The Pleasure of Bedding a Baroness Page 13

  “Just don’t panic, if anything should happen. That is all I meant. They will know what to do, even if you don’t.”

  “Thank you for the vote of confidence!”

  “You’re doing quite well, really.”

  “For a woman, you mean?”

  “You are doing well for a person, shall we say. Exceptionally well for a person who has never had more than one in hand before.”

  Patience sighed. “Is it so obvious?”

  “Yes.”

  She laughed ruefully, and accidentally jogged the reins, inadvertently setting the horses to a faster pace. “They’re so sensitive,” she complained, getting them under control. “I daren’t breathe, for fear they will take off. It’s like trying to rein in a pair of lightning bolts! My horse in Philadelphia had a nice, hard mouth. You practically had to beat him to get him going. Perhaps you are thinking I don’t deserve the honor of driving such splendid creatures?”

  “Not at all. I was thinking you are much too good for a gig.”

  Patience felt absurdly pleased. It was almost as good as a kiss, that compliment. Almost.

  “Why not let them go?” he said lazily. “It’s what they want. It’s what you want, too, I suspect. Give them a touch of the whip.”

  Making sure she was firmly in her seat, Patience did so eagerly, and the curricle shot off like a rocket. Max’s hat set off in the opposite direction.

  “Too much wind, Mr. Broome?” she called out, glancing at him.

  “Mind the tree!” he cried, perhaps regretting giving her the reins.

  “Don’t be silly,” she shouted back. “There aren’t any trees in the middle of the road!”

  In the next instant, the horses had carried the curricle off the road, however, and Patience was very much obliged to mind the tree. Remembering his advice, she did not panic. Her trust in him was entirely vindicated when, at the last possible second, the horses turned aside as one, avoiding the tree, and carrying the curricle back onto the road as smoothly and neatly as anyone could wish.

  To her chagrin, she discovered that hers were not the only hands on the reins. “You helped me,” she complained.

  His breath was coming in short gasps. “You’re welcome,” he said, reaching for the brake.

  “You’ve lost your hat,” she observed, frowning at him. “Shouldn’t we go back for it?”

  “Never mind my hat,” he said angrily. “You just took ten years off my life!”

  “I think I must have overcorrected at the bend,” she mused.

  “You certainly did! You’re lucky the horses didn’t go off in two different directions. The tree would have split us down the middle!”

  “Oh, I knew they wouldn’t do that,” she said, laughing. “They’re a team, and, besides, you trained them, didn’t you?”

  He stared at her. “Are you mad? We might have been killed!”

  “Oh, don’t be such a baby!” she said impatiently. “You were never in any danger! I had the situation well in hand. You said not to panic, that they would know what to do. Well, I didn’t panic, and they did know what to do. So it was just as you said, wasn’t it?”

  Max stared at her in amazement. “You, Lady Waverly, are a daredevil!”

  “What are you complaining about?” she said, annoyed. “You’re still alive, aren’t you? Your heart is beating. Your lungs are full of air. What more do you want?”

  “Quite a bit, as it happens,” he said, and bringing his mouth down on hers quite roughly, he kissed her. He kissed her until he was out of breath. “It has always been my ambition to die in the arms of a beautiful woman,” he murmured. Crushing her against him, he kissed her again.

  When he released her, her green eyes were stormy. “You certainly took your time!” she said. “Are you always so slow off the mark?”

  Max raised his brows. “Actually, I’m quite fast for an Englishman,” he told her, “but then I am half Italian. In England, we do not kiss, as a rule, before the engagement.”

  “What?” she said incredulously. How can you possibly know if you want to marry someone if you haven’t kissed him?”

  “An excellent question,” he conceded. “In America, you kiss before the fact, then?”

  “I think it best, don’t you? Why, it’s just like driving these horses before you decide whether or not to buy them.”

  “You have shocked me, Lady Waverly,” he said, only half joking, “and I do not shock easily, being the average corrupt European male. Are all American girls as fast as you?”

  Patience laughed. “Actually, I’m quite slow for an American. But then I am half English,” she added, with a wicked twinkle in her green eyes.

  Chapter 9

  When they returned to the yard at Tattersall’s some thirty minutes later, two people were waiting with Freddie. Because of the crowd, Patience was obliged to slow the grays almost to a crawl. Catching sight of Pru, Patience waved. “There is my sister,” she said, pointing out the lively young lady in pea green and gentian blue to Max. “And that is Lord Milford with her. I’m afraid I’ve kept them waiting. They will be angry with me, and I don’t blame them.”

  “Are you sorry?” he asked quietly.

  “No!” she answered firmly.

  Max managed a weak smile. He had hoped to continue the deception a bit longer, but, it seemed, fate had other plans.

  And so did Prudence.

  “Max!” she shrieked, recognizing her sister’s companion as the curricle rolled toward them. “Over here, Max! Yoo-hoo!”

  Patience frowned. “Is my sister addressing you, sir?” she asked, puzzled.

  “With great enthusiasm.”

  She stared up at him. “Do you know my sister? Is your—Is Max your Christian name?”

  Lifting his hand, he beckoned to his cousin’s groom. “I was christened Maximilian,” he said. “In Italian: Massimiliano.”

  “And ... how do you know my sister?” she asked, with an edge of suspicion to her voice. “Why did you not happen to mention that you knew her?”

  The groom, a wizened little man with a leathery mask for a face, had made his way to them. “Take your seat, Hawkins,” Max commanded him, “and look to the lady.”

  “Yes, sir!” The groom climbed nimbly onto the folding seat behind the car.

  At the same time, Max turned the handle on the outside of the door and jumped out.

  “Where are you going?” Patience cried, reining the grays to a stop.

  Carefully, he closed the door. “I am very sorry,” he said softly, looking at her with one gloved hand on the door. “You will never forgive me, I know. But I am sorry.”

  “Forgive you for what?” she asked, bewildered. “Mr. Broome!”

  “Try not to hate me too much,” he said. Turning, he walked away, and again she noticed how quick the people were to get out of his way. It was not her imagination. There could be no doubt that Mr. Broome was an important man. But where was he going?

  Not content to wait for her sister to come to her, Pru was pushing her way through the crowd, followed by a reluctant Lord Milford.

  “Patience! Where is Max?” Pru said, as she looked for him in vain. “He was here! I saw him! What did you do with him? What did you say to him?”

  “Get in,” Patience said, vexed. “Stop making a spectacle of yourself.”

  Pru bristled, but evidently thought better of making a verbal protest. Instead, she opened the door of the curricle, kicked down the steps, and climbed up. “He was here,” she exclaimed happily. “I can still smell his scent. He smells like the cedars of Lebanon, don’t you think?”

  “How would you know how he smells?” Patience demanded.

  “How do you think I know?” Pru said smugly. “I’ve smelled him, of course.”

  “Pru! How do you know Mr. Broome?”

  “Mr. Broome? Why, you were there when I met him,” Pru answered carelessly. “Are you going to buy his curricle? Lord Milford says they are not half as good as his.”

  “Doe
s he?” Patience said curtly. “I’m not talking about Mr. Frederick Broome. It is his cousin I mean.”

  “But I don’t know Mr. Broome’s cousin,” Pru said petulantly.

  “Of course you do. You were shouting his Christian name just now.”

  Pru stared at her. “Max Purefoy is Mr. Broome’s cousin? Good Lord! I had no idea. I wish now I had been nicer to him. But how was I to know? Lord Milford told us he was nothing more than the younger son of a baron! Oh, I do wish there were a pocket edition of DeBrett’s Guide to the Peerage! Heavens, Patience! Are you all right?”

  Patience was quite pale. Her hands shook violently on the reins. “Thank you,” she said, just managing to choke out the words. “I’m quite all right. Do you mean to say that that was Mr. Purefoy?” she went on, color flooding back into her face.

  “Yes. Does this mean that you have changed your mind about him?” Pru said eagerly. “I knew you would. I knew if you gave him a chance you would find him just as charming as I do. Where did he vanish to? Didn’t he see me?”

  “He told me his name was Broome,” Patience fumed. “On top of everything else, he is a liar, too! No, Prudence! I’m afraid I do not find him charming. Quite the reverse!”

  “Oh, you are impossible!” Pru complained angrily. “I see now that you were rude to him, and that is why he left without speaking to me. Did you—Patience, did you dare tell him to stay away from me?”

  Patience laughed shortly. “If he ever comes near you again, or me, I will shoot him with my pistol!”

  Pru gasped. “Patience, if you shoot Max, I will never speak to you again!”

  “So be it,” Patience said grimly, and the vehicle resumed its slow crawl back to its owner.

  “I expect my cousin was called away suddenly,” Mr. Frederick Broome began cheerfully, as he came forward to open the door for Patience.

  Patience refused to take his hand as she stepped down. Freddie had the grace to look ashamed. “Ah,” he said. “All has been revealed, I see.”

  “What a clever pair of jokers you are,” Patience said softly. “You and your cousin—if indeed that lying coward is your cousin.”

  “Well, of course he is,” Freddie said sheepishly. “What do you take me for?”

  “Do you really want me to answer that, Mr. Broome?”

  Freddie jammed his hands in his pockets and looked down at his feet. “I suppose not,” he mumbled.

  “I will tell you anyway,” said Patience. “You are not worthy of the name Broome. Unlike yourself, a broom is an honest, useful tool. You, sir, are merely a tool. ‘Tool’ should be your name.”

  “I say!” he protested weakly. “That’s a bit harsh.”

  “You must forgive my sister,” Pru said, as Lord Milford appeared to help her down from the curricle. “She belongs in a cage.”

  “Lord Milford, would you be good enough to take us home now?”

  He bowed. “Certainly, my lady,” he said. “And if Your Ladyship is interested in making a purchase, I should be delighted to act as your agent in the Monday sale.”

  “That will not be necessary,” Patience said coldly. “There is nothing here I want.”

  “I knew you wouldn’t buy anything,” Prudence grumbled. “I knew you would not keep your word.”

  Lord Milford, enjoying the attention he was receiving from his acquaintances as he escorted the American beauties to his own curricle, said soothingly, “Never mind, Miss Prudence. We did not find what we were looking for today, but we shall come again. We must not settle for anything less than perfection. I shall help you.”

  On the way home, Patience insisted on taking her turn in the groom’s seat. As a Peer of the Realm, Milford did not like it—it could not possibly be correct to put a suo jure baroness in the back seat while her younger sister sat in the front—but as a man he was not sorry to have Prudence seated next to him. Although titled and beautiful to behold, the baroness was a prickly, opinionated female. Pru was more agreeable. What she lacked in rank, she made up for in warmth. And if the sisters were equal in wealth, as rumored, Lord Milford decided Miss Prudence would make an admirable second choice, should he not succeed with her elder sister.

  It was now quite necessary for him to establish, beyond all doubt, that they were rich.

  While his lordship was thus engaged, his sister sat home all day, but no one came to see her except for Sir Charles Stanhope, and Isabella was not as yet so hopeless as to be at home to him. Upon returning to Grosvenor Square that afternoon, Milford found her sitting exactly where he had left her that morning.

  “You are very dull today,” he observed, as he watched her prepare the tea.

  “Thank you, Ivor.”

  “You should have come to Tattersall’s with us,” he told her as she poured out his tea. “Though I do not know where I could have put you, for Miss Waverly had the groom’s seat. We might have gone in the carriage, I suppose, but then Lady Waverly would not have been able to admire my driving skills.”

  “Respectable females do not frequent such places,” Isabella said firmly. “I know not why the rules were changed to allow it, but I am persuaded they will be changed back, as soon as this madness for feminine equality passes. I blame Lady Viola Devize. Why must the Jockey Club change its rules to accommodate her? She will want them to allow female members next! I loathe all females of that kind. Duke’s daughter she may be, but she is not good ton.”

  “You are in quite a pet,” he said, frowning. He himself was quite pleased with the world and everything in it, and he could not help feeling that Isabella was attempting to spoil his happiness. “Purefoy was at Tattersall’s today, and, as far as I could tell, he made no objection to women being there.”

  Isabella’s mouth fell open. “You saw Mr. Purefoy?” she said sharply.

  “I did not see him, no,” her brother admitted. “That is, I think I glimpsed him in the crowd, but he was walking away and I could not be sure. My fair companions saw him, however. In fact, he took Lady Waverly for a drive in Freddie Broome’s curricle. His team is not half as good as mine, and so I told him, but he only smiled back at me in the most impudent manner. Of course, he won them at cards from Purefoy. The younger son of a baron has no business with such an equipage. A gig would be quite good enough for him.”

  “She went for a drive with my Mr. Purefoy?” Isabella said, almost with savagery. “Lady Waverly? Why, that sly, deceitful little slut! You won’t credit it, but that hussy had me persuaded that she loathed Mr. Purefoy! And all the time, she was scheming to catch him herself. No wonder she is so desperate to keep him from her sister!” Her thin lips curled in a sneer and her eyes hardened to cold, blue diamonds. “I suppose they fought for his attention like common streetwalkers?”

  “No, indeed,” said her brother. “I never left Miss Prudence’s side. Lady Waverly went off with Freddie Broome, which I did not like, but she is headstrong and nothing would stop her. When we looked for her again, Mr. Broome told us she had gone off to the park with Purefoy. They are cousins, you know, though I’d be ashamed of my aunt if she married so far beneath her as Lady Helen did. I wonder Purefoy acknowledges the connection.”

  Isabella was not listening. She could not believe how easily Lady Waverly had beguiled her. What an actress! “She is cleverer than I thought,” she murmured to herself. “I thought Miss Prudence Waverly was my competition, but here is a more serious threat. I have seen the true face of my enemy. I only hope it is not too late. Oh, why did you let Lady Waverly go off with Freddie Broome?” she burst out in frustration, glaring at her brother. “Was she not your object? Why did you relinquish her?”

  He frowned. “If you must know, I did not find her ladyship quite as agreeable today as I did when I saw her last. She has a rebellious nature, which, I can only suppose, she hid from me at first. I was glad that she sat in the groom’s seat on the drive back. Miss Prudence is a far more pleasant companion. She does not presume to advise me on my driving.”

  “Artful trollop! Do
you not see what is happening? The baroness has set her cap for Mr. Purefoy and she seeks to fob you off on her younger sister! Why else would she give up her seat in the curricle to her inferior.”

  “They are sisters,” he protested. “Twins! They would share equally in life’s pleasures. It was Miss Prudence’s turn to sit beside me.”

  Isabella shook her head. “You were cozened, Brother.”

  His face was red. “Was that not nobly done? I did think it strange that she would give up her rightful place,” he said thoughtfully. “You would not have done so, no matter what affection you felt for your sister.”

  “No, indeed,” said Isabella.

  “And I do not think there is much affection between them at all!” he said. “They argue so violently. I think you are right, Sister! She did try to fob me off! Well, I shan’t be fobbed off! Not by her or anyone else. I shall marry her, whether she likes it or no!”

  “Oh, yes?” she said doubtfully. “And what of Mr. Purefoy?”

  Milford scoffed. “What of him? I am sure he did not like her.”

  Her eyes lit up. “Why do you say that?” she said eagerly.

  “He left her so abruptly,” Milford answered. “He could not be bothered even to return her to her friends. He left her with a groom and simply vanished.”

  Isabella actually smiled. “She must have offended him.”

  He snorted. “How could she not with that vulgar American accent? I daresay she presumed to tell him how to drive his cattle! Their heads are too high for her ladyship, I suppose. He must have been very angry indeed to abandon her like that.”

  “Serves her right! Of all things, I hate deceit.” Isabella gave a deep sigh of contentment. “I believe I shall call upon her ladyship tomorrow, and triumph over her in person. More tea, Brother?”

  Lord Milford accepted. “What have you ordered for my dinner?” he asked presently. “Mutton, I suppose. Could we not have lamb now and again?”

  “You are dining at your club tonight,” Isabella informed him.

  “Am I?” he said, pleased. “Who invited me?”

  “You must dine at White’s this evening,” she told him patiently. “Or Brooks’s. Wherever Mr. Purefoy dines. Then you may gently inquire in a brotherly fashion after his intentions toward me. He did promise to call on me. I do not count as a visit the day the monkey chased him out. Why, he was not here above a minute. You must remind him to keep his promise.”