To Love a Lord

by Michelle Pennington

  “Wait, Stanton. We must finish this.”

  “I’ll have no part of it,” he threw over his shoulder as he strode to the door. “Neither Miss Wendover nor I are chess pieces for your strategy.”

  Stanton shut the door firmly behind him, looking around to discover which way Patience had gone. He ran toward the stairs, concluding she could have gone nowhere else. If he did not intercept her before she reached her room, he would not be able to talk to her again at this late hour, and if what he feared was correct, that would be disastrous.

  The time had come to make very certain Miss Wendover knew his mind—and heart—completely.

  Chapter Twenty

  Patience heard the quick footsteps running up the stairs behind her and knew without looking that it was Stanton. Humiliated beyond bearing that Viceroy had put them in such a situation, she didn’t know how she could bring herself to look at him. But she had to at some point, and better now when there was no one about. Somehow, she had to assure him that she in no way expected him to offer for her.

  So taking her courage firmly in hand, she stopped on the landing of the first floor and waited for him.

  “Miss Wendover,” Stanton said as he came up the last few steps. “Please allow me a few minutes conversation.”

  “Yes. I wish to speak to you as well.”

  He took a branch of lit candles from a nearby table and went to the door of the sitting room where they had spoken before. “I’m afraid you will need to put your reputation in my hands, but this cannot wait.”

  “I trust you.” She stepped into the dark room and waited while he closed the door and set the candles on the mantle, where the large mirror magnified the light they gave off.

  He came to her then, taking her hands in his and lifting them to his mouth. She scarcely breathed as his gentle lips pressed against her skin. Then he straightened and looked down at her with an expression so concerned, so fervent that she could do nothing but believe he was in earnest.

  “Miss Wendover, I must assure you that no matter what I or others have said tonight, whether or not you marry me is entirely your decision to make. Forget your aunt and uncle, Mr. Viceroy, and even myself. I know I am likely not the sort of man you desire in a husband—”

  At this, Patience broke into his speech, so confused that she couldn’t bear to keep quiet. “Whatever do you mean?”

  As her eyes studied his expression, looking for a clue to his meaning, she saw the muscles of his jaw work as if he’d clenched his teeth. At last he returned her gaze and said, “I will try, Patience, but I am not by nature a romantic or effusive man. I feel a great deal, but my expression of it is likely more limited than will bring you joy. But I can assure you that my love for you has consumed my mind and possessed my heart since that evening in the park. My feelings have only grown and sweetened as I have come to know you better—your spirit, your courage, your captivating beauty. I am every day more aware that you deserve more than I am. And so, I assure you that the choice is yours. And only yours.”

  With each word that he spoke, her heart seemed to swell within her chest. Such adoration surely could not be directed at her. He looked at once like the safe harbor she’d always longed for and the prince of her girlhood dreams, but with such humility that she rushed to reassure him, forgetting her own embarrassment for the moment.

  “Do you think me still the silly, naïve girl who fell so foolishly in love with the idea of Lord Aston? And yes, it was only the idea of him. When presented with the reality of that type of man, I quickly discovered it was not my preference at all. A gentleman’s respect and concern for my well-being are so much more desirable and you have always given me both.”

  His hands tightened around hers. “And always will. My dear, do you mean to tell me that I am acceptable to you?”

  She smiled up at him, reveling in the expression on his face. “Acceptable is too tame a word. Until now, I thought the most thrilling experience in life was to be found on horseback or at the pianoforte, but now I know it is to be wanted by the gentleman of my choice and to see all my feelings for him reflected back at myself.”

  His hands moved to her shoulders as he pulled her close. She thought that surely he was going to kiss her then, but he held back to ask, “Then why did you run just now, as if marrying me was not to your liking.”

  “I couldn’t bear to be forced upon you when I did not know your intentions for certain. And indeed, I do think it is a very poor decision on your part to want to marry such an impoverished nobody.”

  “Fortunately, my darling, I am in a position where I may marry to please myself and no one else. So, will you, Patience? Will you marry me? As soon as may be?”

  “Yes, my lord, I will.”

  And then Patience discovered that Harriet was right—even the most proper man is not at all reserved when kissing the woman he loves. In point of fact, by the way his lips moved over hers, each kiss more urgent and consuming than the last, she began to think that Lord Stanton had severely underestimated his abilities to express his feelings. No imaginings had come close to the experience at hand, and nothing on earth would have prompted her to end the embrace.

  But Stanton was clearly as much in command of himself as he was of the kiss. He released her lips with a deeply drawn breath and rested his forehead on hers. She kept her eyes closed, hoping to always remember the way their warm, heavy breath intermingled, the way his hand curled about her neck, the way her swollen lips ached for more.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, opening his eyes to study her. “I hope I have not disconcerted you.”

  “Not at all. Forgive me for being improper, but I sincerely hope you will do it again soon.”

  He laughed and kissed her forehead, then he pulled her against him, coaxing her head down to rest on his still-heaving chest. “You may believe I shall, but not tonight. This has already been a very dangerous path to be exploring at such an hour. Now, you must go to bed and trust me to arrange everything for you. Will you ride out with me in the morning so we may discuss it all?”

  “Need you ask?”

  He kissed her hands again as if he could not restrain himself and then led her to the door with a hand at her waist. He opened the door a crack and listened very carefully for a long moment before stepping out into the corridor.

  He turned back to her. “Go quickly now before you’re seen.”

  “Yes. Good night, my lord.”

  Her hand slid through his, but he caught it. “Alex.”

  “Alex,” she said, nodding. “When it is proper for me to call you so.”

  His lips twisted into a half-smile. “You must be happy if you are teasing me.”

  She could not stop the grin that pulled at her mouth. “I must be careful with my manners if I am to be a credit to you.” Without another glance, because already she could barely bring herself to leave him, she hurried away and up to the second floor to her bedchamber.

  Dora waited up for her, stitching something by candlelight. She stood and dropped it on her chair as soon as Patience came in. “Please tell me what happened, miss, before I pop me buttons.”

  Patience closed her eyes and smiled as she relived the memory of Lord Stanton’s kisses. “It was the singular most beautiful evening of my life.”

  “But what about your aunt?”

  “What do black glances signify when I have… Oh, Dora, I’m engaged to Lord Stanton.”

  Dora clasped her hands over her chest and gave a strangled cry. “Oh, miss, I do wish you happy.”

  “Thank you. Oh, but I don’t know what will happen after the ball when it is time to go home. I cannot return with Aunt Wendover. When I start to think of all the difficulties, I worry that something will interfere. I am…afraid to be happy.”

  “Now, you let Lord Stanton worry about all that. You’ve nothing to think of but how much he loves you. And won’t that bring sweet dreams?”

  Upon which, Patience remembered Lord Stanton’s kisses and blushed. “Glorious
dreams.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  When Patience met him at the stables the next morning, Stanton greeted her with a smile—though what he wanted to do was kiss her again. However, with the stable hands and Patience’s maid looking on, he could not.

  She came to him, returning his smile with her hand held out, reaching for him. The tenderness and pleasure in her eyes made him at last understand how a man might succumb to writing poetry or effusive love letters. He was sure he would make a botch of it if he were to attempt either, so it was fortunate that neither was required.

  “You’re wearing a different riding dress,” he noted.

  “Harriet’s. I cannot tell you how humiliating it is to be forced to borrow clothing. It was enough to have only Amelia’s castoffs, but this is far worse.”

  “Well, never mind that. Soon you will have the pleasure of choosing whatever gowns you like and more pin money than you’ll know what to do with. Oh, and I have excellent news for you,” he said, leading her over to Tempest.

  “What? That we can be married this morning?”

  Despite the humor in her voice, her words shot through him like lightening. It was more satisfying to his soul to know she wished to be his than any other pleasure life had ever given him. Tightening his grip on her hand, he gave up trying to resist her and kissed her cheek. “As much as I wish we could, sadly, no.”

  She placed her foot in his hands and he tossed her into the saddle. After she settled into place and arranged her skirts, he handed her the riding crop Dora carried. He quickly mounted Hermes, and they road out of the stable yard together with Silas following behind. But for once, they did not gallop. Having time and privacy was too limited to waste it today.

  “What is your news?” Patience prompted him when they were well across the first field.

  “Lady Du’Breven is anxious to take you under her wing.”

  “The Countess? But she doesn’t even know me.”

  “Ah, but she and I are great friends. And in her words, she’d love to give Eliza Wendover her comeuppance. She wants to talk with you this afternoon––if you are agreeable––so that you may agree upon all the arrangements. Tomorrow morning, I intend to pay a visit to your mother and travel with her to the Countess’s home. The bans will then be read in Lady Du’Breven’s local church, and you and I will be married there. Does that sound satisfactory?”

  She nodded and smiled. “You have thought of everything to make me comfortable, haven’t you?”

  “That is my chief priority, yes. You must tell me if there is anything else I may do to achieve your happiness.”

  “You may tell me about your home.”

  “Morefield? Are you sure you dare ask me that? I may soon bore you to tears on that subject.”

  She gave a delighted chuckle. “You may try to bore me, but since it is soon to be my home, I assure you that I want to know every detail of it.”

  This pleased him so immensely that as they entered a wooded area, he reined in his horse. “Then let us walk for a time beneath the trees and I will tell you all about it.”

  Once Silas had both of their mounts under his careful watch and they had walked some distance away, discussing Morefield was forgotten for a time as Stanton at last had the opportunity to take Patience in his arms and kiss her.

  As he did so, he once again felt swept away by the warm and sweet, floral scent of her skin, by her delicate curves pressed against him, and by the powerful emotions that flowed between them. It threatened to destroy his famous restraint. However, he could not yet surrender to such temptations, not even so much as kissing the white skin of her elegant neck or undoing her hair so that he might run his fingers through it.

  To make matters more difficult, his spirited bride-to-be proved to be an ardent and clever student of kissing. When he pulled back from her, it was only through a mighty force of will, and the fire he saw in her eyes as he did so was nearly his undoing.

  Taking her hand, he pulled her in the direction of their horses.

  “Where are we going?”

  “We are resuming our ride before we get carried away.”

  “But I enjoyed being carried away,” she protested.

  “My darling love, there is a great deal more of that river we were embarking on than you have any notion of, and we cannot risk getting caught in that current.”

  She was silent for a moment as they walked back together, their hands clasped. The only sounds were the birds overhead, the wind playing through the leaves of the trees and her skirts as she walked quickly to keep up with him. Taking a deep breath, he slowed his steps.

  When they reached the horses and he put his hands at her waist to toss her up, she put her hands on his shoulders and gripped them to get his attention. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

  “Always, love. Never doubt me.”

  ***

  When Patience returned to her room, she paused in the doorway at the sight within. Two maids had joined Dora and they were in the process of returning all of her clothing to the wardrobe.

  “What is this?” she asked, not at all sure if she should be pleased or throw the gowns out of the window.

  Dora gave her a flat look. “As you see, miss, your aunt has returned it all for your use. And she bade me give you this.”

  Patience took the letter Dora held out to her. She found that her hand shook, so she moved over to the window to read it where the maids would not be able to see her reaction to it.

  Her aunt wished to speak privately with her in the green salon after luncheon. There was some hint as to wishing to apologize, but Patience had no doubt that if she did, it would not be said with any true sincerity. Still, it was time she informed her aunt of her plans.

  “Dora, help me change, please.”

  When Patience was dressed, she went downstairs and found the rest of the ladies enjoying a lazy tea with Lady Blakemore. Various cold meats, cheeses, pickles, and fruit were provided for their sustenance, but Patience found that she did not have much appetite with her stomach in knots. She sat beside Harriet and sipped her tea, letting its heat and fragrance soothe her spirits. Fortunately, her aunt was not in the room.

  “Miss Percy, may I sit beside your friend?”

  Patience and Harriet looked up together and found Lady Du’Breven standing before them.

  “Of course, my lady,” Harriet said, standing up at once. She hurried away to sit beside her mother but cast Patience a look that clearly demanded a full account later.

  As the Countess sat down beside her, Patience wondered how they could possibly have their conversation with so many listening ears.

  “May I get you a cup of tea, my lady?”

  “Thank you, no, my girl. I’ve had one already. I merely wanted to ask if you’ll come visit me in my room in a bit. I always have a rest before dinner, and since the ball is tonight, I believe I will do so earlier than usual. But I cannot rest until we have had a chat.”

  “Of course I will.” Patience glanced at the clock on the wall. “My aunt has asked me to speak with her in the green salon. I must go in just a moment. But I will come to you after that.”

  The Countess put her hand on Patience’s arm, and though her fingers looked frail, their reassuring squeeze was strong. “Would you like me to come with you?”

  Patience was tempted to accept this, but there were things she wished to say to her aunt without anyone present to hear them. “Thank you, but no.”

  “Very well. No doubt one of the servants will be able to direct you to my room.”

  When she had gone, Patience finished her tea and rose from her seat. She put her cup down on a tray near Lady Blakemore. “Thank you for tea, my lady. My aunt is waiting to speak to me, if you’ll excuse me.”

  “Of course, my dear.”

  Patience kept her shoulders straight as she left the room, but couldn’t forebear holding one hand against her stomach. Her nerves were making her feel decidedly ill. When she got to the green salon, she
took a deep breath and entered, reminding herself that there was nothing her aunt could do to her now—not with her friends to protect her.

  But inside, she saw only Sir George. He was seated in an armchair facing the door, and when he saw her, he struggled to his feet.

  “Pardon me, sir. I must have the wrong room.”

  But when she turned to go out again, she found her aunt blocking the way. “You are where you should be, niece. And here you will stay to receive, and accept, Sir George’s offer. You may think yourself free to defy me, but I promise there is much I can yet do to force your obedience, should you make it necessary.”

  Without giving Patience a chance to respond, she left, closing the door behind her.

  Patience ran to the door, determined that she would not stay, whatever her aunt threatened, but just as she put her hand on the knob, she heard the sound of the lock being turned.

  Her aunt had locked her in.

  Spinning around, she kept her back against the door and eyed Sir George as if he were a wolf or a lion instead of a rather feeble old man.

  “Sir, I beg you will not.”

  “Come now, my dove.” Sir George walked toward her as if approaching a wary horse. “There is no need to be afraid. I mean only to make you the happiest of women by offering my hand in marriage. I will shower you with jewels and gowns, and we’ll spend every season in London. If you’re a dutiful wife, I’ll even look the other way if you engage in discreet romances. Now what is there in that to make you go all white?”

  “I am sorry, sir, but I cannot accept.”

  “No, no. Now don’t worry about playing shy. I know all the games. Just tell me yes, and then all will be well.”

  By now he had come close enough to touch her. But he did not. Still, he now seemed a looming and much more formidable presence—especially with his brows drawn together and a scowl deepening the lines on his face.

  “I cannot sir, nor do I wish to. I am already betrothed to Lord Stanton.”