Persuading Patience

by Emma V. Leech

  “Perhaps you’re tired of your lovely sister getting all of the attention,” he continued, his voice low and accusing yet somehow seductive at the same time. “Perhaps you’re jealous?”

  He was very close to her now and Patience realised that her breath was coming rather fast. Though she really hadn’t planned to lure him in here, she turned over his words, to see if there was any truth in them. She was always scrupulously honest, to a fault, if Cilly was to be believed. But she hated lies and did her best not to deceive herself. Her answer, therefore, rather surprised them both.

  “Yes,” she admitted, a little put out to discover there was some truth in his words. “I suppose I am a little, though I promise you I didn’t get you in here on purpose.”

  Lord Marchmain looked rather taken aback by that, and she felt awkward now so she kept talking, which she knew was a mistake, but she couldn’t help herself.

  “It’s hard when no one notices you, you see,” she said, shrugging a little and wondering why on earth she was telling him this. “Not that I mind, for the most part. I mean, Caro is such a darling, I could never be really jealous of her, but sometimes …”

  She paused and wished she’d never opened her mouth, but Lord Marchmain was looking at her with curiosity now. Goodness, but he really was very handsome. Her gaze dropped to his mouth and a sudden stab of longing hit her hard and fast.

  “Sometimes what?” he demanded, frowning at her with an earnest expression that was really rather unsettling.

  Patience could feel a little heat in her cheeks and she was suddenly glad of the cool darkness of the grotto. She’d never been one for blushing, but in the circumstances …

  “I don’t know,” she said, shaking her head and wondering why she felt so breathless, a strange, overheated sensation growing beneath her skin. “I just … sometimes I just …”

  “Yes?” he said, his voice rather harsh now, like he had to know the answer.

  “I want …” she began, quite unable to look away from his green eyes that seemed to strip her bare and leave her rather vulnerable all at once. Patience closed her mouth with a snap. She could not possibly tell him what she wanted. It was so shocking she couldn’t event think it.

  To her astonishment, Lord Marchmain stepped closer still, with an intensity in his eyes that made her heart skip about in her chest in a rather alarming but not altogether unpleasant fashion.

  “What do you want?” he asked, his voice low now. He put his hand under her chin, tilting her head up. “Is it this?” he asked, before lowering his mouth to hers.

  It was really the most innocent brush of lips, a barely there touch that she ought not to have found remarkable. Yet something lit inside of her, like a spark hitting dry tinder and creating an inferno.

  “Yes,” she whispered, before throwing her arms around his neck and pulling his mouth back to hers with an urgency that clearly took him even more by surprise than it had her. He fell against her with a muffled exclamation, shock in his eyes for the briefest moment before he acquiesced to her demand. He’d offered, after all, and now she was holding him to it.

  Chapter 4

  “Wherein our hero is startled and put quite out of sorts, and our heroine plots to do it all over again.”

  Lord Marchmain’s lips were remarkably soft. Patience didn’t know why, but she hadn’t expected that. At close quarters, however, she discovered that it was the only part of him that was. One hand slid down his neck to rest on his chest and she was struck by how solid he was, such a hard body beneath the elegant cut of his clothes. His shoulders, too, they were just as muscular as she had suspected, the feeling of that muscle shifting under her hands as he moved was really quite tantalising. The desire to slide her hand beneath the layers and touch his skin was so fierce she wondered if she’d run mad. Perhaps she was ill? Nothing in the calm and rather uneventful course of her life had prepared her for such a tumult of emotions.

  Patience clenched her fist, clutching at his waistcoat to stop her curious fingers driving her to be any more outrageous than she already was. Actually moving to stop him, or herself, come to that, didn’t even cross her mind, though. She had never felt more alive. His arms were strong, pulling her close and holding her in such a way that she felt secure and giddy all at the same time, and then there was his mouth. His mouth was pure decadence. Soft and demanding all at once, seeking, searching as the warmth of his tongue traced her lower lip. Patience gasped in surprise as delicious tremors ran over her, but Lord Marchmain seemed to have expected her reaction. His tongue swept in, stealing her breath, devouring her with a kiss that made her curl her toes and arch towards him. Then, just as suddenly, it stopped.

  He moved away from her, so abrupt that Patience almost stumbled and had to hold out her hand to steady herself against the wall. His lordship was staring at her with undisguised shock and he swore as he ran one rather unsteady hand through his hair.

  “I must be out of my wits,” he muttered, looking back at Patience with an expression that suggested he didn’t understand what had just happened. As unflattering as that may be, Patience accepted it without reproach. She knew she was hardly the kind of woman he would usually dally with by choice. It wasn’t as if she had any romantic delusions, after all. He had kissed her merely to shock her, to teach her a lesson. He wasn’t to know that it was a lesson she’d wanted to learn very badly. To be fair, Patience hadn’t known it either, not until his lips had touched hers. Now, however, the thirst for knowledge burned beneath her skin. “We need to get out of here, before anyone misses us,” he said, his voice rather terse now, if a little unstable.

  Patience just nodded. She didn’t disagree, but she wasn’t sure she could actually form words for a moment or two yet. Her brain was still spinning.

  Happily, there was no one around to see their rather furtive exit from the grotto, and a few moments later they came across Caro and Lord Nibley, sitting together on a bench with perfect propriety.

  “The word grotto actually comes from the Italian grotta,” Lord Nibley was saying as they approached. “They’re usually by water, and whether near tidal waters or high up in the hills, they’re often prone to flooding. Generally you’ll find they’re made of limestone geology,” he continued, sounding more animated than Patience had heard him to date. “The acidity of the standing water dissolves the carbonates when it works its way through fissures in the rock.”

  “For God’s sake, Nibley,” Lord Marchmain cursed, with such fury that both Caro and Nibley jumped a little. “You’re never speaking of your blessed rocks? Poor Miss Bridges must bored to tears.”

  Patience smiled a little, knowing exactly what kind of reaction this would elicit from Caro as Nibley flushed, hot with mortification.

  “I’m nothing of the sort,” Caro retorted, her lovely blue eyes glinting with annoyance. “It was actually rather fascinating. Do please go on, Lord Nibley. In fact, I think I’m feeling brave enough to go in and see for myself now.” She stood as Nibley stared at her with a mixture of incredulous gratitude and surprise, and then hurried to stand, too. “I’m sorry for being such a goose before, only it was so gloomy in the grotto that I felt a little nervous,” she added, giving him a shy smile that made the man’s chest swell visibly. “But now you’ve explained, I feel I’d like to see it, with you. Please, would you escort me?”

  Nibley gaped and then held out his arm. “I-I’d be honoured, Miss Bridges,” he said, looking like he might actually burst with pride.

  Patience watched as the two of them walked off, arm in arm, and dared a glance at Lord Marchmain. His jaw was rigid, his green eyes as cool and forbidding as deep water. He, too, watched them before turning back to her.

  “Good day, Miss Pearson,” he said, the words somehow furious even though he hadn’t raised his voice at all. Patience watched as he turned and stalked away, before following Caro and Lord Nibley back into the grotto.

  ***

  Once back at their lodgings, August stared at the glass in
his hand, swirling the liquor around as if it held some mystical answers to the questions that were buzzing in his head. He’d considered that perhaps he’d been a trifle bosky from the night before, maybe that could account for him taking leave of his senses, except he really hadn’t drunk much at all. Certainly not enough to account for his … his inexplicable behaviour.

  Thank God no one had seen them. The thought made him shudder, and he downed his drink in one large swallow. The idea of finding himself leg-shackled to a woman like Miss Pearson was too horrifying to contemplate. He’d been a bloody fool to kiss her. Why he’d felt compelled to, he couldn’t explain, except that he’d been determined to shock her. He’d expected that she’d slap his face or perhaps shrink back with a gasp of distress. Being grabbed by his hair and kissed far harder in return had rather taken the wind from his sails. That such a frosty-faced, stickler for propriety like Miss Pearson should have reacted to him in such a way was something that still had his wits all on end.

  Pouring himself another large measure, August sipped at his drink and tried to figure out what it was that was making him feel so unsettled. Likely it was just the idea that he’d narrowly escaped being forced to the altar and taking Miss Pearson as his wife. He took another large swallow as anxiety prickled down his back. Good God, it didn’t bear thinking about. Nonetheless, he couldn’t deny the desire that exploded to life within him as she’d taken the kiss she’d wanted. That such violent passions resided in such a plain and prim figure, that of a woman who was already firmly on the shelf, it had been … well, a revelation. Forcing a halt before things had gone too far had been far more difficult than he cared to admit. Try as he might, he couldn’t get the memory of it to leave his mind.

  As for his reaction to finding Nibley droning on about his blessed rocks, well, that had been sheer stupidity. There was no other word for it. Good manners had forced poor Miss Bridges to leap to the fool’s defence, and August had been left looking like a bad-mannered bully. Neither of which he was.

  It was all the fault of that blasted Miss Pearson. She brought out the worst in him, there was no doubt of it. What it was he brought out in her, though … August downed his drink in one go. That was something he refused to consider.

  ***

  A spate of violent storms and wet weather kept them indoors for three days. On reflection, Patience thought this was a good thing. Firstly, it gave her some peace and quiet to read, and time for Caro to settle down a little. She was by no means a vain creature, but such overwhelming attention from the opposite sex would turn the head of any girl, no matter how sensible. Not that Patience knew from experience, of course, only from - as ever - observing those around her. Secondly, it meant that Lord Marchmain was kept from their company. Despite her angry words towards him when he’d slighted poor Lord Nibley, Patience was well aware of the admiring look in her step-sister’s eyes whenever the man was around. Not that she blamed her, the man was well worth admiring. Only for his beauty, however. Patience had no doubt whatsoever that he was shallow, selfish, and utterly faithless. A charming companion for an afternoon, certainly, but disastrous if you were contemplating a long-lasting attachment.

  His kiss was something she had spent a good deal of time thinking about. She had examined it in some depth, in fact, considering his actions and her own reaction to it. Although she had to admit she was deeply shocked by what she’d done, she decided she didn’t regret it in the least. No one knew, and she felt confident that, in this, at least, Lord Marchmain could be trusted to keep silent. It had been her one chance to know what it felt like to be kissed and she had grabbed hold of it, quite literally, as it turned out.

  Patience had no illusions about her own marital status. At some point, Caro would marry, and probably Cilly, too, and then she would be alone. Although both of them had demanded that she come and live with them when the time came, Patience wouldn’t hear of it. The idea of being a nuisance to a happily married couple was too horrifying.

  Life as a governess was something she’d toyed with. Just to stop herself from going out of her wits with boredom, not because she needed the money. Her father had left her comfortably provided for. She was no heiress, that was for sure. There was certainly not the kind of money to tempt a man to marry her despite her lack of beauty, and the only kind of men who would offer for her she refused to contemplate. Far better she keep her independence and end her days an old maid than marry a man who would spend all her money and turn her into a drudge. Going to her grave knowing nothing about what happened between a man and a woman in the marital bed, or even having never been kissed, had never bothered her at all. Not until Lord Marchmain had kissed her. Now, however, she was intrigued, tantalised … and possibly just a little obsessed.

  Patience watched the big, fat raindrops running down the window panes as the streets grew slick and dirty and the sky darkened with the lateness of the hour. The glass was fogging up a little and she drew a little heart before rubbing it out again with a rueful snort. Sighing, she hoped that the sun would return tomorrow. There had been an outing planed at the end of the week, a picnic, and all of them had been looking forward to it. Unbidden, her mind shied away from sunny days and returned to the cool dark of the grotto, and Lord Marchmain. Patience wondered if he could be persuaded to kiss her again, a little longer this time. Things had just been getting interesting, after all. Going on his horrified expression when he’d come to his senses, she rather doubted it. Not willingly, anyway, and it wasn’t as if she could bribe him …

  Patience bit her lip as a rather dreadful and yet brilliant idea wormed into her head. She dismissed it at once, rather shocked to have thought of it at all, and yet whatever evil genius resided in the shadier recesses of her mind refused to let the idea go. She could bribe him, with Caro.

  It would have to be done very carefully. After all, she truly didn’t want Caro to fall for a man like him. The poor girl’s life would be made a misery of deceit and disappointment, and that was not worth any kiss, no matter how earth-shattering. But she could perhaps agree to invite him to the picnic … if he did something for her in return. Her cheeks grew hot as she considered his shock and disgust if she dared to voice her suggestion. He’d be horrified … but he’d do it. She felt sure of it.

  How was she to speak to him alone, though, in a secluded enough place to make her bargain, and take her bribe? Just as she watched over Cilly and Caro like the guard dog she knew many men compared her to, so they were used to her constant company. Any disappearance would be bound to be remarked upon. Explanations would be demanded. So when her sister awoke the next morning and came downstairs to make a matching pair with Cilly, all wan faces and red noses, Patience could only thank providence - she somehow doubted God would have a hand in such a nefarious plot. With the air of a beloved and concerned daughter, she insisted on going out that minute to see what could be found to make them feel better, despite protestations that everything they could possibly need had been brought with them.

  “But really, Patience, there’s no need to trouble yourself,” Caro insisted, somehow still managing to look beautiful with a red nose and puffy eyes. It really was a little frustrating. “It’s only a sniffle, we’ll be right as nine pence tomorrow, you’ll see.”

  “Of course you will,” Patience, soothed, pulling on her gloves. “I’ll make sure of it. After all, you wouldn’t want to miss the picnic, now would you?” she said, and slipped out of the door before anyone could stop her.

  Patience hurried down the wet streets, avoiding puddles and trying vainly to keep the hem of her dress from the worst of the muck. At least the rain had stopped and a tentative sun was peeking from behind clouds that were more white than grey. She wondered where it might be possible to find a man like Lord Marchmain at this hour and then scolded herself for being a fool. The man would likely not even be up yet, he certainly wouldn’t be out and about. With a smile that in no way illustrated the tumult of emotions in her chest, Patience remembered the address that
Lord Nibley had given. They’d let a town house, in a fashionable area of the town which she rather suspected Nibley had paid for. He was known for being a wealthy man, after all, as well as an intellectual. Marchmain, by contrast, was known for being a gambler, a drinker, a womaniser, and generally a libertine. It was only his easy charm and golden looks that made people forget all the stories and allow him over their threshold, though if they had any sense, they kept their daughters, and wives, far away from him.

  Standing outside the smart house that faced onto the Circus, Patience experienced a tremor of doubt. If he really was a libertine, she was risking a great deal in coming here. She dithered for a moment, torn between leaving and just getting on with it. For one thing, how on earth was she to speak with him without Lord Nibley finding out? He was an honourable man, he’d never allow her into their house alone. He’d be scandalised that she was even there at all. Well, to be fair, she thought Marchmain would be, too, but there you were.

  To calm her nerves, she decided to walk all the way around the Circus and make her decision when she returned to his door. Half way around, however, she paused, as she saw Lord Nibley exit, and walk away from the house, in the direction of the town. If she was going to do this, now was her chance.

  Moving quickly, she hurried the rest of the way back to Lord Marchmain’s door, and knocked.

  Chapter 5

  “Wherein August suffers a shock.”

  August pushed his breakfast plate away, finding his appetite was not what it usually was. He had also risen rather earlier than was his habit, as sleep had eluded him. It was all very frustrating.

  Coming to Bath to do his duty by Beau was one thing. It was an awkward business, but a deal was a deal, and as he was in debt to the man, he had little recourse but to do as he’d been asked. He’d not intended to find himself a bride, despite Beau’s intervention on his mother’s behalf. The blasted woman had been nagging him for the past eighteen months and he’d managed to ignore it so far. It was the one thing he had in common with Nibley. The poor fellow had been suffering for longer than August, and his mother was known to be an absolute tartar, so he could well understand Nibley’s capitulation. Anything for a quiet life. Miss Caroline Bridges, however, with her beauty and her bank balance, seemed the answer to his prayers. No matter how much he didn’t want to marry, a wife like that would be no hardship, surely? Besides which, as long as he was rather more discreet than he was now, there was no real reason his life should suffer any great changes. He’d seen plenty of other men manage it, after all. But then Miss Pearson had to poke her blasted oar in. The woman was a menace and August didn’t see how he was to get around her. She guarded Miss Bridges with the tenacity of a starved dog with a bone.