by Debra Glass
James whispered words of love to her while his hands roamed freely over her back, her shoulders, into her hair. Kisses rained on the top of her head and then her temple until both his hands found and lifted her face so he could pillage her mouth.
“I will never get enough of you,” he whispered against her lips.
She opened her eyes and looked at him up close. Her hair had fallen like a dark curtain around them but even given the shadows, lust-laced heat smoldered in his almost black eyes. She kissed him once more.
“I apologize for upsetting you yesterday,” he told her.
“You needn’t,” she said softly.
He watched his thumb trail along the edge of her cheekbone. “I’ll ring for your maid. We’ll leave after breakfast.”
Once more, her heart swelled at his willingness to support her. “Thank you.”
He indulged once more kiss before he playfully rolled her onto her back. Patience watched as he got up. Corded muscles tensed in his back and thighs as he moved. He was easy with his own nudity and Patience wondered if she could ever be as comfortable without clothes as he seemed to be.
As he collected his garments, he flashed her a smile—one of those smiles—that made her feel giddy as if the room were off kilter. She resisted the urge to drag the sheet over her bare body and the way his gaze slid over her in blatant appraisal made her glad she hadn’t covered herself.
He buttoned his breeches and pulled his wrinkled shirt over his head. God in heaven, he was gorgeous. She longed to invite him right back into the bed and have him kiss away all the deliciously sore spots on her body.
He bundled the rest of his clothing in his arms and leaned down to give her one last kiss before leaving the room.
As soon as he was gone, Patience got up to search for her discarded nightgown. She found it in a wad on the floor. After she slipped it over her head, she caught her reflection in the mirror over her dressing table.
Shock coursed through her.
Was that…her?
Her hair hung in wild disarray. She had not expected the heightened color in her cheeks or the swell of her reddened lips. What stunned her the most, however, was the difference in her eyes. The look was something she recognized but could not identify.
A knock sounded on the door followed, Wanda’s announcement that she was coming in.
Patience’s gaze darted around the room, stopping on the bed. The old panic threatened to explode. Would Wanda know what had occurred there last night?
Patience forced herself to reign in her rampant thoughts. She was a married lady. Wanda was a servant and as such, knew it was none of her business what her betters did in their marriage bed.
“Good morning, Wanda,” she said cheerily as the servant bobbed into a curtsy. “Lord Somerset and I are going out this morning. I’ll need an appropriate dress. Something…somber.”
* * * * *
Whatever preconceived notions Patience had held about Bedlam crumbled to dust the minute she set foot in the front door. The nauseating stench of a rancid cesspit hung like the morning fog over the Thames. Unearthly howls echoed in the hallways.
A naked man, mumbling to himself lumbered past as an orderly herded him, presumably toward a cell.
Commoners were lined up from the door to the gate. Patience hadn’t realized what the line was for until she noticed a person collecting a penny from each person. “James, are they actually allowing people to come in and…and—”
James’s expression was dour. “I’m afraid so.”
Patience gasped at the ignominy of it all. “How can they parade these poor souls as if they are a part of some circus freak show?”
“These poor souls, as you call them, are unfortunately wards of the crown. I would venture to guess the money generated goes for food and clothing for them,” James explained.
Patience held tightly to his arm, taking comfort in his close proximity. Miss Killian was in this awful place?
“Are you certain you want to do this thing?” he asked.
She swallowed. Hard. No. “I must.”
A harried man darted out of what appeared to be an office. He waved them inside. “Lord and Lady Somerset, come in, come in.”
James stepped behind Patience. She was grateful for the hand at the small of her back as she walked into the office.
A female lunatic, Patience guessed was no older than herself, sat on the floor in the corner. Clad in nothing but a nightgown, she sat in the corner, hugging her knees and rocking back and forth. Her glazed eyes stared but did not see.
Patience gulped. What horrible things had happened to these people to cause this madness? And how thin was the line that separated sanity from insanity. A shudder tore through her.
“Lawrence Gray, at your service. How may I be of assistance?” the man asked.
He was not nearly as tall as Patience and he reminded her somewhat of a weasel. Thin and warped with greasy black hair and a long nose that dominated his face. He blinked twice as many times as a normal person. “You had inquired about one of our patients?”
Patients? These people weren’t patients. They were inmates.
“Miss Killian,” James said.
“Elizabeth Killian,” Patience added.
Mr. Gray blinked his beady eyes in thought before he moved around his desk to a row of filing cabinets. Tracing the letters down with a bony index finger, he read aloud until he came to K. “Ah, here we are,” he said, pulling open the drawer. He thumbed through files until he arrived at one. “Elizabeth Killian.”
“Could you tell us the nature of her…madness?” James asked.
Gray flipped through the file. “She was admitted and placed in the curable ward in the summer of 1824.”
“Curable?” Patience asked. “Then why is she still?”
Gray eyed her. “Madam, a good many unfortunates come here as curables and later take a turn for the worse.”
Everything inside her made Patience was to flee back to the comfort of their coach but she forced herself to summon courage. “Might we see her?”
“She’s in the infirmary,” Gray said.
“She’s ill?” James asked.
Gray nodded. “From her symptoms, it appears she has cancer.”
Patience’s heart sank. “She’s dying?”
Gray merely stared.
“My wife would like to see Miss Killian if you can arrange it,” James said, his voice taking on an authoritative tone.
“As you wish. Follow me,” Gray said.
The thought of going deeper into this nightmarish place made Patience want to bolt but James drew her close as they followed Gray from the office and down one of the long hallways.
Patience kept her gaze trained on the floor tiles but she could not shut out the sights and sounds of commoners jeering as they poked long sticks through the bars of one of the cell windows. A lunatic wailed and cursed in the most vulgar, shocking language from behind the steel door.
Patience wanted to cry. She’d never dreamed people lived in such appalling conditions. No matter what Miss Killian had said or done, she certainly did not deserve to be in this living hell.
By the time they reached the infirmary, Patience regretted the hearty breakfast she’d eaten. Her stomach knotted and roiled and she swallowed, trying to keep her meal from coming up.
Rows upon rows of beds lined both sides of the walls in the infirmary. Most of the patients were restrained. Some fought their bonds. Others lay so still they appeared dead.
Patience searched the sea of coughing, moaning faces for one she recognized. Finally, she spotted Miss Killian. The change in her former governess’s appearance was so marked, Patience had to blink to be certain.
“Miss Killian,” Gray said. “You have visitors.”
The old lady twisted her head and stared.
Patience forced a smile. “Miss Killian? It is I. Patience.”
Miss Killian’s thin, cracked lips parted. She gaped as if she couldn’t believe
it. A gnarled hand emerged from underneath a thin blanket. Patience did not hesitate to clasp the hand in hers.
“I will leave you to your visit,” Mr. Gray said. “Afterward, you are welcome to join the tour if you wish.”
Patience started to protest vehemently that she would never take part in sport against these people but James interjected. “Thank you for your assistance, Mr. Gray.”
Miss Killian struggled to dampen her dry lips. “P-Patience?”
“I only heard this morning that you were here. I came immediately,” Patience said.
Miss Killian’s dull gaze swiveled to James.
“Forgive me,” Patience said. “This is my husband, James Camplyon, Earl of Somerset.”
James inclined his head in salutation but he could not bring himself to smile. This was the woman who’d blamed Patience for the deaths of her mother and brother. This was the woman who’d shaped Patience into a woman who was afraid of her own pleasure. Despite the circumstances, he could not force himself to feel sympathy for Miss Killian’s plight.
“What happened? How did you come to be…to be…here?” Patience asked.
Miss Killian coughed. “After I left Walnut Grange, no one needed my services any longer. No one needed me.”
“That couldn’t possibly be true,” Patience said indulgently.
“How did you find out?” Miss Killian inquired. The woman seemed embarrassed rather than happy to see her former charge.
“Mrs. Donahue told me,” James said. “I had gone to Walnut Grange to inquire about the deaths of Patience’s mother and brother. Ma’am, I admit I am under the impression you allowed Patience to assume responsibility for what happened.”
The old woman began to sob pitifully.
“James,” Patience scolded. “Please—”
“Explain yourself, woman,” James continued.
“James—”
Miss Killian squeezed Patience’s hand. “No, Patience. Your husband is correct. I did allow it…because I knew…I knew that I was to blame.”
A tear rolled down Patience’s cheek. James felt like an ass but he hoped Patience was finally going to hear the words that would absolve her of her guilt.
“You didn’t know Harry would fall when—” Patience began but Miss Killian interrupted.
“I remember that day as if it were yesterday,” Miss Killian said. “I wanted to blame you.”
James moved behind Patience and placed his hand on her back to reassure her. She was already tense and shaking.
“But I didn’t do anything,” Patience said softly.
“No, you didn’t,” Miss Killian agreed. “Before I was employed at Walnut Grange, I worked for a widowed viscount.”
The old lady paused and wheezed before she continued. “The role of a governess is a strained one. Educated and cultured, I did not fit in with the servants. Nor could I move amongst the aristocrats. Instead, all most governesses could hope for was to marry a widower or become a gentleman’s mistress.”
She cast her gaze down. “I was easily seduced by the viscount.”
James felt Patience take a deep breath.
“Before long, I found myself…in a…a predicament,” Miss Killian said. “He promised to marry me.”
A coughing fit came upon her and Patience offered her some water. Miss Killian sipped it.
“You don’t have to go on,” Patience told her.
“I do,” the old woman said, her distorted fingers locking around Patience’s wrist. “I lost the child.”
Tears flowed down Miss Killian’s drawn cheeks. “He terminated my employment and sent me packing. I was fortunate to get away without being scandalized.”
“It must have been a terrible time for you,” Patience said.
Miss Killian’s eyes flashed. “I only wanted to protect you from the same fate. I never meant to hurt you. I failed you.”
Patience nodded. “No! You didn’t fail me. You see, I have married a wonderful man. We are happy and have both made a good match. I love him,” she said, turning to smile at James.
James stared. He hadn’t expected his wife to make such a declaration. His heart warmed and he resisted the urge to pull her into an embrace. At that moment, he admired Patience more than anyone in his life. Here she stood, forgiving a dying woman—forgiving herself. James could only imagine the courage it had taken for her to come to this horrid place and face the woman who’d accused her of the most heinous of acts.
She turned back to her former governess. “Is there anything we can do for you?”
An unexpected urge suddenly overcame James. “Yes there is. We can provide for her.”
Patience turned to James. She searched his eyes. “You’d do that?”
“If it would please you. The least we could do is make her last days comfortable,” James said.
Miss Killian shook with sobs. “Bless you, my lord. God bless you.”
But it was the gratitude and love shining in Patience’s eyes that mattered to James.
Chapter Nine
Patience removed her jet earbobs and placed them in her jewelry box. Although they’d attended Miss Killian’s funeral earlier that afternoon, instead of sadness, Patience felt a sense of contentment.
Miss Killian died only two weeks after they’d removed her from Bedlam. But rather than dying alone and in pain in that dreadful asylum, Patience was relieved that Miss Killian had passed away easily under a doctor’s care and in a warm bed in the Hyde Park mansion.
Patience heaved a sigh, remembering the long talks she’d had with Miss Killian. Their conversations had convinced Patience that Miss Killian had never been insane but merely despondent over the guilt with which she’d lived for over a quarter of a century.
None of this would have happened were it not for James.
Patience thought about all the trouble he’d taken to help her come to terms with her past. His love had liberated her in a way she’d never dreamed possible. Without him, she never would have discovered herself.
Pride swelled in her breast at the thought of her husband. She’d asked him to come to her room tonight despite his concern that she might be grieving but she’d insisted. She needed him. Above anything else, she wanted him.
She stood and when she slipped off her dressing gown, tingles skittered up and down her nude body.
James had asked her to strip off all her clothes, bend over the bed and await him. She swallowed. What did he have in store for her? A delicious shiver started at her scalp and traveled all the way down to her toes as she bent over the side of her bed.
Waiting for him was exquisite torture. She wanted to reach between her legs and massage the throbbing nub that demanded her attention. Her body hummed with anticipation.
She no longer feared these moments with James. Now, she looked forward to their evenings together. She delighted in the exploration of their mutual fantasies.
James seemed to understand her need to have her control snatched away. Patience realized that most men would have condemned her or simply wouldn’t have cared a whit for her pleasure. Not James.
She heard the door open behind her and her pulse accelerated. She’d been instructed not to move.
“Very nice,” James said. His footsteps fell softly on the rug as he neared her.
She sucked a sharp breath through her teeth as his warm palm kneaded the soft flesh of her bottom.
“Spread your legs. Wider. Wider,” he told her.
Her blood heated as she worked her feet apart. Her cunny clenched, aching to be touched.
He voiced his approval. “I can see your treasures, my pet. All of them.”
She gulped. The idea that she was completely visible to him and completely at his mercy made her heartbeat pound in her ears.
A fingertip trailed from the nape of her neck all the way down her spine and farther still. She moaned when that same finger traveled between her buttocks and then pushed into her channel.
“You’re already wet for me,” he sa
id. “Have you been playing with yourself?”
“No.”
“You wouldn’t fib, would you?” he teased.
“No.” She breathed the word, enjoying playing the game with him. Peace washed over her as all lucid thought faded until she was perfectly mindless. With James there was only this primal, physical desire and all the luscious sensations that went with it.
“I think you have been playing with yourself,” he said, his voice velvety.
Patience shivered. Instinctively, she dipped her back to raise her bottom higher. Spank me, spank me…
She could hardly swallow as his finger languidly explored her creamy recess and his other hand continued to massage her bum.
Withdrawing his finger, he took one step to the side. Patience’s clitoris throbbed as she braced herself. But when the expected slap and sting didn’t follow, she glanced back at James.
He smiled so broadly, deep dimples appeared at the corners of his mouth. And then, Patience saw why. She gaped at the object he held in his hand. “What’s that?” she asked, her voice betraying rising panic.
“This is a toy,” he said, twisting the object in his hand.
Patience squinted. The toy, which was diamond shaped with a thin neck and flared base, was as long as James’s index finger and at its biggest girth, twice as thick. The base then narrowed into sort of a waist and at the very end, there was a ring.
She wet her dry lips with the tip of her tongue. “What kind of toy?”
“A specially made toy,” he said as he dipped it between her legs.
Patience jerked as he pushed it into her channel. She wanted to close her eyes, to clutch the covers and hang on while he fucked her with it but no sooner had he put it inside her, he removed it.
“It’s not made for that hole,” James said.
As he began to coat the toy with her lanolin, her heart began to pound so hard, she felt as if it would drum its way out of her chest.
“Reach behind and hold your cheeks apart,” he said once the toy was generously lubricated.
She stared.
James’s eyes went black with the promise of sexual torment. “For each second you hesitate, I will paddle your bottom.”
One side of her mouth drew into a grin. Mentally, she ever so slowly counted five before she reached back and pulled her cheeks open.