CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“Who in bloody hell did she elope with?” Grant shouted, staring at the seditious note. “I wasn’t aware Angel had formed an attachment.”
Pale and trembling, Patience sat on Angel’s bed.
Grant knelt before her. “What does she say?”
“That she loves Dickon and will marry him, title or no.”
Sophie frowned. “Dickon? Dickon Remington, the shipbuilder? I didn’t know he was in London.”
Grant bit back an expletive, remorse filling him. “He did come to London. You said you saw a male passenger, remember, Patience? The day we left Rhode Island?” He shook his head. “I said you were wrong, because the man wasn’t a passenger; he was a sailor.”
Patience gasped. “Dickie, the sailor? The man she cavorted with before our eyes?”
Sophie took Angel’s note and read it again. “Angel met him in secret at home, too.” Her lips trembled. “I never met him, but at least she used to tell me about him back then.”
“I have to go after her,” Patience whispered.
Grant shook his head. “No, I’ll go.”
Patience stood, her bearing erect, eyes so narrow, he could almost feel the sting of emerald darts. “Angel is my responsibility,” she said, chin raised. “Sophie, go and ask Brian if he can spare his carriage—”
“I’ll go,” Grant repeated, glad Patience’s color was returning apace with her determination. “They’ve likely gone to Gretna Green.” He tapped her nose to soften his words. “I order you to stay.”
Her cheeks positively bloomed then, along with the glint in her eyes. Bloody hell. Of course, she wouldn’t let a little thing like near-death stop her. He’d forgotten her penchant for opposing his orders, anyone’s orders. Grant cupped his nape. Now he remembered what Harriette said about goading Patience to action. Tell her she couldn’t.
“Damnation,” he muttered. Perhaps if he’d said she must? No, she worried about Angel and all her girls. She would chase half-way ‘cross country for them, even if it jeopardized her health.
And damned if he didn’t respect her for it. “Blast it, Patience!”
Sophie looked from one to the other. “Patience wins. I’ll order the carriage.”
In a token show of displeasure, Grant cleared his throat. “I’d make better time on horseback. Alone.”
“And if she gets abandoned, how will you bring her home? Over the back of your horse?”
“I know Dickie Remington, Patience, he’s not going to dump her by the road after following her half way ‘round the world,” Grant said.
Patience shrugged. “Nothing you say will change my mind.”
“They have two hours on us, no more,” Grant said, giving up the fight. “Angel was at the church. Meet me downstairs. I’ll get cook to pack a basket. If we don’t stop for food, we’ll make better time.”
Before long, his father’s carriage sped along at a neat clip, until the rains came and it got bogged down in muddy tracks.
Grant swore beneath his breath while the outriders rocked the carriage free, every motion like a ticking clock with time running out.
Patience slept on. He settled her in comfort, while across his arm, her flaming hair seduced him now in the way it had done while the wind whipped it into her face on the dock.He twirled a stubborn curl between his fingers, the silk anointing his calluses, and closed his eyes.
As ever with Patience, caution made him want to run, and need made him want to stay. He’d thought she was a child and admired the woman she would become.He was an idiot.
The carriage jolted forward, once again, and when Angel was back, safe in Patience’s care, he’d best return to sea, or be lost.
He must not forget that in the name of matrimony, women robbed a man to the bone—baubles, money, home and hearth, then, eventually, inevitably, they took a man’s pride and self-respect. Grant had seen it played over and over in Society. He’d watched his mother emasculate his father.
He must not believe Patience different. He fingered the buttons on her bodice, trying to picture her as a black widow, spinning her web, with him as her intended victim.
“You’re trying to ravish me while I sleep, aren’t you?” she asked. “I like it.”
Grant stared into eyes more potent than poppies. “You never give voice to the expected.” Yet, was not an eagerness for ravishment a lure in itself?
“Oh, Grant. Do you think Angel is all right?”
“Dickie’s a good man. Angel will be fine.”
“I’m a terrible chaperone; Rose is in the family way, and—”
“Married to the man she loves.”
“Now Angel has run off, God knows where.”
“Dickie followed her to England while her mother was her chaperone, before you arrived at the ship.”
Patience shrugged. “But Dickie. It was always Dickie. I should have known.”
“Sophie is her best friend, and she didn’t know.” Grant opened the willow basket on the carriage floor. “You need to eat something. How does soft bread and marrow pudding sound?”
Patience swallowed a small bit.
Grant shook his head. “I don’t know why my throat isn’t as raw as yours.”
“I called to you and swallowed smoke.” She touched her throat.
“I’m so sorry,” Grant whispered against her hair. “It’s my fault.”
Papa was always sorry after his drinking tormented Mama. He begged forgiveness in the same manner.Mama always forgave.And so too would her daughter?
No, Patience thought. She needed the strength not to follow in her mother’s footsteps.
After two in the morning, the Gretna Turnpike brought them to the river, Sark, near the Scottish border. Patience gazed out as they rolled into Gretna. It consisted of nothing more than a cluster of white-washed cottages, a church, a farm and two inns.
A gin-soaked bench-dweller said that it was not to the church Angel and Dickon would have gone, but to The Queen’s Head or Marriage House.
As they entered, Patience’s strength seemed to drain away. A barrel-chested innkeeper, wearing an apron awash with ale and porter, led them to a private parlor. “The Remington’s have come and gone,” said he to their inquiry. “Remington’s wife said summat of hurrying home for patience.” He shook his head. “Imagin’ not ‘avin the patience for the beddin’” He tipped a non-existent hat to her. “Sorry, Mum.”
“Remington’s wife,” Patience said on a wail. “They’re already married?”
“Right they are, Mum. For good and all.”
Grant dispatched the innkeeper with an order for brandy.
“Aunt Harriette will be beside herself, and the girls were so upset. Grant, what have I done?”
“Your girls have to make their own mistakes. Did you understand what the innkeeper said? Angel rushed home for fear you’d be worried.”
“I’ve been worried since she left.”
Grant smiled. “I think she knew that.”
“We need to go right back, to be certain she’s all right.”
“No. Warm food and a bed is what you need.”
Patience made a weak protest, but Grant placed a finger to her lips before she finished. “I won’t be swayed. We’ll stay the night and return tomorrow. You’re exhausted.”
She was willing to admit, at least to herself, that she was.
In response to her silence, Grant made arrangements with the innkeeper, bespoke a bath, ushered Patience upstairs, and left her.
Not more than a half-hour later, he returned with a tray.
Patience was still in her bath, eyes closed. Steam rose around her face, wilting the auburn coil atop her head, her skin pale in contrast to the curls framing it. He placed the tray on the table knelt, and brushed the hair from her eyes. Her lashes fluttered. “I feel better.”
“Sure you do.” Grant took a dry towel and offered his hand. “Come on. Food’s hot.”
She rose, using the towel as her curtain, and let him help
with her nightrail, to a point. Mashed parsnips in mutton broth slipped easy down her throat. Then he put her to bed.“You’ll sleep six full hours and not a moment less. If you don’t, we’ll leave later in the morning.”
She gave him a disgusted look.“Where’s your room?”
“This is the only one available. I’ll sleep in the chair.”
“I’ve been thinking.”
Lord no. Not that. “We’re not leaving until you sleep,” he said.
“I know, but since I’ll never marry, I’ll never know what it’s like to experience what you said. You know.”
He knew. His body surely did. It snapped to attention the moment she mentioned it.
Patience rolled to her side, head in her hand. “I don’t want to spend my life not knowing.”
She scared him speechless. He put distance between them and got comfortable in the chair.
“This is the perfect opportunity for my education, Grant, tonight, here with you.”
“Damn and blast, Patience. They should have named you Eve. Go to sleep.”
“It should be you who teaches me, because we’re friends.”
Tell my body we’re only friends.
Grant wished he were dressed so he could run out into the night. And if he did, he would be screaming, because he would be insane if he ran now.
She came to kneel before him. “Please, Grant?”
Her throaty whisper made her all the more alluring. A man would have to be made of marble to withstand something like this. He closed his eyes. Perhaps if he ignored her.
She pulled his blanket away, ran her hands up his legs, and unbuttoned the placket on his trousers. When she stopped, Grant released his breath.
And Patience released him. She gasped. “That’s no little thing!”
He opened his eyes.
She was staring at his erection, eyes wider than saucers.
“It isn’t when you’re around.” He couldn’t even put it away at this point.
“But Grant, its huge.”
“I explained that, Patience. I told you it gets hard so—”
“Hard, yes, but it’s so long it practically reaches across the room. How much longer is it going to get?”
If her eyes got any wider . . .“Patience.” He laughed. “Stop being so—”
“Look! It’s getting smaller.”
He tried to cover himself. “Because your foolish chatter distracted me from your foolish suggestion.”
“How does it feel when it changes size? Is it uncomfortable?”
He turned away from her and pulled the blanket over his shoulder. This was going to be a damned long night. “Get back into bed, Patience, and go to sleep.”
She pulled the blanket off him and put her hand on his thighs to turn him toward her. “No, now this is interesting, I want to see how it works.” She made quick work of removing his trousers.
God, he loved her. But he shouldn’t. Couldn’t. He could not afford to let himself.
Patience sensed his weakening resolve. With a finger, she stroked the hard-muscled length of his leg to his thigh, then along his rigid shaft.
He shuddered, ecstasy and panic assaulting him in turn. “You’d better stop, Patience.”
She ignored his warning, for she couldn’t have stopped if she wanted to. In a daring move, she palmed his throbbing shaft, then, when she closed her fingers around it, it seemed to fill her hand. “It feels alive,” she whispered, watching it.
“Sweetheart . . . ” Grant’s voice was hoarse. He shuddered again, and then he raised his hips almost involuntarily. In a move of surrender, he put his hand over hers, as if to guide her. When she understood the unspoken instruction and did as he bid, he closed his eyes, the look on his face an agony. “Do you feel what I felt when you touched me that night on the settee?” she asked, the experience of him under her hand, the look on his face, causing turbulence in her own body.
“Yes.” He didn’t open his eyes.
“But for me it was the first time.”
He stopped her movement and tried to catch his breath. “I have never been turned inside out like this before,” he whispered. “No, don’t move. I don’t want to lose control.”
Patience stood and extended her hand. “Come, Grant. I want to lie with you. Just this once. You’ll never have to again.”
Have to? He’d die if he didn’t. And the thought of never again scared him to death. He followed her to the bed, watching as she removed the gown. When she held her arms open to him, Grant thought the pounding in his head, heart, and nether regions, nearly unbearable.
He groaned and gave up the fight.
He got in beside her, kissed her hungrily, and rode a sweet, high wave with each seductive movement of her body. He skimmed his hands up her legs to her waist, the sides of her breasts. Facing her, his body against hers, skin to skin, heaven.
“Grant, I never imagined . . . ” She slid her body along his, as if testing the experience.
He took her mouth again and again. He suckled her and teased her with his need against her apex, until she rose seeking him, moist and ready for his entrance. He didn’t want to rush her, to hurt her, but he was nearly past control.
Those mewling sounds low in her throat, and her gravelly voice urging him on, were driving him mad. God help him, he was on the verge of completion and he hadn’t entered her yet.
Patience whimpered. “Please now, Grant. I don’t think I can wait any longer.”
He poised himself above her. “It’ll hurt at first. Then it’ll be so good, so very good.” As he teased her entrance with his hand, moonlight flooded the room, and he saw, reflected in her eyes, passion and more.
An army battering the door could not have stopped him at that moment, but the message in Patience’s eyes did. Her look was open and trusting, and he didn’t deserve it.
He loved her too much to ruin her. Too much to give her false hope. And there could never be marriage. Never.
With an oath, Grant jumped from the bed, stubbed his toe, and swore profusely as he limped across the room. As far across as he could get.
Shocked, disappointed, relieved, and on the verge of tears, Patience watched his agonized movements, his uneasy gait as he paced. His manhood in profile stood enormous and proud.
Why had he stopped? “What happened, Grant?”
“You deserve better.”
She guessed she should be pleased. Except she felt like crying. She had ached so for his touch; she still did. By the looks of him, he ached as well.
That he’d relieved her need that night on the settee just by touching her made her wonder if . . .Patience rose and went to him. They stared at one another, the tension between them so thick it was a wonder something didn’t snap. She wasn’t certain if she could ease him the same way he had her, but he’d said something about losing control a while ago. She touched his throbbing shaft to test her theory.
He jumped as if he’d been struck. “Don’t,” he said through clenched teeth.
She walked up behind him, put her hands on the taut muscles of his arms and kneaded them all the way to his rigid, set shoulders. “Just let me touch you, Grant. Let me bring you pleasure with my touch, like you did for me that night.”
He turned to look at her in surprise. She teased him again with her fingers and he closed his eyes, releasing a long, slow breath. A yes.
She took his hand, led him to the bed, and lay down to receive him. Once again, he lay beside her, kissing her, touching her. He guided her hands to himself as he suckled her, whispered encouragement as he brought her pleasure, called her name as she stroked him.
She loved him so much. Surely they soared nearly as high as they would were they united in body. No other moment had been as splendid as this. They traded movements, blended rhythm, beginning slowly, moving faster, higher. Waves crashed, receded, flowed again. They rose the crests together to the very peak, and then glided against the shore to rest.
Hands stilled but
did not move away. Bodies shifted to be as close as any two could be. They shared slow, lazy kisses until, they succumbed to sleep.
When Patience woke alone, it was gone on noon.
In the pitcher, she discovered hot water, in the bowl, a cake of scented soap. Grateful for the privacy, for her face burned hot as her memories, Patience washed quickly, dressed and went downstairs. She couldn’t quite look into Grant’s eyes when they met. He indicated her breakfast before he went to order the carriage. She ate quickly then followed him outside. No good morning had been said before they were on their way.
They rode for a long time each looking out opposite windows.
“Patience, about last night.”
She cursed her fair skin for revealing her discomfort, looked down and played with the gloves in her lap.
Grant cleared his throat. “There is something special between us. You said so yourself on the ship the night before we arrived. Unlike you, I think it’s more than friendship.”
She looked up at him.
“I think we could come to a comfortable . . .understanding, one that would be equitable to us both.”
A buzzing filled her head. “Understanding?”
“Well, yes. Since neither of us wishes to marry.”
“You’re right, of course, there is nothing equitable about marriage, but I don’t understand.”
Grant crossed one leg over the other, examined the toe of his boot. “You want a house in the country. I have several. Pick the one you wish. It will be my gift to you. Live there with your kitten and rose garden. When I’m in England, I will come and . . .stay with you. I will also give you a yearly allowance. Say, five thousand pounds.” He finally looked at her. “If that isn’t sufficient, we can—”
“Stay with me?” Something horrible was happening in the region of her heart.
Grant shifted uncomfortably. “Sleep with you.”
It took a minute for Patience to believe she heard what she thought she did. “You are a black-hearted devil. You offensive, presumptuous, fool. You’re asking me to be your lightskirt. Your mistress!”
“It’s the perfect—”
“You miserable . . .I could push you out the door and watch you roll down the hill, to land, hopefully, beneath the wheels of a passing carriage.”
“Patience, be reasonable. Last night you wanted me. We wanted each other.”
“I wanted you for my lover. I would never be your mistress. There’s a difference.”
“There certainly is. A house and five thousand pounds a year.”
“Last night you refused to take my maidenhead even once, now you want to do that every night?”
“That’s impossible. You only have one.”
His merriment infuriated her. “Don’t you dare laugh at me, you scoundrel. If you ever touch me again, I’ll, I’ll tell my aunt what we did last night.” As if she would.
She’d like to kick him where Sophie said she should.
Stopping only for quick bites, personal needs, and team changes, they drove all day and into the night. Hardly a word passed between them.
When they arrived at Brian’s, everyone was waiting. Patience, in no mood to be nice, ignored civilities and regarded Angel. “Still wearing traveling clothes, I see. Good. That must mean you didn’t stop for the night. Now we can have the marriage annulled. Just as well.” She turned to Dickon. “You may go.”
To her consternation, the man laughed. “The marriage will stand.” He leaned close to Patience’s ear. “Angel expects a babe in seven months time.”
Feeling suddenly light-headed, Patience slipped into the nearest chair. It’s a bloody disease.
Angel knelt before her, so beautiful, so filled with remorse, but so obviously in love. “Patience, please forgive me. Dickon and I have loved each other for so long. I don’t care if Mama’s angry, and Dickie will pay you the bonus she promised.”
Patience’s anger melted. She hugged Angel. “I don’t care about the money, Angel. I care about you.”
All their silent tension snapped.
The marriage, approved by Patience, was celebrated with happy chatter. In the midst of it, Patience watched Grant nod a good-bye to Aunt Harriette and his father and leave the room.
She retired shortly after.
Aunt Harriette came to see her. “How far did you travel, looking for them?”
“Scotland.”
“Oh, my. I thought they’d be in a nearby town seeking a chapel. I’ve been beside myself. I never expected the trip to take so long. I don’t suppose you stayed with friends of Grant’s overnight?”
The question came with such a look of hope, Patience smiled. “We stayed at an inn in Gretna Green, the Queen’s Head.”
“Gretna Green. Oh my.” Her aunt sat and pulled at her handkerchief. “Lady Caroline Crowley-Smyth has called asking for you. She saw you and Grant leave Wednesday.”
Patience sighed. Lady Caroline Crowley-Smyth, just what she needed.