by Kit Donner
He reached the door before her to prevent her from leaving. Gently he turned her around until her back faced her only exit.
“You have nothing to fear, indeed nothing, if you are innocent.” The husky whisper in her ear undid her.
What could he mean? Perhaps it was lack of sleep or fear for Rupert’s safety, or his lordship’s nearness or his gentle touch, but tears sprang to her eyes. She turned away from him, not wanting him to see her cry.
He tenderly turned her head back to him. Tears silently slipped down her cheeks. Bryce swore softly and pulled her into his arms. “Please don’t cry. I would not make you sad for the world.” He offered her comfort and perhaps a haven, if she was to accept it. With one hand, he tilted her chin to look at him and smoothly wiped away her tears with the back of his hand.
Patience couldn’t move, unprepared for his tenderness and the passion she saw in his deep blue eyes. He leaned down and kissed her gently, his one hand nestling the nape of her neck while the other splayed across her back, urging, melting her soft, compliant body into his hardened one.
Stunned by his kiss and caring, she wanted to feel his heat and need. He did need her. She knew it.
She was blind in his arms, instinctively opening her mouth to allow his velvet tongue inside. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, leaning her body into his on tiptoe.
In no time, Bryce lifted her off the ground, conforming her body more snugly into his. Their lips still met as he captured her mouth in an intense display of the passion he had held in check for so long.
He set her back to the floor before bending down to lift her in his arms, taking her into his bedroom. Laying her gently on the bed, he again claimed her mouth on the way to claiming her cheeks, neck, shoulders, and all the rest he desired to call his.
She didn’t want to resist him, but rather show him her own longing. Every time he touched or kissed her, he sparked currents in her heart and washed the sad loneliness from her troubled soul.
“Make me believe in you. Show me the truth,” he whispered against her exposed neck.
Words that had haunted her since the night on the balcony. He needs something to believe in. Someone to believe in. She saw how different their worlds had been.
She trusted everyone. He trusted no one. She knew that to give was to receive, a lesson he needed to learn. Because she loved him, she wanted to show him that another world of goodness, light, and truth did exist. Love? When had that happened? That knowledge wrapped around her heart with unstoppable joy. Follow me, she thought. I will save you.
All this was answered in his embrace. A home of her own in his arms. She wanted to drown in the senses he awakened in her. Giving back to him came so easily to her.
He slipped her velvet gown off one white shoulder, then the other one. He kissed each shoulder before pulling down the gown farther and farther. Her chemise fluttered open, spilling her full breasts into his waiting hands. He kissed one breast, then turned to give the other attention. Before he continued, he reached behind her back and untied her braid, slipping his hands through her long tresses and spreading them over her shoulders.
“Beautiful,” he murmured, looking down to Patience’s countenance. He hesitated, almost as if he awaited her permission.
“Please,” she cried softly to him, but still he held back.
With obvious effort, he demanded of her, “Say my name.”
Hoping her heart showed not in her eyes, she looked up to whisper warmly, “Bryce.”
He swept down to possess her lips once more, savoring the taste of her sweet mouth and darting tongue. When he moved his head down her restless body and captured a pliant rosy nipple, he heard her sigh with unspoken delight.
She arched her back to bring her breast more closely to his enveloping heat and matched her body to meet his anywhere she could.
When he finished teasing one breast, he immediately turned his attention to the other. As his tongue lathed her one peaked nipple, his right hand teased and tormented its mate, causing her to moan in pleasure.
Slowly, he removed her dress and chemise, and then her drawers, leaving nothing from his heated gaze. Not able to control himself for much longer, his body tightened, his heart pounded, thinking of her welcoming, moist warmth.
As he drew himself up abruptly to tear off his shirt, she uttered a moan, thinking he was leaving. To assure her of his complete attention, he swooped down to plant another lingering kiss and pressed his chest to her breasts, while easing himself between her legs.
In delight, he heard her purr in satisfaction at his return. He enjoyed her artless sighs and reveled in her satiny body ripe with desire and longing. She belonged to him as no other had held a claim on him.
She was his for now. She wanted him as much as he wanted her. Giving and receiving. He would ensure she would find pleasure with him as he instinctively knew he would find something with her he had never known before.
She marveled at the strength she felt in him. He seemed invincible to her. She thought she would dissolve at the heated passion he inspired in her. But she could not tell if he felt any of the same flames shooting through him.
Her hands slipped down his back to his breeches and she tugged at them, trying to get his attention.
Quickly, he untied his breeches and shoved them over his hips, kicking them off, only pausing a second in the act to kiss her belly. He moved up and over her body, resting all of his weight on one side of her, plying kisses to her red, swollen lips.
His manhood pulsed between her warm thighs. Gently, he reached down and parted her silky curls to find the wetness of her desire.
She moaned deep in her throat, and her body shook at this renewed pleasure. This is what she had been waiting for. He must stop this torture, but she would not let him. Inarticulate cries unknowingly left her, instructing him where to touch her.
He poised his body at the entrance to her slick heat. He found himself hoping she was only his, no matter what her guilt might be.
A sudden movement of her hips and he plunged in, tear-ing her slightly. He groaned with pleasure and something akin to love that he did not recognize.
He whispered he was sorry he hurt her, but she could not hear him and remembered only his thoughtfulness later.
She didn’t allow him to savor his conquest but immediately locked her legs behind his hips, urging him closer and deeper every time he withdrew to make another thrust.
She grasped his face between her hands and brought his lips to meet hers, the aggressor of his lips as she continued to receive his possession of her body. She ardently captured his mouth and thrust her tongue inside, echoing their body’s movements.
When she finally let him have his breath, he whispered hoarsely, “So wet, so tight. Only for me. Only for me.” Then he sought her taut nipples beneath him.
She sighed again at the exquisite onslaught of emotions and pleasure, and prayed she was satisfying him according to his wordless instructions in lovemaking. She feared disappointing him. So little thought was needed, only touch, and the friction he created in her built to a crescendo that thrilled her.
When he made one last thrust into her, she felt him touch her heart as he climaxed, bringing her to the same exploding threshold.
Slick chests heaved together, he kissed her tenderly before pulling slowly out of her. Immediately, she felt a chill at his leaving, his warmth no longer cloaking her body. But soon he returned and pulled the counterpane over both of them, shifting her against his side. Their exhausted bodies fell asleep as the sun began to wink at the windows.
Bryce woke to a hard knocking on the outer room’s door. Although unwilling to leave the lovely woman sleeping beside him, he eased himself out of bed, threw on a dressing gown, and closed the sitting room doors behind him to answer the intruder.
Patience blinked awake and slowly sat up, waiting for a calm to remove her disconcertment over where she found herself. But feeling warm and cocooned and smelling Bryce’s scent on h
er pillow, memories came flooding back, bringing a blush to her cheeks.
She had to return to her room before anyone discovered her. And sort out her confused state. Quickly, she slipped on her discarded chemise and gown. When she stopped briefly, voices in the adjoining room beckoned her closer.
“They captured highwaymen last night?” she heard Bryce ask.
“Yes, one of the men was the one you have been searching for, the young Mandeley,” answered a voice which she didn’t recognize.
“You have Rupert Mandeley imprisoned?” Bryce queried incredulously.
“Yes, my lord. Just like you wanted. But he isn’t talking. I think the boy is frightened.”
“I must see him,” Bryce told him urgently.
Patience let herself out the other door and fled down the hall and up the stairs to her room, without hearing more.
Chapter 16
Rupert. Imprisoned. The worst had happened. And she had done nothing to help him. And after what had transpired between her and the man who had commanded her brother’s capture. What had she done?
Patience reached her bedroom door in the attic, blinded by tears and anger. She closed the door and threw herself on her narrow bed, dismayed and stunned by this dramatic turn of events. But she allowed her cries for only the span of a heartbeat. She had to be strong, she had to find a way to get Rupert out of prison.
Certainly Patience had allowed Bryce’s fine looks and charms to captivate her, but no longer. I must find a way to see Rupert tonight. Talk to him and the constable. Someone would help them.
How could Bryce have unjustly imprisoned Rupert? And I trusted him, she thought in disgust, punching her pillow and wishing it was his face.
Rising from the bed, Patience dried her tears, looking out the window, her mind numb. She refused to admit how deeply Bryce’s betrayal hurt her, and resolved to free Rupert and return home.
She shook her head, wanting to forget this morning. It had only been an action of desire, passion. True, she had felt the scorching flames, but the price she had paid for her heart was too high.
A short while later, Patience heard Lem’s young voice through the door. “Miss, you in there? ’is lordship wants you to be ready at quarter of the hour.”
She rose to her feet, shoulders back, and slowly opened the door. “Ready for what?” she asked him, testing the strength of her voice.
Lem stared up into Patience’s sad face. “What’s wrong, miss? Why ye cryin’?” His high-pitched tone reverberated in the deserted hall.
She pulled him into her room where he promptly flounced on the only chair available and cupped his chin in his hands.
“I need your help tonight, and you must promise never to mention this to anyone.”
Lem’s eyes lit up with excitement. “A special mission? Ye want me to spit in yer eye or draw blood or somethin’ to seal our pact?”
“That will not be necessary,” Patience told him with a smile. “I must see someone in Winchelsea and will need help hitching the gig to Calliope again, like last night. Will you help me?”
The little boy nodded vigorously, then a puzzled look stole over his chubby face. “But ’oo are ye seein’ in Winchelsea?”
“I am visiting a friend who needs my help.”
“Oh, very good. Of course I’ll help ye. When shall we meet?”
They planned their night’s activities before Patience sent the small boy on his way.
Bryce blinked at the sunlight showering the hall. Since this morning when Myrtle had opened the curtains in the front rooms and washed the windows, the house was beginning to look like a home. Even the front door welcomed in the warm sun’s rays peeping in the cracks.
A new day, and he thought everything was slowly falling into place. A special early-morning tête-à-tête with Patience and perhaps later today he would learn from the Mandeley boy who killed Lord Carstairs.
Before he visited his tenants to discuss last night’s false invasion, Bryce planned to talk to Rupert Mandeley in prison. Hopefully, Mandeley could fill in some missing pieces and, with a little bit of luck, perhaps help draw a noose around Sansouche’s cold-blooded neck.
He shook his head, pondering the young man’s role in this drama. What was the young man doing with highwaymen? And, if the murderer even suspected that Mandeley knew something, the boy’s life would be forfeited. Yes, he was assuredly safer behind bars.
With evidence in hand, he would bet that if he threatened Sansouche, the Frenchman would lead him to the master French spy to save his own wormy hide. The master spy could then lead him to the woman responsible for his brother’s death. His eyes clouded at the memory. Once she was captured, and his brother’s murder was avenged, then he could contemplate a different future.
Yes, she was like all the rest. Bryce thought he had given her many opportunities to prove her faithfulness, but watching from his vantage point in the stables’ shadows late that night, he hated to admit, he was discomfited. He watched as Patience struggled to hitch the gig with Lem’s help. Where were they planning to go?
If it had not been for Lucky overhearing Patience and Lem in the stables, Bryce would still be at his desk. Lucky, who was a damn good coachman when not soaked, amazingly had the foresight to spirit Defiance out of his stall and ready him for Bryce. The coachman was due a pint for his work this night.
Not that anyone couldn’t have overheard Patience and Lem banging and thumping. Often, Patience would glance warily around the dark corners of the stables as if expecting to be caught in a lie she had not yet told. Bryce watched as the young woman edged toward the wall, a safe distance from the little mare, the gentlest and slowest horse he owned. Apparently, although the woman was able to drive the gig, she wanted to be close to a horse about as much as a live goose would to a cook wielding a sharp axe.
A long black cape enveloped her slender frame, hiding it from view. After an interminable amount of time during which Bryce itched to hitch up the gig himself, Lem declared the little carriage ready. At this distance, Bryce couldn’t hear their conversation, but from the look on their faces, the two were having a disagreement. With Lem’s dejected face, it was apparent Patience had denied the boy’s accompanying her.
Lem opened the stable doors, letting in the cool night wind and the blackest of nights. By the light of her wavering lantern, Bryce saw Patience flick the reins. Escaping out the back, he swiftly mounted Defiance and rounded the stables to silently track her progress.
As he waited in a dark copse of trees to allow Patience enough head, Bryce twisted his lips ruefully. Things were certainly not dull with Patience. In fact, life had become a whole lot more interesting since that maid had arrived on his doorstep. Although his leg still pained him at odd times, the blood whirred in his veins and stirred him to action. He had not felt this way in a long time. Then he and his midnight horse blended into the night landscape until they were one.
Patience felt fear stalk her as she drove the gig toward Winchelsea. She should be safe in bed, not venturing out on a night like this. The dancing wind accompanied her, whispering of a cool rain to come, but she hoped there would not be a repeat of the weather from the previous night. She clutched her wool cape closer to her chest with one hand while directing Calliope with her other shaking hand.
What if she met up with real highwaymen and not those bumbling idiots that seemed to keep stumbling across her path? Perhaps she should have allowed Lem to attend her, but although she understood his eagerness to help her, it was too dangerous. She didn’t want him to be further involved in her duplicity with Bryce.
That man. He could certainly be a charmer if one didn’t look too deep into the well of his character. But now his betrayal stuck in her throat and poisoned her heart against the man she wanted for her own.
She brushed off these thoughts as if shaking raindrops from her cape. Fear followed her in anticipation that the prison officials would not allow her to visit her brother, especially this late at night. But under cove
r of night was the only way to lessen suspicion at the manor house. Hopefully, Bryce, as well as other night creatures, remained in their lairs while she went about the duty of saving her younger brother.
Luckily, the rattling and creaking of the gig’s wheels drowned out many eerie sounds from the nocturnal animals, at home in the oily depths of the forest lining the Winchelsea road. When she spotted the edge of the village, she relaxed her shoulders and flicked Calliope into a faster pace, anxious to leave behind the dark loneliness of her journey.
She drew near the now-familiar inn, where a man stood outside singing a drunken lullaby, urged on by his carousing friends. The small prison stood down the street from the inn, nestled in an obtuse corner. Patience halted Calliope and clambered down, throwing the reins to the ostler sitting on the inn’s step. Her head down, she threw the boy a coin and mumbled instructions to care for the carriage in her absence.
With a furtive look in both directions, her hood well covering her face, she hurried toward the dark structure, overshadowed by the large Church of the Redeemer next to it. In front of the prison door, she hesitated. Rubbing the onyx in her pocket for luck, she pushed open the heavy wooden door, prepared with answers to questions she knew were on the other side—keeping bribes, cajolery, and tears in her back pocket for a last-ditch effort. Tears had never worked on her brothers, so that little scheme was by far the least foolproof.
The door opened to reveal a small room, lowly lit by a lone candle halfway to its waxy grave. A small man snored noisily in a chair behind a narrow wooden desk, his feet comfortably propped on top and perilously close to his meager light.
This was too easy. She remembered to close the door behind her before the playful wind could, and thus alert the guard to her presence. She snuck past the sleeping sentry, holding the skirts of her cape and gown which whispered her entrance to the cells.