by Gina Lamm
The butler turned, arching his brow in question.
“My apologies for my abominable attitude earlier. It was rude of me, and you did not deserve it.”
Sharpwicke grinned, revealing his crooked teeth. “Not to worry, my lord! I declare, such an eloquent apology is unnecessary in the extreme. Why, as I was telling Mrs. Templeton earlier, we are indeed lucky to serve such an even tempered and kind gentleman such as you, my lord, as my own sister is employed with a right terror of a man. Such rages he has, she tells me!”
As the butler continued with the tale of his poor sister and her awful employer, Patrick simply stood and nodded. His responses weren’t needed, he knew from long experience. When Sharpwicke got going, there was no stopping him.
After a solid eight minutes, Sharpwicke finally wound down. “But you entered with a great sense of purpose, my lord, and I’ve detained you. Let me not stop you further.” Sharpwicke gave an extra-low bow and walked away holding his head high.
Patrick allowed himself a small smile. Well, that was easy enough. Of course, that was much simpler than the other task that awaited him.
He winced as he pictured prostrating himself to Ella. He’d been worst of all to her after receiving her gift. Well, it must be done, but it needn’t be done until later. Perhaps just before supper he would go up and apologize to her.
With that plan settled, he made his way to his study. He must begin drafting that letter to the baron immediately. No need to waste more time.
But as he silently opened the door to his study, the hinges recently oiled by an efficient Sharpwicke, he found that the object of his thoughts was already ensconced in his personal study. His recent peaceful mind-set burned up in short order.
“Where the crap can it be?” she was whispering to herself, her back to him as she dug through the drawers of his desk. Patrick’s fists tightened as he watched her shapely bottom wave in the air. She was burgling his damned desk.
“If you would tell me what the ‘crap,’ as you call it, is, I should be delighted to help you search.”
“Oh!” She slammed the drawer shut, catching her little finger in the seam. “Ouch! Oooh, that hurt.” Flapping her hand in the air, she scowled at him. “You scared me.”
“And you are nosing about in my personal study,” he countered. “Surely I do not need to knock to enter my own room.”
She had the grace to look chagrined. “Yeah. Right. Of course.”
He entered the room, taking note of the damage she’d wrought. His estate book was in shambles, his desk scattered with papers and correspondence. The note that his estate manager had sent him just two days ago was on top, unfolded as if she’d read it moments ago and forgotten to close it up again.
Drawing a heavy breath through his nose, he opened and closed his fists. He’d not yell or rail at her or take her over his knee as he was longing to do. Apologies, however, were impossible at this juncture.
“You were about to inform me as to the very good reason you had for rifling through my personal papers and correspondence without my permission.”
She bit her lip, glancing aside as if she could not look at him for the moment. It was painfully easy to see that she planned to feed him a passel of lies.
He narrowed his brows. “If you were planning to lie to me as to your motives, pray, do not. I cannot abide liars.”
That, apparently, was the wrong thing to say. Ella’s eyes lit with icy-blue fire and she stormed around the carved corner of the desk to face him.
“Oh really? So you don’t like liars, huh? Well then, why have you been lying to me ever since you met me?”
A cold sweat broke out on his palms, but he kept his face carefully blank. “What do you mean?”
“I mean Amelia. I talked to Mrs. Templeton. She said you think of her like a sister! You aren’t in love with her,” she said, poking her finger into his chest. “I bet you didn’t even really ever intend to marry her! So why have you been lying to me?”
“I have not been lying.” He had. “Mrs. Templeton is mistaken.” She wasn’t. But what could he say now? His temper threatened to boil over, but he clamped down on it, hard.
“Just tell me the truth, Patrick! Why can’t you admit that you haven’t been honest with me about her?” Her eyes shone, and his heart cracked just a bit.
“I cannot say.” He started to turn away, but she reached out and caught his sleeve.
“Why can’t you? Because I’m not part of this world? Because I’m not the kind of person who deserves to know the truth?”
“Because you are so bloody ready to go home!” His yell must have startled her, because she dropped his sleeve and took a step back. “You have not stopped for one moment telling me how wonderful your world is, how superior it is to my own. Well, madam, I have tried my damnedest to help you return there. I have nursed you in my own bed, sent my cousin to find someone to magic your portal open, even lied to you to keep you at arm’s length so my feelings would not cause you pain!”
She kept backing away until she had bumped up against his desk, her eyes wide. “Your…feelings?”
He pressed on, moving closer until mere inches separated them. “Yes, Ella. My feelings. They go much deeper than they should.” Running his hand along her neck, he tangled his fingers in the hair at her nape. Lowering his voice to a whisper, he continued. “If you knew their depth and breadth, you would not continue to taunt me.”
“I’m not taunting you,” she whispered back, staring at his lips.
He took her mouth in a kiss. He pressed her back onto the desk, his tongue delving deep into her mouth, his hips seeking the softness of her. Her arms twined around him, pulling him down onto her, and he groaned in delicious desire.
She was hot, writhing against him, meeting his tongue stroke for stroke, the sweetness of her mouth and the twist of her hips beckoning him onward. He imagined stripping her dress from her body, freeing himself from his trousers, and coming high and hard into her wet and welcoming warmth. He groaned as her hands slipped down his back and then to his hips.
His greedy hands moved across her body to cup her soft breasts. Her turgid nipples poked into his palms, begging for his attention even through the fabric of her dress. He indulged them, softly teasing and tweaking the hard points. Her moan seemed to wrap around him and draw him tighter against her. This sweet heaven was surely more than he deserved. Bending down, he caught the point of her right breast between his lips. Dampening the fabric with his tongue, he suckled her. It was divine, but he wished he were tasting her bare skin. He could only imagine the sweetness of her naked flesh against him. Her leg hitched high on his hip, and he nearly spilled himself at the feel of her hot core against his erection.
“Ella,” he moaned when he could lift his mouth from hers. It wasn’t nearly enough. He wanted to see her, all of her. Jerking her dress up to her waist, he looked down. God, she was beautiful—olive skin smooth and soft to his hungry touch. He splayed a hand on her hip, marveling at the difference between their skin tones. She trembled, clutching at his shoulders for balance. Her skin was hot, almost burning the flesh of his hand. He let his fingers play lower, down to the crook of her knee, then back toward the base of her belly. When his hand ran high on her thigh, she gasped and jerked upright.
“Patrick,” she cried when his finger dipped into the curls at the base of her belly. “Oh my God.”
“Shhh,” he said, relishing the satiny wetness he found between her petals. “Let me love you, Ella.”
She bit her lip but nodded, trust in her eyes. He was so relieved, he could weep. His finger drifted lower, circling the entrance to her body. But before he could press forward, surround his finger with her heat, a sound he had no interest in hearing met his ears.
“Not to worry, Sharpwicke. I won’t detain him long.” Iain’s jaunty tone was just outside the door. “But I do need to speak wi
th him rather urgently.”
“Shit,” Ella said, her eyes widening in alarm as she bolted upright. Patrick jerked her hem down just in time for the door to open.
“I say,” Iain said, looking from a red-faced Ella to a glowering Patrick. “It is good to see you two as well.”
Patrick made a fist. He was going to kill that black-haired Scottish bastard.
Right after he went for a swim in the ice-cold Meadow Pond, that is.
Nineteen
Patrick did not turn and look at Ella, though the noise she made as she scrambled off the desk, wrinkling papers and knocking over books, was truly hard to ignore. He kept his gaze trained on his cousin, who looked more than a little amused.
“Hello, Iain,” Patrick said smoothly as Ella scrambled to pick up the things she’d knocked down. She trod on his boot, but Patrick contained his wince. Instead, he reached down and grabbed her hand, pulling her to her feet.
“But wait,” she said, pulling back. “I dropped—”
“Leave it,” he hissed at her before smiling tightly at his cousin.
Ella glared at him but stood motionless by his side.
“I am sorry to interrupt you, Cousin.”
“It is no interruption,” Patrick said, letting go of Ella’s hand, albeit reluctantly. “Miss Briley was just leaving.”
He looked at her pointedly.
Her mouth opened, then shut. She snorted, then opened her mouth again.
“Leaving,” Patrick said emphatically, with a nod toward the door.
For a moment, he thought she might skewer him with his silver-handled paper knife. She eyed it longingly before glaring at Patrick and then Iain, then leaving the room.
Once the door shut—well, slammed, really—behind her, Patrick sank against the front of his desk.
“So, like that, is it?” Iain smirked as he picked up a book that had flopped open in front of Patrick.
“Like what? Oh, don’t tell me your thoughts. They will only make me angry.”
Iain rounded the desk and sank into the chair, shutting the bottom desk drawer with the toe of his boot. “As you say, Cousin.”
Patrick straightened his waistcoat and turned to his cousin, stiffening his spine and clasping his hands behind his back. “What news do you bring? I presume you’ve learned something, thus the reason for your return.”
Iain’s black hair bobbed as he nodded. “It was not easy, but I found word of a woman. A Mrs. Comstock. She definitely has experience in the Old Ways, but she is nursing an invalid relative all the way in bloody Cornwall. She’s not expected to return for several weeks, if not months.”
A heavy breath escaped Patrick, and he crossed the room to look out the window. The afternoon was still sunny and clear, a beautiful spring day.
Deep in his heart, he was glad for the delay, but he knew it came with a price. The longer Ella remained in his company, the greater his longing for her. And did she feel the same? If they were to fall in love, would she be willing to remain here for the rest of her days? How would she feel about it? And, less important, surely, how would he feel about it?
He did not dare to dream.
“I would have remained and continued searching for someone else to lessen the delay, but something else happened, Patrick. I rode straight here to warn you.”
Patrick turned. “Warn me?”
Iain’s nod was not comforting. “It is Lord Brownstone. He’s gone more than half-mad with worry over Amelia. He cornered me in White’s one evening, grabbing me by the lapels and threatening to knock my head clean off my shoulders if I did not confess as to your whereabouts. He’s convinced that you know where Amelia’s gone.”
Tension tightened Patrick’s shoulders, but he forced himself to remain still. “And what was your reply?”
Chair legs scraped against the floor as Iain stood. “Do you think so little of me that you suspect I would dare give him your location?” He glowered at Patrick.
“No, I know you better than that. You are my only family, Iain,” Patrick said softly. “I love you as a brother, and I believe you would never betray me, thickheaded and selfish as you are.”
A snort escaped Iain. “Thank you for the pretty compliment.”
“So what am I to do now?” Patrick knew better than to think that his cousin would have an easy answer, but he asked it anyway.
“We must find Amelia,” Iain said with a shrug of his broad shoulders. “The only way to ease the baron’s bloodlust is to present him with his daughter, hale and whole and preferably unruined.”
With a glance at the door Ella had disappeared through, Patrick shook his head.
“I cannot leave Ella.”
“And that is another matter.” Iain rounded the desk and stood toe to toe with Patrick. Their heights were evenly matched, so Iain’s dark brown eyes looked straight into Patrick’s. “What are your intentions toward Miss Briley?”
“Intentions?” Patrick nearly laughed the word. “I do not know what you—”
“You are the one who told me that she was a proper young lady, one not to be trifled with.” Iain’s expression was black as his soul. “But if the pair of you are as intimate as what I just witnessed, you’ll be the one ruining her, not me.”
His blood boiling, Patrick leaned closer to his cousin. “I would never sully her reputation. Not Ella. She is all that is goodness and kindness, and I—”
“Then you must leave her,” Iain said, not backing down the slightest bit. “If this Mrs. Comstock is unable to send her home, Ella will remain here for the rest of her days, and then of course she will wish to wed. No man of stature will have her if it’s known that she has lived here with you, unchaperoned. Would you wish for the rumors of your descent into debauchery to become truth? Will you soil her and then abandon her?” Iain’s tone softened. “Or would you wed her and be done with it?”
The anger drained out of Patrick, leaving shock in its wake. “Wed…Ella?”
If she were to remain here forever, then he could wed her. He already wanted her, had begun to care for her more than was wise. But could he love her? Pledge himself to her, and ask for her loyalty and love in return?
He did not know. He could not know.
“I must think on this,” Patrick said, more to himself than to Iain. He turned his back on his cousin and looked out the window once again. “I must think.”
“Then while you think, for God’s sake, have a care for her reputation. Come with me and search for Amelia. We’ll find an old woman to hire as a chaperone for Ella, and then you can make your decision after observing the proprieties.”
Patrick wanted to say no to Iain’s very reasonable suggestion. But the more he thought on it, the more sensible it seemed.
With great regret, he turned to his cousin.
“Very well. We leave at first morning’s light to search for Amelia in earnest.”
The last thing he wanted was to be separated from Ella. But, for her sake, he must.
It was the honorable thing to do.
But the memory of her body pressed against his would not leave him. Perhaps he needed a dip in the pond after all.
* * *
Ella glanced over her shoulder. Meadowfair Manor rose up behind her, the windows glinting in the sun. The grass whispered beneath her boots as she wandered away from the house. She needed space, time to think. She’d made several rounds of the kitchen garden, but then Cook had come out to pull some fresh herbs, and she booked it out of there.
Her body was still throbbing, left in confusion after Patrick had gotten her all revved up with no place to go.
Her cheeks heated at the memory. They’d never done anything like that before, and she couldn’t help but wish things had been able to go a little farther. His fingers were strong but gentle. And he’d kissed her nipple. The fabric was almost dry now, but
she’d nearly died of embarrassment when she realized that Iain must have seen the unmistakable wet patch on her gown.
Maybe she should have done something different. But what? She kicked a small stone, wishing it were her own confusion. Lifting her chin, she marched forward.
She hadn’t done anything to lead him on. And if his body’s response was any indication, he’d enjoyed that just as much as she had. They’d been arguing, for heaven’s sake. And then the frustration had turned into something much more delicious.
Ella slumped against the trunk of a large tree, staring up into the sun-dappled foliage. Meadowfair’s grounds were really beautiful. It was a shame she couldn’t really enjoy them right now.
A soft whinny in the distance made her stand. Wait a minute, was that Kipper? Patrick did say he was going to bring them here. Maybe a little visit with the horse would calm her down.
Her step a little lighter, Ella hummed as she wandered in the direction of the sound. It was even prettier over here, out of sight of the house. Sunlight glinted off something shiny in the distance, and Ella shielded her eyes and squinted. Was that a pond?
She quickened her step, a little excited now. How cool would it be to curl up next to a secluded little pond with a book for the afternoon, instead of being cooped up in Patrick’s room? This was a great find.
Another whinny sounded, and Ella finally located the source. It wasn’t a pasture or a small stable as she’d figured. The horse—not Kipper, but that big one Patrick had been riding when he’d taken her from the street in London—was tied to a low-hanging willow branch.
“What are you doing here, big guy?” Ella’s softly voiced question was answered with a snort from the stallion. She cautiously petted the horse’s cheek and looked around. “All by yourself?”
A small splashing sound made her turn toward the pond, and she gasped.
Patrick had surfaced in the center of the pond, white shirt plastered to his body. His dark blond hair looked almost black with the wetness. Droplets sprayed around him as he shook his head, then wiped his eyes.
