The Notorious Bridegroom (6 page)

The candlewick burned low as Bryce’s unwavering gaze remained on the still form lying in his bed. The chair creaked as he rose and walked to the bed, settling gently on the edge. A sigh escaping from the young woman’s full parted lips surprised Bryce. He quickly returned to his vigil in the chair.

Only an hour had passed since he had brought her here. After attending to the arm that the French spy’s bullet had grazed and finding no indications of lasting head injuries, he had used the time to plan a course of action.

As he leaned back into his chair, he could not tear himself away from the young beauty before him. The candlelight caught reddish hues in tresses lying over one shoulder. He had opened her bodice slightly when he noticed it seemed a trifle snug. Unconscious, her innocence appealed to his protective nature, but he wondered where her true loyalty would lie at dawn’s light. Long eyelashes concealed remembered bright hazel eyes.

Ironically, he had Red Tattoo searching over the district, when the woman he sought was in his own home. But why was she here and who was she? And why was he reluctant to call the constable and have her arrested? For what? He didn’t quite know the answers yet.

He watched with concern when the young woman turned over on her good side and began to breathe deeply. Although he was no physician, he could tell she had settled into a deep sleep.

He stepped around to the other side of the bed. Her wounded arm stretched out across the sheets as she rested her head on her other arm. In sleep, her movements were graceful, and by the look of the blisters on her hands, unused to hard labor. She was no mere servant, of that he could be sure.

Observing her more closely, Bryce noticed the faint smudges under her eyes. From what? Worry? Fatigue? He painted her soft cheek with the back of his finger.

Shaking his head in bewilderment, he walked back to the chair. By lying on her side, she provided him a lovely view of her charming round backside encased in his linen sheets. Enough. He determined to marshal his wayward thoughts.

He strode to the far side of the room in punishment. Perhaps she was part of the ring of spies sent to watch him. Needing to clear his head and stem his arousal, he opened the casement window and gulped fresh air. What should he do?

Should he confront her or continue to allow her to play this charade? What had she been doing outside his window that night? If she was spying on him, she was obviously not very good at it. But until he knew her purpose, he had to keep her here under his protection and watchful eye.

A painful groan from his attractive and distracting subject arrested him from his thoughts. He turned and found her staring at him, holding the sheet to her chest.

“What am I doing here?” The fogginess in her eyes quickly disappeared as she watched Bryce approach her bedside. She closed her eyes, remembering her fall out of that blasted tree, and felt a painful burning in her upper left arm.

Patience opened her eyes, focused, and saw the earl watching her with what looked to be deep concern. Taking a minute to peruse her surroundings, she realized she was back in the earl’s bedroom. But how? She thought quickly and realized he must have found her in the woods and brought her back to the house. She gently touched the bandage on her arm. He had obviously attended to her injury. Questions about her presence and identity could only be moments away.

What believable story could she conjure to convince this man that she was practically innocent of any wrongdoing? Perhaps amnesia? She simply did not have enough time to invent a plausible story before his lordship’s interrogation.

She wet her dry lips and tried to console herself.
Could she be imprisoned for impersonating a maid? She had never heard of such a thing. If he knew she was spying on him, what would he do to her? Perhaps kill her and throw her off a cliff? Hysterical thoughts, to be sure. Perhaps she could throw herself on his mercy? If he had any.

“How are you feeling?” He leaned over her, concern in his vigilant gaze.

“My arm hurts. What happened?” Her voice was barely a whisper.

“You were shot in the arm. I brought you back to my bedchambers to tend to your wound. Luckily, it only grazed your arm. I can only surmise you hit your head when you fell out of the tree.”

She mumbled, “Oh,” anxious to look anywhere in the room other than into his intent stare. “I think I should return to my room now. Thank you for assisting me.” She started to raise herself up.

He pushed her gently back. “A little longer so I can attest that you are feeling better.”

He left her side to return to the shadows near the fireplace. “I must know what you were doing out there tonight, if you are strong enough?”

She faltered under his questioning, then rubbed her forehead, trying to gain time. “I decided to go for a walk and saw the light near the road. With the news about spies, I thought the tree might be a safe place to see what was happening, only I suppose that proved far from the truth,” she finished ruefully.

“I see. A simple explanation. You thought you were eavesdropping on spies.” The tone of his voice gave explicit doubt to her reasoning. “And, Mrs. Grundy, if that is your name, how came you to be in my home wearing a maid’s disguise?”

The moment of defeat had arrived before a thought occurred to her. Suddenly, she found the beautiful designs on the counterpane quite fascinating. “You see, my lord, uh…I am, my…my brother…my brother wants me to marry a man I abhor.”

Where had that story come from?
She hurriedly continued. “He is at least ten years older than me. I have run away, and since I was afraid my brother would find me, I thought it best to disguise myself.” She raised her gaze to him in innocent supplication. “I hope you might reconsider discharging me.” Her voice trembled, assuming the worst for her transgressions.

“It is certainly vexing that you must resort to such measures to avoid an unwanted marriage. Nonetheless, you are welcome to stay under my protection as long as you desire it. But you cannot run away from your responsibilities forever,” his voice sounding almost kind.

She blinked in astonishment. Was he offering her protection from her fabricated enforced-matrimonial story?
Oh, goodness, why did she seem to keep falling into more lies?

His next question took her by surprise only by the timing. “What is your real name?” he asked, gazing intently at her.

A little unnerved by his intent stare, she managed a small smile and said, “Patience Simmons, my lord,” remembering the surname she had given Mr. Gibbs upon her hire.

A sudden brisk wind issued into the room through the open window. She felt the coolness on her chest, and looked down to find that in her misadventures her bodice had come untied and now the top half of her bosom was displayed more than was prudent. Finding herself almost unclothed and unmasked shocked her into complete wakefulness.

Hoping to distract his lordship, she remembered her earlier endeavor and looked up at him. “Have you seen Gulliver? I am sure he will be better in no time.”

He looked taken aback as he rested one hip on the end of the bed, watching his prey, or least she felt like it.

“What about Gulliver? I know nothing of this.” He straightened up and waited for her response.

“Lem and I found Gulliver in the woods, his paw having been caught in a rabbit trap. We brought him to the stables and did our best to repair the damage. I believe Lem is with him now.”

Bryce stood and walked to her side. “I will check on Gulliver directly. Thank you for seeing to his injuries.”

Once more the room remained silent. She felt an utter fool under his watchful stare, and her wounded arm pricked pain at the back of her eyes. She looked away, trying to hide the unshed tears.

His next suggestion flabbergasted her. “I would like you to stay on, as I need assistance with my books. My house steward has left my employ, and I have no one whom I can rely upon. It is a temporary position. That is, of course, assuming you can read and write?”

She lifted her chin. “I am well-versed in many subjects—history, Greek, Latin, and more. I can sew, thread a fishing pole, speak French, and care for sick animals.”

He raised his eyebrows. “You neglected to mention playing the pianoforte and singing like an angel,” his mouth in a slight smirk.

She avoided his gaze before replying. “Ah, I cannot claim singing or playing the pianoforte. They are virtues, however, my parents believed their children should be well taught in many subjects. Education should be available to all who wish to learn. Do you not agree?”

“True. Perhaps some of your duties could also include tutoring Lem. I daresay he cannot spell his own name, and I do not wish my servants to be ignorant of their basic letters.”

Patience stared in shock at the earl. Why should he care whether Lem could read or write, or any of his servants for that matter? His lordship was proving a puzzlement. And why was he not sending her on her way? And not only allowing her to remain but placing her with his books?

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.”