“I do not mean to interrupt your pleasure, Mr. Beckham,” she said softly when he turned from the table to bow to her.
“And you do not, Miss Ballantyne. It was my intention to leave the table now.”
“You depart triumphant, by appearances.”
“I do.” He smiled. “I find the acquaintance of my lady wife has brought me good fortune.”
Her gaze became assessing. “And yet, I had understood that yesterday was your wedding day. How is it fortuitous to fail to share your bride’s companionship on your nuptial night?”
Arthur felt the back of his neck heat and he was keenly aware of the courtesan’s scrutiny. He should have been home and he knew it, but his absence would bring about the endeavor Patience desired. Was there a right answer?
Miss Ballantyne chuckled as if she understood his plight. She averted her gaze, surveying the other occupants of the club with a smile. “It is an honor to have the opportunity to introduce someone to intimate pleasures,” she purred and Arthur felt his discomfiture grow.
“If you say as much. I would not know.” Arthur strove to change the subject. “Would you care for a glass of wine, Miss Ballantyne?” he asked, indicating a servant who carried a tray.
“No, I thank you. I did not come for entertainment or sustenance.”
“Why else does one come to a gaming hell, Miss Ballantyne?”
She smiled. “I seek a man who shares a common trait with you, Mr. Beckham. He also seems unaware of where he should be on this night.” Her tone hardened a little at that confession but before Arthur could decide how to reply, he heard her quick intake of breath.
The Duke of Haynesdale appeared from another room, leaning on his cane far less than Arthur recalled was his custom. Indeed, he looked as formidable as he had in years past, though something clearly had annoyed him. His dark brows were drawn together and he cast a glare across the room. He froze when his gaze fell upon Arthur and Miss Ballantyne, and Arthur feared there might be repercussions from this short conversation. Miss Ballantyne held the duke’s gaze proudly, as if she would challenge him to speak his mind. Truly, lightning might have crackled between the pair, so avidly were they aware of each other, and whatever annoyance had been in the duke’s expression melted away.
“If you will excuse me, Mr. Beckham. I have spotted the man in question.” Miss Ballantyne did not wait for a reply but crossed the room, cutting a direct path to the duke who only stood and awaited her. She might have said something to his grace—Arthur could not be certain as her back was to him—but the duke smiled, then swept her up with one arm and lifted her against his chest, bending to claim her mouth with a possessive kiss.
There was a gasp, then someone gave a low whistle. By the time the pair broke apart, the other men were cheering and stamping, more than one applauding the effort.
Arthur was amused that the duke seemed to have recalled where the lady believed he should be, for he caught her elbow and urged her toward the door, a path the lady followed quite willingly.
And Miss Ballantyne was right. Arthur should be home. He had welcome tidings to share, after all, and an apology to make. This could be the secret he shared, that of the fund for their venture. He did not doubt Patience would welcome news of his progress. He gathered his winnings, took his departure, and made for home. It was still raining steadily, the water pooled on the streets, but he dared to be optimistic.
He nigh whistled as he entered the house, Stevens having been awakened by his vigorous knocking. He took the stairs three at a time and entered his chamber, casting aside his hat and gloves as he headed for the adjoining door.
When there was no reply to his gentle knock, Arthur opened it the merest crack and peeked. The fire in Patience’s room had burned down to embers, though still it cast a golden glow over the room. The drapes had not been drawn and in the pale morning light, he could see that she was in bed.
He eased into the room on silent feet, listening. Patience breathed softly and deeply. He crept closer to the bed and his bride, noting the empty boxes and the laden shelves in the small room beyond. He smiled that they were just as he had envisioned them. The shelves were nearly full and his most precious volume was precisely where he had left it.
Patience looked soft and delicate in her sleep, more vulnerable than she appeared to be when awake. Her lashes were surprisingly dark against her cheeks, which were gently flushed. Her lips were parted and Arthur was tempted to ease into bed beside her.
He checked his impulse, not wanting to startle or frighten her.
He bent and kissed her cheek, wishing she would awaken and welcome him, for he was prepared to set matters to rights between them.
But though she smiled at the touch of his lips upon her cheek, she nestled a little deeper into the warmth of the bed, sighed and slept on.
Had they consummated their match already, Arthur might have awakened her with a bold caress. But if their match was to be a happy one, then his first visit to her bed should be a deliberate and merry one.
He quietly added his newly acquired funds to those hidden on her bookcase, noting with satisfaction that the contents of the book box had not been disturbed. Of course, Patience could be trusted.
He eyed her, knowing he should tell her everything, fearing he would lose any admiration she had of him if he did. He had lied, for most of his life, not at his own behest, but he imagined Patience would decree a lie to be a lie.
He had to earn more of her admiration first.
He would begin that very day.
He turned with regret toward his own cold bed in the adjacent room, and realized that his comrades had abandoned him as well. Tar and Feathers slept in Patience’s room, each on one chair before the fire, neither looking inclined to move. Faithless creatures. He smiled to himself, noting a book abandoned on the footstool. Had Patience been reading it, a cat in her lap?
He picked it up, curious as to her choice.Pride & Prejudice. It was the third volume of a novel and not one he knew. He fanned through it, noting that this edition had been read repeatedly. A favorite, then, which meant he might learn more of his wife by reading it himself. He scratched the ears of the cats, smiling as they purred, then retreated quietly to his own chamber. In moments, Arthur was wearing only his nightshirt and tucked into bed, opening what soon proved to be the finale of a beguiling book.
