“You’re pensive. Troubled?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“If you’d like to talk about it, I’d be glad to listen.”
Was he having sport with her again? She eyed him. There was no silly grin. No gleam in his eye. Perhaps he did intend to give her his undivided attention. He wasn’t someone in whom she would normally confide. A part of her wanted to, needed to discuss her inner turmoil of late. But… Walter?
No. She couldn’t. At least not yet. Perhaps if he proved himself to be trustworthy, she might reconsider. She hated not to have someone in which to tell her feelings to. Maybe soon, she could do so with Walter.
But not now.
“I think I’m just tired of late. The panorama and Lydia’s moodiness. It’s wearing on me some.”
He frowned. “Is that all?”
She nodded.
“If you insist.”
“I do.”
He laughed. “I see much of your sisters in you.”
She grimaced. “Which parts?”
“Let’s see.” He tapped his chin. “You have Kitty’s spunk.”
“I do?”
“Oh yes.”
She waited for him to elaborate but nothing was forthcoming. Finally she asked, “And Lydia? Have I anything of her?”
He pursed his lips as he studied her. “Lately there has been…”
“What? Just say it.” She thumped his arm lightly with her fist.
He pointed down. “That, I’d say is a good example. Whereas you used to be the peacemaker around here, wanting everyone to be happy and content, now, you’re… uh... exhibit some… er…”
She huffed out a breath. “I am not as bossy as Lydia.”
He raised his eyebrow.
“I’m not.” Andrew whimpered as her last word came out too loud. She kissed the baby’s head. “Sorry, little one.”
Walter patted the baby’s back. “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”
“It’s fine.” She sighed. “I shouldn’t have hit you.”
“You’d call that a hit? I assure you I’m much tougher than that.” His arm muscles flexed beneath his coat.
The image of her, pummeling Walter into a tearful heap made her laugh. He appeared to be strong and stood several inches tall than she. As if she could ever beat him in fisticuffs.
“What is so amusing?”
“N-nothing.” Perhaps she could pick him up, toss him across the garden. Or wrestle him to the ground, making him bawl in tearful submission. She laughed louder.
“Are you ill?” He pressed his hand to her forehead. “Do I need to alert the physician who’s upstairs?”
She shook her head, trying to catch her breath. “No…” She did, however, try to rein in her mirth. She needed to get herself under control, as she had no wish to jostle the baby too much.
“I’m starting to worry about you.”
Patience let out a final breath, more like a chuckle. “I’m fine. Just… needed to let out some frustration.”
“If you’re sure.”
“Quite.”
“Then if it’s acceptable to you, I think I’ll take a stroll through the garden.” He turned with left, walking a slow path along the flowers.
She blinked. And then fumed. How rude. He hadn’t even asked her to accompany him. And he thought himself to be mature?
Did I want him to ask me?
She didn’t know. Part of her wanted to spend time with him. Get to know him better. Then he did something like this again and she wondered why she’d even desire to engage conversation with him at all.
Why was life so confusing?
Chapter Ten
When Patience had asked him for his assistance that morning, he’d been overjoyed. Finally, something he could help with. The fact that she’d requested it of him was doubly good.
She handed him her bag. “I’ll carry the paper on top of the book, but I’ll need the paints once we reach that clearing over there. You don’t mind do you?”
“Certainly not. I’m happy to oblige.”
The look she gave him could have been mistrust or gratitude. He chose to believe it was the latter. Why make his job of winning her affections more difficult by possessing a negative attitude?
He followed her around the falconry, up a small hill and toward the same grove of trees Walter had walked through before. Once beneath the shade of the tall oaks, Patience pointed to her bag. “If you would, there’s a thin blanket inside. Could you spread it out right along here?”
The images crossing Walter’s mind included the two of them lying together on the blanket, her in his arms, him pressing kissing to her—
“Walter?”
He blinked. “Of course. Pardon.”
She shook her head and waited. Did she think him daft?
When I’m in her presence, half the time I think I am.
He found the brown blanket, gave it a flip with his hands to unfold it. He nodded to the ground. “Right here?”
“That should do.”
Once she was settled on the blanket, book and paper on her lap, she got out some dark green paint.
Was Walter invited do sit beside her, or should he simply stand and watch her? He had no wish to upset her. Wanted instead to gain her trust. No, he must wait until invited.
“I’m shocked.”
Walter looked down. Patience was staring at him. “Why is that?”
“You didn’t immediately sit down next to me.”
“I was waiting to be asked.”
She sputtered a laugh. “Since when?”
He shrugged. “You’ve work to do. I didn’t want to interfere.”
Patience blinked. “Extraordinary.”
“What is?”
“I believe you.”
With a smile, he nodded. “See? Perhaps I’m more than a rake after all.”
“Perhaps.” She patted the blanket. “Have a seat.”
He stared at the fabric, longing to do just that but also not wishing to rush her with his actions.
Patience huffed out a breath. “I’m asking you. Please sit.”
He did so, careful not to edge too near or jostle her work.
An impish grin appeared on her perfectly adorable face. “Besides, this way, you can hand me whatever paint I might need next. Sort of like a servant might.”
“Is that so?” He laughed. “In that case, my dear Patience, command away.”
Her giggle, soft and light, not only warmed his heart, but stirred something much deeper. Something primal. Feral. The impulse, no, the need to grab her, smother her with kisses was nearly overwhelming.
Wait. Take things slowly. Patience is worth the wait and any effort you must put forth to win her.
He watched in fascination as she smoothed and dabbed dark green paint around the tops of the page. Depending on how much pressure she seemed to apply, the paint would go on think or thick. How did one person possess so much talent?
She set that color aside. “Could you hand me that brown-handled brush?”
He reached into the bag. “This one?”
“Yes. And… let’s see, that bottle half way down inside the bag. A light brown.”
“Surely.” He gave her the requested items.
She took the second brush and, with a quick, light hand, dabbed the light brown at intervals around the top of the page, but not touching the green. “I need to let the green dry before I add anything directly to it.”
He nodded, afraid to speak. Not wanting to break the spell she had over him. He could sit and watch her draw and paint for hours and never tire. Was it her talent he’d admired? Or because it was her. Did it matter? Her talent was part of what made her so special. So amazing. To try to sift through her personality to separate one part of another would be futile.
A song bird of some sort called above them from a tree branch. Another answered from a few yards ahead on the path. But Walter didn’t even try to view them. He couldn’t tea
r his eyes away from Patience. Her sweet expression. Blue eyes that took on such intensity when she was lost in one of her paintings. The way a wayward lock of her blonde hair kept falling across her cheek when she tilted her head a certain way.
Even her hands, slender and delicate, captivated him as they held a pencil or paintbrush. Or smoothed her hair from her eyes.
He tightened one hand into a fist at his side. Everything in him longed to touch her. To sit so close in the shady copse, alone, with no prying eyes to see them was pure agony. Because as much as he wanted to touch her, caress her, kiss her on every square in of her person, he couldn’t.
She wasn’t ready. Would she ever be?
If he had his say, then yes. He’d make sure she saw his true persona. Not just the one he’d projected since she’d known him. She wasn’t the sort of girl to be attracted to a rake, of that he was sure. He’d kissed enough girls to know what type would and wouldn’t welcome affection.
But… though she’d always been sweet and seemingly innocent in the past, lately there was something different about her. At times, the gleam in her eyes made him think she was searching for… what? A change? Excitement?
Dare I hope… adventure?
Perhaps she was chaffing at the way her sisters treated her as the youngest the same way Walter did with his brother and cousin. Always told the way of things, how to act, what to do or not do. Ever since Walter had returned from school, that had been his treatment. Did Patience feel the same way? He’d witnessed her sisters bossing her around, practically interrogating her. Lately, however, instead of sitting demurely, a pleasant smile on her lips, her hands folded neatly in her lap, she’d shown something quite different.
A lifted chin. A stiffened spine. Words returned, questioning her sisters’ demands and expectations.
It made Walter extremely proud of her. Perhaps he and Patience were kindred souls in even more ways than he’d hoped. The physical attraction was there, no doubt. Added to that was admiration for her talent and intellect. But when she showed some backbone, an internal fire, the combination promised to push him toward combustion.
“—would you?”
Knocked from his trance of watching her, Walter jerked. “Pardon?”
Patience raised her eyebrow. “I asked if you would please hand me the smallest brush in the bag.” She grimaced. “Is something the matter?” She touched her cheek. “Have I dirt on my skin?”
“No, not dirt. Now, you’d however, have a splotch of brown paint.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh dear. I try to be so careful when I’m working away from home, not to make a mess. Could you possibly…”
Anything. “Yes? What can I do for you?”
She tilted her head toward the bag again. “There a cloth in there that I keep for instances such as this.”
He nodded and felt around in the bottom of the sack, his fingers finding the slightly damp material. He pulled it out. But when Patience reached for it, he shook his head.
“You’re not going to give it to me? But I need to—”
“Shhh.” He placed one finger over his lips, wishing he could keep it there, could touch her skin forever. With regret, he lowered his hand, instead raising the cloth to her cheek. “Close your eyes.”
“But why should I—”
He sighed. “Will you please just trust me?”
She blinked, her lashes dusting her cheek lightly, slowly, before she obeyed his request.
With her eyes shut, he took his time to study her as he couldn’t when she was aware, when she watched his every move. Gently, he rubbed the paint away. Once it was gone, however, he kept dabbing at her skin, not wanting to end the moment, the precious contact, the connection he felt.
“Is it gone? The paint?” She let out a sigh, her warm breath sweeping a slow path across his face.
“Yes.” With much reluctance, Walter set the cloth down on the edge of the blanket.
She opened her eyes. “Thank you.”
He grinned. “I am your servant, remember.”
She smiled. “So you are. And don’t you dare forget it.”
He placed his hand over his heart. “It will be my wish from this day forward to do your bidding, dear Patience.”
She laughed, but just as quickly sobered. Was she not sure if he meant his words?
Oh I mean them. Every syllable.
Now if only she’d give him the chance to prove it.
Chapter Eleven
Patience set up to start painting. Hopefully she had all the colors she’d need. Invariably when she was on site somewhere for a commission, she left at home something she later wished she’d brought.
Walter was already over by the pigeon. The crazy man was waving his arms at Patience. What did he want? Was she never to be left alone to do her work? Mr. Wycliff surely wouldn’t be pleased if she dragged her feet in getting it done for him. Huffing out a breath, she left her drawing table and went to Walter.
“Why are you flailing your arms about? You look deranged.”
“See what I’ve discovered.”
She rolled her eyes. “What now?”
He took her hand and pulled her closer to the pigeon’s perch.
“Yes, I’ve already made his acquaintance. You’re the one who told me not to add him to the panorama. Or have you already forgotten that? Perhaps you are deranged.”
“Patience, humor me.”
She stepped closer to the bird, who was standing near the edge of his perch, looking like he’d fly away any second. She’d rather not have the bird fly right over her head during his departure, but could see Walter wasn’t going to leave her alone. “Fine, what is it?” She leaned forward.
Walter had his hand close to the bird’s feet.
“Watch where you put your hand, Walter. I imagine he does more than sleep and eat in there.”
Walter scowled. Though even his scowl was handsome. “There’s another note.”
“There is?” She waited as Walter slowly, gently, untied the note from the bird’s leg. Though she should be working, another note was too intriguing to ignore. “Hurry, before someone sees you.” She peeked over her shoulder, saw no one as yet, and huddled closer to Walter as he opened the foolscap.
He flattened the tiny paper against his palm.
I’m in dire straits! Please come quickly!
Patience shook her head. “Whoever is sending these notes sounds desperate. But what can we do? It isn’t signed. And the notes surely aren’t for us as we’re only visitors. Maybe we should show them to—”
“No.” He grabbed her hand.
“Why not?”
“I…” He looked her directly in the eyes.
Her stomach did a little flip. She’d stood next to him many times, but for some reason, this time there seemed to be something between them. Some current, a jolt of electricity that arced from him to her. “Yes?”
“It’s a mystery, don’t you think? I thought perhaps you and I could solve it. Together.”
At first she shook her head. What would Kitty and Lydia say if Patience used her time for fun and adventure instead of working? Suddenly, she cared not. That part of her, the part than longed to run free, escape her overbearing sisters, have some fun took over. She was away from home at the moment. Why not do something out of the ordinary for once? A slow smile crept across her lips. “Yes. Let’s do that.”
Walter laughed. “Outstanding.”
“Where do we begin?”
“I was thinking about that. What if we penned a note in return?”
“We have no way of knowing who will see it.”
“That’s the fun, isn’t it? Part of the mystery. Wouldn’t it be intriguing if whoever it is kept up a correspondence with us?”
“It really would. But…”
“What?”
“The notes sound so upsetting. The person might be in peril, or danger.”
“Then maybe you and I can be the ones to help.”
“What’s going on
here?”
Patience whirled around to find Mr. Wycliff staring at them. From the corner of her eye, she saw Walter ball the tiny piece of paper up in his hand. “We were, um…”
Walter stepped forward. “Miss Sullyard was wondering if perhaps you’d like the pigeon included in your panorama.”
Patience let out a breath. Good thinking, Walter.
Mr. Wycliff frowned. “I think not. He’s just something I feed. A stray.” He flipped his hand. “No. Leave the pigeon be and kindly resume your work, Miss Sullyard.”
She swallowed hard and nodded. “Of course. Right away.” Hurrying past the men, Patience went to the table and sat down. How embarrassing. What if Mr. Wycliff became enraged and decided to end their working agreement? Her sisters would never let her hear the end of it. Blast that Walter for getting her into trouble.
She opened her container of dark brown and began painting the outline of the falconry itself. She’d concentrate mostly on the structure today. The perches, roof, side enclosure. And start on the hill behind it. She’d need a little brown and some dark green for the grass. As she stroked the brown on the paper with her brush, her thoughts swirled around. She couldn’t stop thinking about that note. Who’d sent it? What kind of trouble were they in?
Excitement built in her chest again. Now that Walter had suggested penning a return message, she could think of nothing else. What should they say? Should they offer to help the poor writer of the notes? Suggest they should meet the person?
Walter pulled out a chair across from her and sat down. Funny that she’d not noticed until now a second place to sit had been added. She’d been amused that Walter had not place to rest the day prior, but that had been childish on her part. He was accompanying her, after all. Even though she’d been vexed about it at first, now the notion of delving into a mystery made up for that.
He tapped her paper. “Could I have a small piece of that?”
She slapped her hand over the end. “Certainly not.”
“But I thought you wanted to send—”
She lowered her voice. “I do. But let me give you a piece I’m not using.”
He winked. “Ah, right. It might not be wise to tear off slivers of the panorama for your commission.”
Color of Danger (Sullyard Sisters Book 3) Page 7
