by Kit Donner
She could hardly contain her glee. In no time, she should have the information she sought to convict him. And only a graze to the arm for her sacrifice. Wait until Rupert heard.
“Thank you for permitting me to stay. I know I erred tonight but I shall be more obedient in the future.” She hesitated. “May I now leave to return to my room?” she asked, holding her bodice tightly. She fidgeted under his close watch.
The earl tapped his chin. “Not yet. Let me clean up here, and I will help you to your room.” He turned from her while continuing, “One more thing: you will need more appropriately fitting clothes than what you have produced so far. I will have Mrs. Knockersmith arrange for new attire.” He began to unbutton his shirt.
Patience nodded, the scene before her leaving her speechless. Gathering her courage around her shredded dignity, she asked, “What shall we tell the others?”
Bryce ignored her question as he peeled off the bloodied shirt and threw it into the fire. She watched mesmerized while he emptied the basin water out the window, poured fresh water, and started cleaning off the dried blood.
The shadows of the dancing fire played across the sinewy ridges of his muscular chest and arms. She let her study of him continue down his black breeches, fashionably tight against the lean contours of his waist, thighs, and buttocks. What she would not give to be a lot closer to this magnificent form, forgetting the ache in her arm as heat filled her cheeks and dampened other maidenly places.
Water slurped from the basin as he splashed the liquid over his nearly hairless chest. When she raised her eyes to his face, she saw him watching her with an intrigued look and a smug smile.
“If you continue to look at me in that way, I may be hard-pressed to return you to your room,” he told her in amusement.
Patience quickly looked away and gulped. Every time she saw him, she wanted to see more. Much more.
Finally, clothed in his dressing gown, he sat on the side of the bed, careful not to disturb her arm.
“I will inform everyone that you are indisposed for the next few days, until your arm feels better.” He cocked his head, watching her closely, his face enigmatic.
“If you will turn your back…I shall endeavor…to—” She spoke, wanting to vacate his room immediately and restore her senses, alone in her room.
He shook his head. “Although I do enjoy the sight of you in my bed, I fear neither of us would get much sleep.” He leaned over and carefully lifted her head and shoulders, wrapping the sheet around her. Then, to her astonishment, he scooped her into his arms, placed her injured arm gently across her body, and easily carried her out the door and up the stairs to her bedroom as she directed him. If she had any energy left, she would not have given in to the temptation to rest her head on his strong shoulder. But the night’s events had caught up with her, and she reluctantly embraced Morpheus’s dreams, feeling protected and safe in his arms.
When he had laid Patience on the bed, Bryce drew the faded coverlet over her slumbering form, and placed her spectacles on the nearby table. He stared down at her as one creamy breast threatened to slip from its confines from beneath the sheet that had slipped when placing her on the narrow bed. He gently pulled up the sheet to cover her and quietly left her room. He had found his vision, and she had a name. Patience. He vowed soon to uncover all her secrets.
A quiet knock on the door awakened Patience’s restless slumber. Judging by the sunlight streaming through her window, she surmised it must be midday. A piercing thread of pain shot through her arm, quickly restoring her memory of the night before.
Her heart beat fast as she called out a greeting. She was definitely not prepared for another encounter with the earl. When she heard Colette’s soft-accented reply, she breathed a sigh of relief. “Enter” brought the French maid into the room.
“Ma chérie, I was most concerned for you. His lordship explains that you are not well and shall remain in bed a few days. You are ill?” Colette set a tray of food on the opposite bed and turned to inspect Patience for herself.
Patience bore her scrutiny well. She did not quite feel up to answering questions or explaining last night’s adventures to anyone. “Thank you for your concern. I injured my arm last night, and his lordship kindly administered relief. He decided I need to rest for a short time.”
Colette pursed her lips while leaning over Patience to inspect her bandaged limb atop the counterpane. “His lordship seems quite concerned over your well-being. He asked me to bring you this tray.” She hesitated. “Are you sure there is nothing more for you to add, concerning the master and you? I do feel responsible for you here.”
Patience’s eyes widened in shock at the maid’s audacious questioning, and struggled with her good hand into a sitting position. “There is no cause for you to ask me such. His lordship only helped me as a master would a servant. Everything remains the same as before.”
Colette listened before smiling. “That is good. His lordship is quite handsome, it would not be difficult to harbor feelings for him other than the hatred you have shared with me. My mistress seeks only a kind word from his lordship, but to no avail. He forgets she is here, and I fear she grows restless. He has not been to her bed since she arrived earlier from Town. I believe she is weary from the chase. The countess and her cousin talk of returning to London, and for me, I must follow.”
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 b
ed 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.