The Notorious Bridegroom (9 page)

But yet when he had held her in his arms on the floor in his room, he did not seem like the enemy, in fact, he seemed very unenemy-like. His arms had felt strong and sure and very comforting. She wanted to feel his warmth again. To taste his lips.
I must stop this playacting,
Patience lectured herself tersely.
If he discovers my true identity, he will have me thrown out of the house, and even worse, perhaps into prison.

Her hand automatically reached for her silver locket for comfort, a present from her mother. But her fingertips felt nothing. She quickly sat up, all exhaustion banished in fear of her loss. She examined her clothes and the bed, but the locket was missing.

It must have fallen off when Bear carried me to the cave,
she thought despondently.
I have lost my precious locket, am nearly killed by smugglers, most likely sprained my wrist, and have made no progress uncovering proof of the earl’s treason. What a miserable day. Surely, tomorrow must be better.

In the wee hours of the morning, Londringham, Kilkennen, and Red Tattoo arrived back at the house. Red and Kilkennen went to their rooms, but Bryce had another destination before he could find rest.

He quietly opened the door to Patience’s room and found her sleeping soundly. He had thought perhaps the woman’s scream he had heard on the beach had been hers, but why, he couldn’t say. He shook his head at his fanciful musings and was just about to close the door when he noticed her shoes near the bed. Silently as the moon, he crept into her room and grabbed her shoes for a look.

Muddy, wet, and sandy. He put them back where he had found them, and, annoyed and something more, headed to his bedchamber to find some sleep or peace, probably not both.

The next day after dinner, Isabella cornered Bryce in the gazebo where he had headed after taking a stroll. The swishing of satin warned him of her approach. He turned to lean his back against a column, watching her enter the sanctuary. The countess smiled coyly at him as she seated herself comfortably on the marble bench, the diamonds sparkling around her neck providing the only light other than the moon’s beam.

“Bryce, darling, I missed you at dinner. There was no one to speak to, no one to discuss this weekend’s hunt and festivities. And I have spent so much time preparing for it. Where have you been all day?” Her shrill voice startled the quiet night air.

He knew that his answer—avoiding
her
—was not likely to meet with a great reception. Damn, he had forgotten about his promise of a hunt for her friends. Since he had been unable to persuade her to leave, he had hoped that Isabella’s friends would convince her to return to London with them, that their endeavors might succeed where his had failed. There had been little gain in keeping his ex-mistress and her French cousin here, especially since Sansouche had been making noise of late about traveling up to Town. Besides, Bryce planned for his new house steward to occupy a lot more of his time.

Isabella prattled on, unaware of Bryce’s unresponsiveness. “Everyone has responded to my invitation and have all expressed great enthusiasm over the soiree Saturday night. They all know you have seldom opened your house for any type of affair.”

He ignored her words while clinically studying her artfully arranged blond coiffed hair, painted face, and svelte body. Why had he ever been attracted to her? She was considered quite a thing of fashion by the ton, perhaps that was why he had been interested. And Isabella had been persuasive at a time after his brother’s death, when he needed an outlet for his grief but had no energy to find it. Isabella had simply pronounced him hers, which he did not feel the need to confirm or deny. But those few times of controlled passion with Isabella had only left him feeling more empty and disconsolate than before.

Now, staring at her beauty in the moonlight brought another face to his mind. Patience. His new house steward whose dark brown tresses promised sensuous pleasures, her luminous hazel eyes passion-filled with innocence, and ripe lips made for kissing. Or for lying, he could not be sure which.

Isabella seductively rose from the bench and moved near Bryce, placing a red finger-tipped hand on his arm. With a little pout, she rejoined, “Can we not have together what there was, once before? I miss you in my bed. I am lonely for your touch and your kisses. Do not tell me you seek another’s bed?” she asked, her face a complete picture of sulkiness with an underlay of ire.

He looked down at her arm before gently removing it, and walked to the end of the gazebo before he replied, “Isabella, content yourself that I have not found a replacement for you. However, in the future, where I care to partake of a woman’s company is no longer your affair.” Carefully measured words, sure to pour vinegar onto her wounds, but the woman needed firm convincing. His footsteps on the walk heralded no sound in the vacant air he left behind.

Isabella watched him leave, a bitter anger growing inside. After all she had done for him! Well, he would not discard her that easily! She still held a few cards of her own.

The household threw themselves into the tasks at hand, preparing for the countess’s visitors. Her guest list included the usual number of fashionable, reputable, and disreputable rakes and ladies normally attending a function outside of Town. Bryce thought wryly of all those who had accepted the invitation simply from curiosity. He could not remember the last time the house had been opened for guests. Society gatherings had always been a duty and never a pleasure for him.

When he thought of his home at Paddock Green, he remembered enjoying outdoor activities with Edward. He was more at home with a fishing pole than with dancing the country dances. Thank goodness he would only have to tolerate the small group of visitors for a few days. Then life and his household would return to some semblance of normalcy. Time was growing short for locating the ring of French spies, and, unfortunately, Sansouche had proven less than helpful.

During the past few days, Bryce rarely caught sight of Patience. She seemed very clever at avoiding him. Mornings she worked on his accounts, and afternoons he spent away from the house working with the constable on Carstairs’s murder. The only times he saw her they were not alone. Probably just as well. Bryce could not seem to concentrate when she was near. He remembered her kisses and her heated touch and wanted to experience them again.

Thankfully, Red Tattoo, who watched Patience’s movements, could report nothing strange or out of the ordinary to his master. No posted letters, no rendezvous, nothing. But if Patience was not a French spy, then who could she be? And why was she here, in his house? Could her story possibly be true? All evidence was to the contrary.

Although the truth still eluded him, Bryce thought how passionate Patience would be in marriage to a man she truly loved if her actions to avoid marriage to a man she hated were equal. He knew nothing made sense, and he was not a patient man to await the answers he needed. After six months, his brother’s murderer still escaped justice and at least one spy resided under his roof.

In time for guests, all bedchambers had been aired and thoroughly cleaned, silverware polished, furniture dusted, downstairs salons opened and freshened. Servants hired from the village had been brought in to help clean as well as provide additional staffing during the visitors’ stay. The countess barked orders and harangued the staff as they worked tirelessly, until she was satisfied with the results. When every single floor had been dusted, looking glasses shined clear, silver gleamed pure, and shrubbery nipped and clipped, the countess declared the house and grounds presentable. Most of the staff, including Lem and Melenroy, in addition to the extra hires, professed their dislike of the countess and expressed strong hopes that her ladyship would soon depart.

On the day of the guests’ arrival, the occupants of Paddock Green were in a chaotic state as the countess flitted and fussed over last-minute details. Patience, still favoring her wounded arm, escaped to the stables with Lem to find Clara, the goat, to feed her. Gulliver followed behind them with only a slight limp from the rabbit trap incident. They talked of the future, of Patience’s return home someday, and of Lem as a soldier in His Majesty’s Horse Guards, when he was older, of course.

During their pleasant break from the house, Patience completely forgot about the house books she had had to put away before the guests arrived. She and Lem ran over the daisy-dotted meadows and down the long corridor of green landscape which adjoined the earl’s gardens. Returning to the kitchen, they paused to take a breath, and that is where Mr. Gibbs found them, panting and laughing.

His face held no trace of amusement in finding his servants off on a lark. His eyes narrowed to tiny slits and his hands twitched by his side, eager to be put to use. Since Patience had not been a member of the staff very long, she did not recognize these understated signs of his fury.

She approached him apologetically, prepared to defend Lem’s absence. “Sir, I fear I took rather long with Lem outside…”

But Mr. Gibbs brushed her aside with a slight push to her uninjured arm and turned to Lem. “You, you little blighter. You have caused me trouble for the last time. Come here.” The violence in his voice showed in the terror on the little boy’s face.

Patience stepped between the butler and Lem. In a voice intended to calm the beast, she continued quietly. “Please, listen to me. Our tardiness is all my fault. We were feeding the goat and lost track of time. It was my idea, let the punishment be on my shoulders.”

Sudden shrill laughter from the parlor reminded the three of the newly arrived visitors. Lem darted around Patience, hoping to reach the door to the hallway, but Mr. Gibbs caught him by his collar and hauled the boy in front of him.

Before she could intercede, Lem started a fight of his own—hitting out at Mr. Gibbs and yelling, “Ye ain’t gonna touch me! Ye ain’t gonna touch me! Ye won’t beat me no more! I’m runnin’ away from ’ere. Far away, so’s ye won’t find me!” The footboy’s voice echoed in the kitchen, alerting others in the house of trouble.

With one hand on Lem, Mr. Gibbs leaned over and shut the door to the hallway to mute the boy’s howlings. Patience suddenly realized what Lem had never been able to tell her. Fury and fear in Patience’s heart took over her senses as she stared at the butler’s face which was filled with venomous hatred for her and the boy.

Abruptly, Mr. Gibbs raised his fist, aiming to smite his anger at the squirming child.

“No, I won’t let you!” she cried and snatched Lem out of his grasp. Mr. Gibbs’s hand arched down and knocked her to the floor, her head ringing in pain. She watched as the butler, his face still contorted with hostility, started toward her, but Londringham grabbed him from behind and spun the surprised butler to face him.

“I have been grievously deceived by your nature. You are no longer in my employ.”

Patience watched in a cloud of pain as the earl confronted the brutal butler. If she had feared Mr. Gibbs for the cruelty emanating from him, it was nothing compared to the aggressive, lionlike power the earl now displayed. She saw the butler take a step back, fearful of his former employer.

Mr. Gibbs put up a hand to ward off any possible threat and declared defensively, “They were not on duty, I…I was only trying to discipline them.”

Bryce, his face taut with fury, spat, “I do not happen to like your form of discipline. I should have rid myself of you a long time ago.” He hesitated before throwing the first punch, right to the butler’s nose. “That was for hitting the young woman,” he said succinctly.

Mr. Gibbs landed on his backside, close to the fireplace, his nose a bleeding mess. Before he could rise on his own, Bryce pulled him up by the collar and forcibly hit him in the jaw. “That was for Lem.” This time Bryce’s fist knocked Mr. Gibbs into the wall, and he slid stupidly to the floor.

When Bryce made another move to the butler, Patience called to him, “Please, my lord, no.”

Bryce glanced at Patience and Lem, sitting on the floor, clutching each other and watching the fight in fear. He crossed the few steps in a hurry, anxious to see how they fared. He helped Patience and Lem rise, and, with Lem grasping his coattails, Bryce escorted Patience to the door, but not before Mr. Gibbs had risen unsteadily to his feet.

Bryce told him harshly, “You better be gone before I come back. That is, if you do not want me to finish what I started.”

Luckily, none of the countess’s guests noticed Bryce slip up the stairs with Patience, Lem at his back. He insisted she retire to rest.

Lem waited outside her door as Bryce escorted Patience into her room and watched her recline on the bed, her black lashes drawn down on her pale face. He whispered consolingly to her, “Would that I could have spared you this pain. I should have realized long ago what he was about. Because I have been occupied with other matters, I have not been sufficiently attending to those under my protection. I promise you this will not happen again.”

Her eyes fluttered open as Bryce began to reveal his culpability. She frowned, listening to his self-castigation, and shook her head. “Please, don’t worry. I really am fine, just shaken. I shall be ready to return to my duties tomorrow.” She comforted him with a smile.

Bryce stood up, once again in control, his mouth grim. “Do not worry about your duties. I want you well. Now I must see to Lem and the rest of the guests.” With a curt nod, he left, unable to stop thinking Patience could have been seriously hurt if he had not arrived in time.

And Patience, unable to keep up the façade any longer, broke down and wept heart-wrenching tears that seemed to have no end. For Lem. For Rupert. For the earl, his kindnesses, and for her confusion about who he really was, and how she truly felt about him.

The next morning dawned bright and clear as Patience struggled out of bed. She still felt a twinge of the headache but was anxious to rise and begin the day. Across the hall she heard the servants as they dressed for a busy day of cleaning, cooking, sewing, and pressing for the countess’s guests.

As she wandered down into the kitchen for a bit of fortification she realized that with Mr. Gibbs no longer employed, the house staff had no superior. In the bright, airy kitchen, maids and footmen bustled in and around the huge room, their young, shiny faces breathing new life into the once-melancholy place of inedible repasts.

In the center of the room stood a bald man with a gray goatee and a pince-nez, whose short arms did not match his long legs. With arms akimbo, this undistinguished man controlled everyone’s movements while enjoying himself like a puppeteer with his puppets. He scolded the two women cooks for scalded hot chocolate, directed the duties of two liveried footmen on handling the guests, and snapped his fingers at the twittering maids, led by the flirtatious Myrtle, smug over her newly increased authority.

Patience spied Melenroy sitting by the fireplace, her cap neatly affixed to a gray bun in starched white apron, a beacon of cleanliness and solitude, and totally overlooked. Hands accustomed to usefulness lay empty in the old cook’s lap.

Concerned, Patience walked over to the woman she knew as a dreadful and sullen cook who rarely opened her mouth. She asked, “Is that the new butler?” pointing to the commanding rotund figure in the center of the kitchen.

Melenroy nodded slowly, a lonely sadness in her eyes, and murmured, “Marlow.”

“Do you not have duties for this morning?” Patience, confused over the cook’s inactivity, felt compassion for the woman who seemed to no longer have a place.

“I am not needed. I will lose my job, and I have no place to go,” Melenroy murmured, looking at the floor.

Patience kneeled by her side, the two of them forgotten among the bustling mob of maids, footmen, valets, housemaids, and the commanding presence of the new butler. “Surely you have a place here, no one has dismissed you, have they?” She tried to console the inconsolable.