The Accidental Groom (The Mad Matchmaking Men of Waterloo Book 2), page 26
“Such lovely sentiment.” She relaxed her shoulders. “And I’m sorry, too. I never should have lied to you. On my honor as your wife, it won’t happen again.”
“Then let us put the entire awful affair behind us and start anew.” In that moment, he drew her into the hall. “Because I dearly want to make you happy.” In the foyer, Rawden shouted, “Rockingham, we’re leaving.”
At the end of a side corridor, the door to the study opened, and Arabella emerged, with Lord Rockingham in tow. Patience stifled a snort of laughter, when she noted her friend’s mussed hair and disheveled appearance. But when Lord Rockingham, equally rumpled and missing his cravat, coat, and waistcoat, gazed wide-eyed and tugged at the back of Arabella’s skirts, Patience giggled.
“I beg your pardon, but we are departing.” Patience tucked a tendril behind Arabella’s ear. “I hope we didn’t interrupt anything of significance.”
“Oh, it was nothing we can’t continue, posthaste.” Arabella yelped when her husband swatted her on the bottom in play.
“Well I like that.” Lord Rockingham pouted. “What do you mean it was nothing? Perhaps I should dine at my club. A little absence might make your heart grow fonder.”
“You do, and you can sleep on the daybed in your study,” Arabella replied pertly.
“That is a fate worse than death.” Anthony peered at Patience and Rawden and quickly added, “Not that I would know.”
“Of course, not.” Rawden threw open the door and called over his shoulder, “Have my driver return the coach to the mews. I will take Lady Beaulieu home in my new rig.”
“New rig?” Patience asked in wonderment. At the curb, she spotted a glorious curricle drawn by a perfectly matched pair of bays. Gooseflesh covered her arms, and she shivered with excitement. “Oh, my lord, they’re beautiful.”
“Care for a ride?” he asked as he lifted her to the box seat. “And to clarify, I am not referring to our usual afternoon exercise.”
“Rawden.”
“Haa.” He waggled his brows and leaped beside her. Taking up the reins, he leaned close and whispered, “Ah, I love it when you blush. What it does to me. And what I want to do to you.”
Before she could reply, he stole a quick kiss. Then they set off, flying across Grosvenor Square. With a peal of delight, Patience clung to Rawden as he took a sharp left onto Duke Street at full speed. Shuffling his grip, he draped an arm around her so that he hugged her, in a scandalous public display of affection as he drove the team through Mayfair. She found his joy infectious, and she forgot the pain of yesterday and gave herself to the here and now.
When they came to Oxford Street, he slowed only a tad, and they perilously negotiated a right turn. Then he eased his grip on the reins, and the pair soared. A small vendor cart pulled in front of them, and Patience covered her eyes and shrieked. Taking a quick peek, she discovered Rawden navigated around the obstacle with skill and ease, although the other driver waved a fist in the air.
“Are you enjoying yourself?” he asked as they veered onto Holles Street, which took them to Cavendish Square and home.
She glanced at her husband, and her breath caught.
His guinea gold hair rustled in the breeze, and his cheeks flushed a charming pink. Unguarded, his expression evidenced unfettered euphoria and infinite vigor. Strong yet vulnerable, he persisted in a state of turmoil, as both the turtle rescuer and the hardened soldier, an irresistible combination, battled for control of him. Somehow, he had to learn to reconcile the two aspects of his personality.
“Very much.” She longed to hold him. To soothe his sharp edges and reassure him. “And you?”
“Always, when I am with you.” He winked and steered toward the house they shared.
The admission, spoken without artifice or coercion, touched her without actually touching her, and she understood Arabella’s fierce defense of Lord Rockingham. In that stark instance of clarity, everything made sense. She realized that, no matter what he said or did, he owned her heart. She loved the youthful dreamer and the skilled warrior. The playful sprite and the arrogant seducer. And whether or not Rawden realized it, he was in desperate need of a protector.
Come what may, she would fight anyone who tried to hurt him. Regardless of the cost, Patience would be his champion.
*
Closing his one good eye, Rawden bent over Patience and lightly bit the flesh at the nape of her neck as he caressed her breasts through her gown. His ears rang, his heart hammered in his chest, and beneath his feet the world shifted, such that his knees buckled. White hot lightning shot straight to his groin, and he gnashed his teeth against a groan. Soul-stirring completion stole over him like a warm blanket on a cold night, and he surrendered to mind-numbing ecstasy. Slowly, he drifted to the mortal plane. Drunk with newly spent passion, and weighted with sated bliss, he gasped for breath as he held his wife.
“When you told me you secured a private box for the theatre, and you intended to fulfill a lifelong fantasy, I assumed it had something to do with the David Garrick play or the lead actor.” His arresting bride clung to the back of a chair, and he admired her peach-shaped bottom, so tempting in its perfection. “Never did I imagine the evening’s entertainment involved wanton seduction in a public place.”
“We aim to please,” he whispered as he withdrew his flesh from her body. After righting his clothes, he steadied her while she stood and settled her skirts. Then Rawden offered his handkerchief, which she accepted. “And didn’t I tell you? You are my evening’s entertainment, which has only just begun, and you did not disappoint. But wait till I get you home.”
“Praise, indeed.” Perched on tiptoes, Patience planted a wet kiss on his lips and favored him with a brilliant smile, which never failed to move him. “I look forward to your encore. Now, if you will excuse me, I will attend my personal needs and return before Lord and Lady Rockingham arrive.”
“Hurry back.” He winked and she blushed.
For a few minutes after she departed, he loomed in a daze of lust mixed with some nameless impression he could not recognize and grinned like an idiot.
In the days following her breathtaking declaration, he worked hard to anticipate and fulfill her every desire. He endeavored to keep her happy, given he could not bear to lose her. Since he could not reciprocate, because war injuries rendered him incapable of such sentiment, he would have to find other ways to show affection.
Because he could not live without Patience.
As Rawden drew back the heavy velvet drapes that shielded his box, he tried to ignore the emotions swirling inside him, wreaking havoc on his senses. He did not identify or explore the feelings, because he feared what he might discover. It was easier to assume that whatever took hold of him would not last long. Then he could focus on his greatest concern.
Keeping his wife’s love.
But that posed a new, seemingly insurmountable problem.
Namely, how could he covet Patience’s heart without yielding his own?
Would she understand if he explained he had no heart? How that part of him died on the battlefield with so many hopes and dreams? That he remained locked in an invisible prison from which there was no escape? However much he tried, he could not share that aspect of himself with her, or anyone, so he would conceal his affliction. He would suffer in silence, as he showered her with expensive presents and lavished upon her physical intimacy, and pray that was enough to satisfy her.
“Ah, here we are—oh, Beaulieu.” Lord Rockingham, hugging his wife from behind, in what appeared a very compromising position, blinked and started. He released Lady Rockingham. “What are you doing here so early?”
“Er—Patience has never been to the Theatre Royal, and I thought to give her a tour before the crush arrives.” Rawden raked his fingers through his hair. To Lady Rockingham he said, “My bride was momentarily indisposed. Perhaps, you might provide assistance?”
“Of course. I’m sure she’s somewhere in the box-lobby.” Lady Rockingham patted her husband’s cheek. “Don’t brood, darling. I will be right back.”
Alone with his friend, Rawden noted too late that the cushioned seats remained askew. Haphazardly, he lifted the telltale chair and brought it to its original orientation. He glanced from left to right, searching for anything amiss.
“Bloody hell, have I taught you nothing?” Rockingham rolled his eyes and drew a handkerchief from his coat pocket. Then he approached Rawden and daubed his brow. “You are flushed beetroot red like a virgin on her wedding night, and tuck in your shirt.”
“I beg your pardon?” Rawden peered down and discovered his disheveled state. “I may have dressed in a hurry. Patience was excited to get here.”
“Blaming your innocent wife?” Rockingham adjusted Rawden’s cravat and snorted. “A rake of your caliber should always know how to turn himself out in trim, especially following a tryst. I have seen more convincing expressions in a toddler caught with its fingers in the cherry compote.”
“How did you know?” Rawden frowned. “What gave us away?”
“Why do you think I’m here at this hour?” Rockingham neared the chairs and scowled. “Which one did you use?”
“In the middle,” Rawden said with a nod. “I will sit there.”
“I gather the waters have calmed between you and Lady Beaulieu?” At Rawden’s glare, Rockingham explained, “My wife tells me everything, but you know that.”
“Hell and the Reaper, am I to have no privacy in my marriage?” Rawden paced and then plopped in his seat.
“No.” Rockingham crossed his legs and grinned. “But you know that, too.”
“Can you not do something?” Rawden shook his head. “Demand that she ceases encouraging my countess.”
“I would sooner ask Arabella to stop breathing.” Rockingham slapped his thigh. “Besides, your pathetic attempts to avoid the inevitable are rather entertaining.”
“Go to the devil.” Rawden immediately regretted his outburst, because it indicated an utter lack of control.
“I may soon enough.” Rockingham lifted a shoulder in a half-shrug. “But permit me to impart sage advice before you completely bungle your relationship, although I must commend you on your dedication to catastrophe.”
“Why do I get the feeling I don’t want to hear what you have to say?” Rawden folded his arms. “And I am certainly in no mood for a lecture.”
“Not a lecture—a suggestion. Or deliverance, in your case,” said Rockingham quietly. “Tell her you love her. Trust me, you can give her a castle filled with priceless trinkets, a fortune in jewels, a title, and unlimited power, but nothing can rival your declaration. The longer you fight it, the worse it will be for you.”
“Is that how you felt about Lady Rockingham?” Rawden recalled the night his friend sacrificed himself to save his bride and his unborn child. “If memory serves, you delayed and admitted as much.”
“Indeed, and I am trying to spare you from making the same mistake.” Rockingham sighed and averted his gaze. Sadness flitted over his face and was just as quickly masked. “Yes, I thought I could evade the inexorable truth. I believed, however incorrectly, that I was protecting myself. Instead, I denied myself the most important commitment a man can make in his life. Later, almost too late, I made my declaration in a moment of haste, under duress, when I had no opportunity to celebrate the occasion with my lady, because I waited. Had Shaw succeeded in his scheme, Arabella would have never known what she meant to me. While I know you are afraid, because I once stood in your shoes, you must remember that fear is but a passing discomfort. Regret lasts an eternity. We none of us know what tomorrow will bring, and you may never get your chance. Make haste, Beaulieu. Make haste.”
An usher walked into the box and bowed. Rockingham quieted and stretched upright.
“Lord Beaulieu.” On a silver salver, the usher bore an envelope with chillingly familiar markings. “A message for you.”
“Thank you.” With dread, Rawden opened the missive and digested the contents. “Well, we have payment instructions.”
“Are you serious?” Rockingham took the letter and read it. He stiffened his spine. “They must be joking. You are to deposit the sum of five hundred pounds into a haversack to be left in an alleyway in Cheapside? You must know that if you pay, it will never end. The bastard will always ask for more.”
“Indeed.” Rawden rubbed his chin. “That does not concern me, as the money is a trifle. What troubles me is the threat to Patience. That is a new and most unwelcome development.”
“You don’t think your villain is stupid enough to harm a woman of rank?” Rockingham narrowed his stare. “That would be suicide.”
“At this point, I can’t assume anything.” Rawden resolved to hire additional footmen to protect his countess. And he would limit her exposure. She wouldn’t like it, but he had no choice. He would not risk her safety. “We must gather the Matchmakers, posthaste.”
“I will send word, at once.” Rockingham peered into the gallery. “This will be a crush, tonight. Are you sure you want to stay?”
“I can’t imagine the blackguard would attack us in a public venue.” Rawden glanced toward the door to his box, just as Lord Ormonde leaned against the frame. But it was the woman Ormonde escorted that had Rawden cursing under his breath as he stood. “Ormonde. Lady Fauconberg. Good evening.”
“Rockingham. Beaulieu, old man, it is wonderful to see you.” The Marquess of Ormonde, a devil of a cavalryman wounded by shrapnel at Waterloo, which left him with a noticeable limp, smiled and extended a hand. “It has been a long time. When Lady Fauconberg told me you were attending tonight’s play, I had to see you. By the by, felicitations on your wedding. I’m sorry I missed it, but I was in America.”
“Thank you.” To Rawden’s horror, Patience and Lady Rockingham chose that moment to return to the box. Immediately, he reached for his wife and made a point of ignoring his short-lived mistress. “Darling, permit me to introduce a longstanding acquaintance, the Marquess of Ormonde, and you remember Lady Fauconberg.”
“Indeed, it is a pleasure, Lord Ormonde.” With grace, Patience curtseyed. Then she gave her attention to Lady Fauconberg and lifted her chin. Red-faced, Lady Fauconberg dipped in deference.
“What a charming little thing you are, Lady Beaulieu. And beautiful, although I expected nothing less.” Ormonde, ever the charmer, caught her hand and pressed his lips to her gloved knuckles, and Rawden fought the urge to punch Ormonde in the face. The uncharacteristic reaction caught him off guard, because he never suffered bouts of jealousy for any woman, but he wanted Patience to himself. “You must tell me, how on earth did Beaulieu convince you to marry him, of all people? How did he snare you? Come now, don’t be coy. I must know his secret.”
“Perhaps I pursued Lord Beaulieu, Lord Ormonde,” Patience replied in a flirty tone. “How do you know I did not catch him?”
“Oh, I say.” Ormonde burst into laughter. “It would appear the notoriously fickle Lord Beaulieu finally met his match. I wager more than one debutante swooned when you announced your engagement. There must have been broken hearts across London.”
“Enough, Ormonde.” Lady Fauconberg sneered. “Let us leave the adorable couple and locate our box.”
“Of course.” Ormonde cast a pained expression. “We should meet at the intermission and have a brandy.”
“I look forward to it.” Rawden saluted and then drew Patience to their seats. “I’m sorry, darling. I had no idea Lady Fauconberg would be here, tonight. Would you prefer to go home?”
“And let that wretched woman spoil your thoughtful surprise?” Patience humphed. “Absolutely not.”
Still, there was visible tension in her expression, and she held herself upright and unflinching. Rawden clasped her hand in his and traced circles in her palm. She licked her lips and met his stare, and in her clear blue depths, which he could read like a book, he spied her question before she asked it.
“She means nothing to me, Patience. And believe me, the same could be said of her in relation to me. I was no more than a conquest, a prize, where she was concerned.” With care, he brushed his finger along the curve of her cheek. “I dallied with Lady Fauconberg in much the same careless fashion as the other women I considered a temporary distraction. A salve to ease the pain of the past.”
“I suppose it is never easy to confront a husband’s former dove.” Patience opened her mouth and paused as if to ponder her response. “It may sound strange, but I am envious of all the ladies who’ve known you. Perhaps, because I want you for myself.”
“My dear, you shouldn’t be concerned, because from them I sought only the brief oblivion of release.” With his thumb, he swept the gentle curve of her neck and lightly teased the triangle-shaped indentation at the base of her throat. How could he explain what he couldn’t put into words? “With you, it is different.”
“How so?” Innocence personified, she posed her question with no ill intent, which was why he owed her honesty.
“Patience, is it not obvious?” When she blinked and furrowed her forehead, as if lost in confusion, he reminded himself she lacked any real experience with men prior to their nuptials. “Because I am invested. Because I care for you.”
Had he known the five pedestrian words would garner such a reaction from his wife, he would have uttered them much sooner. Aglow with unfettered joy, and bouncing with uncontrolled excitement, she blessed him with an effervescent smile, the memory of which he would savor on his deathbed. In her green eyes, telltale sparks ignited, and she shifted, pressing her thighs together. His loins went up in flames.
“My lord, would you think me ungrateful if I said I would like to go home, after all?” She leaned near and whispered, “I want to be alone with you. Indeed, I would not share you with anyone. Not even our friends. Please, Rawden?”
“Of course. I am, as ever, at your service.” He stood and drew her to his side. To Lord and Lady Rockingham, he said, “I beg your pardon, but we’ve decided to retire for the night. Enjoy the play.”
