* * *
Dressing for their ball became a festive occasion. Patience sat in her chemise and wrap while Aunt Harriette hummed a lively tune and coaxed each of her curls into its proper place. “Aunt, I believe this is the first time I have ever heard you sing.”
“Well, I’m happy. I have you back and you know I love you.” She patted a stubborn curl. “There, you are done. Beautiful, as always.”
Her Aunt turned to the girls. “Having you all in my life has given it new meaning. She took Amy from Rose. “Go get dressed now. I’ll put her down for the night. Wouldn’t want to keep that handsome man of yours waiting.”
Two hours later, Aunt Harriette declared the event a sad crush, which meant they were a big success.
Patience perused the gathering, disappointed Grant had not come through the receiving line with Brian and Shane. She kept seeking broad shoulders and dark wavy hair and listening for the sound of his voice. She had assumed he would be here.
The girls behaved with decorum and followed the rules Aunt Harriette drummed into them. Sophie, Angel and Rose had a bevy of beaux, Shane among them. They enjoyed every glorious moment of attention. Grace spoke with an attentive gentleman, also wearing glasses.
Aunt Harriette whirled about the floor with Brian Garrick. He might have something to do with her humming. He’d called several times since her birthday, and it wasn’t her girls he paid attention to, but their chaperone. Lady Harriette Belmont looked absolutely regal tonight. Young. Happy.
The orchestra in the gallery finished with a flourish. Brian delivered her aunt to her side and bowed. “My dear, I hope you will honor me with a dance later this evening.”
Patience nodded. “I certainly would not miss the opportunity to dance with the most handsome man in the room, Mr. Garrick.”
The older man chuckled. “Speaking of handsome men, I promised my son I would present someone to you this evening, but I have not seen the gentleman in question as yet.” He looked about as if to be certain.
“And, what gentleman would that be?” Patience asked, puzzled.
“Why, the Marquess of Andover, of course. Grant did promise an introduction, did he not?”
Excitement beat in Patience’s breast. “I didn’t know we invited him, Aunt?”
Harriette looked as perplexed as she. “We didn’t.”
Brian looked away. “Grant probably made one of the girls send the Marquess an invitation as a surprise.”
Patience laughed. “None of them could have kept that secret.”
“Perhaps Grant invited the Marquess, himself,” Aunt Harriette said.
“Perhaps,” Patience said.
Brian walked her aunt to the punch bowl, then after a while, he returned and took her hand. “He’s here. Come along, Patience, I would like to get this introduction concluded, so that I may take your aunt on another turn about the room. Do you think people would talk if I danced with her more than twice?”
“Don’t even consider it. We cannot do with an ounce of gossip; we’ve caused too much already. You’ll have to settle for taking her in to supper.”
He kissed her hand. “Of course, my dear.”
A staccato rhythm began in the region of Patience’s heart. The Marquess of Andover, at last. His introduction to the girls would fulfill her promise to their mamas, not to mention that meeting him would appease her growing curiosity.
Brian excused his way through the crowd surrounding the Marquess, explaining he would like to introduce their hostess to the nobleman. The gentlemen and ladies parted. Brian drew Patience into the center of the circle, and she stood face to face with Grant resplendent in black evening attire. God’s truth, the man is handsome, she thought.
“Lady Patience, may I present the Marquess of Andover.”
Grant bowed and kissed her hand then he gazed into her eyes, an inscrutable look upon his face.
Patience could not move. Warning bells went off in her head. Loud. Grating. Her smile faltered. She looked from Grant to Brian and back again. Afraid to speak and sound utterly foolish, Patience replayed the last minutes in her head. When Brian had introduced the Marquess of Andover, Captain Grant St. Benedict bowed and kissed her hand.
Patience removed her shaking fingers from Grant’s and turned to Brian. “Sir, is your son the Marquess of Andover?”
Speaking with pride, tinged with, what seemed, regret, Brian answered quietly, “Yes, my dear, he is.”
Patience heard speculative whispers. If she turned away and ignored such an important man, she would commit a catastrophic error similar to the many committed by her girls at their last ball. She stiffened her spine. “I am honored to meet you, My Lord. If you will excuse me, I must see to my other guests. Do enjoy your evening.” She curtseyed and turned away, congratulating herself on her aplomb.
The orchestra struck up another waltz, and as Patience walked sedately toward her aunt, she found herself neatly maneuvered into Grant’s arms and onto the dance floor.
For several moments they remained silent. Discomfort, then anger replaced the immutable joy Patience found in his arms. “I seem to remember you once called me a fraud.”
The black devil holding her captive did not respond, instead, he waltzed her into the center of the dancers.
“My Lord, I have no wish to dance. Will you please return me to my Aunt’s side?”
“No. I will not. And my name is still Grant.”
“I recall that you told me your name was Grant St. Benedict. You are a liar as well as a rakehell.”
“I have always considered my title a curse. It was bestowed upon me for services rendered, and one does not tell one’s monarch what to do with an offered title. I have no use for the aristocracy, a fact I have told you repeatedly, Patience, which is why I went to America to seek my fortune in honest work. My full name is Grantland St. Benedict Garrick, Marquess of Andover, known to some as, ‘The Saint.’”
“At this moment, my Lord, if you will forgive me, I find the name, Saint, particularly ill-suited. Please return me to my Aunt.”
“I will not, Patience, until you call me Grant. I have the fortitude to wait for days.” He raised one devilish brow. “I would welcome the challenge. Now be a good girl and call me Grant.”
Challenge. He was offering a challenge. She could accept that. “I am not on familiar terms with anyone by that name, my Lord.”
When he moved his hand lower on her back and pulled her imperceptibly closer, she stiffened and tried to pull away but could not move so much as a muscle.
“Call me Grant, Patience.”
“Lady Patience to you. It’s no wonder you called me fraud; you would know.”
“Patience, I weary of this game. I am one and the same person you have called Grant . . . ” His voice lowered to a whisper. “With breathless abandon as I kissed you or stroked—”
SNAP. The heal of her slipper broke as she ground it into his foot.
He cursed under his breath and lifted her higher into his arms, her feet barely touching the floor. With deft movements, he gave the impression of dancing her through the open French doors and out onto the balcony. She hated his power—physical and otherwise—over her.
He sat her down hard upon the cement balustrade bordering the darkened garden. “You little hellcat, you could have broken my foot.”
She wiggled to get free, but he held her firm, his hands on her hips.
Palms flat against his chest, Patience tried to push him away, like trying to move a brick wall. “I wish I had. I wish I had cracked your skull, you black devil.” Her voice rose, but she hardly cared. They were outside after all. “Father of bastard babies, rakehell, no good lying . . .scoundrel.” She grabbed Grant’s shoulders and tried to shake him.
They were of a height at this angle and it gave her a feeling of power for a change. But just as quickly as it came, the powerful feeling faded. “Damn, I’ve run out of dastardly things to call you.” She stopped trying to throttle him, marginally aware t
hat she caressed his shoulders toward his neck. Her fury died as his eyes captured hers. She tried to fight the pull. “There aren’t enough words to describe how vile, how despicable....”
Grant took her mouth so unexpectedly, in a kiss so masterful, heat shot through her with the force of a lightening bolt.
In response, Patience slid her arms full around him.
His hands wandered to just beneath her breasts.
She stiffened.
“Open your mouth, Patience. That’s my hellcat. Show me a witch’s passion to meet a black devil’s desire.”
Grant’s words struck some primal chord within her, and she matched him on a plane of mutual need that begged to be satisfied. He drank from her parted lips in long greedy drafts. She heard whimpers of ecstasy, surprised they were her own. He traced the bodice of her gown, lower, lower still, for slow tantalizing moments, until he finally slid his hand beneath.
Oh. She closed her eyes. Oh, Lord. “Yes,” she whispered against his mouth as she shuddered with the contact. He insinuated his leg between hers. She pushed against his arousal, reveled in it, pulled him closer. Fire emanated from her chilled breast as Grant’s mouth crept slowly toward the taut peak. “Oh,” she sighed, “Grant, please.” She anticipated the touch of his lips with a physical pleasure bordering on agony.
He lifted his head to gaze at her, his dazed look turning from passion to satisfaction. “Correct, Patience. My name is Grant. Now you have learned that basic lesson, we will continue to more advanced studies . . .at a later time.”
He lifted her off the railing, stood her on her feet, and before she realized what was happening, he raised the bodice of her dress and patted her hair in place.
As he straightened his cuffs, her fury burst forth. SNAP.
“Damnation!”
Her second heel had gone the way of her first, every bit as satisfying the second time. “I needed them to be the same height, so I could walk properly,” she said. “If you will excuse me, I must go upstairs to repair the damage you have done.”
She’d caused him pain, yet his eyes danced. She refused to be charmed. As she was about to enter the ballroom, a very firm slap to her bottom made her squeal in surprise.
“Someone who acts like a child deserves to be treated like one,” he said, sotto-voiced as he passed her by to enter the mingling throng.
Grant’s slight limp, Patience decided, made retribution quite satisfying. She stumbled her way up the stairs then stopped to remove her ravaged slippers. Saint indeed! No wonder he’d scoffed on the dock. No wonder he’d named her fraud—hearing her promise to introduce the girls to the Marquess of Andover, when there he’d stood in the flesh, a scoundrel in the flesh.
Twenty minutes later, newly coifed and shod, Patience vowed she would ignore the knave . . .whoever he was.
Calling him My Lord provoked him. Good. But why did people call him Saint? It was beyond imagining.And he made fun of her being called Patience!
Grace danced with the quiet gentleman and for the first time, Patience saw radiance in her smile. The girl’s beauty shown from within, as Aunt Harriette had said, but it had never shown as bright as now.
Angel, to Patience’s annoyance, was nowhere in sight, which happened more often than she liked, and worried her more each day. What could the girl be up to? Nothing good, she feared. She’d best have a word with Angel first thing in the morning.
Brian bowed before her, looking uncertain of his welcome. Patience took his hand as he led her into a country dance. After having been passed from one partner to the other during the set, Patience finally met him again for a short turn. “Do you forgive me, Patience?”
They bowed and turned, arm in arm, in the opposite direction. “For siring such a dastardly, ill-mannered scoundrel?” Patience asked. “Certainly not.” They bowed and parted company before facing each other again. “You could have done better,” she said.
As they separated, Brian’s laughter floated back. Lord, but, she liked the devil’s father. When he took her hand again, he whispered, “Did do better. There is Shane.”
“That’s true.” She nodded. “My compliments.”
After the dance ended, he stopped her before they reached her aunt. “But it’s not Shane who makes your heart pound, is it now?”
“No. It isn’t,” she said. “The urge to do murder does make one’s heart hammer.”
With a chuckle, Brian squeezed her hand on his arm. “Grant’s a good man.” He kissed her cheek. “I think you know that.” Then he traded her for Harriette.
Angry with Brian’s scoundrel son, Patience said yes to the first man who approached. He danced well and spoke little, which gave Patience an opportunity to look for Grant. When their gazes met across the floor, she realized he’d been watching her. At that moment, her dance partner made a bold move on her person, and Patience caught the blaze of anger on Grant’s face, just before he masked it. It pleased her to taunt him, so she looked into her partner’s eyes and smiled.
Revenge tasted sweet as Patience partnered her fifth in a long line of admirers while the heat of Grant’s gaze singed her back. He hadn’t danced at all since she began her campaign to provoke him.
As a rotund military man stepped on her foot, Patience learned vengeance can also be painful. But remembering how Grant’s own feet must pain him, she laughed in delight, hoping each trill—and she trilled loudly—would grate like flint on steel.
Patience saw that despite his black looks, several daring beauties—perceived willing to scale mountains to attain matrimony—remained by his side competing for his attention. Her joy in her game dimmed when he partnered a blond with an enormous bosom. And when he looked at the ninny hammer, smile wide, Patience wanted to scream. But she had started the game, after all; drat her for her foolishness.
Soon his string of admirers was as long as hers.
Patience took supper with four gentlemen, losing her inspiration to be charming, while Grant dined with several well-endowed, ladies. It was almost as if he chose them for their bosoms. No. It couldn’t be.
At four in the morning, their guests seemed to wilt. They left, one by one, all except Grant, Brian and Shane, who’s lingering aggravated her. Why did they presume the right of family to remain and discuss the event? Why did no one else seem bothered by it? The girls, sleepy, but content with their evening, lounged on settees, dreaming perhaps of the future. The men sipped their brandy. Brian enjoyed a fine cigar. Lord, wasn’t this the homey scene? And why did it seem so right?
Aunt Harriette came in and sat in the chair whose arm was occupied by Brian. Patience raised her brows when Brian took Harriette’s hand in his and they smiled into each other’s eyes, for all the world as if—
“Oh my!” she said, the exclamation startling everyone to attention, so she decided it was as good a time as any to address them. She stood and smoothed her skirts. “I wish to congratulate you, ladies, on a fine evening. You impressed everyone. The gentlemen—and I name them so loosely—who perpetuated the betting at White’s tendered personal apologies and promised, in future, to refrain from such. Lady Caroline Crowley-Smyth has restored her patronage, now that we do not need it, but it is another victory.
“Speaking of victories, the Duke of Graham, from Edinburgh, has asked to call upon Grace.” Grace bowed her head, hiding her smile. The word Duke was repeated with squeals. It seemed their quiet, warm-hearted Grace would likely make the best match. Though he was older by perhaps fifteen years, it was clear the nobleman appreciated the calm, loving woman.
The announcement subdued Rose—though Shane seemed not the least aware of it. Patience wondered why more men were not murdered by women. She speared Grant with her look.
He smiled and raised his brandy snifter.
The girls’ were so animated; Patience could hardly believe they’d gone nearly twenty-four hours without sleep, not to mention their having danced nearly half that time. Still in all, she would like to sit right down and gossip w
ith them. Being the person who must remain in control could be sobering.
Patience clapped her hands to gain their attention; she was fairly jumping out of her skin with the need to get her final announcement over with. “Girls, believe it or not, this is a night for more surprises. From the first day of our journey, I listened to you argue over which of you would marry the illustrious Marquess of Andover. You even questioned whether you would ever meet him.”
All looked up expectantly. If a hairpin fell, they would hear it. “The time has come. Before I make the introductions, however, I would like you to know that I met him tonight, despite your parents’ misconceptions.”
Should she take Grant by the hand and drag him forward, make the announcement and let them tear him to shreds? If only they would. Perhaps no formality was required. Perhaps a quick, ‘The Captain is the Marquess,’ would suffice.
She looked to her sympathetic Aunt, to Brian, who smiled, to Shane, whose nod said he knew she could do it. She’d thank him for that later. She stopped at Grant. The scoundrel’s eyes danced. He enjoyed her discomfort!
While she considered retribution, he stepped forward. “Patience’s shock this evening is entirely my fault, and I publicly beg her pardon.” He bowed before her and took her hand to kiss it then turned to the room at large. “As I beg yours. It was the hand of fate, I have no doubt—a fate I know to have a sense of humor—that led Patience to book passage on my ship. God’s truth, a truth I have long tried to deny, I must tell you now, that I . . . ” He looked from one to the other.
Patience saw the dawning in some eyes.
“I am the Marquess of Andover.” He bowed again. “At your service.”