“I awakened at dawn or near to it, to find my pockets had been emptied.” He patted the place where his sapphire pin should have been, his expression rueful. “I liked that pin. It matched my eyes.”
“It did indeed,” she ceded and he smiled at her.
“Shall you add vanity to my crimes?”
She could not halt her own smile. “I could call it honesty instead of vanity. You are a handsome man and would have to be blind to be oblivious to it.” He grinned and she dared to continue. “I like that you take pride in your appearance, for I find you most attractive.”
“Patience,” he murmured with surprise and she found herself flushing again.
“Did he even take your coppers?”
Arthur almost smiled. “He did, the wretch. Every one of them. I am surprised he left my watch, but perhaps he was interrupted.” He shrugged. “Without a single coin to my name, I knew I could only walk back to Berkley Square. I waited for the sounds of the workers in the street, then did as much.” He raised his hands. “And so you find me returned, if somewhat more disheveled than is my custom.”
“Did you lose last night?” Patience found she hated the notion of the earl absconding with Arthur’s winnings more than the prospect of Arthur gambling.
“No, but nor did I win.” He turned to her, his expression haunted. “But it is in this moment that I stand to lose all of import, if you have come to despise me, for your choice would not be without cause.” He was so earnest that a lump rose in her throat.
She touched his arm. “Arthur! Do not lose hope. We will find a solution. We might find the funds themselves. Or perhaps Mr. Fanshawe will grant us a loan.”
Arthur gave her a hot look. “Based upon what principal? My boots are not sufficiently fine and as you have noted repeatedly, I possess no skills or expertise.”
She had never yet seen him despondent and it troubled her. “Arthur, we will find a way together, somehow. We are bound together for better or for worse, after all, until death us do part.” She had thought to provoke a smile but he frowned.
“Are we?”
Patience blinked. “Of course, we are. We stood before the vicar and exchanged our vows just last Saturday…”
“You pledged yourself to Arthur Beckham. I know that man has been dead these twenty years.”
Patience could only stare at him. “But,” she managed finally.
He held her gaze and even if she ignored his blackened eye, he had never looked so much like a stranger to her. “My name is Charles Arthur Leighton.”
Patience felt her mouth drop open.
There was a gentle rap at the door then and Taylor appeared. “Sir? I would not interrupt.”
Patience rose to her feet with purpose. “Please, Taylor, my husband has need of you. If you might summon a hot bath, I think he would welcome it as much as a change of clothing. Please have the fire laid, as well. I suspect you have a better notion of how to care for his injuries than I might.”
“Ma’am?” Taylor came into the room, his expression turning to horror as he looked at Arthur’s blackened eye. “Sir!”
Arthur stood up and shed his jacket with some effort. “My wife is right, Taylor, save that I would also like breakfast after that bath.”
“Of course, sir.”
Arthur fixed Patience with an intent look. “You might bring that to my wife’s chamber, for she and I have much to discuss this morning.” He raised a brow, lowering his voice as Taylor hastened away. “There is no point in withholding the tale any longer. You will have your truth, Patience, and you will have it this very day. Perhaps you will see why I did not hasten to share it with you. Not only did I mislead you, but I am not even the man you believed me to be. Perhaps the truth is the only thing of merit I can offer you.” He looked saddened by this and as much as she yearned to reassure him, Patience knew she had to hear his confession first.
* * *
Arthur felt much restoredby his bath, and his stomach growled when he proceeded to Patience’s chamber in his dressing robe. He admired how she had directed Taylor’s efforts with a minimum of discussion, seeing proof in that of her experience in managing her father’s house. Her hair was done by the time he joined her and she had changed her dress. The fire was crackling and the cats, once his loyal companions, had clearly chosen Patience as their new guardian.
He could not blame them.
She rose to greet him and took his hand, ushering him into one chair while she claimed the other. It was sweet torment to touch her and suspect that he would likely never do so again. Even the weight of her hand within his seemed infinitely precious and he mourned his own failure to defend what was of import to him.
He had betrayed her and she would not forgive him. The sole thing she could not abide was a deception, after all, and his life had been a lie for twenty years. He would tell her the truth, simply to clear his debt to her, then nothing else would matter. He knew the earl would ensure that his membership at the club was revoked and he suspected that Lady Beckham would soon hear of his unacceptable choice. With the funds having vanished, he could not finance Patience’s goal or keep his promise to her.
All was lost and Arthur did not see how any of it could be made to rights.
