“No,” Reynaud said. “It will be now, for I will never wait upon a tradesman.” He pivoted and marched up the stairs of the club, leaving Arthur to follow.
He considered his options for a moment, then chose to follow. If Reynaud meant to make trouble, he would likely have Arthur barred from the club, which might make this the last time he entered the place.
He checked his watch, reasoning that he could still return to Patience before midnight, no matter how long-winded the earl might be, and followed the other man into the club.
* * *
Patience closedher eyes in relief when she heard Arthur speak to Stevens in the foyer. It was after dawn and she had sat awake all night, uncertain which possibility that rose in her thoughts was worse.
Arthur might be an inveterate gambler.
Arthur might have lost all the funds he had previously won.
Arthur might have a mistress whose pleasures cost him dearly.
Arthur might be drunk. He might be dueling. He might be racing horses and living recklessly, while she sat alone and fretted for his welfare.
Arthur might have come to harm during the endless night.
The cats had both settled in her lap around midnight, as if sensing that she had need of comfort. She eased them aside now as she heard Arthur’s tread on the stairs. His steps were heavy as if he carried a great burden, which only fed Patience’s anger.
He must have lost.
He must have lost it all.
No doubt he remained out to drown his sorrows. That would have been on credit, which meant the lost funds were not the sum of the debt. Oh, if only she could shake sense into him!
The door to his chamber closed softly and she heard the low murmur of him consulting with Taylor. Was he drunk? She could not hear clearly enough to tell. She rose to her feet and smoothed the dress she had not removed the night before. Her hair was still up and she did not doubt that her exhaustion showed.
Her fury was probably also evident.
There was no flinching this task, though. She took a deep breath, strode to the adjoining door and rapped hard upon it. She did not wait for a reply but charged into Arthur’s bedchamber, hauling open the closed drapes on her way. Pale pearly light flooded into the chamber and she spun to find Arthur wincing at her from the bed, one hand before his face.
He was still dressed, his cravat loosened and his shirt opened along with his waistcoat. He still wore his boots and his jacket, but sat on the edge of the bed, looking like a man still under the influence of his revels. She could see the faint shadow of his whiskers on his chin and a bit of the dark hair on his chest. His hair looked as if he had run his fingers through it repeatedly, his boots were scuffed and he positively reeked of brandy.
Patience seethed. She had never had greater evidence of his rakehell habits than his own appearance on this morning. If he suffered from his indulgences, he deserved as much. She hardened her heart against the sight of him and braced her hands upon her hips, prepared to grant a lecture.
“Patience,” he said without surprise, a weariness in his tone that convinced her that every one of her suspicions was correct.
“How dare you?” she fumed, keeping her voice low that the servants might not hear. “How dare you stay out all the night long, carousing and gambling and drinking?—”
“Cavorting?” he asked with a hint of his usual playful manner.
Patience was not to be diverted. She continued heatedly. “—indulging in who knows what manner of egregious behavior while I sit and worry about your welfare? You are a wastrel and a scoundrel of the worst order, a blackguard and a ruffian, a man whose charm does not excuse his choices…”
“You worried?” he echoed as if she had said nothing else. His eye glinted as he considered her from behind his hand. “You cede that I have charm?”
“Arthur! This is no jest. Of course, I worried! You did not return for dinner, nor in time to retire to bed. And your charm is beyond dispute, though I cannot condone the fact that you use it as a weapon.”
“And are you disarmed by said weapon, Patience?” He smiled at his own jest and she yearned to strike him for finding the situation amusing.
They would never agree upon his choices! Her life would become a sequence of mornings similar to this one and she would be condemned to stand and watch as he gambled away every thing of value to either of them.
She realized his sapphire pin was missing and was struck by how much she regretted its sacrifice to his games of chance.
She returned to her tirade with gusto. “We spoke before about your decadent indulgences and I had understood that you meant to abandon such pursuits in favor of a sensible and prudent life. But no, you lied to me about your intentions.”
“Patience…”
