The Viscount's Wicked Ways
Page 14
He smirked. “Perquisites of being the lord of the castle.” His smooth voice was deliberately haughty.
Swearing, this time in English, came from the corner. “Woman, leave me be.” Jim swatted a maid’s hand from poking at his foot.
“Quite the colorful linguists you employ.”
A lift of his lips was the only acknowledgment to her comment. He called the maid over. “Jenny, please ask four footmen to assist us up here.”
The maid hurried off. Thomas cast a speculative glance at his injured men. “This will give me something to threaten them with—helping you move these sarcophagi downstairs when you ship them to London.”
Patience shook her head. The new laborers appeared quickly and before long the disturbed mummy and his sarcophagus had joined the others, and everyone except the maids had disappeared.
Patience stepped forward to clean the mess, but Thomas’s hand on her arm stopped her.
“You need a break. You are ahead of schedule, aren’t you?”
She nodded, a bit bemused.
“Let them clean up. Come, we are going fishing.”
Confused, Patience allowed him to lead her downstairs. She wondered where they were going to fish. She had been to the lake on the grounds more than once during her visit, and although picturesque and pristine, it seemed devoid of activity. She had seen geese and ducks but no critters or fish. Caroline had said there were frogs in late summer, but Patience had her doubts.
Thomas picked up a picnic basket and guided her outside. He seemed inordinately fond of picnics, and Patience was perfectly pleased he wanted to share them with her. She loved picnics, but wasn’t able to indulge in London, and since her father had started working at the museum they had been bound to the city.
Thomas veered right as soon as they stepped outside, and Patience realized they were heading toward the stables. The horse she had ridden to the ruins was saddled, and something was bundled on Thomas’s stallion.
“Where are we going?”
“To the river. Good fishing there.”
Patience nodded, remembering that Caroline had shared that information on their tour.
Thomas hooked the basket to his horse, then walked around and lifted Patience onto her mare. His eyes met hers and a look resembling possession flitted across his face, so fleetingly that Patience could have imagined it.
The river wound past the abbey, on the north side of the estate. Less than a ten-minute ride. Their route took them past the outlying buildings, including the Hastings Building. Patience had tried surreptitiously to peer inside, but Thomas had been talking to her at the time, his eyes never leaving hers, and she’d been unable to get a good look.
They trotted through the woods and when they emerged Patience felt her breath catch. It was beautiful. A variety of trees and wildflowers flanked the wide river, purple loosestrife clinging to the edges, reeds and pussy willows clumped at its sides. Submerged plants swayed with the water and a Fritillary butterfly fluttered just above the surface. The water looked surprisingly deep in parts. A stream parted from the river and ran to the north, and Thomas explained that it turned into another river farther up.
“A perfectly good spot to fish farther north, but it takes another thirty minutes of trekking to get there.”
She looked at him, wide-eyed. “Fish? You weren’t joking?”
“Haven’t you ever fished?”
She bit her lip and shook her head.
“I thought you lived in the country?”
“I did. And I’ve always wanted to fish.” A wistful note entered her voice, unbidden. Her father had enjoyed fishing with her mother, and he had given it up after her death. He had said that he couldn’t bring himself to do it without her. Patience had thought it might allow her father to feel closer to her mother’s spirit, but it was the one thing he was adamant about. He chose to bury himself within the museum’s walls. A very rational man, he had admitted it was an irrational act but could not be budged.
Thomas untied the straps on his mount and handed her a bundle. The two men who had accompanied them dismounted and removed two blankets, a lamp, and other assorted gear, then disappeared into the woods.
“I see we’ve lost our chaperones again.”
He smiled without looking up. “Have we?”
She shook her head in bemusement and bent to help him unravel his bundles. Inside were two fishing rods and several small boxes. He explained that the boxes contained flies.
“Who makes them?”
“My gamesman makes the flies and rods. We have maure flies, tandy flies, and wasp flies here. All are made from mallard breasts and buzzard quills. These rods are hazel and aspen. Sometimes he uses willow.”
Thomas explained the principles of tying a fly to the line. After their poles were pressed together, he walked to the water, Patience eagerly behind.
He demonstrated how to cast, and his fly sailed through the air, pulling the long line behind, and landing the fly with a small plop some twenty feet into the river.
“Think of casting the line like slinging a long Spanish whip through the air. You pull line with your left hand, and pretend there’s a clock above your head. Cast your rod backward to one o’clock in one smooth, steady lift. Pause while the line extends itself, then thrust it forward with even and continuous power to an eleven o’clock position. When the loop forms in front of your rod, stop the rod, let go of the line in your left hand, and allow the looped line to unroll off the tip.”
It looked easy enough. Patience pulled her arm back and threw it forward. She barely kept her grip, almost chucking the pole in the river. The line that she had let loose puddled three feet in front of her.
Thomas coughed, and she shot him a disgruntled look.
“Even, continuous power.”
“Fine, fine.”
She managed to mimic Thomas’s earlier cast, and the line puddled six feet in front of her. His Haughtiness somehow managed to keep back a grin.
“Just keep pulling it back and throwing it out. Like this.” He pulled the line back and tossed it out, tugging at the loose line near the reel. With every pull and toss, the line sailed farther into the river, and the fly plopped on the surface.
Patience tried casting a few more times, but she couldn’t get the feel of what her muscles were supposed to be doing. Thomas put his rod down and walked behind her. He leaned against her back and put his right hand over hers.
“Feel the motion.”
He put his other arm around her and gripped the line. He pulled the rod back, her hand under his, and flicked it out, letting the line loose at the same time. The action flattened her back to his chest, then her lower half to his. She barely noticed the fly’s landing in the water.
“You just keep pulling back and thrusting the bait farther in.”
The words caressed her left ear, causing her to shiver. Their bodies were pressed together, so that she was leaning back against him.
“Spread your legs apart and balance your weight. Relax. You’re too tense.”
Tense? He had no idea.
He repeated the motions, pulling the line back and flicking it out, his body rocking against hers with each movement. Again and again until Patience thought she might puddle to the ground in imitation of her first cast.
“Can you feel it?” he whispered into her ear.
“Yes.” Her voice cracked a bit, and she cleared her throat. “I think so.”
He pulled away, his fingers perhaps straying a bit up her arm as he did so. It was hard to tell if they had actually made contact or if the hair on her arm had reacted on its own after everything else.
Patience took a deep breath and cast. Ten feet. She pulled the line back and did it again.
It took another fifteen minutes of practice and Thomas’s heavily lidded smile asking if she needed more instruction before she felt comfortable with the motions.
And then they were fishing. She was really fishing! And it was wonderful. Thomas had caught
a few fish while she was getting the hang of things, and had released them all. Patience was eager to catch her first.
She let out her line, saw the fly disappear, and felt a tug.
“I have one!”
“Well, reel it in.”
It took several minutes for Patience to pull the pint-size fish in. It flopped on the ground as she admired her prize.
“Nice minnow.”
“Hey! Leave him alone.” Patience smiled at her fish, before looking up. “What now?”
“Take the minn—, er, small perch off like I showed you and toss him back in.”
Patience eyed the fish dubiously, but gamely reached for it. It flopped a bit, and she shifted her hand around trying to find the best angle to grip it. It finally settled in one spot, and she reached the last few inches to grip it.
She was concentrating so intently on the fish that when she touched it and felt Thomas’s finger poke in her side, she jerked in surprise. The fish jumped and she shrieked, yanking her hand back. She had forgotten Thomas was next to her and perfectly within finger-poking range.
He laughed, clutching at his sides, oblivious to the calculating looks she sent him. Finally, she unhooked the fish and set it in the water. Thomas was still laughing at her. Putting her hands on her hips just increased his laughter.
Patience did the only thing that she could. She pushed him in.
The look on his face was worth every bit of being laughed at, and it sent her into her own gales of laughter. Unfortunately, she missed his calculating stare in her moment of victory, and hence was completely shocked to find herself on land one moment and flying through the air the next. Really, she shouldn’t have been surprised.
She surfaced, still laughing, and he pulled her to him, kissing her soundly. She wrapped herself in his embrace, kissing him back. There was nothing like it really, this kissing thing. Or at least, this kissing thing with Thomas.
The water was cold, but with his hands tracing the garments that had molded to her body and his mouth tracing hers, she might as well have been swimming in the warm springs at Bath.
Thomas pressed his forehead to hers, then pulled back. The look in his eyes was lazy and sensual, with a good amount of heat beneath. She unconsciously shivered. They both seemed to realize that they were in the middle of a river at the same time, and also how they had gotten there. They shared a smile and helped each other onto the bank.
The sun was on a downward path, but the air was warm. Patience wrung out her skirt and hair, as Thomas stripped off his shirt. She blinked as he casually tossed it to the ground and lifted one of the blankets to dry off. He stood there without a care in the world, half-naked, drying himself. She couldn’t look away. He caught her gaze and winked. Heat suffused her cheeks, and she pretended interest in wringing more water from her skirt.
The next thing she knew a blanket was wrapped around her, and she was being rumpled dry.
“Wh—” The blanket was gently swiped across her face and some of the linen caught on her tongue. She freed one of her hands to wipe her tongue, and he fluffed her hair.
Patience pulled away, hands on hips, to glare at him. He smirked, and she realized she probably looked like a wet cat, hair in every direction, a thoroughly disgruntled look on her face.
“Remove your dress.”
Her arms dropped to her sides, and she blinked. “Excuse me?”
He motioned to her garments. “Take off your clothes. They need to dry.”
All her befuddled brain could come up with was, “But the buttons are in the back.”
She caught a glimpse of another smirk before she was turned and his fingers ran nimbly down her back, unhooking buttons and peeling her dress down her body, leaving her in her shift and corset.
He whistled appreciatively, and she wished herself anywhere else. In fact, she figured the hole that was supposed to open up under her feet so that she could slip through should have been appearing anytime.
“Step out.”
It was more the realization of how close he was to her nearly naked body than his command that forced her into taking a step backward. Thankfully she did not trip over her clothes. He would likely have caught her, and that would really have been too embarrassing, what with the near nakedness and the kissing and the stroking hands, and the—
“Patience?”
“Yes?” she squeaked.
He smiled. A real smile, not his normal smirk. “Let’s hang these up and continue fishing.”
“Like this?” she said, pointing to her state of undress.
“Exactly like that.” He winked. “You can try and beat my fish count while my rakish eyes are too busy.”
She blushed, but a pleased thrum coursed through her body.
They found a small tree and hung their clothes to dry and resumed fishing, to her utter relief and the slight disappointment that she firmly repressed.
They fished for two more hours, and Patience wasn’t sure whether it was the motion of fishing that she found so relaxing, or their shared smiles and being near Thomas. They caught a lot of fish, but since they released each one Patience was sure they just kept catching the same daft bugger over and over again. She said so to Thomas, and he laughed for at least half a minute.
“The sun is going down. Let’s feast on cheese and crackers and watch the sunset, shall we?”
As the sun dipped lower in the sky, the temperature slowly dropped. Thomas wrapped them both in one of the blankets as they pawed through the food basket. He pulled her securely against his chest as he leaned against a tree trunk. The sun sank into a small break in the trees, but it was just enough to reflect warm pink, yellow, and orange across the water and onto the mas it disappeared from view.
She felt fingers pulling through her hair and massaging the back of her neck.
“We should be getting back.” He tipped her head and gave her a mock critical look. “And perhaps some tidying would not be amiss.”
Patience leaned into him again, soaking up the safety and heat. She couldn’t imagine what would happen if Mrs. Tecking were to see her in this condition, dress on or not. Part of her didn’t care what the dragon had to say. She felt happier than she had since they had moved to London. She felt safe with Thomas, despite his monsters, secrets, and curious explosions. But the other part of her was still sensitive to what others said, no matter how long and hard she had tried to convince herself otherwise.
She nodded and started to move. Thomas stood and hauled her up, planting a soft kiss on the top of her head before wrapping the blanket around her and retrieving his shirt and her dress. He helped her into her dress, redoing all of the buttons, and even helped put her hair back up. Her glasses had been placed to the side earlier, and she slipped them back on her nose. Shield back in place.
Placing two fingers to his mouth, he gave a shrill whistle, and the two men who had accompanied them appeared less than five minutes later. Patience had nearly forgotten them. After fishing in her shift for two hours, she had lost a bit of her modesty, but still hoped they had been well out of view.
One of the men lit a lantern as Thomas helped Patience mount. The short trip to the castle was made in silence, and Patience was caught between happiness and dread. Thomas had resumed the mask he seemed to wear most of the time.
It wasn’t reassuring. The river had been a world away, a retreat. And this Thomas riding next to her wasn’t the same one with whom she had shared the outing. Even through his swift personality changes, he kept giving glimpses of other facets. But what did it mean that he hid those facets from the world? What secrets did he bear that caused him to act this way?
She was still trying to puzzle out the answers when she entered the castle. Her motion came to an abrupt halt as someone blocked her path.
Mrs. Tecking stood in front of her, a malicious glint in her eyes.
Chapter 15
“Good evening, Mrs. Tecking.” Patience tried to pass around the woman, but she stood firmly in place.
Patience attempted to sidestep her again, but was blocked. “I’ve been out. If you don’t mind, I’d like to rest and change before dinner.”
“Oh, but I do mind. An unmarried woman gallivanting about the countryside without a chaperone in the company of a confirmed bachelor is unseemly.”
Patience pressed her lips together.
“But the rules don’t apply to you, do they, Miss Harrington? They never do. The rest of us mortals must bend to society’s dictates and slave to keep a good name, but not you.” Mrs. Tecking’s voice grew increasingly bitter until her final words dripped like acid. “No, never you.”
Patience had no idea what she had done to earn such enmity, but it made her tired. “Yes, Mrs. Tecking. Could you let me pass now?”
“No. It’s time someone took you to task about these things.”
“Took me to task?” Patience voice rose. “What do you think happens every time I enter a ballroom? And for what? Not knowing how to converse? Not knowing the etiquette well enough? Trusting people too easily? I think I get taken to task plenty well enough, thank you.” Patience had had enough. Before Mrs. Tecking could respond, she pushed her aside and walked to her room.
A knock sounded on her door minutes later. She had been prepared for Mrs. Tecking’s confrontation—it had simply been a matter of time. But it didn’t mean she enjoyed it. She wasn’t in the mood for company.
“Come back later.”
“Patience?”
She groaned and buried her face in her pillow. “I’ll talk with you at dinner, John.”
“May I come in?”
“No. I’ll see you at dinner.”
She heard footsteps moving down the hall and turned onto her side. She didn’t want anyone else to see her bedraggled state. Mrs. Tecking was sure to inform everyone as it was. No need to confirm it.
Dratted righteous, moth-eaten harpies who thought they had an obligation to make life miserable for anyone who didn’t agree with them or follow their dictates. And the funny thing, if she had been in a laughing mood, was that she hadn’t even earned half the derision. If they had just made sport of her for being a country simpleton, she would have been embarrassed and thought it cruel, but it would have at least been somewhat understandable.