The Pleasure of Bedding a Baroness Page 31

  “Then, by all means, write to them.”

  “I shall!”

  Pru stormed out of the room.

  “I don’t think this is a good idea, Max,” Patience said.

  “What is your objection?” he asked mildly. “Prudence will not be happy if we take her away from all her friends. You want her to be happy, don’t you?”

  “Well, of course I want—”

  “Then we are in perfect accord,” he said, smiling.

  “I don’t know,” Patience said uneasily.

  “She will not be happy if we make her go,” he repeated. “And she will make us miserable. I don’t care to be miserable on my honeymoon.”

  Patience blushed to the roots of her hair. Mindful of the servants in the room, she said, “I daresay no one will invite her, and then her feelings will be hurt.”

  “Then she will come peacefully with us to Wildings,” he replied.

  Patience looked doubtful, but kept her thoughts to herself.

  Despite her claims, Prudence had no friends in London. Of beaux she had plenty, but she had never much bothered with the members of her sex. There was really only one person to whom she could write.

  Lady Isabella Norton received her letter that afternoon, and read it over with much scornful laughter. “What is so funny?” her brother asked gloomily, as he came into the room to be given his tea. Isabella lost no time in telling him, but, to her surprise, he did not laugh.

  “What are you waiting for?” he said, sitting up in his chair. “Ask her to stay with you! Is her page boy still here?”

  “No, I sent him away,” she replied, staring at him. “Why should you want me to invite her? Now that her sister has married you-know-who, the Waverlys are far beneath our touch, surely!”

  “Now that I have lost my bet, no single female of large fortune is beneath my touch,” he said bitterly.

  “Your bet,” she said impatiently. “How much did you wager? A monkey? Send him one and see if he laughs.”

  “Ten thousand pounds I wagered,” he replied.

  Isabella stared at him in horror. “Ten thousand! Have you lost your wits?”

  “If I do not get me an heiress soon, I will lose more than my wits, dear Sister! Send to Miss Prudence at once.”

  Isabella shook her head. “Only consider, Brother, if she is under our roof, her sister may visit her! No, it is not to be borne. And what, pray, would I say to Sir Charles?”

  Milford frowned at her. “You should worry less about what you will say to Sir Charles,” he said. “You should worry what I might say to him if you do not obey me!”

  “What can you mean by that, sir?” she said indignantly.

  “I may say something to him about the six months you spent in Ireland,” he replied. “How fat you were when you left England. And how thin you were when you got back.”

  “Ivor, you wouldn’t!” she whispered.

  “Do not try me, Isabella,” he replied.

  Prudence brought Isabella’s note to her sister the moment it arrived. Max had set Patience another puzzle at the chessboard in the drawing room, and Patience was doing her best to solve it before he returned.

  “Isabella Norton!” she exclaimed in surprise.

  “She has such lovely handwriting, don’t you think?”

  “I don’t trust her,” said Patience. “I don’t even like the idea of you staying in London without me, but I especially don’t like the idea of you staying with Isabella. There must be someone else you could ask.”

  “Of course, there are several other young ladies who have asked me to stay with them,” said Pru, “but Isabella is my particular friend. And you know she is engaged, so there can be no jealousy between us. Really, Pay! And, if I get into trouble, I’m just up the street from the American embassy.”

  Patience did not smile. “I still say you had much better come to Wildings with me.”

  “I would go to Wildings with you, but I will not go with him! Where is he anyway, your lord and master?”

  “If you mean Max,” Patience said rather coldly, “he has gone to make the arrangements for the journey.”

  “I should like to be gone before he gets back,” said Pru. “Isabella says I may come to her as soon as I wish. My maid can follow with my trunk.”

  “There’s no need for such haste, surely,” Patience protested. “We won’t be leaving for a day or two. You might change your mind.”

  Pru shook her head. “I have already accepted Isabella’s invitation. May I have the carriage?”

  “I’ll drive you in the curricle,” Patience offered.

  “No,” Pru said quickly. “I must go alone, for I cannot ask Isabella to receive you. It wouldn’t be fair to her. May I have the carriage?”

  The carriage was sent for, and the sisters parted, Pru congratulating herself on having escaped social death, and Patience as offended as she was hurt.

  Max returned to the house for his dinner. “Are we waiting for Prudence?” he asked, finding Patience in the drawing room.

  Patience wished she had solved the chess problem, but she had not. She rose from the chessboard. “Prudence is gone,” she told him, almost defiantly.

  His eyes widened. “You got rid of her for my sake?”

  Smiling, she shook her head. “She went of her own accord. But she went with my consent, and my blessing, and my carriage.”

  “Gone?” Max spoke with the air of one who cannot believe his good fortune.

  “She wanted to go,” Patience said. “I could not make her stay. She’s not a child. She can make up her own mind.”

  “You are not her keeper,” he agreed, pleased.

  “No, indeed.”

  “You’re my keeper,” he added. “But you are not to worry. I won’t give you any trouble. I’m really quite ... docile.”

  “If I believed that, Mr. Farnese,” she said, “I think I would be disappointed.”

  “I would not on any account disappoint you, my lady,” he said softly.

  The next day, they left London before sunrise and Patience did not care if she ever saw the place again. “Max, did we really do all those things last night?” she asked, whispering as she snuggled in his arms in the coach and four he had hired to take them north to Wildings.

  “Perhaps not all of them,” he replied, enjoying the feel of her in his arms. “Not quite all of them, perhaps. But some of them,” he went on as Patience began to giggle uncontrollably. “Yes, I believe we must admit, my dear girl, that some of those things were done, and, what is more, we did them.”

  Patience caught her breath. “I am glad we did not do all of those things,” she said. “Some of them were very wicked.”

  With his forefinger, he lifted her chin. In the dim light of the carriage lamps he could just make out the green of her eyes. “I am not sorry,” he murmured, “but if you are, gladly will I bear all the blame.”

  “Liar,” she teased him. “You want all the credit for yourself. Perhaps you do deserve the lion’s share of it, but I rather think that my contribution, however small—”

  She was not allowed to finish, his kisses making it rather impossible to think, let alone talk.

  The morning sun was just skimming the clouds overhead as the streets of London gave way to the vast, green fields of the countryside. The interior of the coach seemed ridiculously large for just two people, but Max had insisted that a smaller carriage would not be equal to the rugged roads they would encounter as they moved north. Patience pulled her cloak around her, settled back into her husband’s arms, and let the motion of the carriage rock her to sleep.

  The noises of a roadside inn awakened her some time later. The carriage had stopped. Looking out the window, she saw that the sun was directly overhead. The inn looked charming, but not half as charming as the tall, gray-eyed man walking toward her. He had bought her a bottle of lemonade and for himself a bottle of beer. Opening the door, he placed them in the compartment.

  “Where are we?” she asked him as
he resumed his place next to her.

  “Redbridge.”

  “Redbridge!” she exclaimed in surprise, reaching for her guidebook. “This is not the way to Wildings.”

  “I know a shortcut. It’s only a day or two out of our way. Surely, you can spare a day or two for your husband?”

  “How can it be a shortcut if it takes us a day or two out of our way?” she said primly.

  “All right; it’s not exactly a shortcut. It’s more of a scenic detour. But I’m afraid I must insist on having my way. After all, I let you have your way last night,” he added, with a wolfish grin. “I was extremely flexible. Did I not do everything Your Ladyship required of me?”

  “Oh, hush!” she said angrily.

  He would not be silenced. “I was good. I wanted to wait,” he declared. “But you said you would not grant me the jewel of your innocence in a public bed in some dirty roadside inn where thousands of travelers have made the beast with two backs. You insisted you be laid in your own bed. I merely gave in to your demands.”

  “I have never in my life said anything so indecent!” she protested, laughing.

  “Yes, I was obliged to translate your maidenly stammers into plain English,” he agreed. “Mind you, some of these places along the Great North Road are quite well traveled. I would not have you rise from a night of love covered in flea bites. So perhaps it is as well you were so impatient to have me.”

  “I was not impatient—” she began, but the carriage suddenly made a hard shift as the driver resumed his seat. Patience bit her lip as the carriage rolled forward upon Max’s knock.

  “Admit it!” he continued loudly as she tried in vain to shush him. “You could not wait to get me into bed. Exhibit A: You refused to play chess with me after dinner.”

  “I don’t like chess,” she said.

  “Pity,” he said, “for you are extremely adept at mating. Your little queen,” he went on, despite her pummeling him with her fists, “swooped down on my poor king like the hawk seizing the sparrow! Really, I thought she would break his poor neck!”

  “Shut up! or I shall break your neck!” she said, covering his mouth with her hand.

  Catching her glove in his teeth, he pulled it off. “There is a better way to silence me.”

  “Oh, yes? How?”

  “You know how,” he replied, pointing to his mouth.

  Patience shook her head, but kissed him.

  “Put your hand in my pocket,” he invited her.

  “Why?” she said suspiciously.

  Taking out a velvet jewel box, he presented it to her.

  “What is it?” she asked shyly.

  “It’s your wedding ring, if you want it.”

  Her face clouded. “I hope you didn’t spend too much on it.”

  “I spent nothing on it,” he replied. “ ’Twas hazarded and lost at my table last week at the Black Swan. It’s only topaz.”

  Satisfied, Patience opened the box and caught her breath as she stared at the ring nestled in the velvet lining. “It certainly sparkles like a diamond!” she exclaimed softly.

  “Yes, it’s very well cut,” he said. Impatiently, he placed it on her finger. “I am sorry ’tis only a topaz. You deserve the finest of all diamonds.”

  “No, indeed,” she said indignantly, admiring the large stone on her hand. “I love my topaz. I shall never take it off.”

  “You understand what this means, of course.”

  Patience threw her arms around him and kissed him. “Of course I know what it means!”

  “It means that, in all probability, it will turn your finger green.”

  “It means I am yours forever,” she told him reproachfully.

  “That too, of course.”

  At half past four, they stopped for tea at another small inn catering to travelers. Afterward, Patience fell asleep in her husband’s arms, and did not wake until the sky was quite dark. Discovering that Max had fallen asleep, too, she quickly shook him awake. “Max! It is night! The roads are not safe after dark. We must stop somewhere.”

  Yawning, he stretched his arms over his head. “What do you fear?” he asked, smiling. “Highwaymen? Let me assure you this road is very well patrolled by militia, and, anyway, the coachman has a pistol. So have I, if it comes to that.”

  “So do I, of course,” she said. “But think of the horses. Tell the driver we must stop at the very next inn. Here it is now,” she added, relieved as she saw the lights of a hostelry up ahead. “Tell him.”

  Looking out the window, he made a face. “That place? I wouldn’t kennel my dog there. There’s a much nicer place, just a little further ahead, if you will be patient.”

  “It’s beginning to snow,” she said worriedly.

  He glanced out. By the glow of the driver’s lantern, he could see snowflakes floating like feathers in the air. “Don’t concern yourself,” he said. “It never sticks.”

  “I think we should stop now, even if the place does have fleas,” she said.

  “I am eager, too,” he said, nuzzling her neck. “The place we’re going is but two miles past the Flea’s Rest.”

  “It is the Angler’s Rest,” she corrected him, laughing.

  “Trust me, you would be better off resting with fleas than with anglers,” he said. “Come away from the window. You’ll catch cold. Come away, or I shall begin describing at the top of my voice all the many things I intend to do to your poor body as soon as we are alone.”

  Shocked, Patience covered his mouth with her hand.

  “This is the longest two miles I have ever known!” she declared some time later. “It will be dawn by the time we get there.”

  “It just seems that way because you are dying to get your hands on me.”

  Patience punched him in the ribs. “Hush! Someone might hear you.”

  He laughed. “It’s just past this clump of trees.”

  “What clump of trees?” she wanted to know, pressing her nose to the cold glass. “It’s black as pitch.”

  Just as she spoke, a gravel drive flanked by dozens of flickering torches appeared around the bend. Patience could make out the looming outline of a very large house at the end of the drive, its windows full of golden light.

  “Is this it?” she asked, surprised by the size of the place. “It’s rather big for an inn, isn’t it? It’s like a palace.”

  “It was once an abbey,” he replied. “Confiscated by King Henry the Eighth.”

  “I wonder they can stay in business in this lonely part of the world,” Patience murmured, watching curiously as a number of servants came out of the house to greet them.

  “During the racing season the house is always full,” he told her. “There are several race courses nearby. But I daresay, we are their only business tonight.”

  Patience made a face. “I hope they don’t cluster around us. I don’t think I will ever get used to having so many servants as you do here in England. I prefer to fend for myself wherever possible.”

  “I daresay they will leave us alone once we explain to them that all we want is a bed for the night.”

  “You cannot tell them that!” she protested, horrified. “They will think—! Well, you know very well what they will think! At least we must have supper first.”

  “I would prefer to have supper after.”

  “Max! I am quite serious. It is one thing to talk like that when we are alone, but, I beg of you, do not shame me in front of these people.”

  “No, indeed,” he said gently, as the carriage rolled up to the front steps.

  Before the carriage steps were let down, Patience’s trunk was on its way inside. Max climbed out first and hailed the tall, dignified woman who seemed to be in charge of the servants. Despite the lateness of the hour, she looked exceedingly tidy and clear eyed. Patience took her to be the landlady.

  “Mrs. Oliver! I hope we have not kept you up too late.”

  “No, indeed, sir,” she warmly replied. “We are very happy to see you, as always. The
room you requested has been prepared for you.”

  “Excellent! Here is Lady Waverly,” he said, handing Patience out of the vehicle. She had put on her bonnet in haste and it showed. Blushing, she clung to Max’s arm.

  Mrs. Oliver curtsyed. “Your Ladyship is very welcome.”

  “Lady Waverly is very tired. We’d like to go directly to bed, if that’s all right.”

  “Max!” said Patience, in a horrified whisper. “You promised!”

  Max chuckled. “It seems my wife is also hungry,” he said. “But there’s no need, Mrs. Oliver, to open the dining hall just for us. Send something up to the room, if you please. And we will want a hot bath.”

  “Two,” Patience said in a small voice. “Two hot baths.”

  “One will suffice,” he said firmly.

  The landlady curtsyed again. “Of course, sir. If you would be good enough to follow me? John has already brought your trunk up to the room.”

  They followed Mrs. Oliver at a discreet distance to the end of the hall and up the big staircase. Patience whispered to Max, “Is this a respectable place?”

  He glanced at her sharply. “Why on earth would you doubt it?”

  “Mrs. Oliver seems to know you very well.”

  He laughed aloud. “In that case, it cannot be respectable.”

  “And she didn’t even ask us to prove that we are married! For all she knows, you are not my husband, and I am not your wife. I think we should go back to the little inn we passed. It may have fleas, but at least it is respectable.”

  “I will show her the marriage certificate, if you like.”

  “That isn’t the point. The point is she didn’t ask to see it!”

  Mrs. Oliver stopped at one of the doors on the long upstairs hall. She opened it for them, sinking to a curtsy as they passed through.

  Patience went at once to the huge, elaborately carved marble fireplace, putting her back to the enormous bed with purple velvet hangings. It was the largest bed she had ever seen, and she could not look at it without blushing. The coverlet was turned down to show snow white linen sheets and more than four fluffy white feather pillows.