The Pleasure of Bedding a Baroness Page 30

  “To work,” he repeated. “You did make me promise to find some employment,” he reminded her. “You needn’t look so shocked. How do you think I’ve been surviving all these weeks? I have joined the working class.”

  “But what could you possibly be doing at this time of night?” she demanded.

  “A great many things,” he told her. “For example, I might be shifting cargo at the East India Docks. I might be a barber or a night watchman or even a Bow Street Runner. I might be delivering coal or clearing horse dung out of the streets. But, of course,” he went on quickly as she stared at him in horrified fascination, “I’m not doing any of those things. Too much like work, I suppose.”

  “What are you doing then?”

  “I run the faro bank at the Black Swan,” he replied. “It’s a thoroughly disreputable gambling hell, so, of course, I know everyone there, staff and patron alike. I do enjoy taking money from my former friends, and they seem to enjoy sneering at me. My table gets more traffic than anyone—except Big Sally, of course, but her breasts are the largest in London.”

  “You are gambling?” Patience said, distressed. “That’s not exactly what I had in mind!”

  “I am not gambling,” he protested. “It’s the punters who gamble. I play for the house, and the house always wins. The owner lets me keep five percent of the profit.”

  “I don’t like it,” said Patience.

  He smiled. “You may not like it, my love, but you cannot accuse me of breaking my promise to you. I’ll leave you a chess problem to solve, if you like.”

  She watched in silence as he quickly set up the chessboard using less than half the pieces. “Checkmate in seven moves,” he told her. “If you cannot solve it, I will help you tomorrow. Don’t stay up too late.”

  “When are you coming back?” she demanded.

  “You will see me at breakfast,” he promised. “I will not be late.”

  Patience could not resist going to the window to watch him go down the street. He glanced up, as if he knew she would be there, and, by the light of the street lamp, saluted her once before the night swallowed him up.

  Patience went to bed an hour or two later, but it was not until after midnight that she drifted off to sleep. She did not hear her husband return to the house, but, as he came into the dark room he had the ill fortune to bump into her dressing table, knocking over a bottle of perfume.

  “Is that you?” she murmured sleepily. Her voice, coming from the bed, sounded like a child’s, thin and reedy.

  “I told you I would not be late for breakfast,” he whispered, creeping over toward the bed and cracking his shin on a footstool.

  Patience sat bolt upright, listening to his muffled curses. “Max?”

  Fumbling in the drawer, she found matches and lit the candle on the bedside table. He was hopping around on one foot. “I was trying not to wake you,” he began, then stopped short and caught his breath.

  “What is it?” she whispered, throwing back the coverlet.

  “How beautiful you look,” he said softly, “with your hair down around your shoulders, with the candlelight in your eyes.”

  Patience wore her nightgown loose at the neck and it had slipped from one shoulder. Hurriedly, she pulled it back into place and tightened the string. “What are you doing in here?” she whispered. “This is not your room. Yours is at the end of the hall.”

  “You’re joking,” he said.

  “I certainly am not!” she said, jumping out of bed and scrambling for her dressing gown, which she belted tightly around her thin body.

  “Don’t shame me in front of the servants,” he pleaded. “It’s already after seven; your girl will be coming to wake you any minute now. I’ll be good,” he added. “I won’t even undress.”

  Going over to her bed, he climbed in and pulled the covers up to his chin.

  Patience giggled suddenly. “You look ridiculous in that hat!”

  He tossed it onto the bedpost. “Better? Now, lay down beside me, and pretend to be asleep,” he invited her. “I’ll do the same. I promise I’ll be good,” he said, as she stood rooted to the spot. “You won’t even know I’m here.”

  Shaking her head, she hurried over to her dressing table and righted the perfume bottle he had overturned. “You spilled half of it,” she complained.

  His reply was a soft snore. Patience could hear the servants stirring in the house, footsteps on the stairs, the heavy tread of the girl carrying the coal scuttle. Hastily, she tore off her dressing gown and jumped into the bed. The man next to her groaned; turning toward her, he nestled his head against her breast, his hand splayed across her belly. His hand was obscenely warm. She felt as if it were burning through her nightgown. She would have pushed him away, but the girl’s steps were almost to the door.

  Instead, she murmured, under her breath, “What am I going to do with you?”

  He stirred in her arms, his cheek brushing against the nipple of her left breast. Again, her nightgown seemed to offer no protection at all. “Shall I tell you what I would like you to do with me?” he whispered, his breath warm on her neck.

  As he spoke, his arm tightened around her, but, curiously, she made no effort to escape him. Encouraged, he inched upward, until he could whisper in her ear.

  “Scoundrel,” she whispered back languidly, lying quite still with her eyes closed.

  “Then I would like you to—”

  “Hush!”

  Max was content to be silent. Slowly he pulled the drawstring of her gown and slipped his hand inside, cupping her small, perfectly formed breast. As the girl came in to build the fire and open the curtains, they lay perfectly still, hardly breathing, only their heads above the coverlet. The door closed softly, and Patience opened her eyes.

  He had propped himself up on one elbow and was looking down at her. Sunlight streamed through the windows, making him a red-tinged silhouette. The coverlet was down to her waist, and her nightgown very nearly was too. His hand looked very brown against her pale skin as he covered one breast. Instinctively, she covered the other with her own hand.

  “What am I going to do with you?” he murmured, a contented smile playing on his wide mouth.

  “Max,” she whispered, rather helplessly.

  Bending down, he nibbled at her mouth.

  “You mustn’t,” she murmured, but her eyes were full of consent, even longing.

  “Mustn’t what?” he asked, but her voice refused to work.

  “Please,” she mouthed soundlessly, as he lifted his hand from her breast. He could not resist fastening his mouth on the sharp little nipple. Patience offered no resistance, and after a moment or two, he felt her hands on his back, but only remotely, through the layers of his clothes. He had not even removed his coat, a cursed encumbrance as he tried dragging her gown up to uncover her legs.

  Here was another stumbling block: Patience wore drawers. He could not recall the last time he had made love to a girl wearing modest drawers under her nightgown, and he was less than pleased to find that he was doing so now. Never had he felt so many buttons under a woman’s skirts: twenty at least! Never had he felt so clumsy as he began to work on these ridiculously tiny, cursedly numerous buttons. Worse yet, Patience seemed to grow unsure again, and actually murmured fretfully that they should not—they must not—and it took a great deal of kissing to fill her eyes with consent again. She cried out weakly as at last his hand found its way in to claim the soft, warm mound between her thighs, but it was only helpless surrender. His middle finger rested quite rightly along the outer lips, but he did not separate them, not yet. He knew she would be wet and welcoming, but for the moment, he wanted simply to possess the prize, and he wanted her to feel him possessing her.

  She stared up at him with huge eyes, seeming not to care in the least that both her breasts were exposed. “Am I ... all right?” she whispered.

  It seemed to him an odd question. “I should be asking you that. Would you like me to pleasure you?”


  “What do you mean?”

  Slowly, he opened her with his finger, caressing the silky hair of her mound.

  Patience caught her bottom lip between her teeth, but not before another faint cry escaped her lips. “I don’t think I can bear it,” she whispered.

  “If you want me to stop, I will,” he panted, but, in truth, he did not think that anything could have stopped him.

  He was quite wrong. He was stopped quite effectively when the door banged open and his sister-in-law sailed into the room. “I hope you are happy now!” she shouted, in a tone that suggested quite the opposite. “My vouchers to Almack’s have been revoked!”

  Her eyes widened as she caught sight of Max. “Oh, my God!” she shrieked, her voice curdled with disgust. “You let him in your bed?”

  Patience, frantically trying to make herself decent, was crimson with shame. For that alone, Max could cheerfully have strangled Prudence.

  “Get out of here, brat!” he said, leaping out of bed and chasing her to the door. “In the future, you will not enter this room without knocking.”

  Pru stumbled back, afraid of him, but managed a weak and shrill, “You’re disgusting—both of you!” before he shut the door in her face.

  Patience was out of bed by now, with her robe belted on, and, of course, there would be no getting her back in the mood now. Max sighed. “I’m sorry. I should have locked the door.”

  She could not meet his gaze. “I’m glad she interrupted us,” she said. “We were about to make a terrible mistake. Oh, God! What a mess! I wish I had never met you!”

  “If I thought you meant that, it would break my heart,” he said quietly.

  That brought her eyes swiftly to his face, but they fell again. “Everything was so simple before you came along,” she said unhappily.

  “That I do believe.”

  He would have taken her in his arms, but she would not allow it. “I must see what Pru is upset about now,” she said. Pushing past him, she hurried out of the room.

  Max went down to breakfast with but one thought in his head:

  Prudence Waverly must go.

  Chapter 21

  As to how the twins were to be separated, short of murder, he had no idea, so it was just as well that Pru came up with a plan of her own. Neither sister joined Max in the breakfast parlor. After breakfast, he went to bed, not in his wife’s bed, but in the room the servants had prepared for him at the end of the hall. He did not emerge until luncheon.

  “You’re still here,” Pru greeted him as he came to the table.

  “I am,” he answered civilly. “And so are you.”

  Patience could not look at either of them without blushing. Fortunately, the china pattern on her plate was sufficiently interesting that there was no real need to look at anything else. It did worry her, however, that her husband seemed not to have taken the precaution of plugging his ears with cotton.

  “But, Max,” Pru said sweetly, “I live here.”

  “And so do I.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “I wonder how long it will take you to spend my sister’s fortune.”

  Patience could not allow this insinuation to pass unchallenged. “Prudence, you know perfectly well that Max is not a fortune hunter. And, if he is, it is only because you have reduced him to it with your lies.”

  “Thank you, my dear,” Max said dryly. “I did not feel reduced until you spoke, but I suppose it would be useless to deny that my fortunes have waned. No matter! I must set about building them up again.”

  Patience set down her fork and stared at him. “You have a plan?”

  “I promised I would not touch your fortune, and I won’t. But I don’t see why I shouldn’t help myself to Pru’s money.”

  “What?” Pru snarled. “You cannot touch my money. My money is held in trust until my thirtieth birthday, and even then no one can touch it but me.”

  “I shall try not to borrow against it too much,” he said. “I would not have you on my conscience when you are thirty.”

  “Max, you are not serious!” Patience began.

  “Do you see what you have done?” Pru cried, turning on her with a vengeance. “Do you see what you have married? Well, I don’t see why I should be made to suffer just because my sister is a fool! I am leaving.” She stood up from the table.

  “Leaving?” Patience repeated. “Don’t be silly, Pru. Max is only joking. Aren’t you, Max? He is not a thief. He wouldn’t steal from you.”

  “No,” Max agreed reluctantly. “But I could, if I wanted to.”

  “I see.” Pru smiled triumphantly as she resumed her seat. “I must tell you, Max, I don’t care for idle threats.”

  Max smiled at her. “You prefer real threats, do you?”

  “Personally, I never make threats,” she said airily. “I prefer to strike without warning.”

  “I remember.”

  “Good,” she said, robbing him of the last word.

  To her annoyance, Max ignored her. What was the good of getting in the last word in an argument, if your opponent simply ignored you and changed the subject?

  “I have been thinking, Pazienza,” he said, looking down the length of the table at his wife. “We should get to Wildings sooner rather than later, if, as you say, your buyer wants to close in thirty days. Would the day after tomorrow be convenient?”

  Patience stared at him. “What did you call me?” she asked breathlessly.

  “What did I call you?” he murmured. “Pazienza, I suppose. That is your name in Italian. Patsy, for short.”

  “Pazienza is lovely,” she said.

  “What is my name in Italian?” Pru demanded.

  “Prudenza. It suits you, don’t you think?”

  Pru scowled at him.

  “You were talking of Wildings,” Patience said quickly, before another argument could erupt. “I suppose we ought to go soon. But what about—what about the Black Swan? Will they let you go?”

  “I fear the novelty of finding Max Purefoy at the faro table may have worn a bit thin,” Max said ruefully. “The first week, I was all the rage. Now it seems I am old hat. I scarcely managed ten quid last night. I doubt they’ll notice I’ve gone.”

  Pru snorted and laughed at the same time, almost choking. “Do you mean you have been working?” she exclaimed in disbelief.

  “Yes, in a gambling hell. Your sister made me promise to get a job, else she would not marry me.”

  Pru laughed. “Then she has done more to ruin you than I ever could! Patience, don’t you know anything? Gentlemen do not work. Your husband is now well and truly sunk, and it is your fault, not mine. He will never be admitted into society again. He brings the stink of trade with him wherever he goes.”

  “Is this true, Max?” Patience’s face was very white.

  “I was on my way down, anyway,” he said. “My dear Patsy, don’t let it trouble you.”

  “It’s being called Patsy that should trouble her,” Pru muttered.

  “Be quiet, Pru,” Patience snapped. “If I’d known it would ruin you, I wouldn’t have—have asked it of you,” she said contritely to Max. “I thought it would be good for you to make your own way in the world for a change.”

  “Your uncle will never forgive you,” Pru chimed in. “Dukes are very proud, you know. He’ll never take you back, even if Pay manages to convince him that you are innocent.”

  Patience was truly grieved. “Oh, Max!”

  “Oh, Max!” Pru mimicked her. “Have you forgotten that he only married you to win a bet? And you let him in your bed! Don’t you feel ashamed?”

  “Shut up, Pru,” Max said quietly.

  “I hope you enjoyed it, Pay, because you can be sure it meant nothing to him. He must make dirty little wagers like that all the time.”

  Patience looked up. For the first time, she was able to meet Max’s eyes with her own. “If so, he would not have been a bachelor when I met him,” she said.

  “He—” Pru broke off, frowning. “If he had made the sam
e bet about me, he would be my husband now.”

  “I only make bets I care to win,” said Max. “You may be sure I never bet against my own interests.”

  The color rose in Patience’s cheeks, but she said as calmly as she could, “In any case, Pru, you swore you would not have him. You don’t even like him.”

  “I hate him!”

  Patience actually smiled, though her head was lowered so that Pru could not see it. “But we were talking of Wildings,” she said, after a slight pause. “Yes, Max. The day after tomorrow would be very convenient. Tomorrow would be convenient. In truth, I’d be happy to leave London directly after lunch.”

  “Well, you needn’t think that I am going with you,” Pru declared. “The Season is just getting started.”

  “Of course, you must come with us,” said Patience.

  “The Season is over for you anyway,” Max told her brutally. “Your vouchers to Almack’s have been revoked, remember? No one will touch you now.”

  Pru sniffed. It was true that the morning post had brought no new invitations. “That is only because you are here,” she explained. “Once you are gone, I shall be as popular as ever. Society isn’t going to punish me because my sister has made a bad marriage.”

  Patience shook her head, but did not argue the point. “You cannot stay here by yourself. If Max and I go, you must come with us.”

  “I shall have Lady Jemima back. No, not her, for she abandoned me in my darkest hour. I shall find some other lady to chaperone me.”

  “It won’t answer,” said Max. “No respectable female will set foot in this house, and I shall never consent to leave you in the care of any other kind.”

  “No, indeed,” Patience murmured in agreement.

  Pru glowered at him. “I should think you of all people would be glad to be rid of me.”

  “Glad? I should be ecstatic. You must have made some friends while you’ve been here.”

  “Friends?” Pru echoed. “Of course. I have many friends.”

  “Perhaps one of them will take pity on you, and invite you to stay with her.”

  “Take pity on me!” Pru said angrily. “I have many friends in London who love me!”