The Accidental Groom (The Mad Matchmaking Men of Waterloo Book 2), page 13
“Always a pleasure, Miss Wallace.” He brushed the backs of her fingers to his mouth, and she blushed. “Shall we waltz, my dear?”
“Of course, my lord.” She sketched a flirty curtsey.
Together, they navigated the crush. Then he slipped an arm about her waist and eased her into the rotation. Yes, he held her too close, but he didn’t care. Patience spoke to him on a level no one else could reach. She had a way of soothing his frayed nerves and calming his inner demons. While he had yet to secure her hand in marriage, he vowed he would win her, if he had to make the rounds of every ballroom in London, and he set about to do just that.
As the evening progressed, he stood as sentry, guarding his lady. Although the wolves sniffed at her skirts, no one dared challenge Rawden. In no uncertain terms, he made it clear Patience had a suitor more than prepared to defend his claim.
“My friend, you should relax.” Rockingham elbowed Rawden in the ribs. “And Arabella asked me to tell you to stop undressing Miss Wallace with your gaze.”
“I do no such thing.” He folded his arms and admired the subtle play of candlelight on Patience’s soft, golden curls. When he glanced at Rockingham, his fellow wounded veteran arched a brow. “Well, I can’t help it. Your lovely, nosy bride gowned my future wife in eau de nil, leaving nothing to the imagination, and I’ve surmised countless different ways I could take her out of that tempting frock. She looks like a Greek goddess, ripe for the picking. Do you blame me?”
“No.” Rockingham chuckled. “But if you do not behave, I will have to deal with my wife, and I make it my business never to deal with my wife.”
“Oh, all right. I will do my best, but I promise nothing.” Rawden huffed a breath. “Indeed, I am convinced, and I will argue the point with anyone who gainsays me, that courtship is a vicious game concocted by marriage-minded mamas to drive men insane, such that we will promise anything when negotiating the betrothal contract. The wait is brutal. I am so aroused I could bounce guineas off my main mast.”
“That is a thought I prefer not to envision.” Rockingham winced. “But I understand. Still, you will try, for my sake?”
“Of course.” He adjusted his black patch and glanced toward the heavens, starting when the dinner bell rang. “Excellent. Perhaps food will distract me.”
“Not likely.” Rockingham stuck his tongue in his cheek. “Believe me, I speak from experience. Prior to our nuptials, I took Arabella for ices at Gunter’s, and was that ever a mistake. Never in my wildest dreams could I have foreseen the erotic adventures of consuming a simple confection, but suddenly all I could think of were naughty deeds one would hesitate to ask of a professional, much less a gently-reared virgin.”
“Really?” Rawden followed Patience, as she strolled, arm-in-arm, with Lady Rockingham. In his mind, he pictured the particular sweet Rockingham referenced. The realization, when it came to him, brought gales of laughter. “Oh, I say, I never knew you had it in you.”
“Brother, there is nothing so powerful, or intoxicating, as unspent passion.” Rockingham slapped Rawden on the shoulder. “Especially when the desired is your future bride. Just keep your main mast leashed until you are properly wed. Then, with restraint and care, you can educate her in the finer aspects of marital intimacy.”
“And how did that work for you, given you secured an heir?” Rawden asked in a low voice. “Can you honestly say you are satisfied?”
“To elaborate would be ungentlemanly.” Rockingham paused and surveyed his marchioness. He winked, and she smiled. “Suffice it to say Arabella holds my interest, unequivocally, and I cannot fathom that ever changing.”
With that, Rockingham claimed the seat next to Lady Rockingham, leaving Rawden to occupy the empty chair beside Patience. Ensconced in a dimly lit corner near a pair of open terrace doors, he draped his napkin in his lap and inhaled the fresh scent of roses and honeysuckle wafting from the gardens.
“Have I told you how lovely you look tonight?” He took Patience’s hand in his and pressed his lips to the tender flesh on the underside of her wrist. He could eat her alive if given the chance. “That gown is inspiring.”
Not for an instant would he consider telling her what she inspired, because his Jolly Roger was overly jolly and too ready to maraud.
“Lord Beaulieu, this is a treat.” A certain importuning widow thrust her hip and almost knocked Patience to the floor. “It has been too long. Why have you not called on me?”
“Er—I beg your pardon.” He tried but failed to dodge the previous dalliance. “Good evening, Lady Fauconberg.”
“Now, now. When did we become so formal?” She raked her fingers through his hair, and he jerked free. “My, but I am parched. Be a dear and fetch me a glass of champagne, while I become acquainted with your charming little friend, General Wallace’s unfortunate daughter.”
To his horror, Patience pushed from the table and fled onto the terrace.
Without so much as a backward glance, he gave chase. In the cool night air, he halted and trained his ear for the slightest sound. A delicate pitter-patter of footfalls led him toward the maze. He rounded a large hedgerow and almost knocked down a couple involved in a heated tryst.
“Who goes there?”
“Apologies.” To a hail of expletives, Rawden made a quick exit and ran beneath the arched entry to the network of paths. Again, he listened for any sign of Patience. The frantic pace of steps lured him toward a side egress, one he used to make a quick escape on a prior questionable foray. He burst forth onto a lawn. A soft, feminine sob drove him past the fountain to a narrow walkway. Sitting on a bench, partially shielded by a vine-covered arbor, he found Patience.
“Could you not leave me alone in my embarrassment?” She lifted her chin and sniffed. “Or do you take pleasure in my downfall?”
“You are mistaken, my dear.” Slowly, he neared the small structure. “The shame is mine to own.”
“How so?” She shrugged. “You are a man of means and title. As you’ve declared before, whatever you do, people must still bow to you.”
“What I meant was prior to our acquaintance I conducted myself with no thought for propriety.” She wiped a stray tear, and he cursed himself for making her cry. “I presumed that I alone bore the consequences of my actions. I never considered my—”
“Bride-to-be?” She shook her head. “What was I thinking? That an impoverished woman of no significance and no connections to recommend her could wed an earl and live happily ever after? This is no fairy tale. I am no princess, and you are no prince. I never should have considered a union with you.”
“What are you saying?” He rested fists on hips. “Are you declining my offer of marriage? Do you reject my suit?”
She nodded, and his well-planned future came crashing down about him.
Rawden simply stood there, drowning, grasping for a lifeline. Something. Anything to save his cause because he could not begin to comprehend his future without Patience. Terror blossomed in the pit of his belly, and anger rode hard in its wake.
“So that is it? You run at the first sign of trouble?” He gnashed his teeth. “How mistaken I was about you. I thought you had courage. Yet, I see you, standing there with your nose pressed to the glass, always on the outside looking in, denying an irrefutable truth. You want to live in my world—you crave it. To know what I can do for you. What I can make you feel. You were made for passion and desire. You were made for me, and I can set you ablaze. I can teach you untold pleasures, but you yield the field in fear. I believed you were many things, but I never figured you for a coward. You may deceive yourself, but can you lie to me? Admit it. You want me. Give me that much.”
The resulting silence fell like a death knell between them.
He considered relenting, but everything in him raged against it.
He turned his vision to the sky and vowed hellfire and vengeance on—
“Yes,” she whispered.
In an instant, he came alert. For a moment, he thought he imagined her response. “What did you say?”
“Yes.” She stood and faced him. “You are right. I’m tired of pretending I’m something I am not. That I am impervious to emotion. But I would surrender all my tomorrows to touch you, if only once.”
“Then why deny me?” He took a single step in her direction. “Why forswear your genuine self?”
“Because I was raised to smile, even when my heart was torn in two, and to greet those who turned their noses to me. But I am done living according to some impossible standard, when I have known fear, hunger, and immeasurable loss.” She advanced on him, and he held his ground. “And I do think of you when you are not with me. My lord, I dream of you. I wonder where you are and if you are happy or sad. I worry about you. And I would touch the flame, ever so briefly, else I should be consumed. You harken to my old self, the girl with her head in the clouds, and I should love to meet that girl again. Still, you need not marry me. I know what I am, and I will no longer run from my circumstances.”
“I don’t understand.” He inclined his head. “Are you offering to be my mistress?”
“That or whatever you wish to call me.” She lifted her chin, and he doubted her not for a second. “I accept my fate.”
“Then you will be my countess.” He kissed her.
And kept kissing her.
That first contact, achingly arresting, evaded his defenses, and he let go the reins. Moderation battled prurience, virtue waged war with vice, and the latter won. At some point, he drew her into his arms, and she speared her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. Soft and feminine, she opened to him, and he took what she offered, losing himself in a haze of raw lust. And irresistible hunger. He reached for her, and she reached for him, clinging to the lapels of his coat. Until a voice in his brain warned of restraint.
Somewhere in the deep recesses of his mind he reflected on honor and propriety, just as Patience suckled his tongue, and all rational thought abandoned him. He tightened his grip and brushed his lips to hers in a tantalizing sashay—when an exaggerated shriek brought him back to unbidden lucidity.
Three women loomed on the path.
Lady Ellsworth. Lady Seton. Lady Howard.
The collective of worst gossips in London.
“Lady Ellsworth.” Stalling for time, he bowed his head, making no attempt to hide the fact that he’d been ravishing Patience in the garden. Still, he searched for an adequate explanation to spare his intended the taint of scandal. The answer, when it came to him, seemed so obvious. And deliciously devilish. Confidence surged in his veins. In his ears played the “Hallelujah Chorus” from Handel’s Messiah, and his heartbeat pounded a frenetic accompaniment. “I wonder if I might trouble you for a favor.”
To her credit, Patience remained silent.
“Well, I am not sure.” Lady Ellsworth glanced at Patience and then back to Rawden. “What would you ask of me, Lord Beaulieu?”
“You see, Miss Wallace has just accepted my offer of marriage.” Ah, the delicious triumph of that statement mingled with Patience’s expression of ineffable shock, and he could have danced a merry jig in victory. “I wonder if you might do us the honor of announcing the first betrothal of the Season?”
Chapter Eight
Dew-kissed grass glittered like a carpet of diamonds beneath a clear azure sky, and a lone starling danced on the wind. Aglow in the bright morning sunlight, a small spider weaved a delicate web outside the window of her bedchamber, and Patience admired the intricate artistry. In a sense, she felt trapped in a gossamer snare, ironlike in its grip, of her own making, especially after last night’s formal announcement of her engagement to Lord Beaulieu. No doubt, by now, the whole of London had heard of her impending nuptials, and everyone had an opinion. There was no going back.
For good or ill, she would be Lady Beaulieu.
“Are you going to hide in here all day?” Arabella asked, and Patience realized she could not forestall the inevitable. “While I know you would prefer to bury yourself beneath the bedclothes for the remains of the Season, and I cannot condemn your reasoning, you will have to deal with the ton at some point. Better sooner than later, as you only prolong your suffering.”
“I suppose you are right.” For a moment, she searched her mind, seizing on the minutest hint of a solution to her predicament. At a loss, Patience turned and faced her friend. “Still, I have no idea what to do next, and you know me. I never proceed without a well-coordinated plan.”
“Well, that is not so difficult as you imagine. Let us focus on that which we can control. For instance, we must order your trousseau, one fit for a countess, so we have quite a bit of shopping to do.” Arabella loomed in the entry that separated the cozy sitting room from the inner chamber. “By the by, I knocked, but I became concerned when you didn’t answer. I brought you some weak tea and dry toast, which I set on the table. While I’m sure the shock of recent events has yet to wear thin, you must keep up your strength, especially for your wedding night. And how are you today?”
“Wondering how I got myself into this mess.” Patience strolled into the sitting room and sat on the sofa. She lifted the pot and poured herself a cup of the steaming brew. Then she glanced at Arabella. “Did I dream it?”
“No.” Arabella perched on the chaise. “But you looked as if you were caught in a nightmare when Lady Ellsworth marched you and Beaulieu to the front of the ballroom and disclosed your betrothal, as well as your intention of marrying in a month. Indeed, you were white as a sheet. Really, Patience, could you not have given me more time to prepare? A little warning would have been nice. Finding a dress will be an almost insurmountable challenge, though I wager we will have the pick of the modistes, given every seamstress in town would kill to bedeck you for what promises to be the wedding of the Season.”
“You think I did this on purpose? How could I warn you of something I did not know about until it happened? That was Beaulieu’s doing.” Patience collapsed into a pillow and huffed a breath in frustration. Gowns were the least of her concerns. “Believe me, had I known what Beaulieu planned I should have protested. In the midst of the situation, why did I comply? Why didn’t I protest?”
“Therein lies the question, given you are no prim miss to be led about by the nose. You have a voice and opinions which you can and do express with regularity.” Arabella rested elbows to knees and frowned, and Patience pondered the same thing. Why had she not intervened when Beaulieu’s scheme dawned on her? Why did she acquiesce? “And what were you doing in the garden?”
“The same thing I saw you and Lord Rockingham doing in the Howard’s garden.” Patience covered her eyes with her hands and groaned. She relived the tantalizing sensations as Beaulieu kissed her. The unmistakable hunger mixed with desperation. The way he touched her. How his firm lips felt against hers. And his tongue. His naughty tongue. “Oh, Arabella, it was beyond anything I have ever experienced. I could scarcely draw breath. Then we were rudely interrupted, and I was thrust from ecstasy to embarrassment in the blink of an eye. To say that I was shocked when Lady Ellsworth, Lady Seton, and Lady Howard found us is to put it mildly. But Beaulieu did all the talking, and I didn’t quite get his meaning until it was too late.”
“You saw me with Anthony at the Howard’s?” When Patience nodded, Arabella shook her head. “Well, that is a surprise, but in our defense we are married. You could say our rendezvous was government sanctioned.”
“Oh, dear.” Patience flinched. “And now I’ve broken my promise to Lord Rockingham not to mention what I witnessed, after he assured me it would devastate you.”
“Posh.” Arabella smiled and waved dismissively. “That is all right. My thoughtful husband frets for my feminine sensibilities, when you and I know I am not so dainty. We will keep that our secret, because I would not disillusion him for anything in the world. But I hope you learned something, because a tour of the gardens can be quite titillating with the right partner, and I am a veritable Salome when it comes to seducing my man. Now then, tell me everything.”
Despite her distress, Patience described the entire ordeal, sparing no detail. She explained the encounter with Lady Fauconberg, and the rude woman’s dismissive tone. She related her retreat into the hedgerows. She recounted her conversation with Beaulieu, including her offer to act as his mistress. She did not give a kiss-by-kiss account of her tryst with the earl, but she did describe the moment of their discovery and the subsequent engagement proclamation. In response, Arabella exhibited a wide range of emotions, along with several gasps of audible astonishment.
“Upon my word, but you quite take my breath away.” Arabella patted her brow. “It is no small wonder you looked on the verge of swooning. Why, you are still quite pale.”
“Do you blame me?” Patience shuddered as she recalled the moment Lady Ellsworth signaled for the crowd’s attention. “How would you react were you, without your permission, suddenly thrust into the limelight and affianced to a man who had yet to propose?”
“As I recollect, after the initial shock of my own impending nuptials wore off, I recognized Lord Rockingham was a good person in need of help.” Arabella narrowed her stare. “And if I remember correctly, you were the first to recognize Anthony was my ideal candidate for a husband. Yet, you cannot see past Beaulieu’s brash behavior to realize he is your perfect match.”
“Do you really think so?” Patience hoped her friend was right, given she knew naught of connubial bliss, and her parents provided no example. “Because I need to believe in him, else my marriage, and thereby my future, is doomed.”
“Do you seriously question his devotion and his motives, even now?” Arabella arched a brow when Patience indicated the affirmative. “My friend, you offered to act as the man’s dove, sans a conventional agreement, which means he could have had you—all of you, without the nuptials and lifelong commitment. If that does not speak to his character, where you are concerned, then I know not what does. Whether or not you wish to admit it, and I can’t believe I’m saying this, Beaulieu acted honorably. Only a fool would refuse him.”
