Chapter Five
Patience arrived for dinner in the drawing room in time to find everyone, including Alex, present. She took a small glass of sherry from a footman and made her way to the settee near the fireplace. Hopefully, the warmth from the flames would help take away the chill that had descended on her after the conversation with her father.
She took a sip of her sherry and glanced at Alex. Heavens, he is more handsome every time I see him.
Apparently, fresh from his bath, his hair was still damp, the curls on his much too long hair resting on his forehead and over the collar of his cravat. His buff breeches, too casual even for a country dinner, displayed his powerful thighs to perfection. His starched white cravat gave his tanned face a swarthy look worthy of a pirate. With the dashing mustache, all he needed was a knife between his teeth and a gold earring in one ear.
Mother and the duchess sat near the window, conversing freely. Although Patience felt awkward with her nebulous position in the Bedford family and there was no reason for her family to continue their stay, she was prepared to endure the unease to see her mother so carefree.
It seemed her father was attempting to engage Alex in conversation, but he only offered one or two word answers. Dear God, one hoped he wasn’t speaking of a marriage between them here and now. Eventually, Alex glanced in her direction and after a brief word to her father, he headed to the settee.
“Good evening, Lady Patience.” He bowed slightly. She did not offer her hand, and said, “Your Grace.”
His lips tightened, but with him addressing her as “Lady” what was she to do? It would certainly not have been proper to call him Alex. With the three others in the room watching them so closely, she felt the strain of their encounter as if they were actors on a stage. But she was unsure of her part in this performance. Who was to say Alex did not have a sweetheart in America? A woman who was waiting for him to send for her. Her stomach dropped at the thought, almost as if all happiness had vanished like a morning mist in the sunshine.
“May I sit?”
She nodded, and he sat in the chair on the other side of the fireplace. His strong, tanned fingers wrapped around the brandy glass. Her insides melted at the thought of those hands caressing her, holding her firmly against his chest as he plundered her mouth.
But was this her Alex? Where was the warmth that used to radiate from his eyes? Where was the smile that had made her heart trip? Although, his mere presence still had that effect on her.
Pushing all those thoughts aside—especially the one about a sweetheart in America—she smiled brightly. “How do you find the change in climate? I understand the weather in England is quite soggy compared to other places you’ve traveled.”
Alex snorted and took a gulp of brandy. “Ah, so we are to discuss the weather again?”
Heat rose from her middle to wash over her entire body. She used to be so comfortable with Alex. Now it was like they’d never met before. No, worse than that. They had been completely at ease when they’d first met. Now the strain was almost visible.
“I am sorry. You are correct. We needn’t discuss the weather.” Of course, there was so much between them, words spoken, and words unspoken, that weather seemed to be the only safe subject.
“How was your trip to London? Father said you intended to meet with your brother’s solicitors. I hope that all went well?”
If he were surprised at what could be considered improper questions, he didn’t show it. “The visit was short, but nevertheless productive.”
Thankfully, a footman arrived at the door and announced dinner. How sad that she was relieved to not have to talk to the man for whom she had once promised to wait.
Alex placed his glass alongside him and stood. He extended his arm to Patience and she placed her fingertips on the hard muscles. By correct procedure he should have escorted the duchess into the dining room. Patience was not sure whether it was on purpose that he walked with her, or if he’d been away so long from London Society that he’d forgotten.
Most likely he didn’t care.
He helped her into her chair and seated himself at the head of the table, looking notably uncomfortable. His mother sat at his right, Patience at his left. Not sure what that meant, she turned her attention to the footman who poured her wine.
“Am I to assume, Your Grace, that you will be here for some time now?” Her father took a helping of turbot with lobster sauce from the plate a footman held.
“That is correct, Wilton. I have a great deal to learn.”
The duchess patted her son’s hand. “I am sure you will have no problem. I always said you were a bright boy.”
The look of incredulity that passed over Alex’s face was almost comical. Patience bowed her head, hiding the smile that threatened.
“Indeed, madam. You had always said so, I am sure. Just never within my hearing.” He took a sip of his wine. The coldness in his tone surprised her.
During their time together four years ago, his parents had made it quite plain they barely tolerated their second son, and had felt no parental love for him. ’Twas amazing what a title could do for a man.
The duchess flushed, but always in control, ignored Alex’s comment and turned her attention to Patience. “Patience, my dear. I know it must be horribly boring for you here with us all being in mourning. Perhaps, tomorrow, my son will break away from his many duties to escort you to the village.”
Patience wondered at how cool and collected the duchess had been throughout the entire death, funeral, and mourning process for the son upon whom she and her husband had heaped all their attention. One would think she would be somewhat distraught, but to Patience’s way of thinking, she had not loved Cyrus any more than she’d loved Alex.
“I am sure His Grace has much more important things to do than to accompany me to the village.” Patience glanced sideways at Alex who looked between his mother and her.
“If you wish to take a ride to the village, I will be happy to escort you.”
Patience tried—unsuccessfully—to tamp down the excitement at the thought of her and Alex off alone, wandering the village. Perhaps they could stop at the Cock and Tail for Mr. Gates’s well-known apple cider that she’d always wanted to taste. Being away from the strain of the Abbey and their parents studying them like bugs under glass might restore some of the ease they’d once had with each other.
A journey into town might also give them the opportunity to rediscover each other. She would love to chip away at the shell that seemed to be surrounding him and find her Alex.
“Yes, Your Grace, that would be lovely.”
Alex nodded and took another sip of his wine, studying her over the rim of the glass.
“You will take Polly with you,” her mother said.
“No need for that.” Her father scowled at her mother.
Oh dear, once again the poor woman had caused him annoyance. Patience knew precisely why he didn’t want Polly to accompany them. He was trying to force Alex into a marriage with her. Nothing like a ride alone to cause a scandal, resulting in a quick wedding.
“I would not want to cast aspersions on Lady Patience’s reputation, Wilton. Of course, her maid will travel with us.” Nothing in Alex’s tone or eyes revealed his thoughts on the matter. He’d become very difficult to read, unlike the openness she’d remembered. If he had discerned her father was pushing them together, he had squashed that immediately.
Why did that bother her? She certainly did not want Alex forced to marry her. She had to know his feelings before she would consent to such a thing. After spending her entire life with two people who were always at odds, she wanted love in her marriage. What she had imagined she and Alex had before.
Or had that been merely a young girl’s fantasy?
Stilted conversation continued while the rest of the meal was served. Her father took every opportunity to hint at a joining of the Duke of Bedford and his daughter, without saying such. It reached the point where Patience could not wait to be away from the table. Alex handled the remarks much better, mostly ignoring Father’s comments and keeping the conversation going on innocuous subjects.
The final course had barely been finished when Her Grace stood and signaled to Patience and her mother. “Let us retire to the drawing room for tea. I am sure Wilton and His Grace have much to discuss.”
Patience’s eyes flew to Alex. He slouched in his chair, his elbow resting on the arm of the chair, his index finger and thumb cupping his chin, studying her father intently. His facial expression disclosed nothing. Military training had turned the expressive face she’d known before to one she no longer recognized.
…
Alex signaled the footman to bring two glasses and a bottle of the finest brandy to be had in England. His father had always provided the best, and from what he’d learned, the cellar was still well stocked with smuggled French brandy.
Once their glasses were full and the footman had withdrawn from the room, closing the doors to allow privacy, Wilton took no time to broach the subject Alex had been expecting. “I won’t mince words, Your Grace. We all know you need an heir, especially in light of the unexpected passing of your brother.” He shook his head. “Very distressing. A young man in his prime.”
Alex tried hard not to scowl at the not-so-subtle nudge toward marriage. No doubt to Patience. He sipped his brandy and waited for Wilton to hang himself. Alex had no intention of discussing the subject with Wilton, since he and Patience hadn’t exchanged more than a few sentences since his return.
Add to that the fact that up until a few days ago, he had thought Patience completely out of his reach as his brother’s widow. “Yes, very sad.” He leaned back in his chair, his long fingers playing with the glass, waiting for Wilton’s next move.
Wilton edged up in his seat. “You are aware that your father was most eager to see your brother married to Lady Patience.”
The memory of sitting at this very table watching his father announce the betrothal of Patience to his cursed brother caused his jaw to tighten and his fingers to clench the brandy glass. Oh yes, indeed. For some reason never clear to him, the duke had agreed to allow his beloved heir to wed Patience.
Once his anger had subsided that night, he’d wondered why Patience had been selected for the golden child. Cyrus certainly could have had any woman he wanted, given his title and money. Until that visit, Alex had never heard Wilton’s name uttered from the duke’s lips. Not that he’d spent much time in the duke’s presence.
He’d spent a great deal of time questioning that while staring at open campfire flames in various military camps.
“Yes. I remember.” Alex would grant the man no quarter. Four years ago, he had not been good enough for anything, as far as his family was concerned. Now he was the golden boy. A title he had never coveted and didn’t particularly want the constraints of now. Alas, such things were beyond one’s desires.
“I know you had a fancy for my daughter at one time.”
Alex slipped from insouciance to general alert. “Whatever transpired between Lady Patience and myself was a long time ago. We were both quite young. And, frankly, Wilton, I am not at all sure where you are going with this.”
Liar. I know exactly where he is headed.
Wilton placed his elbows on the table and leaned forward. “I am thinking that once a decent period of time has elapsed, a betrothal announcement between you and Patience would be appropriate.”
The devil take it. The last thing he wanted to do was throw in with Wilton and his plans. Something about the man had always disturbed him, and the few times he’d been in his presence since his return from America had only increased his unease. He had every reason to believe the man was a bully who laid his hands on his wife. And possibly his daughter, as well.
Alex straightened in his chair. “Understand something, Wilton. When, and if, I decide to take a bride, she will be my choice. I am not open to discussion with you about this. I have just been placed into a position I had never thought to see. There is much for me to learn, and the last thing I intend to concern myself with is a wife.
“In addition, my brother is barely in his grave, and already you are looking to push his betrothed on me.” God, he hated saying that. At one time, he would have gladly whisked Patience away, married her, and given her babies.
But that was before.
Before war had infused him with ugliness. Before he’d given orders that killed some of his own men, one of them a youth barely out of short pants. Those experiences had changed him from the unworldly, optimistic young man he’d been, to the cynical and hardened man he now was. No amount of wealth, power, or return to ton life would erase the memories with which he’d been left. At this point, he wasn’t even sure he wanted to inflict his tortured self onto any woman, let alone one he’d coveted for years.
No. If he were ever to consider marriage to Patience, it would be his decision, her acceptance, and in his own time.
“Don’t be foolish, man. No one said an announcement had to be forthwith. I’m saying before someone else snatches her up, you should secure your claim on her.” Wilton leaned back, his eyes narrowed, a leer on his face. “She is still wagging her tail, and you’re still sniffing around her skirts. You can’t hide that from me.”
If Wilton had not been a guest in his home, he would have grabbed the man by the throat and throttled him. Instead, he used the control the military had taught him and stood, tugging on his jacket sleeves. “I will allow that filthy comment about your own daughter to pass, since I do not wish to upset the ladies in the next room. However, if something of that nature comes out of your mouth ever again within my hearing, I promise I will not use such self-restraint.”
He swallowed the last of his brandy. “Now, I am going to join the ladies for tea. You are welcome to join me or stay here.” He stepped back from the table and left the room.
The scene in the drawing room tugged at his heart. Lady Wilton and the duchess sat with their backs to him, involved in a lively conversation while Patience sipped her tea and stared at the flames in the fireplace. Perhaps Wilton was right. While he would not describe his interest in Patience in such a vulgar manner, he did feel the draw between them.
He took the opportunity to study her. She inhaled deeply, her creamy breasts rising and falling, driving all his blood south. He still wanted her. Not like the youth he’d been, but like the man who’d had many women over the past four years. He’d slept with the most skilled courtesans on the Continent, and yet, this mere slip of a girl had the power to bring him to his knees.
He strolled into the room, then stopped in front of her. She looked up at him, a warm smile on her face. Very reminiscent of the girl he once knew. He held his hand out. “Would you care for a stroll in the gallery?”
Patience placed her teacup alongside her and stood. “Yes. I would enjoy that, Your—”
He touched her lips with his finger. “Come.” He took her arm, covering her hand with his. They left the room, passing Wilton on his way to the drawing room. Alex ignored him as they continued down the corridor to the gallery.
They paused right inside the door where the painting of the most recent duke hung. “I am surprised Cyrus had time to have a portrait finished.” Alex addressed Patience. “How long was he the duke before he died?”
“He was summoned home when your father died. That was a little more than a year ago.” They both stood and studied the man of whom Alex had no good memories. However, he had been his brother, and he had, indeed, died too young. Leaving him as the ill-prepared Duke of Bedford. He attempted to work up some sympathy, but it was not there.
They moved along until they stood in front of his father’s portrait. The Duke. No matter how long Alex held the title, in his mind his father would always be The Duke. He examined the portrait, surprised at how little the man’s countenance affected him. Alive, his father had been vital, commanding. The artist had not captured his essence.
He suddenly became aware of the warmth and softness of Patience pressed against his side. He tugged her closer, enjoying the scent of lavender and mint that he would always associate with her. His stomach muscles tightened, and he looked her over seductively. Her beautiful breasts rose and fell in time with his pounding heart. Apparently, being this close to him was affecting her as well.
“Do you remember the last time we stood here admiring my ancestors?” His voice came out low and suggestive.
Patience looked up at him, licking her lips. “I do.” Her answer was somewhat breathless.
He reached out and cupped her chin, tilting her head back. His gaze traveled over her face and searched her eyes. Her pupils were wide, the deep green of her eyes darkening. Slowly his head dipped, and he brushed his lips back and forth over hers. They were as sweet as he remembered. His fingers tangled through the curls alongside her face, and he rested his hand at the back of her head.
A series of quick soft kisses turned into a savage possession of her mouth. His tongue swept in, and he wrapped his arm around her waist as her knees buckled. Deep inside a little voice told him this was not a good idea.