance.

So this passageway did lead to the beach. Easy enough for a French spy like the earl to have a ship waiting to take him back to France. It must not be more than half a mile from Paddock Green.

Patience stopped directly outside the cave and looked down the quiet shoreline marred by a maze of huge rocks and boulders. A glance to the sky above assured her darkness would cover her progress, the full moon stayed hidden behind clouds. While the night might shield her presence, it was also effective in hiding the path the earl might have taken. She closed her eyes and listened to the wind and the water lapping against the smooth sands.

Then she heard them. Voices.

Her mobcap and spectacles stuffed in a pocket, a cool breeze blew a loose strand of hair across her face from her improvised bun.

The sand fell away beneath her sturdy shoes as she made her way slowly across the beach. After about three hundred yards, she stopped and listened again. Only the wind seemed to tease her ear. Without the voices, she lost her compass.

Patience stood with arms akimbo, trying to determine a course of action. Her bottom lip took a savage beating as her teeth chewed a decision.

Forbidding cliffs rose up to the night sky on her left. The ocean hissed its arrival and retreat from land on her other side. Where had they gone? Were they down the shore or had they perhaps climbed the cliffs? And where was the footpath Lem had described?

What was that? There it was again. The faintest light. Something flickered way down along the water surge. It glimmered briefly on the rocks. Then everything went dark.

She concentrated on the spot again to see if her eyes played tricks on her. A few minutes and then a much bolder light swept around an alcove of rocks.

Yes, that was it! She clapped her hands together excitedly and moved swiftly toward the direction of the light.

Confident of her course, and sure to find the French spies and perhaps the earl, Patience continued more slowly toward the spot where she had first noticed the light. Whatever she could learn this night, she would take directly to the constable. Although the brightness did not reappear, she heard the voices again, slight murmurings in time with the constant waves hitting the sands.

As she hugged the rocky embankment, she spied a large, oddly shaped boulder jutting out from the cliffs. A perfect place to hide and listen to spies planning their dark deeds. She crouched down and peered beyond the rock. Two dark figures stood near the shore looking out to sea.
I wonder what they are looking at.
Her brow furrowed, one hand braced in the sand for support, she studied the men. Neither looked like the proud, imposing figure of the earl or his brawny friend, the captain.

She tried to see beyond the rocks out to where the men’s gaze held them captive, but frustratingly found her sight hindered by the adjoining rocks. She sank back down on her knees to consider how to get closer to the men. Who were they? And where was the earl?

Patience studied the massive boulder providing her shelter and wondered if it could be ascended. Her hands skimmed the surface and felt small indentations that could allow for toeholds. Carefully, relying more on touch than on sight, she grasped the rough surface for purchase. The first few times proved wearisome, always slipping backward, but finally she pursued another recess with success and pulled herself up slowly by degrees, hampered by her wounded arm. She tried to keep her heaving breaths quiet as she climbed to the top.

I can do this. Do not look down,
she encouraged herself. The edge at the top was almost within her grasp. Feeling exultant, she grabbed the slippery sides of the rock and hiked her head up to clear the top.

A weasely, hairy, dirty face stared back at her. And then Patience did a very womanly thing. She screamed as she lost her balance and pitched backward.