The Notorious Bridegroom (26 page)

Surreptitiously, she glanced around her before walking hurriedly up the stairs, leaving the unkind streets behind her. At the front door, she rang the doorbell, her hands clasped in front of her, wishing, wishing, wishing the door would open quickly. What could Colette be doing here? The sooner she found her and learned of her difficulties, the sooner she could help her friend and return home.

Hardly daring to breathe, afraid of what she might find, she grasped the doorknob and turned. The door opened to reveal a large vestibule, rather dusty and dirty.

“Colette? Are you here?” Cautiously, she stepped inside onto the broken-tiled floor, careful to watch her step. Gray light through mottled windows checkered the black-and-white hallway.

Strange, Colette must not be here, perhaps I have the wrong address.
She felt in her pocket for the maid’s note but came away empty-handed. Contemplating leaving, she noticed the fragile-looking wooden staircase. If Colette was hurt, she would never forgive herself for at least making sure her friend was not in the house, even if her courage now rested at the bottom of her shoes.

Wetting her lips and blinking three times for luck, she firmly grasped the handrail and pulled herself up, wary by wary step. At the top, she noticed two closed doors on each side of a short hallway. They looked to be old abandoned apartments, judging by her peek inside the doors to the right.

The other doors led to rooms facing the back of the house. One bedchamber was completely empty. Wishing she had thought to bring a candle, Patience decided to check the last room and then bid a hasty retreat.

The last room was not empty. She peeked in to find a wooden chair, a broken bed frame, torn mattresses, and a person sleeping. A person not moving. A person…dead?

Patience could not make it down the stairs fast enough, nearly falling through a hole in the boards. At the bottom of the steps, she heard someone call her name.

Bryce. She called him over to her as she neared the bottom of the stairs. When Patience saw his concerned face, she launched herself into his arms, clutching him tightly to her.

He held her shaking form closely. “Are you hurt?” he asked her urgently.

She shook her head into his chest and mumbled something about a body.

He pulled her slightly away so that he could see her face. “What about a body?”

Her eyes opened wide in terror. She pointed up the stairs and whispered in a quivering voice, “Up there. In the last bedroom, I saw a man. He’s not moving. He looks rather dead.” Her last words were barely discernible.

Although Bryce’s main desire was to take Patience from this place and get her safely home, first he wanted to investigate to see if she had actually seen a body. Perhaps it was an inebriated sop sleeping off whiskey spirits, but it could be someone hurt and needing assistance.

He gripped her shoulders firmly. “You stay here, do not move. I shall go see what has happened. I need to take the lantern but there is still light from the vestibule foyer. I’ll be back shortly.”

Patience reluctantly parted with his greatcoat beneath her nails and watched as he climbed two steps before starting after him. She wasn’t staying alone in the dark and wasn’t afraid to show her cowardly side.

Following him up the stairs and down the hall, their steps echoed in the stillness. When they reached the room with the body, Patience remained outside the door when Bryce entered. He crossed the room and looked down at the prone figure that had gone to his maker and shook his head. He began to turn around when he noticed something shiny on the floor. Stooping to pick it up, he turned on his heel and left the room, grabbing Patience’s arm as he walked by and ushering her down the hallway and stairs. His lantern swung wildly with the effort of stepping over broken boards.

Confronted with his back, she asked, “Is he very dead?” Her voice was not as strong as she thought.

When Bryce stopped to answer her, she plowed into the back of him, holding on to his waist. He held her hands as he turned to face her, concerned what the news would bring. “Exceedingly so. It is, or was, Sansouche.”

Her jaw dropped as she suppressed a shiver. “So this is where they put the body. I
told
you they killed him.”

He stared past her head. “Someone certainly did kill him, but not at the Gardens. The blood leaking on the floor is fresh, indicating he has not been dead for long.” The terrified look on her face showed him that this had not been a good time to mention the fact.

Patience began quaking. “You mean his killer may still be here?” Every word an effort.

He rubbed her back and led her down the rest of the stairs to the front door, ignoring her question. “We need to get you home.”

They both heard the shouts at the same time.

And the footsteps. He efficiently doused the lantern, looking about quickly for an exit. From a nearby window, he thought he recognized the scarlet waistcoats of the Bow Street Runners. Soon, loud voices and boots pounding on the steps cut their goal short.

“Hurry, in here.” Although he hadn’t deciphered what exactly was going on, he didn’t want to be in the position of the Runners finding him and Patience in an empty house with the dead body of a French spy. There would be too many questions.

He pushed her down the hallway on the first floor and into a dark back parlor where the closed curtains hid the light. Her hand grasped in his, he crept along the back wall near the darkened windows looking for a way out. They didn’t have much time. She could only follow his lead, not able to breathe in the dusty stuffiness and because fear had crawled into her throat.

Finally, behind a long black curtain, Bryce felt a window without its glass. He stopped to listen outside to see if the Runners had rounded the house but only heard steps on the stairs.

For what purpose had someone led Patience here? Were the Runners to have found two bodies? Sansouche’s and Patience’s? He nearly choked on the thought. What if he had not been here in time? Or was the plan to find Patience alone with the murdered man? Would she not have been accused of the deed? He would get to the bottom of this.

With agility and strength, he quickly but carefully lowered Patience out of the window before following suit. Not giving her a chance to catch her breath, he snatched her hand and started running down the alleyway. Lucky and the waiting carriage were only a few blocks away.

“Stop, you there!”

The loud command only made them run faster. Thinking quickly, Patience opened her reticule, and while still running behind Bryce, turned it upside down, dropping the contents behind her, and throwing more walnuts out of her pockets. Several paces away, she was pleased to hear a thump and a groan. Those walnuts had proven useful afterall.

They finally reached Lucky, and, jumping into the carriage, the coachman struck the horses and made their escape. Surely the darkness would hide their identities and the carriage’s coat of arms.

Melenroy, Sally, Lem, Martha, Stone, and the other servants waited eagerly at the door for their master’s return. They breathed a collective sigh of relief when his lordship finally escorted a dazed and dusty Patience through the door.

Cobwebs hung from Patience’s bonnet, dust covered her chin, and her lace petticoat that had torn on the window trailed miserably after her. Bryce was not in much better shape. Filmy black soot covered him from head to toe, and his coat was torn at the shoulders where Patience had grabbed him.

After convincing everyone that they were safe and no harm had befallen them, Bryce swept Patience up into his arms. He could tell she had not much strength to go farther. Her head resting on his mussed once-white shirt and with her arms wrapped around his chest, he carefully climbed the stairs to her bedchamber, his look never leaving her sleepy countenance. Melenroy and Stone hurried into the kitchen seeking hot water and spirits. Martha and Verna followed Bryce, and after he left her room, Verna helped Patience undress, bathe, and prepare for bed.

Several hours later, Bryce came to Patience’s bedchamber, telling himself it was only because he was concerned over her near hysteria earlier. But truthfully, he wanted to hold her in his arms, to protect any future danger.

Certainly Sansouche could never hurt her again. Bryce’s eyes narrowed in anger when he remembered the other night. He would be unable to avenge Patience.

His fury swiftly evaporated when he slipped into her bedchamber as quiet as the moonlight showering through her opened window. He stood staring at her for a long while. He liked the way her full lips were slightly parted, and the way her dark brown hair flowed in a silky pattern down her back. He liked her thick winged brown eyebrows on the lovely canvas of her face. And he liked the way she curled her legs up to her chest. Hell’s teeth, he liked everything about her. Her way with children. Her smile that lit a darkened room. Her loyalty to her brother. Her dangerous trip to save her friend tonight. The way she needed him, which bespoke of an indefinable power he had never experienced before.

She brought out his protective side, and he understood more than anyone that Patience needed someone to look after her. And Bryce had assigned himself the task. For life. He whispered a finger down her soft cheek and heard her moan softly. Hell, he loved her. He was caught more securely in her trap than a fly in a spider’s web. He smiled. Exactly where he wanted to be.

He discarded his robe on the floor, anxious to feel her warm body close to him, and crawled in beside her. She instinctively rolled toward him.

As he lay on his back, Patience, sweet-smelling and fresh, curled into him welcoming the feel of his hard form. After a few minutes he looked at the ceiling. Hmmm, this might be a challenge. Just smelling her unique fragrance of lavender and peppermint incited his thirst for her and other parts of her sweet body. Surely it was a small price to pay for the pleasure of being with the woman he loved. He felt her hand sweep lightly across his chest, and he bit back a moan. This was proving more difficult that he had originally thought.

She was exhausted and needed her rest after this latest episode. Her silken strands between their connecting bodies teased his skin and set his senses on fire. A sweat broke upon his brow. If only she would stop moving, he could control his desire and go to sleep.

When she nudged her face into his chest, he smoothed her tangled hair from her pale cheek and kissed her softly on her brow. Looking down at her sleeping countenance, he sighed. He wanted to tell her that he loved her, but he would simply have to wait, and take every opportunity to show her when she was awake. Drawing her closer, knowing she was safe, Bryce finally nodded off into a deep slumber.

Captain Keegan Kilkennen relaxed against the carriage seat, the torn leather padding and bumpy ride not disturbing his concentration. So much had happened in the fortnight while he was at sea. His ship had nearly been sunk off Bologne, hence their return to Winchelsea Harbor for more repairs. His eyes narrowed angrily. Someone had known of their plans, for the French had been waiting for them. Only Keegan and Admiral Nelson had known the
Valiant’
s mission.

Several men had been lost or wounded from gunfire, the
Valiant
barely managing to limp home. Keegan stared grimly down at his tightly bandaged left hand, missing two fingers from cannon blast. He had spent the last week recuperating from the attack. At St. Josephine’s Hospital outside of Bristol doctors tended to his wounds along with those of other injured members of his crew.

Keegan also reflected grimly on his upcoming reunion with Londringham tomorrow morning. It would go hard on Londringham, the news he had to share, but he would be there to support his friend.

As the carriage jounced on, he was surprised to still feel pain in his missing fingers. He knew Colette would be shocked to see him, but he couldn’t wait any longer to see her. He had to hold her in his arms again. Keegan finally smiled. That French girl could certainly tie a man in knots and make him hard as a cannon ready to shoot.

By the time he arrived in Charing Cross night had fallen. The countess had taken a small town house painted black with blue shutters, a rather unremarkable dwelling off the main thoroughfare. Colette had written him with the address but told him that the countess and she soon would be departing for France.

Keegan climbed carefully down from the carriage, paid the driver, and sent him on his way. Feeling like a shy young man paying court for the first time to his sweetheart, he held his cocked hat in his injured hand and wished he had some small token of affection to present to Colette.

His tap on the front door brought a sullen, frail-looking housekeeper with black eyes peering through the crack. Before he could introduce himself, the servant informed him in a nasty tone that the countess already had a gentleman caller and please to leave.

This announcement did not faze Keegan, since his interest was in the countess’s lady’s maid.

He hurriedly put a foot through the door opening. “Madam, I am here to see Colette. I believe she is her ladyship’s maid?”

The cautious black eyes blinked at him with distrust, giving Keegan time to worry, until she finally took pity on him, seeing his bandaged hand, and opened the door.

“Thank you for permitting me to enter. I know it is rather late, but it is urgent that I speak to Colette. Is she home?”

The housekeeper still eyed him with suspicion, then turned away to creep down the hallway, her thin back hunched in protection. He thought he heard her mutter, “Like mistress, like servant.”

After twenty minutes of standing in the hall, Keegan decided to have a look around the countess’s rented town house. The door to his right opened to a small front parlor, which, by the looks of its dusty contents, and furniture coverings, was rarely used. Sauntering down the corridor, his patience wearing thin, he entered the library. Mahogany bookcases stretched floor to ceiling on all four walls as moonlight streamed silvery rivers on the gaudy Oriental rug through openings in the drawn curtains of the bay window across the room. Thinking the moonbeams lovely but miserly, Keegan lit a lamp that he found on the sideboard.

A noise behind him announced he had company. He turned and started at the lovely picture Colette presented in the doorway, where the light from the hallway emphasized her slender form. Only she could affect him like this. He could not contain his eagerness to speak with her, touch her, his gaze devouring the very sight of her.

He crossed the room in a thrice and gripped her hands clasped lightly in front of her, ready to pull her into his arms. But Colette gently disengaged herself to skirt around his large, commanding figure. He couldn’t take his eyes from her.

After she had arranged herself comfortably on the settee, the only piece of furniture in the room for sitting, Colette asked Keegan to close the doors, in a manner to suggest she wasn’t happy to see him. Still puzzled, he obeyed. This is not the Colette that wrote to him, told him that she cared for him. His injured hand shook as he crossed the room to reach for spirits and poured the glass of brandy he had been promising himself. She had wounded him more deeply than the cannon blast.

With his emotions under control, he faced the maid. Dressed in a lovely black gown, she looked ready for an evening event. God, but she was beautiful with her dark brown curls arrayed stylishly around her perfectly oval face with dark eyes. Surely her coldness was due to his unforeseen arrival.

Colette broke the awkward silence. “I’m surprised to see you. I had not expected you. Why are you here?” Her voice was soft and sounded pleasant, as if she were talking to her lace-maker, not her lover.

Keegan propped one shoulder on the wall closest to the liquor, already regretting his hasty decision to see Colette when he had not fully recovered from his injuries. He stared at her, bewildered, trying to find the woman he had fallen in love with.

“It is quite late,” she continued easily. “I do not wish for the countess to find you here. She would not like it.”

The mantelpiece clock struck midnight. He took a long draught of brandy, his steady gaze never leaving her face. His voice low and devoid of sentiment, Keegan replied, “I came to see you because I believed you would care to see me. That you would actually welcome my call, no matter what the time of day.”

He drained his glass, enjoying the liquid burning down his throat. “I must have been mistaken about you.” His features harder than the marble mantelpiece, he finished, “It is a mistake unlikely to happen again.” He pushed away from the wall and bent to leave his empty glass.

“Wait.” Colette jumped off the settee and rushed over to him, tenderly taking his bandaged hand in her own.
“Mon amour,
what have you done?” Her feather touch stroked the injured hand before bringing it to her lips for a kiss. “Why did you not tell me you were hurt?” she asked with an almost accusing manner.

Keegan’s eyes widened at this chameleon of a woman standing in front of him. Why was she playing such games with him? His eyes dark with anger, he told her, “What of my injury? I am still the same man when I walked in the door and was greeted with your frosty reception. Please spare me your pity.”

But Colette clutched his arm in dismay, her touch penetrating him through his wool evening coat. With tears streaming down her achingly beautiful face, she begged for his forgiveness. “You must know, I am pleased you are here to see me. I was afraid the housekeeper might be listening. She may tell the countess I had a gentleman caller this late and my mistress would be very angry,” her apology laced in a seductive whisper.

His hooded green eyes prevented Colette from seeing his forgiveness. His only response was an order. “Kiss me.”

Colette gently wrapped her arms around Keegan’s stiff shoulders and pulled herself up to his waiting lips. She brushed her lips against his, teasingly, lingering with a promise of more. But when he went to capture more of her sweetness, she danced from his arms and back to the settee, watching him, eyes lit in amusement. She had other plans for him. “Please, sir, not so hasty,” she told him teasingly. “Let us talk first,” she said, patting a place next to her.

Patience felt the glorious sun upon her face the next morning, feeling happy until she remembered the events of the previous night. Surely finding a dead body would unnerve any person. But Bryce had saved her yet again. And no more Sansouche to be concerned about, although she would not have wished him departed to the next life. Prison would have done just as well.

But nothing could intrude on her warm thoughts of the man determined to save her from herself. Although he still had not mentioned the words “love” and “marriage,” she knew he would, he only needed time. Time, what her brother Rupert did not have. She must dress and see Bryce about returning to Winchelsea to find her brother.

She sent two little prayers up to Heaven, one in supplication for Rupert, the other in thanksgiving. Her gratitude was for the man she had found and loved, for Patience had secretly despaired after Richard had left, never to return, that he had been her only hope for marriage and companionship.

But fate had something else planned for Patience—in the form of a handsome, naturally, English spy, who seemed to fear little, except for the safety of those whom he loved.

Patience threw back the covers, anxious for the day to begin, knowing each morning she awakened, she would be impatient to see Bryce.

A sparkle caught her eye. On the pillow next to her lay a beautiful emerald necklace entwined with diamonds in a dainty gold chain.

She stared at it.

First, in delight.

Then, in wonder.

Then in curiosity.

Then, in horror. Suddenly remembering the morning when Bryce had given the countess just such a jewelry box and said farewell—and meant good riddance to his once-mistress. Patience leaned over the bed and promptly retched.

Bryce leaned back against the comfortable, well-padded chair in Lady Elverston’s parlor. He had planned several errands for this morning, including one last stop at Whitehall to finalize their strategies to stop the French spies. Prime Minister Addington had just received urgent news to share with him and word was making its way around the city that Napoleon planned to declare war in the very near future. They had to fortify the southern coast and gain any advantage by capturing the spies in their midst.

Even with a possible impending war with France, Bryce thought of Patience. He was anxious to return home and discover whether she had liked the little present he had left her. Instead of more honeysuckle like he had left the day before, he had placed the diamond and emerald necklace, a family heirloom, on her pillow. He rubbed his hands in anticipation of the ways she was probably planning to thank him. But first, he would confess how he felt about her.

“Bryce, I am truly concerned over Patience,” Lady Elverston said, her anxious voice finally biting into his woolgathering, something he never before realized he did.

Bryce leaned forward in his chair, resting his forearms on his thighs. “Why?” He frowned, wondering if his friend could have learned about their escapade last night.

Lady Elverston waved a graceful hand. “I know she is worried about her brother, whom, she tells me, has disappeared from prison, and she is worried about you and your injury.”

Bryce scowled darkly when she mentioned his wound, almost healed. That was his concern and none other’s.

She did not see his dark look but continued, “That girl has taken on the problems of the whole world, and she simply does not look strong enough to carry the burden. I want to see her happy, she deserves to be happy.” Lady Elverston eyed him pointedly.

He rose, avoiding her gaze, and placed his empty teacup on the table. “Yes, she does,” he agreed softly.

With Bryce pacing the room like a caged lion, Lady Elverston quietly proceeded with her attack. “Yes, and since she is not getting any younger, I do not know if we can wait another Season.”

He stopped in his tracks, spinning around to stare in puzzlement at the woman. “Wait another Season for what?”

She merely laughed at his expression. “Well, for a proposal, of course. Martha has informed me that she has received many gentlemen callers, I think perhaps even the Duke of Grensham has made an appearance?”

Arms crossed in front of him, he told her arrogantly, “There will not be a proposal accepted from the duke or any of the rest of her callers.”

Lady Elverston watched him in false disbelief. “And why ever not? Her lineage is good, she is certainly lovely to look at, she keeps your accounts remarkably straight, and those around her are truly blessed with her boundless supply of love.” She paused markedly. “Have I missed anything?” Her smile bright, she seemed to be seeking his assistance in ticking off Patience’s marriageable attributes.

Bryce pulled a chair around and sat while resting his arms on the chair rack, looking at ease, only the slight twitching in his jaw telling Lady Elverston their conversation was having the desired affect. “Yes, she cannot sit a horse, she’s superstitious, and she’s constantly putting herself in danger in order to help those around her.”

Lady Elverston nodded in agreement. “I see what you mean. Having a good seat certainly keeps up appearances with the genteel folk in Society. Superstitious beliefs reflect a rather flighty humor, hmmm…even an unstable character. As for placing herself in danger for others, well, that is simply ludicrous, lunacy. After all, the first instinct all humans have is for survival. Imagine a selfish girl like that, thinking of others and not herself.” She rose to conclude their conversation.

“I am certainly glad you have apprised me of Patience’s shortcomings. I see now that I have been wrong about her character, and finding a husband for her will be more difficult than I originally had surmised.”

Bryce rose from his chair to confront his longtime friend. With a distinct twinkle in his eye, he added, “And if you would allow me to finish…Appearances in Society do not mean a fig to me, or Patience, for that matter, so if she never wants to ride again, that suits me fine. I find her peculiar superstitious beliefs charming, and she needs me, for when Patience is looking out for everyone else, she needs someone to look after her. And it certainly pleases me to oblige.

“Her compassion and loyalty are equaled by none other of my acquaintance. She has taught me about hope, belief in the goodness of people, when I was convinced otherwise. And about the truly frightening, overwhelmingly foreign emotion called love. I am her apt pupil and have much to learn.

“Before Patience, I had vowed not to marry until Edward’s death had been avenged.” His face shadowed as he recalled the night he had made his vow. “But I find myself more impatient than ever to make her mine.” He fell silent, suddenly realizing this was the first time that he had ever revealed his vulnerability either to himself or to his friend.