by Alanna Lucas
He didn’t know how to answer that. No one, except his mother, dared to call him anything less than Greystone. And yet, whenever he was near Miss Leybourne, he yearned to hear a sweeter endearment from her beautiful full lips.
Attempting to shake those thoughts from his mind, he cleared his throat and focused on propriety. “Your Grace is sufficient.”
He turned to walk away when he heard Patience whisper under her breath, “Exactly as I thought.” Although her words were soft, mockery screamed through the room.
He whipped around and stormed to where she was standing. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he growled out with more anger than he’d intended. Much to her credit, she did not flinch, quite the contrary in fact.
Raising her perfect chin, she held his gaze. “That you are arrogant, and your title means everything to you, Your Grace.”
Why was she goading him?
“You know nothing of what anything means to me.”
“I know you think less of those beneath you—” She continued to rattle off what was wrong with him—most of which was true. But all he could think about was kissing that delectable mouth, and having Miss Leybourne beneath him, whispering his name in pleasure.
Damn, he had to get out of here.
Without thought of manners, he turned to leave, but only managed to take two steps when Miss Leybourne interrupted his flight once again.
“I am not finished speaking to you.” His heart jolted at her words.
But he had very much finished talking to her. Two strides and he had her pressed against the bookshelf, his mouth quieting all talking. It was his body’s turn to talk. To show her what he wanted.
The moment their mouths met, something exploded inside him. Patience’s sharp intake of breath and exploratory hands told him that she felt the same.
Kissing her was dangerous. Kissing led to intimacy. Intimacy led to deeper feelings, which led to love. Her fiery temper had ignited every damn urge he’d buried over the past six years. He had never been so enamored by a woman before, not even…
His hand roamed over the gentle curve of her shoulder, traveling across her chest. A rapid heartbeat pounded against his hand. He dipped lower, his large palm cupping the swell of one ample bosom.
What was standing in his way, stopping him from taking her right now?
Before his mind could answer that question, she broke the kiss, and slapped him hard. A sharp sting ricocheted across his face.
That was definitely a hindrance.
Her eyes were wide with shock and desire. Her chest heaved with each word she spoke. “I told you before, you will not treat me as one of your…your mistresses.” Her words said one thing, but the look in her eyes told an entirely different story.
“I have no intention making you my mistress. I thought…” How was he to express himself when he really had no idea what was going on?
“I will not allow you to reduce me to the level of whore.”
“Patience, please…” She turned a violent stare on him before storming from the room. Perhaps it was for the best.
Chapter 6
Patience ran away as fast as she could. Her face—and other parts—still burned from where his hand had touched her. And then he’d kissed her. He’d kissed her, and she’d slapped him. She flexed her stinging hand which still ached.
A torrent of confusing emotions raged through her body.
She had enjoyed the kiss, had dreamed of him kissing her like that for the past couple of months. That wasn’t the problem. His Grace had not only disappeared at Lady Trumble’s ball, he hadn’t sought her out after that. And then upon his arrival at Castle Greystone, he had not shown any interest in her, had been quite rude actually. And now, for no apparent reason—except that he probably always got his way—he’d kissed her. Well, she’d have none of that. She was all too familiar with the ways of rakes to succumb to his seduction. She had more pressing matters on her mind than His Grace.
She came face to face with an elegant white painted door inlayed in gold. Please be better. She offered a silent prayer.
She knocked softly before entering her aunt’s chamber with caution. Images of her mother lying perfectly still, waiting for death, threatened to swallow her whole. Her chest constricted. Be strong.
She swallowed the hard lump in her throat and sniffled back tears, strolling into her aunt’s chamber with feigned nonchalance. “Are you feeling any better this evening?” Aunt Agnes had missed Christmas dinner last night, and the festivities of Boxing Day.
“As a matter of fact, I am.” Aunt Agnes did sound better.
The breath Patience hadn’t realized she’d been holding eased out, taking with it some of the tension she had been experiencing since her aunt had been taken ill. All of a sudden, things did indeed seem brighter.
“Were you worried, dearie?”
She would have had a hard time lying to her aunt, so she settled on a half-truth. “A little.” It was quite a bit more than a little, especially after everything that had happened to her mother.
“Well, Dr. Mosby said I should be good as right within a week.”
“A week?” Patience tried to hide her horror that it would take that long for her aunt’s recovery. She swallowed hard again, a nuisance habit that was getting worse. “That’s excellent news.”
“Tell me what you’ve been doing to occupy your time?”
She chattered on about handing out gifts, the arrival of the Duke—and subsequent removal of all the decorations, Clara’s unexpected existence—which came as a complete surprise to Aunt Agnes—the weather, and anything else she could think of…everything but that kiss.
Oh, heaven help her. Just the thought of his lips on hers made her warm all over. And the way his hand cupped… Heat rose in her cheeks as her body tingled with remembrance.
“Are you ill?” Aunt Agnes questioned, interrupting her inappropriate thoughts.
“No, I…I suppose I’m just tired.”
“Well, have a good rest and you can tell me more about what you’ve been up to tomorrow. Good night, dearie.”
She brushed a kiss to the older woman’s forehead. “Good night, Aunt Agnes.”
With Clarice preoccupied by the arrival of her granddaughter, and Aunt Agnes—although doing better—still too weak to venture from her room quite yet, Patience had decided to hide in her own room all day with her favorite book, a far better companion than His Grace. But as dinner neared, she knew the time had come to face him.
She plopped down on the ornate vanity chair and stared at her reflection in the mirror. How was she to face him after that kiss? She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and sighed. She wished her sister were here. Parnell was calm and practical, with sage advice. Parnell would never yell at a duke, or scold him, or even slap him. Patience had really made a mess of things.
She was at a loss but could not dilly-dally any longer. She wanted to look in on her aunt before dinner.
A few minutes later, she sucked in her breath, stamping down the turmoil that was surely showing on her face and entered her aunt’s suite.
“You look much better this evening.”
“Thank you, dearie, I feel better.” The crisp pink hue to her aunt’s cheek signaled that her illness was coming to a close. In a short time, they would be able to depart Castle Greystone and Patience could concentrate on forgetting His Grace and the unwanted feelings he stirred.
“Perhaps tomorrow you will be able to venture from your room.”
“I do hope so. Being ill is rather tiresome and there are only so many needlepoints a person can complete without succumbing to boredom. And besides, I don’t want to miss the Twelfth Night fête Clarice is hosting.” Aunt Agnes tsked several times with disappointment. “It is a shame the house won’t be decorated for that.”
It most definitely is. The wheels began to turn in Patience’s head before being interrupted by her aunt’s rambling commentary.
“Clarice informed me that Lord
Kinsley and Lady Elliot will be in attendance this evening. I’m sure you will enjoy Lord Kinsley’s company, he’s quite an agreeable gentleman. However, I feel the need to warn you about Lady Elliot. She can be quite the gossip. At least her daughter won’t be accompanying them. Although she lives nearby, I believe she is still in mourning.”
“You have nothing to fret about. I’m sure Lady Elliot will behave herself in His Grace’s presence.” He was a force to be reckoned with, that much she would admit. She’d learned that first hand and did not envy the person who received his full wrath. If Lady Elliot was as Aunt Agnes said, Patience would not be His Grace’s focal point for contentiousness. Perhaps the evening wouldn’t be so terrible after all.
She bid her aunt good night and casually strolled toward the parlor, in no rush to begin the evening’s social requirements. She assumed everyone would have begun to gather in the parlor, but then firm whispers reached her ears as she passed a doorway. She was going to walk by quickly when she heard His Grace scolding his mother.
“Why did you invite them?” That seemed to be his standard question. Clearly the Duke disliked socializing with people.
“Since Lord Elliot’s passing several years ago, she often dines here. If you frequented—”
“And her daughter?” Greystone interrupted. “Who else have you invited?”
“Lord Kinsley.”
“Mother,” he whispered under his breath.
“He’s your friend, and besides, you’ve not exactly been cordial to Miss Leybourne. Kinsley will be much better company for her.”
Patience heard a loud huff from the Duke. “I’ve been pleasant enough.”
It was Patience’s turn to let out a slight huff, pleasant enough, indeed.
She had heard enough. She retreated down the hall in the opposite direction. She would find another way to the parlor.
After taking a wrong turn and getting lost in the numerous connecting corridors, she finally found the correct room. A handful of guests had already gathered and, after formal introductions, dinner was called. Patience was more than pleased to be paired with Lord Kinsley. He was charming, handsome, and an excellent conversationalist, but as dinner progressed, her joy diminished.
Mrs. Mullens, who had recently come out of mourning, was making quite a spectacle of herself, peppering Greystone with questions about his various titles, followed by the sprawl of his numerous estates, and finally ending with whether he would like a large brood of children. Patience would not be surprised if the widow proposed to Greystone before the end of the evening.
Greystone’s harsh narrow glare silenced any further inquiries from Mrs. Mullens, who sat quite silently now—at least for the moment.
Unfortunately, Lady Elliot decided silence was not becoming, and turned to Patience, “I understand that your younger sister recently married?”
“Yes,” Patience replied, then turned her attention to the venison. She would not give Lady Elliot the satisfaction of providing any more information than that which was politely required.
But even her curt reply would not deter the other woman’s gossiping. “A duke, I believe, and quite the scandalous engagement,” Lady Elliot stated with a sly smile, as if implying Parnell’s virtue had had to be salvaged. She tapped her plump cheek with a chubby finger. “What is his name?”
“The Duke of Bedford.” Patience was trying her best not to lose her temper and cause a scene.
And then His Grace inquired with an astonishment Patience found almost laughable. Almost. “Your sister married Bedford?”
“Yes.”
“Your sister married the Duke of Bedford?” His Grace questioned again.
Good grief!
“Yes. My sister, nee Miss Parnell Leybourne, married His Grace, the Duke of Bedford, earlier this month, and they are currently on their wedding tour.”
Greystone continued to shake his head. Patience thought she would scream if he asked her again whom her sister had married.
He looked as if he was going to speak again, when Lady Elliot looked her way and maliciously inquired, “And are you in the market for a duke as well, Miss Leybourne?”
Patience had had enough of this game. “I am not interested in marrying a duke. Any duke.”
Several gasps echoed around the room, before Mrs. Mullens chimed in, “How could you not want to marry a duke?”
“I am not interested in a title. I am not interested in wealth. I do not care if my perspective husband is a duke or a farmer.”
“A farmer?” Lady Elliot snickered. “You can’t possibly be serious, Miss Leybourne.”
Deep green eyes clouded in mystery—and perhaps even a little guilt—settled on her. What could she have said that would earn such a look from Greystone?
“I’m quite serious. What matters most to me is love.”
“That is most honorable, my dear.”
Clarice’s words were interrupted by His Grace cold-hearted reflection. “Love is a fleeting affection that can turn sour in the blink of an eye.”
After a miserable evening in the company of two of the most obnoxious women Patience had ever met, she managed to slip away when the men adjourned for brandy. She’d thought a good night’s sleep would set her to rights, but her imagination tormented her with images of Her Grace standing in a stark white, empty room, surrounded by shredded decorations, crying. By morning, she was in a foul mood.
She’d had enough of His Grace’s antics. The Dowager Duchess of Greystone had wanted the house to be festive for Christmastide and that’s exactly what she intended to do. She did not care if His Grace tore down and discarded the decorations each night. She would simply redecorate the next morning, and every morning, until it was time to depart Castle Greystone. She would not let His Grace get the better of her. No, she would not. Not here in the country, not in the city. She would not, could not. Patience would have the last word.
With her mind made up and courage in place, Patience went in search of Clarice to ask permission to redecorate. She had just rounded the corner when the sound of a little child crying echoed from down the hall.
She slowed her pace and listened for which direction the sound was coming from. Soft sniffles drifted out from the open parlor door. She edged inside the dark cold room. She could hear Clara sniffing but could not see where the child was hiding. She went to the window and pulled the drapes back. Warm sunlight brushed against her cheek.
“Oh!” A small whisper escaped from behind a rose-colored settee.
Patience walked over to where the little girl was curled up behind the sofa. Max’s tail went wild when he saw her. She knelt down to pet the dog as she asked Clara, “Are you alright?”
Two sniffles and a long sigh later, the little girl nodded and then shook her head.
“Perhaps I can help,” Patience offered with a smile she hoped would ease the child’s fear.
Clara nodded her head as she wiped away the tears.
“Would you care to sit on the sofa? Or perhaps in the chair by the window? The view is quite lovely.” At the second suggestion, Clara nodded enthusiastically.
She stood and grasped Patience’s hand. With Max following close behind, they went over to a pair of beautiful floral chintz chairs that overlooked a breathtaking view of the countryside.
Patience took a seat and then waited for the little girl to take the other. Clara stood perfectly still and stared at her. Patience was not sure what to do or say. Max had no qualms about finding the perfect spot in a strip of sunlight that filtered in on the elegant carpet.
The silence drew on until Clara asked in a shy voice, “May I sit with you?”
Patience was taken aback by the request. She had only just met this little girl, and His Grace would find it entirely improper. His Grace. She was tired of thinking of him and of all the mixed emotions he constantly stirred.
Improper or not, she intended to comfort the child. “Yes.”
Clara hopped up onto her lap and settled her head against P
atience’s chest. The scent of sweet peas drifted into her senses. “Mama would always let me sit on her lap, ‘specially when I was sad.”
Patience’s heart lurched with an overwhelming pain that she hadn’t felt since the day her mother died. Hot tears pooled in the corner of her eyes. She swallowed the hard, painful lump in her throat and tried to focus on Clara. “And what has you so upset?”
“I’m scared.” The little girl’s own tears streamed down her cheek as she took in huge gulps of air that wracked her entire petite body.
Another sharp pang ricocheted in her heart. “Why?”
“I’m all alone.” She nestled further into Patience’s embrace. “My mama and papa are gone.”
Patience knew all too well the pain of losing a parent, and the desperation of not knowing whether you were alone, if you would survive, and if the pain would ease with time.
“You’re not alone,” she tried to reassure Clara. “You have a grandmother and an uncle.” Patience was not going to add that His Grace was not a very caring person. She stroked Clara’s soft dark curls and kissed the top of her head. “My parents are gone too.”
“Did you cry a lot?” Oh, dear, the little girl’s words were going to be her undoing.
“Yes, and sometimes…I still cry.” The confession rushed from her mouth. She blinked away the tears that threatened anew. She’d never admitted that to anyone else, not even her sister. But somehow it was important for her to share her feelings with this small angel.
Clara lifted her head and stared at Patience, her green eyes wide with shock. “You do?”
Patience nodded her head as she bit the soft flesh of her inner cheek, praying to keep the tears at bay.
Clara rested her head once again on Patience’s chest. The pleasant scent of a freshly bloomed sweet peas tickled her senses again. “Are you my friend?”
“Always,” Patience replied as she rested her cheek against the little girl’s soft curls. “Always.”
