"Hmm-hmm." Patience burrowed deeper into her warm bed and ignored the hand shaking her shoulder. She was in heaven, a heaven she couldn't remember being in before, and she wasn't interested in cutting short her stay. Even for him-he who had brought her here. There was a time for everything, especially for talking, and this was definitely not it. A warm glow lapped about her. Gratefully, she sank into it.
Vane tried again. Fully dressed, he leaned over, and shook Patience as hard as he dared. "Patience."
A disgruntled noise that sounded like "glumph" was all he got out of her. Exasperated, Vane sat back, and stared at the golden brown curls showing above the coverlet, all he could see of his wife-to-be.
As soon as he'd woken, and realized he'd have to leave, he'd tried to wake her-to tell her, simply and clearly, what he'd failed to tell her earlier. Before her passions had run away with them.
Unfortunately, he'd come to her late, and had stretched the time out as far as he'd been able. The result was that, only two hours later, she was still deeply sunk in bliss and highly resistant to being roused.
Vane sighed. He knew from experience that insisting on rousing her would result in an atmosphere totally inimical to the declaration he wanted to make. Which meant waking her was useless-worse than useless.
He'd have to wait. Until…
Muttering a curse, he stood, and headed for the door. He had to leave now or he'd trip over the maids. He would call and see Patience later-he'd have to do what he'd sworn he never would. Never expected he ever would.
Lay his heart on a platter-and calmly hand it to a woman.
Whether he was up to it no longer mattered. Securing Patience as his wife was the only thing that did.
Chapter 20
Was she imagining it?
Seated at the breakfast table the next morning, Patience carefully buttered a slice of toast. About her, the household chattered and clattered. Since breakfast was served later, in keeping with town hours, all the household attended, even Minnie and Timms. Even Edith. Even Alice.
Patience glanced about-and ignored the conversations wafting up and down the board. She was too distracted by her inner musings to waste time on less-urgent affairs.
She picked up her knife and reached for the butter.
And started to spread butter. On butter. She focused on the toast-then, very precisely, laid the knife aside and picked up her teacup. And sipped.
Langorous lassitude dragged at her limbs. Sweetly salacious thoughts dragged at her mind. Pleasured exhaustion had her in its grip; it was difficult to concentrate, but, again and again, she drew her mind back to the unexpected revelation of the night before. It required supreme effort to focus on the undercurrents that had run beneath their love-making, rather than on the lovemaking itself, but she was certain she wasn't inventing, that the underlying intensity she'd sensed had been real. The intensity of Vane's need, the intensity he'd brought to the act of loving her.
Loving her.
He'd used the words in the physical sense. For herself, she thought first in terms of the emotion, with the act the physical outpouring. Until last night, she'd assumed Vane's meaning was strictly physical-after last night, she wasn't so sure.
Last night, the physical had reached new heights, intensified by some force too powerful to be confined within limbs and flesh. She'd felt it, tasted it, gloried in it-she'd come to know it in herself. Last night, she'd recognized it in him.
Drawing a slow breath, she stared at, the cruet set.
She was certain of what she'd sensed but-and here was the rub-he was such an accomplished lover, could he conjure that, too, without it being real? Was what she'd sensed simply a facade created by his undoubted expertise?
Setting down her teacup, she straightened. It was tempting to imagine that she might, perhaps, have misjudged, and his "love" was deeper than she'd supposed. She distrusted that conclusion. It was too neat-too self-serving. One part of her mind was trying to talk the rest into it. Into entertaining the notion that he might love her in the same way she loved him.
As distractions went, that won the crown.
Lips tightening, she picked up her well-buttered toast and crunched. After arriving on her threshold unheralded, he'd taken himself off the same way-before she'd had time to wake up, let alone think. But if what she thought was even half-true, she wanted to know. Now.
She glanced at the clock; it would be hours before he called.
"I say, can you pass the butter?"
Setting aside her impatience, Patience handed Edmond the butter dish. Beside him, Angela smiled brightly. Idly scanning the faces opposite, Patience encountered Alice Colby's black-eyed stare. Intensely cold, black-eyed stare.
Alice kept staring. Patience wondered if her topknot was askew. She was about to turn to Gerrard to ask-
Alice's features contorted. "Scandalous!" Uttered in a voice hoarse with righteous fury, the exclamation cut across the conversations. All heads turned; all eyes, startled, fixed on Alice. Who clapped her knife down on the table. "I don't know how you can, miss! Sitting there like a lady, taking breakfast with decent folk." Face mottling, Alice pushed back her chair. "I, for one, do not intend to put up with it a moment longer."
"Alice?" From the bottom of the table, Minnie stared. "What is this nonsense?"
"Nonsense? Hah!" Alice nodded at Patience. "Your niece is a fallen woman-do you call that nonsense?"
Stunned silence gripped the table.
"Fallen woman?" Whitticombe leaned forward to follow Alice's gaze.
The others looked, too. Patience kept her gaze steady on Alice's; her face had frozen, luckily in a relaxed expression. She was leaning on her elbows, her hands, steady, gripping her teacup. Outwardly, she consciously exuded calm; inside, her wits whirled. How to respond? Coolly, she raised one brow, faintly incredulous.
"Really, Alice!" Minnie frowned disapprovingly. "The things you do imagine!"
"Imagine?" Alice sat bolt upright. "I didn't imagine a large gentleman in the corridor in the middle of the night!"
Gerrard shifted. "That was Vane." He glanced at Henry and Edmond, then looked at Minnie. "He came upstairs with us when we got in."
"Yes. Indeed." Distinctly pale, Edmond cleared his throat. "He… ah…" He glanced at Minnie.
Who nodded, and looked at Alice. "See, there's a perfectly logical explanation."
Alice glowered. "That doesn't explain why he walked down the corridor to your niece's room."
Timms sighed. Dramatically. "Alice, Minnie doesn't have to explain all she does to everyone. After the disappearance of her pearls, naturally, Vane has been keeping an eye on the house. When he returned to the house late, he simply did a last watchman's round."
"Naturally." Minnie nodded, chins in unison. "Just the sort of thing he would do." She glanced, challengingly, at Alice. "He's very considerate in such ways. As for these aspersions you're casting on both Patience's and Vane's characters, you should really be careful of making outrageous accusations without foundation."
Flags flew in Alice cheeks. "I know what I saw-"
"Alice! That's enough." Whitticombe rose; his gaze locked with his sister's. "You mustn't distress people with your fantasies."
There was an emphasis in his words Patience didn't understand. Alice gaped. Then her color surged. Hands clenched, she glared at her brother. "I am not-"
"Enough!" Leaving his seat, Whitticombe quickly rounded the table. "I'm sure everyone will excuse us. You're clearly overwrought."