* * *
When the watch changed, Grant realized Patience had been down there a long time. Perhaps she’d climbed back in his bunk and gone back to sleep. He went and knocked on his door. “Patience?” When he heard no response, he opened the door a crack.
What a picture she made, sleeping in the tub, but she hadn’t yet washed her hair.
He closed his door with a gentle click and stooped down beside her. He could hardly see her body beneath the water, for the soapy bubbles, rather disappointing, but probably for the best. Smiling, he dipped his hand in then let a drop trickle from his finger to her nose. She made a face as if to dislodge it, but never woke. He dribbled water on her brow.
Patience opened her eyes and smiled. “Hello.”
“Hello, my drowsy mermaid. You fell asleep.”
“What a silly thing to do. I have to wash my hair.”
“Fine,” he said.
She closed her eyes. “Fine.”
He chuckled. “Patience. Let me help you.”
“Mmm.” She seemed to be drifting back to sleep.
Grant stood, rolled up a sleeve, thought better of it, and removed his shirt entirely. He took flannel toweling from his chest and set it aside. After dipping a small bucket in the water, he knelt behind her and poured the contents over her head.
Patience gasped and woke with a vengeance. “Are you trying to drown me?”
“No, I’m washing your hair. The water is cooling.”
“I’ll do it.”
“Let me. Please.”
“All right.” She closed her eyes then snapped them open. “What are you doing in here? I’m naked.”
“I noticed. Now give me the soap.”
She didn’t move.
“Patience, if you don’t give it to me, I’m going to go in looking for it. Never mind. That sounds like more fun.” He extended his arm toward the water, but Patience slapped the water so fast, spray hit them both. In a flash, she located the soap and tossed it at him.
He juggled it for a minute, grin wide, and wiped his face with his arm. “Thank you.”
Before long, he lathered her auburn curls, enjoying the sensation, himself. With soapy hands, he stroked and caressed, and gave her a slow, lazy scalp massage.
Patience moaned. She sighed.
Grant reacted to every sound. He stroked from her neck to the top of her head then down again. The more he caressed, the more verbally she expressed her pleasure. What it was doing to him, listening to those little mewling sounds of satisfaction, was indecent. She had sounded exactly so as he’d suckled her breast. He remembered it well. His body did, too.
He stood suddenly. “Time to rinse.” He pushed her head down and dunked her, arms flailing, and got as much of the soap out as he could while she was under.
Patience shot to a standing position gasping for air. “Bastard,” she yelled, as she tried to get soap from her burning eyes. When she could finally see, Grant struggled with his laughter, as he held open a large square of flannel. She stepped from the tub, snapped it from his hands and wrapped it around herself. “I can’t think of a word dastardly enough to call you.”
She wished Grant didn’t look so bloody charming, his eyes twinkling like a court jester’s, his face a study in male perfection. How the devil could she be angry with a Greek God, his smile bright enough to shame the sun. “Oh, go away. Now. Immediately.” She waved him out. “Shoo.”
“Has anyone ever said that you have a magnificent body, Patience?”
There came his mocking smile again. And his bare-chested self was calling her magnificent. She swiped her dripping hair from her eyes. “No one else has ever seen it, dolt. Do you think I go around letting strange men see me naked?”
He inclined his head as much as to say, I have, his eye-crinkles prominent.
“Besides you, I mean. And you are strange, make no mistake.”
He bowed with a flourish. “I am humbled.”
Patience scoffed. “You are a braying ass.”
He hooked his shirt with a finger, threw it over his shoulder, and left laughing.
Clean and dry, Patience realized she had no fresh clothes. Maybe if she stuck her head into the companionway, one of the girls would hear her call. She opened the door a crack, to see if anyone was about, but before she had a chance to check, a fistful of garments were shoved in her face. “For my Lady.”
She snatched at them and slammed the door, nearly catching Grant’s hand then she leaned against the portal shaking her head. Captain Grant St. Benedict could be a most agreeable man, if he weren’t so exasperating.
Half an hour later, Grant was glad he’d been able to make up to Patience for being such a cad earlier. He thought she must be finished by now, so he sent Jasper for the tub. The sailor came back shaking his head, a grin splitting his face. “Won’t let me in, won’t let me have the tub. Said to leave more hot water outside the door.”
“Good thing we’ve had plenty of rain. But what’s she up to?”
Jasper shrugged and chuckled, suspiciously.
Grant went down to find his door locked to him, bolted from the inside. “Patience, open the door.”
“Go away, Captain. The girls are taking turns bathing.”
“Blast and damn, Patience, that’s my cabin and I need to get some sleep. I have the midnight watch.”
“You may use my hammock until we are finished.”
Grant accepted her offer, but he woke, disoriented, and nearly got tossed by an angry hammock. Rising, flexing his stiff muscles, he thanked the stars that Patience hadn’t witnessed his near-fall.
He followed shrieks of laughter toward his cabin and stopped before the open portal in shock.
Patience, Rose and Grace, freshly bathed, hair just washed—Patience with wispy curls about her face—stood around the tub. Angel and Sophie bent over said tub, very wet. And, there at the bottom, in several inches of water, sat a shivering Wellington.
When Grant entered his cabin, the pup took to yapping and jumped from the tub to circle the room, stopping to shake and sprinkle water randomly about.
“Damn it, Patience, stop him.” Grant scooped the pup and held him at arms length for protection. “I want this mess cleaned. Now. I want my floor mopped and....”
Grant saw the wide-eyed look on Patience’s face at precisely the same moment he felt a new warmth spread down the front of his shirt. He looked down, hoping beyond hope that what he feared was happening, was not.
How does one keep one’s dignity, he wondered, when a pup has just relieved himself down the front of one’s shirt?One does not was his brain’s unfortunate response.
Into the silence, a giggle. He searched the girls’ faces, but not one moved a muscle. He placed the pup on the floor, heard another snort, a snigger, and he straightened to catch who dared.
Patience grabbed her middle, doubling over “Oh, God. I can’t hold it in.”
She was not alone. The girls laughed ‘till they wiped their tears. They tried to look away from the benighted sight of him, in an effort to control themselves, but they began laughing, again, as soon as they saw his yellow-stained shirt.
Patience handed Wellington to Angel, shooed the women from the room, and closed the door. She turned back to him, the picture of sympathy. “I’m— Well, but, you—” She bit her lip, shook her head, and proceeded to unbutton his shirt. Without his cooperation, she slipped it off him then dipped it into the remaining bath water to rinse.
“Blast it, Patience. You bathed a dog in that water.”
“Yes, but then he peed on your shirt. I’d say the shirt’s worse than the water.”
Grant growled at the minuscule particle of his best soap that Patience held toward him. “Right.” He snatched the soap with a scowl and rubbed it over his chest, ‘till it nearly disappeared altogether, then he accepted the sodden towel Patience offered and regarded it.
“It’s my towel,” she said. “Never touched Wellington.”
&n
bsp; Shaking his head for his squandered wrath, he wiped his chest dry, and donned a clean shirt. “When you’re finished cleaning in here,” he said. “I’ll be on deck.” He succeeded in holding his smile until he left the cabin.
On deck, a short while later, Patience sought him out. As she approached, he admired her beauty and tried not to think of her standing naked, drenched and wild-eyed, in his tub. “Took you long enough,” he said.
“We made quite a mess, and then, of course, the pup.” She bit that lip, again, but failed to disguise her merriment. “I’m sorry, it’s just when I think of it.”
“I know,” he said, revealing his own amusement. “You should laugh more often. Your eyes sparkle and your dimples bloom.” He wanted to kiss them, but settled for touching each one with the tip of his finger.
Patience’s smile faded. “I thought I’d forgotten how to laugh, but I’ve laughed more on this journey than in the past twelve years.”
That surprised him. He wanted to touch her, restrained himself. “I’d think you were someone who laughed often. What made you stop?” He gave in to his impulse and brought her against his side. Gazing at the calm, blue-black sea, his arm around her, the moon painting a silver trail to the stars, Grant found it difficult to remember life without Patience.
“Twelve years ago, my childhood ended,” she said. “The exact moment I entered Aunt Harriette’s cottage. She didn’t want me. Suddenly there was nothing to laugh about. To her, I can do nothing right.”
Grant stepped behind her to massage her rigid shoulders. “She cared for you a long time. There must be some kindness in her.”
Patience tended to remember the bad rather than the good with Aunt Harriette, because it seemed there was so much more hurt. She sighed. “For years, I listened to her scold and preach. She said, ‘do not’ so often that I usually ‘did’ just to be contrary. ‘No Patience,’ became her motto. Said I wouldn’t go to heaven. We fasted and read the bible for my sins. According to her, I’m too flippant, too bold, too precocious, too practical, and too impractical. Too everything. She said she only put up with me because I was her dear sister’s daughter. I’d best be content, there’d be no marriage for me. No man would want me.”
Grant bent to her ear. “I have to tell you, without a doubt, she was wrong.”
“You don’t know that for sure,” she whispered, appalled at what she’d shared.
He turned her and looked into her eyes. “I want you.”
Patience needed clarification. “She meant no man would ever want to marry me. Do you mean that you want to?”
Grant stepped back. “Well, no. I have no intention of marrying. Anyone. Ever.”
“Nor do I,” she said, more disappointed than relieved. “See, we find more common ground daily. I think we’re friends, Grant. I’ve noticed that no matter how much we fight and bedevil each other, a real and true friendship has crept upon us without our realizing it.”
“You have, have you?”
“Yes, and for some reason, it’s important to me to preserve it.”
“How do you know this ah, friendship exists?”
“Well.” She sighed, considering. “When people are friends, they do things for each other. Like . . .when you removed my wet, icy clothes, wrapped me in blankets and held me while I slept to keep me warm. Such acts show concern and caring, like when you tried to teach me why men like women with large bosoms. It was something I wanted to understand and you tried to help. By the way, I still don’t quite comprehend, so we’ll have to . . .discuss that again.”
Lord, yes. He bowed. “At your service.”
“You showed concern when you made me take off Paddy’s clothes and gave me yours instead. You danced with me. You took out my splinters. You washed my hair when I fell asleep in the tub.”
If she had a father, he’d be called out for this friendship. With reason. “Do me a favor, Patience. Don’t tell anyone about the wonderful things I’ve done for you. Aside from the splinter thing, I’d rather keep the rest between us.”
“I know you’re modest. But that doesn’t change anything. We’re friends.”
He cleared his throat. “What about when I kiss you?”
“Friends kiss, do they not?”
“Patience I feel much more than friendship for you.”
“Like what?”
Grant considered the raw truth. “Lust.” There, he’d said it. Now, no one could say he’d been trying to lead her astray.
“Lust. I thought so. See there, you’ve taught me lust. I knew that’s what I felt. Oh, and passion. Remember, you taught me passion.”
He could not hold back his surprise. “You felt lust? For me?”
“I’m sure of it.”
Lust be damned. He couldn’t act on it, anyway. He sighed with regret. “Patience, friends do not feel lust or passion for each other.”
“They don’t? Then what are people when they feel lust and passion?”
He ran a hand through his hair. “Frustrated.”
“What?”
“Lovers, Patience. Lovers feel lust and passion and act on it.”
“Are we lovers then? Because lovers must surely love each other, right?”
“No, we’re not lovers, yet, or ever. And no, I do not love you, nor you me. Love is for babies, children, brothers and sisters, grandparents, and so forth and so on.”
“But—”
“Patience. You were right. We’re friends. Now, let us change the subject. I think I have the headache.”
“Then sit down, lean on me, and close your eyes.”
He sat. “Will you be quiet?”
“Well, I wanted to ask you about the Marquess of Andover.”
“Oh.” He sighed. “Very well. Ask.”
“Do you think he might consent to marry one of my girls?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Perhaps if I offered to pay him.”
Grant laughed. “Patience, the Marquess is a rich man. He doesn’t need your money. What do you really know of him?”
“Nothing.”
“Why did you promise their mothers to introduce their daughters, if you don’t know him?”
“It was Cordelia.”
“Who is Cordelia?”
“I told you. She is the mother of the man that I went to America to marry, who is now dead.”
“Cordelia is dead?”
“No, the man I went to marry is dead. She’s his mother and very much alive.” Patience turned his head with her hands so she could see his face. “Do you understand now?”
He nodded, having lost the strength for further explanation, and settled more comfortably against her so that the back of his head nestled between her breasts.
“Well Cordelia told people that I knew positively everyone in England. I had told her about the Marquess in my letters—Gossip, you know, to make the letters more interesting. She’s a wonderful woman, but she told everyone I could have married the Marquess but turned him down to marry her Conrad. How could I say she was lying? She had just lost her son.”
“I see.”
“It wasn’t until the day we were ready to leave that I realized the web in which I had entangled myself, and everything was planned and—”
“I understand now how it happened. Tell me what you’ve heard about the Marquess.”
“Well, they say he’s a rake, black hair and eyes, and he dresses in black, as if he were the devil incarnate. He travels the world to places like India and exotic islands, which is why his skin is dark as a heathen’s and leathery from the sun. He belongs to the Hellfire Club and has bastard babies running all over England.”
Grant chuckled.
“I’ve heard these stories all my life so I imagine he must be about a hundred years old.”
“The Hellfire Club and bastard babies. That’s a lot for one man to answer for.”
“I’m sure there’s much worse. I just don’t know what it is.” She sighed. “Those girls’ mamas are never goin
g to forgive me.”
“If one of your girls manages to marry him, her mama won’t care what a degenerate he is. All they care about is his title.”
“Oh. You must be wrong. Certainly no mama wants her daughter to marry such a horrible man.”
“In some ways, you are still very young, Patience.” He felt her back stiffen instantly. “Now don’t get all tense and angry. I didn’t mean to set you off. It’s just that you don’t know what people will do to gain wealth and a title, or what they’ll live with for the sake of both. But if it will make you feel better about your promises, I’ll make sure you get an introduction to the Marquess of Andover when we reach London. Just an introduction, mind. I won’t encourage his attention toward non-angelic Angel or crazy Sophie, or the others. I don’t want any cats, dogs or swine there, either.”
“I’ll never be able to thank you. I want to do right by my girls.”
“You will. Now rest here with me.”
She settled and he snuggled next to her and took her in his arms, cradling her as if she were precious. “You feel good,” he admitted. “I’m tired. With the storm and everything else, I haven’t slept in days and that blasted hammock is terrible. How do you stand it?”
She cuffed him. “Grant, we must be friends. See how you enjoy being with me, and tease me, and snuggle up close, and sigh when you do?”
“Mmm.”
“Are you very sleepy?”
“Mmm.”
“Sleep then. I’ll watch for you.” She kissed him on the brow.
“You’re a good little sailor.” Allowing himself to close his eyes, Grant savored the feeling of time suspended, of oneness with Patience. He’d given himself extra watches this trip, just to be alone with her. Though he wanted to slip into blessed oblivion with his head on her breast and his hand just below, she needed to know that they’d likely arrive in London tomorrow.
My God, was that a pain in the region of his heart? Was he feeling the loss so keenly, then? What an idiot; of course he was. Why else this ruse to get her to spend her last night with him? He could be sleeping in his bunk, but stayed exactly where he wanted. With Patience. Even if it meant hours on a hard deck, his back against a coil of stinking rope.
His hand poised to stroke her breast. He wanted very badly to continue their lesson. Hell he wanted to haul her to his cabin and make love to her all night. But he had to stop, now. Before it was too late.
Too late, too late, too late. The echo in Grant’s his head almost made him gasp. He lowered his hand to his side, self-preservation prompting honesty. “If the weather continues to cooperate, Patience, we’ll be in London by tomorrow. The next day at the latest.”
“What?”
“You should be happy, Lady Patience.” He pulled away and sat up without glancing at the stricken look he was certain marred her features. “You are ready to begin husband hunting among the elite of England and you won’t have to put up with a scurvy crew or their snarly Captain any longer.” He stood and helped her up. The moon slipped from behind a cloud illuminating her big green eyes. “Isn’t that wonderful?”
“Of course, Captain.”
“Captain? What happened to Grant?”
She tilted her head to one side as she regarded him. “I’m never quite sure.”
“You sound as if you’ve misplaced something.”
She gave him a half smile, one he couldn’t quite fathom. “You cannot misplace something you never had.”
“You can’t be sad? Don’t try to tell me you’re not happy to be shed of the seafaring lot of us.”
She stood straighter, raised her chin. “While it’s been very interesting, Captain, you’ll excuse me for saying so, but you’ve all been rather difficult to deal with.”
He laughed, loud in the dark pitch of early morning. They were alone in their own universe, and she made him so happy it scared the hell out of him. He hugged her, lifted her off her feet and twirled her. “Patience. Patience. Who will entertain me when you’re gone?”
“I don’t know,” she said, voice weak.
Grant set her down, brought her close for a quick, hard hug, an embrace meant to snatch at the last bit of her he could allow.
She lowered her head. “I’m going to miss you,” she said in a tiny whisper.
He held her away from him. “Here now, what happened to the determined, practical young woman who defied everyone to bring four girls to London? You were strong and in control the day we met.”
“Here stands the real Patience Kendall. A coward. I can only be strong when someone needs me.”
“You can be strong for yourself, too, Patience, like when you were stranded in America, and you found an activity to pay your way home. The proof is here, where you stand now, on a ship in England’s waters.”
Patience shook her head. “No. Mrs. Kane got me here. I simply agreed then she arranged it all.”
Grant looked around. “Is she here then?”
Patience slugged him.
“You accepted the woman’s challenge and you alone carry out her plan. That’s what strength is, Patience. Remember? I told you that the night you saved us from the Phantom. Now smile, tomorrow is the beginning of a new adventure, a whole new life. If you ask me, only someone who is very strong would be willing to face London Society, had they any other choice.”
“I don’t know a lick about London Society, so I expect I’m simply too foolish to know better.”
“What? Didn’t your aunt teach you how to go about?”
“Oh, I know the dances and how to behave in polite society, be it Arundel or Amberley. But she warned me I’d never step foot in London, so why plan for something I’d never know?” Patience shrugged. “I’ll manage. I always do.”
He admired her determination. Hell he admired most things about her. “I know you will.” He needn’t worry about the Lady Patience Ann Kendall, he told himself, except he couldn’t seem to stop.
“How long before you sail again?” she asked.
“I’ll be in London for repairs. A few weeks.” What the hell was he talking about? He could choose any of his ships sitting in St. Katherine’s Dock right now. “Besides, I promised to introduce you to the Marquess of Andover.” And how in bloody hell would he manage that bit of chicanery?
“Oh. Well, then, I guess we’ll see each other occasionally. Will you be going to any of the balls?”
“I hate bloody English Society. Those people are pompous, over-fed and over-bred without a whole brain among them. They look down their noses at an honest man who works for a living and cheer a rakehell who gambles fortunes, uses women and tosses them away. They accept, even admire, married women who take lovers—but don’t get caught—and snub the ones who do.”
The timbre of his voice had risen, but when he realized it, he calmed. “I can’t think of anything worse than spending time in Society or at any of its shallow pleasures. I wish you joy of Society, sweetheart. Now that I know you better, I’m not sure you’ll relish the experience any more than I.”
“Will you come to say good-bye before you sail?”
“Of course, Vixen. Do you know where you’ll be staying?”
“No. We have to find a house when we get there.”
“The agent that leased me the house in the city I share with Shane is very good,” he said. “I could send someone round with a note for him before the sails are lashed. He’d be waiting for us by the time we dock. What say you?”
“I’d appreciate it, Captain. You are a good friend.”
He grazed her lips with his index finger. “I am that.” Were those tears in her eyes?
She stepped back and turned away. “Thank you, Captain St. Benedict, for everything. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Lady Patience.” He watched her disappear from sight, wanted to say he’d stay until they were settled, until she didn’t need him anymore, until—Truth to tell, he should leave as soon as possible, so he wouldn’t need her anymore. Already too late for that, b
ecause what he imagined he needed, didn’t exist.
PART II