by Kit Donner
He looked up into her flushed face and asked quietly, “What do you want?”
But she shook her head wordlessly. “Do it again, like before. How long will this go on?” she implored him.
He smiled a secret smile. “As long as you command, my lady.” Then he turned to her other peak and coaxed it to pliancy beneath his expert mouth. Bryce’s member pulsed inside his breeches, needing to be free. He took a deep breath, knowing the end for him was not yet in sight.
But he realized he would have to speed his progress slightly for both to find fulfillment together. As he kissed the valley of her flat stomach, he slipped a hand down to open Patience’s thighs in preparation.
He stroked the soft insides of her legs before gliding a finger up to her womanly heat and easing inside of her. He heard her soft cry, and he shuddered, warmly stunned at her burning dew enveloping him. He couldn’t wait any longer and, placing her round buttocks in his hands, brought her wet heat to his mouth.
Before she could protest, a sob choked back, he had already found the sweet bud of Patience’s femininity and claimed it for his own. He nibbled and tickled her blossoming flower, then took the tiny nubbin in his mouth and stroked Patience until her body quivered and climaxed.
He held her shaking body, enveloped in passion’s embrace, her hands with a death grip on her blanket. Then he looked down her body to pin his brand on her, knowing that her honeyed pleasures belonged to him, till the end of forever.
Giving Patience and himself time to catch their breath, Bryce leaned up to sweep a kiss on her surprised lips. He quickly discarded his breeches and stood before her, his rampant manhood ready to besiege her welcoming wet fortress.
He knelt again between her parted legs and then hesitated. He looked up into her green gaze and asked her anew, “What do you want of me, Patience?”
She looked startled at his query and shook her head in confusion.
“You must tell me.” And soon, he thought, because he could delay his passion for her no longer.
“I…I want”—she cleared her throat and spoke falteringly—“I want you…inside me, please, Bryce.”
That was the request he needed to hear. His only words: “As you desire.”
Her arms wrapped around him tightly, he gritted his teeth to control his surging passion as he probed gently at her entrance before pushing himself into her tight chamber. He pulled out slightly, then thrust in again, this time farther and deeper.
She cried out, her voice heavy with desire.
Bryce clenched his teeth, stifling a moan. She felt so good and so very tight. Every time he brought his member to the edge of her heat, with legs wrapped around his hips, she voraciously pulled him back inside, her hips bucking beneath his hands.
He guided her to a rhythm she impatiently matched, her soft, inarticulate cries echoed in the room and in his heart. It was soon time. His thrusts increased, their speed as fast as the beating of their hearts. At the zenith of their loving, he reached up and laid his lips against hers in an unspoken promise before he growled deep in her throat and caught her passion-filled sob in his mouth when he poured his release into her haven.
Time stood still as he stayed nestled inside of her, before withdrawing from her wet heat. Lying down beside her, he wrapped one arm around her shoulders and with his other brought her to his chest, his arm holding her tight to his side. He held her tenderly in love’s comforting aftermath. For a long while, neither moved. He didn’t want to leave her side, and she had no wish for him to leave.
“There you are, you bad kitty. How did you get so wet, Satan? Were you outside in the storm?” Martha asked her pet affectionately when she found him near the library. The black ball of fur rubbed his damp coat against his mistress’s face, seeking forgiveness. “Satan,” she cooed to him, “you are my one faithful companion, albeit a very naughty one.”
Noises from inside the library drew a frown on Martha’s brow. Still holding Satan in her arms, she walked silently to the doors, easily discerning the voices of Miss Patience and his lordship. She shook her head in defeat. Lady Elverston would not like this one bit. Again, she had failed in her duties to her sponsor.
Suddenly, she straightened up and marched to her room. Perhaps it was not wrong that the earl and Patience were together before the sanctity of marriage. Any fool could see how much they were in love.
She pulled her worn white nightgown over her head and crawled sleepily into bed. Would that a man looked at me in such a fashion. Martha quickly gathered sleep around her like a blanket. With slumber, she could forget, and her tears would be safe.
With only the embers left of their once-blazing fire, Patience suddenly felt chilled, even though Bryce’s hard length heated her side. She must get to bed. Alone. She needed time to think. Where do they go from here?
She slowly drew herself up and reached for her nightdress in a ball at their feet and slipped it on.
“Why would you want to cover such lovely charms?” Bryce had raised himself on one elbow, casually watching her, his face almost in the shadows of the dimly lit room.
Patience could barely breathe. “I must return to my room, my lord, before we are discovered, like this…uh…together.”
Bryce held up his hand to object, but she had already risen and crossed to the door. She turned to look at him, sadness and pain wetting her lashes. He must not see my tears. Taking a deep breath, she told him, “Please wait a few minutes until leaving after me.” She practically ran down the hall, leaving him in stunned confusion.
Patience climbed the stairs, whisked her door open and shut, and flew to her bed. Flinging herself prostrate across her half tester, only then did she allow her tears to fall. Would they, could they, have a future together? She cried for Rupert and the peck of trouble he was in. And she cried for Sally because the little girl had no home and a father who didn’t want her. Finally, she cried for the sadness she often caught in Bryce’s eyes that he didn’t realize showed.
Her cries silenced by her pillow, Patience jumped when she heard a soft knock and saw the door opening. She wiped her tears on the back of her hands and watched as Bryce, dressed in his breeches, stared enigmatically at her.
She took a deep breath and then another one. What was he doing in here? She uttered a startled whisper and felt the bed dip as Bryce sat on the edge. He gathered her into his arms, whispering comforting sounds in her ear.
Hushing. Hushing.
Causing a torrent of tears to melt down his solid warm chest. Several minutes passed before she lifted her head, unable to meet his gaze which she knew sought answers. He pushed his handkerchief into her hand, which she used to dry her face.
Not quite finished, Patience choked back a few more sighs and gulped a few breaths. Bryce remained by her side and stroked her hair and rocked her back against his chest, seeming to understand her unexpressed need for solace without words.
Finally, feeling more composed, she drew into a sitting position and smiled abashedly. “Crying is such a silly waste of time, is it not?”
He frowned. “Why would you think such a thing?”
She shrugged. “My elder brother James is always telling me not to behave like a silly female, and tears, he says, are only used for womanly wiles and not at all proper or godlike.”
Bryce shook his head with a wry smile. “If we are made in his image, then surely tears are godlike. I do not deem all tears as stratagems that women use on men—well, actually I did, until I met you.” He paused and tilted her head with a gentle finger beneath her chin, staring into her eyes as if trying to learn her secrets.
He asked the question that had hung on his lips since hearing her cries outside her door. “Were you crying because we made love?” he asked, his voice low and urgent.
She looked in shy surprise at him. “No, my lord. I wanted to be with you.” Then she hung her head, unable to respond to the demanding stare. Silence. She knew he was waiting for an explanation and would not leave without one.
Bryce leaned back on his elbow to watch her and shook his head slightly. “No, the constable wants him alive to answer questions about his cousin’s death, and the spies are much too busy with plans of their own to warrant interest in Rupert.”
Patience blinked in astonishment. “Do you think my brother is guilty of treason?”
His lips twisted. “Patience.” He reached out a hand to stroke her exposed arm. “I do believe in your brother’s innocence. Unfortunately, what I believe and what the constable believes are not necessarily the same. It is only his opinion that counts.”
“You can convince the constable to let him go free.” She unknowingly grabbed his hand to her breast in her ardent plea.
Bryce liked the feel of his hand against her heart. “If there is anything in my power to liberate your brother, I will certainly do so. I have my staff at Paddock Green keeping a watch for your brother, but so far, no one has seen a sign of him. At this uncertain time, we’re all on alert for a possible invasion. We need to learn what the French spies are planning.”
“Do you think Sansouche is dead?” she whispered.
His gaze never left her countenance. “As of yet, no trace has been found of his body. That could mean a number of things.”
She nodded absently, exhausted by the events of the entire evening, still clinging to his strong hand.
“Patience?” Bryce asked her quietly. He had a question that needed answering, one he had thought of often.
She glanced at him, patting her wayward hair behind her. “Yes, my lord?”
“Why did your brothers send you to Winchelsea to help Rupert? It seems to me unconscionable to send a lone woman to a strange town to find her brother and free him from treason charges. Ludicrous, even.” Traces of anger fed his words.
She wasn’t insulted at his lack of confidence in female ingenuity. Smiling tremulously, she leaned back against her throne of pillows, his hand released. “My eldest brother, Louis, Baronet Mandeley, is rather sickly. All his life he has suffered from a weakness in his lungs. We have had to watch him very closely, and we are quite lucky his health has slowly improved.”
She sank farther into the bed’s depths, engrossed in her story. “My second eldest brother, James, is our parish’s cleric and has been the unwanted family conscience for years.”
Bryce lazily blinked, his lips thinned wryly. “Oh, yes, our brother James who detests a woman’s tears.”
She sent him a censured look. “James has a good heart and works very hard for his parish. He couldn’t leave his people for any length of time, and we were unsure how long this would take.”
He reached for her nearby calf crossed beneath her and caressed the velvety white skin, closing his eyes to listen to her story.
“Then there is dear Benjamin. He works with our land tenants, enjoys tilling the fields and talking with the farmers. For any matter other than agriculture, Benjamin is unknowledgeable. Out of the field, he is, shall I say, out of his depth?”
She sighed. “Ever since our parents were killed in an overturned coach accident when I was fifteen, I have been taking care of my brothers. Ensuring Louis took his medicine, that James did not become too pompous and overbearing, and assisting Benjamin in keeping his records have kept me quite busy, with little time for anything else.” She stopped her soliloquy, remembering and missing home.
“Then there is of course, Rupert, a rather a wild one. Always getting into scrapes.” She smiled sadly. “When this latest trouble arose, I made the decision to come to Winchelsea to help Rupert. None of my elder brothers were entirely convinced it was a good idea or even that I would succeed. However, no argument could persuade me not to attempt the trip.” She trailed off miserably.
Bryce slowly sat up, frowning. “While you were busy taking care of your brothers and every wounded animal or lonely child, who looked after you?” his question almost rhetorical.
Patience shrugged, a little amazed at his question. “I’ve always taken care of myself.”
“Was there never anyone in your past? A beau? Someone who would look after you? Even now, I’m sure your brothers are managing admirably in your absence.” His heart stilled awaiting a reply.
Her enchanting green gaze drifted past him to a forgotten memory. “There was a friend of Louis’s. His name was Richard, a widower, several years older than I. He proposed marriage one summer and then left for a trip to the Continent.” Her voice had lowered to a hush that required him to bend forward to catch her words. “He was gone for over a year and a half. I kept waiting and hoping. But word finally reached us that he had been killed in a skirmish with French soldiers. Apparently, Richard happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
He struggled to speak his next words. “Did you love him?”
Patience’s gaze came back to linger on his shadowed face, missing the concerned tone and the apprehension in his eyes.
“I loved him…as a brother. He reminded me of Louis, only in stronger form. Our time spent together was in quiet appreciation of literature, a good game of chess, or his indulgence in my hours in the garden.” She would have wondered at his question if she was not so lost in the past.
Her eyelids began to drift to her cheeks. “Perhaps, you should leave now,” she murmured, reaching for his hand and clutching it to her chest.
Bryce had no recourse but to mold his body along hers, feeling her rounded bottom above his groin. She held his hand snugly between her breasts, nestling back against his hard form.
Almost asleep, she whispered, “I never knew real love until I met you.”
Her curly hair tickled his nose. He allowed himself the pleasure of stroking the silky strands, reflecting on the silken strands of Patience’s web she had spun around him. A strange feeling slowly stole over him, at first unrecognizable.
It was fear. Cold, irrational fear. Sweeping long loops from her ear, Bryce leaned down and breathed quietly to her, “Please don’t love me…It will only hurt all the more when you leave.” But Patience was already in Morpheus’s arms.
Chapter 24
Patience woke languidly and stretched her toes beneath the covers. A perfume of lilacs assailed her senses. She sat up in bed and discovered three branches of lilacs lying next to her. Brushing away the cobwebs of sleep, she picked up the flowers and wandered over to the window, drawing the curtains to allow sunlight to shower the room.
Today felt wonderful. She loved Bryce and planned to tell him. She suddenly wanted to be free of all the lies and traps she had made for herself.
Together they would write their own happy ending, just like Sally’s Sleeping Beauty. The rumble in her stomach intruded on her carefree thoughts as she prepared to head down to the dining room for her repast. She dressed hurriedly in a sky blue muslin dress with white pinafore and fichu, not wanting to call a maid for assistance. A ribbon to corral her thick curls completed her toilette, and with her heart in her hands she ran lightly down the stairs in hopes of finding Bryce still in the house.
She slowed her progress on the last few stairs. The cavernous hallway bloomed with flowers—lavender, pink and yellow lilacs, roses, gardenias, and hydrangeas tinted the long entryway, a beautiful indoor garden. The sight of all those flowers made her heart smile.
Sally watched one of the housemaids place yellow roses in a tall white vase near the door when she heard the sound of Patience’s footsteps.
The little girl ran to Patience, yelling, “Miss Patience, we ’ave a garden growing in the ’ouse! Are the flowers not beautiful?”
Patience smiled down at the child. “Yes, they are lovely. These flowers certainly brighten up the vestibule, and their perfume is absolutely wonderful.” She noticed Stone standing nearby. Ha
ve you seen his lordship this morning?”
“Miss Mandeley, Lord Londringham left a short time ago, advising he would return with a surprise for you,” his tone cool and judgmental.
“I wonder what it could be. Thank you, Stone. I think I shall have something to eat. Want to come along, Sally?”
The two entwined hands and walked down the hallway to the dining room together.
Later in Patience’s bedchamber, Martha caught Patience’s gaze in the mirror and grinned in amusement. Patience nervously tried to button the white cotton shirt of Martha’s riding habit, with little luck.
“It appears that you are a bit more amply endowed than I am in this area,” Martha told her, smiling.
Patience grinned. “It does appear so,” she answered as she looked nervously into the looking glass. She tried not to think about Bryce’s proposition, and had thought of every excuse she could to dissuade him from teaching her to ride. But finally she agreed after he assured her that her horse would be as docile as one of James’s congregation. She must somehow overcome her fear of horses, to please Bryce. Without time to have a riding habit made, she had to borrow Martha’s.
She pulled on the short dove-gray basque and noted the buttons did not quite meet across her bosom. “It will simply have to do, Martha. Thank you kindly for allowing me to borrow it.” She carefully placed the matching gray hat with its fashionable feathers atop her hair, the only piece of the ensemble that did fit, and turned to face her friend for approval.
“I have seldom had occasion to wear it myself. Perhaps tonight I can alter it for you.”
Patience hugged Martha. “I am so glad Lady Elverson thought to send you to me as my chaperone. I’m indeed so lucky,” she told her friend as they walked down to the vestibule together, where Martha watched her depart from the steps.
Late afternoon, Lucky and a groom drove Patience to Hyde Park in the earl’s carriage while Bryce rode behind on Defiance with Red Tattoo beside him. Patience’s mare, Apples, followed behind their carriage, newly purchased at Tattersalls this morning, after her previous owner assured Bryce the mare would handle perfectly for a novice rider. With a tame name like Apples, Bryce thought she might be perfect for Patience.
