Tristan stared at his friend, the wheels in his head turning rapidly. What the devil?
“Well, my work here is done. I must be off…another garden party this afternoon, and Isabel will strangle me if bow out.”
With another wink and a cheeky grin, Lockwell sauntered off, leaving Tristan in a great state of confusion.
Three days passed with no word from Tristan, and Patience couldn’t deny she was a bit disappointed. She’d dared a few peeks at the little red book while she waited to hear from him, but always snapped it shut again when that blasted tingle crept into her intimate spot. Then she would always turn her attention to one of her many ladylike pursuits like needlepoint or the piano. She wasn’t terribly skilled at either, but she was passably good, and Mother had always said it was important to be diversified in one’s pastimes. Patience didn’t fully understand why, but she’d done as her mother had instructed and applied herself to learning these important skills.
She had also used the time in Tristan’s absence to write to her friends, asking for their help at Vauxhall. Pippa and Georgie would be in attendance, along with the Marquess of Berkswell and Lord Harrison Casemore. Surely the girls could get one of those two upstanding men—or maybe even both!—to stumble upon her in a compromising position with Tristan. Not little-red-book compromising, but even a simple kiss should do the trick, especially where Berkswell was concerned.
“This came for you, miss,” Marcie said from the doorway of her room. She stood there with a small, folded note in her hand.
Patience bade her to come in and when Marcie handed the note over, Patience was flooded with relief. It was from Tristan, and thankfully, he was confirming tonight’s plans to attend the concert at Vauxhall.
“Lord Swaffham?” Marcie asked, causing Patience to snap from her trance. She wasn’t sure why she was blushing, but she was, and she couldn’t stop herself.
“Yes, Marcie. We’re going to Vauxhall tonight.”
Marcie dutifully crossed to the armoire. “What shall you wear, then? Yellow? White?”
“Not the white,” Patience said quickly. It felt too virginal; too clean. Not appropriate for a planned assignation and marriage trap. “What about the blue one?”
Marcie scrunched her nose up and turned back to the closet. “What about this one?”
She pulled out her orange silk gown, and Patience had to fight back the tears. It had been her mother’s favorite fabric, and she’d commissioned this dress to be made for Patience just before she left for India. She’d had high hopes for the gown, and Patience understood why. The way the silk was woven made the gown shiny and iridescent. It reflected the hues of whatever you were standing near—certainly exotic and unique. Unique enough to entrance a man like Tristan? That was yet to be seen.
“All right,” she said at last. “I think that will be perfect.”
When the time came, Patience was dressed and ready for the evening. Her cousin arrived first and lounged lazily on the settee in the main parlor while they waited for Tristan.
“Come away from the window, Patience,” Rowan said. She wondered how he knew she was staring out the window when he had his arm draped across his eyes. “He’ll be here soon enough. It’s not even seven yet.”
She knew he was right. It was still early, and there was no point watching the street for his arrival. “Another late night?” she asked Rowan as she crossed the room to join him in the sitting area.
“Early morning, actually.”
“Do you mean to say you arrived home early in the morning or you woke up early in the morning?”
“The former.”
Patience laughed. “Oh, to be a bachelor.”
“Yes, it is rather fun,” Rowan agreed.
A knock at the front door interrupted them, and Patience sucked in a sharp breath. He was here. They waited in silence as the butler let him in. It felt like an eternity before he announced that Lord Swaffham had arrived. Rowan sat up and Patience jumped to her feet as Tristan entered in the crispest evening clothes she’d ever seen. He was even better at tying a cravat than Rowan was.
He bowed to them, and Patience offered a demure curtsey. And then Patience was all but forgotten as Rowan and Tristan launched into a conversation about what some old chap did in the House of Commons the night before.
Patience padded along behind them, Marcie at her side, as they headed for Tristan’s carriage. They yammered on all the way to Whitehall, and didn’t even take a breath as they crossed the river. But Patience put her annoyance aside when she set eyes on the beautiful venue. The sun was setting on the picturesque scene outside the rotunda. It was lush and green, with statues and pathways. She stared down one of them, noting that she wouldn’t have to walk far to be completely out of sight. She would have to find some way to lure Tristan there. That was, if she could ever get him unhinged from Rowan.
They settled into Rowan’s supper box a few minutes later. She spotted her friends a couple boxes down— Pippa and Georgie stood outside Berkswell’s box with Lord Harrison. She would have to catch up to them later, but for now, she had a mission. A mission to trap an unsuspecting man into marriage. With any luck, Pippa would follow through in convincing Berkswell—wherever he was—to come and look for her. His commitment to honor and duty would most surely ensure her marriage to Tristan.
She caught Pippa’s eye, and Pippa nodded in acknowledgment of her arrival. Patience must act quickly. With the setting sun, it was the perfect time to request a walk around the grounds.
“Well, I suppose I fancy a walk before supper,” Patience said with a bit of a sigh.
Rowan scowled at her, playing his part well. “We’ve only just gotten here, Patience. Can’t you sit still for even a second?”
Patience laughed. She was feeling quite the actress. “You know me, cousin Rowan.”
“I suppose I could show you about, Miss Findley.”
Patience smiled. Of course he had a vested interest in getting her alone, but still…he was like putty in her hands.
“That would be lovely, Lord Swaffham.” She smiled broadly at him. “Shall we?”
He offered his arm and Patience took it, gladly. His arm flexed just slightly beneath his evening coat, and her stomach clenched in response. Why did it feel so good to have her arm in his?
They walked out of the box, down the stairs to the ground level, and finally onto a path that led through the lush gardens. A breeze stirred up, sending a shiver through Patience, but Tristan didn’t seem to notice. As a matter of fact, if she stopped to think, he’d been rather quiet all day. Well, not quiet, but he certainly hadn’t directed much of his attention towards her.
They walked on in silence, passing a few other wandering couples, but once they were truly out of earshot and out of sight of anyone else, Tristan stopped and turned to her.
“Miss Findley—”
“We’re back to that now, are we?” she interrupted with the hope of lightening the ever-darkening mood.
Tristan’s lips didn’t even twitch in humor. Quite the contrary, actually. He frowned at her so harshly that it was almost a scowl. “Yes, for the time being, we are.”
Patience reared back slightly, shocked at how his tone of voice upset her so. “Have I done something wrong?” she asked, hoping she didn’t sound like the scolded little girl she felt like just then.
“I don’t know. Have you?”
Blast. He knew something…or at least suspected something. Patience didn’t know what to say, so she held her tongue and simply stared at him. She must have looked a fool just standing there, but she couldn’t figure out whether or not she should admit the truth to him.
“You have some very intriguing connections, Miss Findley.”
Patience could not have been more taken aback by his statement. “I-I thought we had discussed my family, my lord. You seemed fine with my…situation before.”
“And I still am. What your father did or who he married means nothing to me. I don’t care about scandal, but I do care
about being lied to.”
Patience’s stomach plummeted. She thought she might toss up her accounts right then and there. Or cry. Yes, tears were far more likely. As a matter of fact, they pooled in her eyes regardless of how hard she tried to stop them.
Tristan’s brow crinkled. “Why the devil are you crying?”
She wasn’t exactly sure. So many emotions flooded her just then. The fact that she’d always been a good girl, done the right thing, caused guilt to well up inside of her. This—what she was trying to do to Tristan—was not the right thing. Add to that the fact that she had actually started to care for the man, and she was doubly remorseful. And terrified. Terrified that she had ruined her chances with him.
Patience shook her head. “I’m not sure,” she said, choosing that evasive answer over the truth.
“Well, damn,” Tristan said, running a hand through his blond hair that shimmered so nicely in the setting sun. “This isn’t going at all as expected.”
“What did you expect?” Patience wondered.
He shrugged. “I didn’t expect you to cry, that’s for sure. I haven’t even said anything, but I fear your reaction gives you away, Miss Findley.”
“What do you know?” she asked. She wasn’t about to admit to anything unless he didn’t already know it for sure.
Tristan was on to her, though. He chuckled and said, “I don’t think so, Miss Findley. You’re going to tell me what scheme you’ve concocted.”
“But it seems you already know about it, so what’s the point in rehashing it?”
“Because I want you to tell me to my face that you set me up. And then I want you to tell me why.”
Patience swallowed hard past the lump in her throat. “I-I don’t know. It seems ridiculous in retrospect,” she said, walking a few steps away, unable to look Tristan in the eye. “With the scandal, I feared no one would want me. Or if they did, it would only be for my fortune. I suppose I figured it would be better to determine my own fate—”
“By having your reprobate cousin place a bet with his reprobate friend.”
She looked up at him. “But you’re not a reprobate.”
Tristan scoffed and scratched the tip of his aquiline nose. “You don’t know me at all, do you?”
Patience did know him. They hadn’t spent much time together but she knew him. She knew he wasn’t as much of a rogue as he pretended to be. He was kind and gentle. He cared about people—or maybe he just cared about her. Either way, she saw another side of him that perhaps he didn’t even see himself.
“I’m very sorry I dragged you into this,” she admitted at last. “It was wrong of me to let my friends influence me so. A foolish game, to say the least.”
"Miss Findley," he said, his voice low and gravelly. "This is no game for me."
He stood statue-still for a moment with the oddest expression on his face. Patience had no idea how to read it, and she hated that. She was desperate to know what he was thinking. And then, before she could take another breath even, Swaffham closed the distance between them. He grabbed her hair at the nape and clamped the other around her waist, drawing her tightly against him. If she hadn't studied the Kama Sutra so thoroughly, she would have no idea what the hard bulge was that pressed against her.
His tongue dove into her mouth, sending waves of excitement through her. Patience never knew a simple kiss could do such a thing to a person, but her entire body felt awakened, alive, like it had never been before.
Instinctively, she pressed against him, the yearning down below forcing her to rub into him. The book had made everything look so clinical, sterile. But now she realized that there was great passion that came along with those seemingly simple acts. From the looks of the book, she almost could have imagined people performing some of the positions in a parlor during tea, with their clothes on, of course. But now...now she understood. They'd be liable to shatter every piece of china, tear apart the decorative cushions, and make scratch marks into the wood.
"Oh God, Patience," he murmured against her neck as he placed hot kisses on her skin. "Do you feel that? That fire?"
Patience did. She felt it more strongly than she’d ever felt anything in her life. She’d been dreaming about this ever since she’d met him, and in much more detail since discovering that blasted red book.
"Yes," she moaned as he sucked at the flesh of breast that poured over the edge of her gown. She desperately wanted for him to pull her dress down completely and take her aching nipple into his mouth. "I feel it."
"Do you want more?"
"Please, Tristan." she hated the way she sounded as if she were begging, but she had no control of her faculties anymore. She could hardly take a proper breath. "Please don't leave me wanting."
"Your wish is my command."
“Not so fast, Swaffham.”
Damn. He should have been more careful. Of course she had planned for this evening. Why else would she allow him to take her down an abandoned pathway at Vauxhall? It was his own damn fault. And judging by the look on Lord Montague’s face, Tristan wasn’t going to be able to lie his way out of this one as he had others. It seemed inevitable now that he was going to have to marry the conniving little brat.
He winced at his own thought. She wasn’t a brat. He knew better. She was just young and foolish, and even she admitted to that, so maybe she wasn’t even all that foolish. Misguided seemed the better word for it.
At any rate, she was going to be his misguided young lady now. And Tristan couldn’t say he was all that upset about the prospect. He had fallen into her trap willingly, and he couldn’t really explain why he did it. He’d found out about her friends’ bets the day before and after mulling it around in his head a bit—replaying his conversation with Findley that led to the bet—put two and two together. Her cousin could have quite the career on the stage.
He stepped away from her before Montague had the pleasure of getting to pull them apart. His member throbbed beneath his trousers. He’d not expected to feel so passionately for Patience, but damn if she didn’t look like a sun goddess in that orange gown, with her breasts thrust upwards and her incandescent skin reflecting the last rays of the sun.
“At least you had the decency to stop,” Montague said, and Tristan had to laugh. If he had been with a widow or a woman of lesser morals, he certainly would have waived his friend away and continued with his business.
“Nice to see you too, Monty.” Tristan gave the moral do-gooder a half smile born of resignation—an emotion he couldn’t ever remember feeling. He glanced at Patience, expecting her to be beaming with pride that her plan had worked. But she actually looked rather forlorn. “I trust you’ll see Patience safely back to her cousin?”
“You’re not coming?” Patience asked, a hint of disappointment in her tone.
Montague didn’t give him the opportunity to reply. “That’s Miss Findley to you, Swaffham. At least until you’ve stood before the minister.”
Tristan turned to Patience. He wanted to be furious with her for trapping him this way, but another part of him couldn’t help but be glad that if he had to be trapped to someone, at least it was to her. Perhaps his future hell wouldn’t be quite so hellish.
Her eyes beseeched him. Clearly she wanted him to come with her to make things official, but she needn’t worry on that account. He would marry her—for once there was no way out of it.
“Come, Miss Findley,” Montague said, grabbing her by the elbow and leading her away. “You’ll see Lord Swaffham tomorrow…or I’ll see him on the field.”
With one last scathing look over his shoulder, Montague disappeared with Patience, leaving Tristan alone on the darkening pathway. He sighed and plopped onto the nearby bench. He hadn’t planned on marrying so soon—or at all, really. But this situation wasn’t so bad, he supposed. He’d won the bet, and he’d won an heiress. At the very least, he’d be able to save Hamlin Abbey.
“How could you, Patience?” Her father paced back and forth behind his desk, silh
ouetted by the sun shining through the large window behind him. “I had such high hopes for you, and now…this.”
“Come now, Roderick,” Rangana said quietly. “Surely you hoped for Patience to marry well, and now she will.”
Father turned on Rangana. “A penniless baron! Not only is he the lowest on the totem pole of peerages, but he hasn’t got a dime to his name.”
Patience ignored the sick feeling in her stomach. There was nothing she could do about any of this now. She’d planted the bet, and it had worked like a charm. Only, part of her had hoped that she and Tristan might have a happy marriage. That once they’d gotten past her little deception, he might see that she was a truly good person who had simply been a little clouded in her judgment.
What she was coming to realize, however, was that he might have been using her just as she was using him. Apparently his estate was in trouble, and he needed an heiress to save it. Not only did Patience suit his needs perfectly, but she’d practically invited him to take advantage of her so they could be married.
In the end, they deserved one another. Two conniving, selfish humans who thought of nothing but their own personal gain, when a lifetime was at stake.
Father and Rangana were still arguing about the whole thing, but Patience didn’t hear them, she was so lost in her own thoughts. It didn’t matter what anyone thought, anyway—especially not her father. What was done was done, and she would, in very short order, be Lady Swaffham.
“May I please be excused?” she finally said, interrupting the argument.
Both Rangana and her father turned to her, clearly shocked by her request.
“We’re not done here, Patience.” Father’s face was redder than she’d ever seen it. He’d have an attack of the heart if he wasn’t careful.
“I don’t see what more there is to discuss, Father,” she said, trying to maintain a soothing tone of voice. “I’m to marry Swaffham and there’s nothing you can do about it…unless you wish to bring more scandal to this family.” She said that last part with a pointed look at Rangana.
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