Her throat tightened. All the glorious feelings had faded and now troubling emotions took their place. She’d hurt him. She didn’t want to hurt him. For all his annoying qualities, he was the first man to speak to her like he understood her, that he saw her as an equal in intellect.
And where was her blasted stocking!
Josie bent to search the floor, taking a deep breath. Crawling on her knees, she saw no sign of it. She sat, leaning her back on the leg of the table.
A sickening uncertainty filled her.
Was she wrong to do this? He… He’d made his intentions clear, though she still didn’t understand how he could be so flippant about wanting to marry her and with so little cause.
That was the madness. And it was all his. He’d simply decided she would suit him, but her plans for her life were bigger than marriage. She had a purpose, a drive to educate herself and as many young girls as she could.
Being a wife was not part of that plan. Sure, she’d had grand dreams of love and romance as a girl, but as she’d grown older and learned what it meant to be a woman in this age, the harsh reality had settled over her. She was at the mercy of the men around her and the world at large.
She refused to bend to it. Knowledge was kept from girls to prevent them from controlling their own fates, and she wouldn’t stand for it.
He just didn’t understand that. He was so privileged to be male, to be born to wealth that he couldn’t understand what it meant to her to fight for something better for herself, and those like her, the other girls and women of the world living at the mercy of another.
Her father, Lord love him, was not very smart. Though born with not nearly as much privilege and wealth, he was still given a home, money, most of which he didn’t care for responsibly. He had child after child, never seeing or accepting that he was dooming them all into relying on him, and he failed them, over and over. Even his own wife, who Josie knew without a doubt he loved dearly. They had nine, going on ten children to show for that love. But all the love in the world wouldn’t help them when he died.
Cousin Irving did not love them, and he made it clear he would take no responsibility for supporting them when he inherited their house and land.
Because it wasn’t theirs at all.
Josie had nothing for herself. If she wanted to change her fate, and that of her sisters, she would have to do something radical and different.
All she had was the mind she was born with, the wits that had not failed her yet. She could teach other girls to be just as driven as she was, to be self-reliant, educated, to make their own paths in this world and no longer be at the mercy of men.
As for Lord Selhorst…
Patrick.
He could never understand. He was not saving her with an offer of marriage. He was asking her to give up her chosen purpose, to turn her back on the good she could do for others.
She hadn’t meant it when she said she’d find someone else. She knew she couldn’t do that. There was something unique between them, and it was that attraction that made it possible to do this at all.
She couldn’t just kiss any man or lose herself the way she had with him. Now that the haze of desire had faded, she could see that. There was something about him that drew her ire and her passion. When he wasn’t trying to convince her to conform to his ideals, but listening or allowing her to express her own thoughts, she truly did like him.
And as an added bonus, he was beyond handsome. Just the breadth of his shoulders could make her heart skip. He made her feel things she’d never felt before, intensely, like she could turn into literal fire, just combust in his arms, and it would be magical. The best she’d ever felt.
She’d reacted far stronger to the kiss than she thought she would. She’d prepared herself, with the help of the book that was quite explicit but also through her own observations. She’d seen people kiss before.
But not like that. That was…
She couldn’t find the words. Surely the bard would have a more eloquent way to describe it. But she hadn’t the time to go paging though books to find it. She had to abandon the search for her stocking and dress for dinner.
Chapter 11
Patrick waited for his turn, leaning against the wall in the billiard room, his brow pinched as he fought off the beginnings of a headache with whiskey. He shifted his weight, his stones uncomfortable, feeling heavy like a bag with too many coins. The result of dissatisfaction followed by self-flagellation, in the form of the constant stream of his conscience berating him for his actions.
Thankfully, tonight he wasn't the only one subdued. The gentlemen here, Luckfeld, Seyburn, Densmore, and his brother were all unusually quiet. Almost as if like him, they had a heavier distraction on their minds but still felt obligated to make a showing here in the billiard room, as was their custom over the years. Patrick shifted his weight again, turning to the side and adjusting himself. He wanted to relieve this pain. He should retire to his room and service himself. He might then wake on the morrow with a clear head. He set down his stick and caught Densmore’s attention.
“I'm done for the night,” he said.
Densmore nodded. The other men murmured their agreements and the party broke up. They labored toward their rooms in silence, barely sparing a glance for each other as they filed into their rooms along the stretch of hallway of the bachelor quarters. Once inside, Patrick faced the mirror and his valet, Kroger, waited. Patrick slipped off his jacket so Kroger could hang it and sat to remove his boots.
“You can go to bed now, Kroger. I promise I'll lay my shirt and waistcoat over the chair and not leave them on the floor.”
Kroger, an aging man with silver about the temples of his black hair and gray stern eyes, nodded and left the room, boots in hand. He was a quiet sort, which Patrick had to grow used to when he came to his employ four years ago. Before that, Samson had been his valet and his father’s valet. Samson himself had been like a father figure to Patrick. But he had grown old and his hands were terribly painful for him after decades of shining boots, sewing buttons, and pressing shirts. He was now retired with his wife, living in a seaside cottage near Fleetwood, the family estate. Patrick tried to make a point to visit at least once a year.
He removed his waistcoat and draped it over the chair. He pulled his shirt from his pants and dug his hand into his trousers, fumbling with his aching groin. He winced. He'd never been in physical pain over a woman.
The afternoon came back to him as he touched himself and grew hard. He closed his eyes, imagining her, chest thrust up into the air. Her bodice stretched tight over her supple breasts. He fell into the chair before his hearth, head falling back as he worked his flesh. The vision of Josie behind his eyes, so real he could almost reach out and touch her. He finished faster than ever before, reminiscent of his days as a randy adolescent boy who could be aroused by a stiff breeze brushing his buckskin breeches. He cleaned himself up and finished undressing.
Climbing into his bed, he lay on his stomach and hugged his pillow to him. He stared at the fire in the hearth. He was a bit embarrassed about having to pleasure himself. It made him feel immature and uncouth. He wanted her desperately. That smart mouth, her steady gaze—alternating between judging and accusing. It wasn't just that she was a challenge, not wanting to marry him and all. He knew she was as smart and as driven as he was, and he respected that about her. She was unlike any woman he'd ever met because she was so unlike a typical aristocratic woman.
Which left him clueless when it came to courting her. He didn't know how to make her see the benefits of marriage to him. It was times like these that he usually turned to his uncle, a happily married man who enjoyed blissful matrimony for longer than Patrick was alive, to advise him.
Uncle Stuart had helped him on many occasions, filling the role of father for Patrick. Helping Patrick in ways Uncle Stuart would probably never understand. Healing the wound that his parents’ death had left but at four and thirty, Patrick shouldn't need the advice
of a father. He’s a man full grown—though at present, he felt like a green boy, hungering after his first woman. Everything he did seemed like the worst thing to do.
Patrick didn't have much experience in the way of failure. Life had gifted him absurdly after the death of his parents, almost as if in apology. Handsome looks, wealth, and plenty of people to raise him to be a good man. But being loved by his uncle and aunt, by dedicated servants, had not taught Patrick anything about romantic love. How did one know when they were in love?
And what if that love wasn’t returned?
The thought sent a chill over his skin.
Josie had made her feelings about marriage clear. Even if love never entered the equation, her reasons were completely valid, but it stung that she didn't want to marry him. By the rules of society, he ought to marry a woman of equal standing, whose dowry and status would add to his own. Patrick was extremely lucky that his uncle had never put that pressure on him. He'd only wanted the best for Patrick and no doubt, once he met Josie, he would see there was no other woman for Patrick.
What if he decided he was in love, and Josie refused to love him back? Patrick didn't know what he would do if such were the case. He'd never been rejected before like this. She hadn’t given a thought to the benefits that she would have by marrying him, not only his wealth but the protection of her sisters, their chances for better marriages. Yet, her reasons were also something to be admired. He doubted he would ever be able to convince her to choose a different path. She would have to convince herself. She would have to feel much stronger feelings for him than she did now, or she might think she was turning her back on her principles. He couldn't pressure her, not upfront. She had to believe it was her choice to choose him or she might resent him later on. There was a lot of good they could do together, caring so much as they did about the education of children. Patrick sucked in a breath and sat up.
That was it. He could appeal to her heart. If only he’d told her about his own pursuit in helping the needy, his charitable causes with St. Arthur's. She would love hearing about the children, about the good works they could do together. Sister Margaret had been bothering him for years to get married and gift the world with another generous soul such as he. Sister Margaret would just love Josie.
He lay back in his bed and folded his arms behind his head.
All he had to do was talk about the things he cared about, share his own dreams for helping those in need, giving children a better education than they otherwise might have. If she saw how much he cared too, she might realize that together they could do so much more than what she was capable of doing now without him. She could realize her dreams, and Patrick would realize his and claim her heart for forever.
* * *
The following day, Josie walked into the breakfast parlor later than usual. She made eye contact with no one. She gathered a plate and filled it with eggs, croissants, and of course bacon, an extra helping of bacon, because she'd slept terrible last night. Her body had been besieged by fluctuations in temperature. One moment she was cold, wrapping herself in blankets up to her neck. The next she was hot, kicking them off to the side, cursing the fire in her grate, only to wake up cold again. Her dreams had been no better. She was either dreaming of Patrick, of being in his arms swept away by a tidal wave of passion, or dreaming of being caught by Jeanie, of being marched down the aisle by her father, a tight grip on her upper arm like she was an insolent child. She took her place at the table beside Luna and grimaced at her sister, but she hoped it passed for a smile.
It clearly did not.
Luna frowned. “Are you well?” Luna asked.
Not in the least.
She didn't know how to answer.
Everything felt like a lie or too close to the truth, so she just shrugged. Luna’s hand rose as if to touch her brow.
Josie batted it away. “I'm not your patient.”
Luna shook her head and turned back to her plate. “Perhaps the issue is only your attitude,” she said.
“That's precisely it,” Josie replied tersely. “I did not sleep well and therefore I'm a surly beast this morning. That is all.”
“Well,” Luna said, “no one else need suffer for your lack of sleep. Why don't you go back to bed?”
“I can't do that or everyone else will fret and come bother me all day. I'm sure as the morning goes on my mood will improve. We’re getting outside today, are we not?”
Luna nodded. “We are indeed, perhaps the fresh air will improve your mood. We will be sketching today.
Josie twisted her lips wryly. She wasn't much of a sketch artist. But she supposed some sun and fresh air might do her good and keep her thoughts away from dimly lit libraries where handsome, broad-shouldered gentlemen used tables to commit delicious torture to one’s skin with lips and hands.
Josie unrolled her napkin and began to fan herself.
“It's going to be a warm day, isn’t it? Perhaps Violet will add swimming to the list of festivities.” Josie would love to dive into the cool sea right now and calm her feverish body. How did a gentleman endure this? Men were supposedly plagued constantly by their baser needs. Lust crazed, as it were.
Crazed was exactly how she felt, with no relief in sight.
She scanned the room but Patrick was not present. Half the guests had already moved on to the drawing room to await the announcement of the day’s plans.
Luna raised her cup to her mouth and spoke behind it. “We can’t go swimming with gentlemen present,” she said, her voice hushed.
“Why not?” Josie asked. “They know more about our bodies than we do.
Luna set her cup down with a clatter. Josie was surprised the little saucer underneath it didn't break in half from the force.
“Must you say such things?” Luna hissed.
“Oh I must, I simply must,” Josie replied. She unceremoniously shoveled bacon into her mouth and washed it down with tea entirely too hot. But not as hot as her thoughts. Luna abandoned her at the table, so Josie finished her food as rapidly as she could without choking and followed after her sister.
She let Luna lecture her all the way to the drawing room, but as soon as she entered and caught sight of Patrick, she forgot every word. There he stood, his reddish-brown hair haloed with a ring of light from a high circular window. Sunlight beamed down on him as if he were a gift from the heavens, holding two sketchbooks and two pencils and staring at her, as if he’d been waiting and allowing her this moment to appreciate his excellent face and physique—as was his due.
She stood there just inside the doorway, unsure if her knees would carry her forward or if she might flop to the ground. Luna had abandoned her again, not even knowing what kind of fate she’d doomed Josie to. She felt as if her skin was sizzling like bacon in the skillet. She took a deep breath, her heart racing, and willed herself to walk. If he could do it, if he could stand there today as if nothing happened yesterday then she could too.
This was academic, after all, not a courtship, not a fairy-tale romance. She took another deep breath, forgetting if she'd even managed the first and straightened, her toes digging into her slippers as if she could bypass her jellied knees and not have to count on them at all to hold her up.
He offered her a sketchbook. “I’d like to partner you today if I may, Miss Josette.”
“Of course, my Lord. Have you any skill?”
“More than average,” he said, “but the excursion will be enjoyable regardless because it is with you.”
She glared at him. She would not fall prey to such obvious charm and did not want him uttering such things in the hearing of her sisters or the duchess. Word would certainly get back to her mother and father and then expectations would rise. Hopes that Josie would have to then quash. He smirked at her glare and offered his arm.
A short ride in an open cart brought them to a lovely meadow. They all disembarked and picked their own little areas in which to sit and sketch before a picnic would be served. Josie loved the f
eel of the sun on her skin. But since she was often indoors, she had a tendency to freckle easily or burn. She wanted to tip her face to the sky, but she only did so for a moment. Patrick led her to an area carpeted with yellow rattle. He lay down a blanket and gestured to her.
“Is this spot all right or would you prefer something with more shade?”
She had a good wide-brimmed bonnet on and a light muslin dress. She could feel the warmth of the sun, but she didn't feel hot. Not until his eyes met hers, and his gaze moved lower, over what she would consider a modest bodice, which covered her completely but was very fitted.
“It's fine,” she said and then turned away from him. The fire in her skin did not stop.
“How are your drawing skills?” he asked.
“Passible,” she said.
“Only passible?”
“Only what was needed to instruct my sisters. Willa is quite talented.”
“Really? Interesting,” he replied. “What would you consider your talents to be?”
“Certainly not patience,” she said, “or biting my tongue.”
“Excellent,” he replied. “I’ve never enjoyed a quiet woman.”
“Women aren't there for your enjoyment,” Josie retorted.
“Of course not. But if I must speak with a woman, I’d rather she be opinionated and knowledgeable than recite endlessly boring pleasantries or gossip.”
She opened her mouth as if to say something insulting in the defense of her sex and stopped. “I suppose I have to agree with you.”
He chuckled. “Imagine that. We can agree on something. It's almost as if we’re friends with so many things in common between us.”
“There is nothing between us,” Josie was quick to say. “I mean, we don't have much in common, do we?”
“We both love to read,” he said, undeterred by her surly attitude.
It was actually a bit freeing not to have to defend her mood. He seemed to just accept it. She wasn't sure that was a good thing or bad thing.
The Five Second Rule For Kissing: The Northumberland Nine Series Page 9