Persuading Patience

by Emma V. Leech

  No.

  Patience Pearson, she scolded herself, don’t you even think about it. As if you didn’t come close enough to ruin already. She hauled in a breath, only too aware her knees were still remarkably unsteady. How she had faced him again after that, she hadn’t the slightest idea. But still, she had done. She had gained her kiss, just as she’d hoped, and in return she would send his invitation to the picnic. Hurrying down Gay Street as a playful summer breeze tugged at her skirts, Patience wondered why she didn’t feel more satisfied. She had been dreadfully bold, a shocking hussy, in fact, but she had accomplished what she’d set out to do with no one any the wiser. The curiosity that had been driving her to distraction since that moment in the cave ought to have been pacified. Instead it seemed to have grown tenfold.

  Damnation, she cursed, wondering if she really had gone to the devil now. Demanding kisses from rakes, swearing, whatever next? Perhaps she should throw a lifetime of good behaviour to the wind and visit a gambling hell, she thought with a touch of hysteria. Patience stopped in her tracks and leaned against a wall. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes for a moment before resuming her journey. No. No, and absolutely not. That was it. She’d got what she wanted. Her future as a spinster had never held any great alarm for her, and indeed, there were aspects of it that appealed greatly. To be old enough to do rather more as she pleased and be considered merely eccentric, rather than scandalous, had seemed something of a blessing. She certainly didn’t want a man around, bossing her and lording it over her. The idea made her shudder.

  No. Her future was in her own hands and that was how she liked it. There would be no more bargains for kisses, or anything else in the slightest bit bacon-brained. She would be the model of propriety and good sense, and the picnic notwithstanding, she would stay as far away from Lord Marchmain as it was possible to get.

  ***

  The day of the picnic could not have been more perfect. August looked around the rather select gathering with an air of approval. The lovely setting of Prior Park had been chosen, and though the delicacies on offer were in no way extravagant, it was clear that a deal of thought, and good taste, had been employed in the arrangements.

  Miss Bridges was in high spirits, no doubt buoyed by all the admirers gathered around her. August suppressed a sigh of irritation. No wonder Miss Pearson hadn’t been worried about inviting him today. His chances of getting close to Miss Bridges were already slim, to say the least. Still, faint heart and all that. He strolled into the sunshine, hoping to be able to sit with her now that everyone was settling down, and noted with chagrin that there wasn’t the least chance of finding a patch of picnic blanket anywhere in the vicinity of the spot Miss Bridges had just settled herself on.

  “Good afternoon, Lord Marchmain.”

  August turned and found himself a little taken aback by the frank gaze of Miss Pearson. Her pale skin was a little flushed from the heat of the day and he noted that she was wearing a gown of green and white, which was by far the nicest thing he’d seen her in to date. He wondered if she’d taken his advice. That the bold hussy not only held his gaze without so much as a blush was astonishing enough, but to cap it all, she was actually smiling at him.

  “I’m afraid it’s a bit of a squeeze,” she continued, not sounding the least bit apologetic. “But you may sit here if you wish.” To his consternation, she actually patted the space beside her. August sighed. Well, he wasn’t desperate enough to risk grass stains to gain Miss Bridges’s attention, heaven forbid he should be seen to be trying too hard, and there was no one else he particularly wished to converse with. Miss Pearson was bound to be entertaining, at least, even if he did end up wanting to strangle her.

  With as little show of enthusiasm as was possible, he sat down. Dammit, but he hated picnics. This kind, at least. A private picnic for two where he could make good use of the blanket was one thing. With a party like this, he’d far rather sit on a chair like a civilized person.

  “Chicken wing?”

  He turned his head to see Miss Pearson holding out a plate for him and a dish containing a quantity of the items in question.

  “No, thank you,” he said with a polite smile. Greasy fingers on top of everything else? He shuddered with distaste.

  “Pigeon pie?”

  “No.”

  “Roast beef?”

  August sighed and shook his head. Miss Pearson glowered at him and then turned away as he hauled a sigh of relief. Perhaps she’d gotten the message? A moment later, however, he was proved wrong, as ever, and Miss Pearson thrust a loaded plate beneath his nose, laden with chicken wings, pigeon pie, roast beef and a number of other items. Everything that could possibly be squeezed on the plate, in fact.

  “Do stop being a bore,” she said, annoyance in her tone. “You can’t come to a picnic and not eat.”

  August glowered at her but took the plate. He knew by now that there was little point in arguing.

  “Well, eat it, then,” she commanded, staring at him, one eyebrow raised as if she dared him to disobey her.

  Irritation simmered beneath his skin. “And what if I don’t,” he asked, setting down the plate beside him and lifting a piece of pie before looking back at her. It was his turn to quirk an eyebrow now. “Will you make another bargain with me?”

  To his immense satisfaction, she blushed scarlet. Thank heavens for that. He’d been more put out than he cared to admit when she’d sailed from his house as if nothing had happened. How she’d managed it was beyond him. Good heavens, after a kiss like that, she ought to have been trembling and weak at the knees. The remembrance of his own rather shaken state in the moments after she’d left did nothing to ease a rather tender and bruised ego.

  “Certainly not.” The words were brusque and annoyed, but something about the breathless sound of her voice and the way she avoided his eye piqued his curiosity. There was no way the woman was immune to him, the wanton manner in which she had responded to his kiss and his touch was illustration enough. She’d been his for the taking whether she realised it or not. Part of him could not help but wish he’d been less of a gentleman. Then perhaps she’d look a little less unruffled. The desire to ruffle her as badly as possible was now paramount in his mind.

  “I’m considering the theatre this weekend,” he said, staring at the pie in his hand and setting it back on his plate, his voice cool. “Kean is playing in The Duke of Milan.”

  Miss Pearson looked back at him, narrowing her eyes with obvious suspicion.

  “If you would allow me to escort you and your sister,” he said, lowering his voice and fixing her with a heavy-lidded expression which he knew worked to great effect. “I’ll … make it worth your while.”

  Miss Pearson’s mouth opened and closed in a manner that suggested she was truly lost for words. It was immensely satisfying. Then he noted the flash of pain in her eyes before she got to her feet and stalked away. August frowned and stared after her. Damn the woman. A flicker of guilt grew in chest, an uncomfortable and unfamiliar feeling that he didn’t like one bit. Cursing, he got to his feet and went after her. There were plenty of people milling about now and so it didn’t look quite so obvious as he followed her down to the beautiful Palladian bridge over the lake. By the time he got there, she was leaning over the balustrade, apparently deep in thought.

  She glanced up at him and away again, staring back at the water.

  Guilt prickled harder as she didn’t offer him an insult or a barbed comment. Dammit, why did he care anyway, the woman was a menace and in the way of him getting what he wanted. “Isn’t this the part where you compare my eyes to algae or something equally revolting?” he said, smiling at her and wondering with unease if he’d really upset her.

  Miss Pearson made a faint noise of amusement and shook her head. “I never repeat an insult, it shows a lack of imagination.”

  August gave a bark of laughter, truly amused this time. “You wretch,” he said, though there was no heat behind the word. “So you a
dmit you were insulting me.”

  He watched as she turned back to him, a faint smile in her eyes if not at her lips. “Of course I was. Though they really are a remarkable colour, as I’m sure you are perfectly well aware,” she added, her tone dry and rather heavy as she looked away again.

  August hesitated, not quite sure of what to say next. He was struck with the odd desire to apologise, though for what he wasn’t entirely sure. “I, however, did not mean to insult you with my offer, Miss Pearson,” he said, wondering why he was so bothered that she should think he was insinuating she was anything but a lady. In truth, he admired her audacity, and her honesty. As a man, he was free to indulge himself in as many sordid affairs as he wished, and though he may have gained a reputation as a rake, it didn’t truly close any doors to him. Yet here was Miss Pearson, wanting only to not live her life having never been kissed, and the world would revile her for it if they knew.

  She didn’t turn back this time, but there was the slightest shrug of her shoulders and August waited, hoping she would explain as he felt she wanted to say something. A moment later and he was rewarded.

  “To be honest, that wasn’t what I was upset about,” she admitted with a wry smile, and August moved closer, standing beside her, as intrigued as he always seemed to be in her presence.

  “Oh?”

  Before he could ask her to elaborate, she had straightened and begun to walk away from him, back to the picnic.

  “Wait,” he said, catching hold of her arm and gaining himself a glare of fury.

  “People are watching,” she muttered as he dropped his hold on her like a hot brick.

  “I’m not a leper.” He glared back at her, indignant at her tone. It didn’t help when she rolled her eyes at him.

  “No, you’re a rake.” The accusation was stark and cool, her eyes on him full of accusation before she looked away. “I should not be seen conversing with you.”

  “It’s a public place,” August said, shaking his head with frustration. “I hardly think they’ll suspect me of ravishing you in public.”

  “Or at all,” she snapped back, the words tart and sarcastic. “I’m hardly worthy of your attentions, am I?” She hurried on, her skirts swirling as she walked away at quite a pace. There must be very long legs under those skirts. The idea momentarily stalled his brain, but he caught up with her, scowling.

  “What did I say now?” he demanded, stung. He’d been trying to apologise, dammit, and now she was furious with him again.

  To his surprise, she ground to a halt and took a breath, composing herself. When she looked back at him, she was a little calmer, at least. “Nothing,” she said, the word firm though she still sounding angry and frustrated. “Just … just stay away from me, and my sister,” she added with a bitter snap to the words, and stalked away from him.

  Chapter 7

  “Wherein offers are made and refused, and an unlikely friendship accepted.”

  It served her right, Patience thought, as she endured an interminable afternoon. Would this wretched picnic never end? She should have accepted that she would live her life in ignorance, with nothing but the romance to be found within the pages of a book to illuminate her curiosity. But no, she’d had to know. She’d had to push her luck, and now look. Dissatisfaction and frustration simmered beneath her skin and it was all bloody Marchmain’s fault. Patience savoured the curse word in her head, watching everyone around her with growing fury. They looked at her and saw a woman whose chance had been lost, a woman destined to desiccate alone, without a ring or a child to validate her existence. What would they say if they knew what she’d done? What would they think if they discovered that she’d gone to a man’s house alone, a man known to be a confirmed libertine, and that she’d demanded to be kissed? Far worse however, what would they say if they knew that it was killing her not to beg him to do it again?

  Her mouth curved into a rather bitter smile. What would they think if they knew that she was sitting here cursing, cursing August Bright and his beauty, and longing for him to touch her again. Bloody, bloody, bloody hell. Patience let out a breath, repeating the words over and again, wishing that she could scream them out loud rather than just in her head. When he had made that offer to her, to escort her and her sister to the theatre in return for … well, he hadn’t specified, but then he’d not needed to. “I’ll make it worth your while.” She’d been so close to agreeing, to just accepting his proposal without a second thought, and then she’d realised what she was doing. Would she really sell her own sister for another taste of him? Humiliation and guilt warred in her heart.

  Glancing over, she saw Caro seated between Lord Nibley and Lord Marchmain himself and felt a swell of fury as she heard Caro laugh with delight at something Marchmain had said. Caroline was dazzling, of course. Her black hair was glossy, her eyes alight with pleasure, and there was a charming flush in her cheeks as the heat of the day grew with the hour. Lord Marchmain caught her eye and Patience glared at him before turning away. If Caro fell in love with the devil and got her heart broken, it would be all her fault. The idea was sickening, but far worse than that, Marchmain’s tempting proposal still circled in her mind. It taunted her, mocking, whispering the truth in her ears, that her she’d sell her own soul for another taste of him, so why not her sister?

  ***

  August frowned. Miss Bridges was blathering on, some interminably dull story about trying to find matching slippers to a new dress. It was just as well she was easy on the eye, as her conversational skills were not her greatest asset. Oh, she was vivacious and full of bubbles, rather like an overexcited bottle of champagne. It was actually rather wearing after a while. Nibley, predictably, looked entranced. How could a man with a brain of his size possibly find this a stimulating conversation? Looking up, he found Miss Pearson watching him, a look of simmering fury in her eyes that quite startled him. Why was she so bloody angry? Except she didn’t just look angry. She looked … lost.

  Everyone had begun to wander the grounds or seek shadier corners as the weather grew warmer, and Miss Pearson had been left alone. August looked around to find her step-mother in conversation with a rather dashing-looking military fellow. He was perhaps a few years her senior but had a rather glazed expression that suggested husband number three might be along soon.

  “Would you excuse me,” August said to Miss Bridges, receiving a look of astonishment as he got to his feet. He could hardly blame her. After such pains to get into her company, that he should relinquish it for … for what? August didn’t know what, only that he felt he’d behaved badly somehow and he didn’t like it. Miss Pearson might be stubborn and prickly as hell, but he didn’t like to be the cause of any unhappiness on her part.

  He had barely vacated the portion of blanket for a second before his place had been taken. Looking back, he watched as Miss Bridges accepted her new admirer with as much pleasure as she had him, but no particular show of partiality. Well, he would see her again and it was perhaps best that he play hard to get. It would not do for her to be too sure of him. If she believed him an easy conquest, she would not try so hard to keep his attention, after all.

  Wondering if he was actually touched in the head, he made his way over to Miss Pearson once again. Without waiting for an invitation, as he clearly wasn’t going to get one, he sat down beside her.

  “Go away,” she muttered, folding her arms and refusing to look at him.

  “No,” he said, watching her with curiosity. Why the woman puzzled him so much, he couldn’t fathom, but he felt he needed to understand her, to unravel the strange mix of prim spinster before him now from the wanton creature she’d been in his arms. Unbidden, the memory of kissing her made a surge of lust rush over him and he shifted, somewhat unsettled, and even more determined to know. Perhaps then she’d stop playing on his mind. “Not until you tell me why you’re so angry with me.”

  To his frustration, she moved to get up and August reached out, grasping her arm and pulling her back down with
a thud.

  “Oh!” she exclaimed, blushing and looking around to see if anyone was watching them. “Let go of me,” she hissed, her hazel eyes alight with annoyance.

  “No,” he said, staring at her with equal determination. She wasn’t going to evade him again. “Not until I have an answer.

  Miss Pearson tugged at her arm but August held her fast, careful not to hold tight enough to hurt her.

  “I truly did not intend you any insult, Miss Pearson,” he said, staring at her and hoping she could see he was sincere. It was a rare event, it was true, but … he found he did mean what he said. “I understand, in fact,” he said, his voice soft now as he realised he meant it. “Better than you might believe. Life can be lonely. Sometimes …” He hesitated, unwilling to reveal too much but needing to make her understand he did not judge her as harshly as she might believe. “Sometimes a little human contact, well, it can ease that loneliness, for a time, at least.” August watched her, seeing the anger fade from her eyes to be replaced with suspicion, and he sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Please don’t think I was mocking you, or judging. I promise you I was not.” He held her gaze as she searched his eyes, refusing to look away as she sought something in his expression. She looked away from him with a huff.

  “What do you know of loneliness?” The words were full of contempt as he finally released her arm. “If even half the stories about you are true, you jump from bed to bed with alacrity. I doubt you are ever short of company,” she added with a grimace of disdain.

  August laughed, shaking his head. “True enough,” he said, though he found there was no pride to be had in the admission. “But as I said, it is a fleeting pleasure. None of them know me, after all.” He was struck with realisation of how true that was as he said the words aloud. No one really knew him, or anything about his life. He wouldn’t allow it. It was something he’d never admitted before, not even to himself. “None of them care for me as anything more than a lover to pass the time with,” he added, a strangely hollow sensation growing in his chest as he realised how shallow and contemptible his life must look to the woman before him. It was hardly any wonder she guarded her sister from him with such tenacity.