by Regina Scott
Patience shook her head. “Beau Villers. It must have been. I told you he was poking his nose where he shouldn’t. I thought he was after Gussie’s work, but it’s clear your work is more important. We must stop him before he causes any damage.”
She must have moved, for Harry caught her hands as if to keep her in place. “I suspect him as well, but you cannot accost him without proof.”
She snapped a nod in agreement. “Then let’s find proof.”
Harry peered closer. “Fearless, are you? Good. Dealing with this mess will take a level of courage. But it’s dangerous, Patience. I would not see you harmed.”
She would not allow him to shield her. If he could work for England, so could she.
How extraordinary. All this time she had wished she could be as bold and brave as Jane. It seemed she’d merely needed a patriotic reason. Or perhaps the urging of her heart.
“I won’t be harmed,” she told him, “not if we continue playing our parts. I think I should be miffed at you.”
Harry released her. “But I explained…”
“No, no, not at you.” She could not stand still, not when so many thoughts crowded her mind. Was that why Gussie was always in motion? Regardless, she pulled from his grip and paced to the hearth and back. “I think I know how to catch Mr. Villers. He’s already hinted he knows things about you. I should pretend to be miffed that you are not paying me sufficient attention. If it appears we are at odds, he may reach out to me. Then we will know him for a spy.”
He shook his head. “That isn’t proof, Patience. I need to catch him in the act.”
In the act? Actually shooting at Harry? She didn’t like that idea. There must be some other approach.
“Very well,” she said. “Tell me what to say to him to trap him. If I dangle a carrot, and he attempts to take a bite, won’t that give you enough to have him arrested?”
“At least detained.” Now he paced to the window and back, reminding her of his aunt at her finest. He was shaking his head again as he returned to her side. “No, it’s too dangerous.”
Patience put her hand on his arm. “Harry, for years I’ve dreamed of doing something more important than wiping noses and fetching smelling salts. I came here in the hopes of having a purpose. Let me do this, for you and for England.”
~~~
How could he refuse? Patience’s sweet face was turned up to his, every inch of her trembling with eagerness to help, and longing radiated out of her like sunlight.
He knew the feeling.
“Very well,” he said, and her beaming smile tugged at his heart. “If Villers approaches you, tell him I’ve been going out at night, and you suspect I’ll go again tonight. Say you’ve seen me from your window, heading for the shore. Julian and I will be waiting for him.”
She nodded. “I’ll do it. And thank you, Harry, for trusting me with your secret. I won’t let you down.”
How extraordinary. All his life, everyone but Gussie and his friends had expected the worst of him. If he received anything less than top marks in school, the dons would shake their heads and mutter, “Like father, like son.” If he scored the best of all his classmates, a teacher would take him aside to demand to know how he’d cheated. That Patience believed in him now was a precious gift. She could not know how much he treasured it.
And her.
He shook his head as she hurried to the door. He must go carefully. His current situation prevented him from pursuing a lady in earnest. Rather ironic since the ton suspected he was pursuing any number of ladies. And what made him think, even if the war was over, a lady like Patience would ever want to align herself with a house so tarnished by scandal? She might have been forced into the role of companion, but her intelligence and beauty should attract a number of suitors once she reached Bath. She could do better than him.
He could only marvel at how well she played her part when their guests regrouped that afternoon. She and Meredith had taken a long walk down to the causeway and returned to report that the waters were still high. At least the rains had stopped for the moment. She’d asked Cuddlestone to set up lawn bowling, which made Lydia squeal with delight while Gussie kept glancing longingly back toward her laboratory. Meredith promptly declined, watching from the edge of the lawn, Fortune in her arms like a shield.
Villers, however, protested outright. “You cannot expect the gentlemen to agree to such prosaic pastimes,” he told Patience, eyeing the little pins sticking up out of the damp grass. He turned to Julian and Harry, rubbing his hands together. “What about something more manly—displays of pugilistic prowess, feats of fencing?”
Lydia beamed at them all. “I learned to fence. I’d be delighted to try my hand.”
Her brother rounded on her. “Your play bouts with Father hardly qualify. You would only do yourself a discredit.”
Lydia’s face fell, but Patience put an arm around her shoulders. “Your brother is right, I fear. We wouldn’t want you to defeat the gentlemen, Lydia. It might wound their male consequence. We can’t have that.”
“Certainly not,” Villers said, then he frowned as if realizing he’d been insulted.
Harry stepped closer. “I’ve practice foils in the house. Cuddlestone, if you’d be so kind?”
His butler toddled off.
“In the meantime,” Julian said, starting to remove his jacket, “I’ll take you up on that display of pugilism, Villers.” He glanced back toward Meredith. “It couldn’t hurt.”
Lydia was gaping at his shirtsleeves. Patience tugged on her arm and drew her back from the two men. She and Lydia aligned themselves with Meredith. They all looked a bit miffed, and Harry was a little afraid it was not act, despite his conversation with Patience. Perhaps it would be better if he stayed with the gentlemen.
Gussie stepped between the two would-be opponents. “I want a fair fight, gentlemen. No hair pulling, eye gouging, or toe stomping. And if you spit, pray aim for the gravel instead of my daffodils.”
Villers stared at her, but Julian saluted. “Aye, aye, Captain Gussie.”
With a nod of satisfaction, she stepped back.
Villers pulled off his coat as well, handing it to Wilkins to hold, and he and Julian squared off.
“I’ll go easy on you,” he promised, circling the more muscular Julian, fists up and at the ready. “After all, the ladies are watching.”
“Indeed they are,” Julian said, and he laid the fellow out with a single punch to the chin.
“Oh, a mighty blow!” Gussie caroled as Harry fought a grin and Julian offered his hand to help the man up.
Villers sat with one arm braced behind him on the grass, rubbing his chin with the other hand. “Rather unsportsmanlike to strike a fellow before he’s ready,” he complained. “But if that’s how you prefer it.” He surged to his feet, wrapped his arms around Julian, and slung him to the ground.
Harry was moving before cries of alarm echoed from the ladies.
“Easy lads,” he said, grabbing Villers’s waistcoat to haul him off Julian. “This was supposed to be a friendly match, remember? What will the ladies think?”
“I am highly amused,” Gussie assured him.
A glance toward the group at the edge of the lawn proved the others more concerned than amused. Meredith was white, Lydia had her hands clasped in front of her bosom, and Patience was glaring, but at the poor display or Harry, he wasn’t sure.
Villers righted himself and straightened his mangled cravat, dark patches on his clothes attesting to his impact with the ground. “Yes, we must consider the ladies’ tender sensibilities, eh, Mayes?”
Gussie snorted.
Julian gathered his composure and inclined his head, but Harry would not have liked such a look directed at him. “As you say.”
Thankfully, Cuddlestone and Wilkins arrived just then with the practice swords. Each tip was baited with cork, the blades dulled. Neither of Harry’s guests would be able to hurt another with them. As if Gussie knew it, she sighed and wander
ed up to join the other ladies.
Villers accepted one and sliced it through the air as if testing it. “What do you say, Harry? Care to have a go?”
Harry’s gaze darted to Patience. Was she looking more interested now that he might take part? He offered her a smile, and she smiled back. Then she started as if remembering she was supposed to be at odds with him and put her nose in the air.
“Your servant, sir,” Harry said. He pulled off his coat, handed it to Wilkins, selected one of the blades, and assumed the stance. Julian, Cuddlestone, and Wilkins drew back to give him and Villers room.
His opponent balanced on his feet, eyeing Harry. “I don’t believe I’ve seen you at D’Angelo’s.”
For the very reason Harry knew he’d never be welcome at the famous fencing salon in London. “I had a private tutor.”
“Ah, and did he teach you this?” Villers sprang at him, blade extended.
Harry parried. “Yes, actually. And this.” He riposted, and steel rang on steel as his opponent blocked.
“Very nice.” He circled to the right, and Harry followed him, keeping his sword up. Once more Villers lunged, and Harry positioned himself to block the blow.
It never came. Villers twisted and rammed the baited tip into Harry’s upper arm.
Pain shot through him, and his blade tumbled to the ground. The heat through his sleeve told him the wound had reopened.
“Harry!” Patience’s cry rang behind him even as Villers’s eyes widened. His grin said he knew he’d scored in more ways than one.
But how had he known exactly where to strike to do the most damage, to Harry’s arm and his reputation?
Chapter Fourteen
Patience ran down the lawn, skirts bunched in her fists. How dare that puffed up braggart strike Harry! Even from this distance she could see the red seeping through the muslin of his shirt. The blow had reopened the wound, and Harry had to be in pain. She had promised to tease out Beau Villers’s secrets, which meant she ought to be sweet to him, but at the moment she wanted to order him from the estate.
Mr. Mayes was regarding the blade Harry had dropped. “I thought these were dulled.” His eyes narrowed as he glanced up at Mr. Villers.
Their opponent held up his hands, blade still in one of them. “I only used the weapon I was given.”
“Don’t concern yourselves,” Harry said with maddening calm. “It’s an old wound. I should have realized exertion might open it.”
“Indeed,” Patience said primly, seething inside. “That is quite enough, gentlemen. I would have insisted you play cards this afternoon if I had had any inkling you were bent on bruising and bloodying each other.”
Mr. Mayes and Mr. Villers had the good sense to look abashed. She was just glad Harry allowed her to lead him away, Mr. Cuddlestone scurrying after.
“There is a jar of ointment on the dresser in my room,” Patience told the butler. “Will you fetch it, a basin of water, a wash cloth, and some sort of bandage?”
“A cravat will do,” Harry put in. “And I could do with a fresh shirt as well.”
Mr. Cuddlestone scowled at him before turning to Patience with a more diffident look. “Of course, Miss Ramsey. Might I suggest you perform the operation in the laboratory?”
She would rather have cleaned the wound in her bedchamber, as she had before, but even with their pretend engagement that wasn’t wise. Reluctantly, she led Harry to the back of the house.
“And don’t touch anything,” she instructed, getting him settled on the tall stool Gussie favored. “Gussie and Lydia have been experimenting, and it wouldn’t surprise me if the results didn’t turn your skin green. Not that you don’t deserve it.”
“As Julian noted,” he replied, removing his cravat with one hand, “the weapons were baited and dulled. They should not have been able to hurt anyone.”
“So you say.” She took the cravat from him and draped it over one arm to keep it away from the potions around them. “Open your shirt, if you please, so I can see the extent of the damage.”
He grinned at her. “Haven’t we done this before?”
“Why do I fear we will do it again?” Patience countered.
With a chuckle, he pulled the shirt down over one shoulder.
And her breath caught. Why did the sight of that smooth skin, the ripple of muscle beneath it, affect her more now than the night they’d met? She forced herself to study the wound.
“It’s not bad,” she told him. “It had already been scabbing over. The blow just broke it open.”
The door opened to admit Mr. Cuddlestone, arms laden. “The items you requested, Miss Ramsey.” He took in the state of Harry’s undress and blushed for her. “Perhaps I should take things from here.”
“Perhaps you should,” Patience said. “Clean the wound, apply enough ointment to cover it, and wrap it tightly.”
Nodding, the butler moved in next to Harry.
Harry caught her hand as she drew back. “Thank you.”
Oh, but she could sink into that warm gaze, allow herself to be admired, loved.
No, not loved. He hadn’t offered that, except as part of a play for the benefit of the enemy.
She pulled away. “You’re welcome. Now, I must return to the others. I’d like a word with Mr. Villers.”
As if he thought the fellow was in for a scold, Mr. Cuddlestone grinned, then schooled his face. Harry appeared to have taken her true meaning, but he didn’t like it. His handsome face tightened, his eyes darkened. Still, he must know it was for the best that she follow through on their plan. He inclined his head, and she hurried from the room before she changed her mind.
She found the others in the withdrawing room. Mr. Mayes had apparently attempted to speak to Meredith, for she had linked arms with a startled Lydia and refused to be moved while Fortune prowled around her feet as if for protection. Gussie was nowhere in sight, and Patience could only hope she had not caught Harry in the laboratory and dosed him with something vile.
Lydia’s brother was standing by the hearth, booted foot tapping against the stone as if he were already bored. Making sure none of her distaste showed on her face, she moved to join him.
“Come to berate me for abusing your intended?” he surmised, straightening away from the fire.
“No, indeed,” Patience said. “He deserved exactly what he was given. You commented yourself how easily he defects from my side. I find myself much put out with him.”
Her frustration must have made her convincing, for he made a sad face. “I can only agree with you, my dear. You deserve better. But what, exactly, has Harry done to earn your wrath?”
Was he trying to commiserate or attempting to learn more about Harry’s actions? Either way, this was her chance. She lowered her voice and leaned closer. “I fear he has made a liaison. He leaves the house at night. I’ve seen him from my window, heading for the shore. Who else would he be meeting except another woman?”
He put his hand on her arm. “Now, now. What lady could hold a candle to you? If you’d like, I could follow him, see what he’s truly up to. That might allay your concerns.”
She lay her hand over his. “Oh, Beau, would you?”
“Villers.” Harry’s voice cracked through the room. Lydia’s brother straightened and stepped back from Patience. Harry strode to their sides. Though Cuddlestone must have retied his cravat, and Harry had pulled his coat back on, color lined his cheekbones, and his eyes were slits of sapphire.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded.
“Comforting a lady,” Mr. Villers returned. “Which is, apparently, more than I can say for you. You, sir, are a poor groom.”
Even though she knew this was part of the play, her cheeks felt hot as all other conversation ceased, and everyone looked their way.
“Am I?” Harry asked. “Well, perhaps I should rectify that.”
Before Patience knew what he was about, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her.
Sensations explode
d around her, inside her. Warmth, delight, pleasure, exhilaration. She was no longer sure where she was, what she had been doing. All she knew was that, in Harry’s embrace, she felt truly alive.
And that was more dangerous than Beau Villers could ever be.
~~~
Despite his reputation, Harry hadn’t kissed all that many ladies. Still, he had always enjoyed the act. Nothing like a quick kiss from a pretty lass to make a fellow feel spritely.
Only kissing Patience didn’t make him feel more alert. He would have called his feelings tender, protective. He wanted to hold her close, whisper words of admiration against her lips. He wanted to cherish her, his treasure, his love.
He broke away and stared at her. His love? What was wrong with him? Had he been playing a part for so long he’d forgotten who he really was, what he was doing?
Her eyes had been closed, honey-colored lashes brushing her creamy skin. Now they opened, and she gazed at him with something akin to awe. His cheeks felt hot. Blushing? The scandalous Sir Harry Orwell?
She sucked in a breath, gathered her skirts, and fled.
Villers started after her. Harry stuck out an arm. “Don’t,” he said, meeting the upstart’s gaze, “put yourself between me and Patience.”
Brows raised, Villers stepped back, and Harry turned and went to find her.
He located her in the entry hall, facing the wall near the suit of armor his great-grandfather had purportedly claimed belonged to the family instead of being purchased from a wily antiquities dealer. She was standing quite still, as if absorbed in studying the contraption, which even now was rusting in the salty sea air. As Harry came up beside her, he heard her suck in a breath. Her cheeks were still pink, a color almost as deep as the shade of her lips, and he could not look at her without remembering how soft her lips had felt against his, how easily she’d responded.
“That was very good,” she said, gaze on the armor.
For an insane moment, he thought she meant his kiss, and he nearly preened.
“You appeared quite the scoundrel,” she continued, “seizing me in full view of the others.” She turned at last, met his gaze. “That was your aim, was it not? To further the ruse?”
