that all wounded soldiers needed whiskey to “fortify their spirits.”
Patience coughed down a few draughts, to the delight of the little footboy. He regaled her with stories of Gulliver, who was healing quite well due to her and Lucky’s administrations, so said his lordship. Melenroy absentmindedly had just baked bread with sugar instead of yeast. Lem told Patience they wondered whether the cook might be batty.
“And Mr. Gibbs? He has not been too unkind to you? I worry that he has given you too much work to do.” When she saw the pain in his eyes, she wanted to bite her lip. Something was just not right between Mr. Gibbs and Lem. The butler acted cruelly toward him, and Patience would discover why.
“I am sorry, I did not think…”
A sharp rap on the door froze the friends. Patience did not know whom to expect. Her bedroom was proving to be quite a popular place. Lem leapt into action by throwing her cap and spectacles at her, which Patience awkwardly pulled on. Then the little boy grabbed the tray and stuck it under the bed. Finally, he pulled the covers up to her shoulders with a serious look on his face and, motioning a tree, escaped out the window.
The heat in the room grew oppressive as she fought for air and courage. She managed a squeaky “Enter” and waited with hands clasping the sheets.
Bryce strolled in the door, placed a tray on the bed, kicked the door shut, and turned to examine his patient. He paused, then threw back his head to laugh. She obviously had not been expecting him with the mobcap covering most of her countenance, pushing her spectacles down her nose. Patience looked adorable even as she glared at him with an icy-green blast and higher-than-thou nose for, he assumed, his uninvited presence.
“What do you find so amusing, my lord?” A chill froze her words.
“You were obviously not expecting any guests, and I must say, you will need to find a smaller cap in the future.” So saying, he popped the cap from her head and threw it on a chair.
She pursed her lips, in anger or fear, he could not decide. With hands on his hips, he looked around the small room, his study missed nothing. The opened window, dirt on the wooden floor, and a half-hidden whiskey bottle in the folds of Patience’s sheets. She had had a recent visitor, but who? His examination took only seconds before he pulled a chair next to her bed and sat down, her narrow cot much too small and close for them both.
Bryce leaned back in his chair, placed his right ankle on his left knee, and folded his arms. He had quite a few questions to ask the young woman but something halted his tongue. He would learn the truth, all of it. But not tonight. For some reason, he found it difficult to remember his purpose here.
The warmth of the room brought a pretty pink flush to her cheeks and her lips were red from biting them as she did now. He noted her small, even white teeth as she chewed her lower lip. And when her tongue darted out to lick her lips, he placed both feet on the floor and admonished himself not to notice her charms and the scent of her rosewater soap.
She was a woman. Hence, untrustworthy, disloyal, and exceedingly dangerous to his well-being.
Her coyness and innocence and unpainted beauty were all part of a calculated game she would use to manipulate him. But perhaps he could seduce her to get the truth? A pleasure he intended for them both.
“Are you planning to guard me all night? Ensure I do not escape into the darkness with the silver?”
Her sarcasm made him smile. Plucky little thing, considering he held all the cards.
“Actually, I am here on a nobler mission. I wanted to rebind your wound to help prevent infection. Is it still paining you?” He kept his tone easy, friendly.
“What? Oh, my arm. Well, I have been sleeping a good part of the day, but now it is throbbing a bit.” She too adopted a casual manner, of surgeon and patient.
“The whiskey has not relieved the pain in any way?” He pointed to the bottle peeping out from the bedclothes, near her leg.
“Ah, I…I only had a few swallows, perhaps not enough for medicinal purposes or to cause a drunken stupor,” she replied defensively.
A cool April breeze tickled the air with honeysuckle and lilacs. Time for work. He studied her prim muslin nightdress before gesturing to Patience to unbutton it in order to gain access to her bandaged arm.
Heaving a heavy sigh, she turned away from him to present her back while undoing the top buttons and very carefully easing her arm out of one sleeve. He watched in amusement as she clung to her nightdress, obviously not wanting to reveal any more than necessary.
Bryce positioned the tray on his knees and leaned across Patience to gently lift her arm. As he unwrapped the old bandage, dressed the wound, and placed a clean bandage on her arm, he noticed that every time he brushed the front of her nightdress, he could feel her hardened nipple. He seemed to notice everything about her: the way her hair flowed across her shoulders, down her back and curled under her arm, the steady, lovely hazel eyes watching him as he watched her.
“Finished. Perhaps another day in bed should help ease the pain. I will send up some laudanum if it worsens.” He commanded no arguments and returned the tray to the other bed.
“I am sure I will be much better tomorrow and am most eager to see to my new duties.”
“We shall see,” came his vague reply. Bryce was kindling a fond memory of the kiss on the floor the other night. He had not forgotten and wondered if she had. He had no reason to remain but found himself reluctant to leave without tasting her lips again. Medicinal purposes only, to give her something else to think about.
He leaned over her bed, braced himself on one arm, and caught her cheek, all with such speed as to surprise her. He hesitated before capturing her sweet lips beneath his. Her startled little moan vibrated against his mouth. She tasted of whiskey, and gave him a shy answer to his gentle wooing of her lips.
For a moment he broke away from her parted lips. When her tongue came out again, he swept in for victory. Tongues mated, he could not get close enough to the vibrant young woman. His hip settled on the edge of the bed while his hand wandered down from her soft cheek to her waist, to clasp her more tightly to him.
She eagerly welcomed his kiss and embrace, but he had to stop before he joined her in bed, even though he knew that is what they both wanted. He lifted his head and gazed intently into her stunned face, heated from the passion they had shared.
Unable to think of a suitable excuse for his behavior, he swallowed and offered, “I wanted to see if your kiss was as sweet as I remembered it the other night.”
She continued to stare at him with wide eyes, perhaps still shaken by his actions.
He nodded. “Mmm, definitely, getting better with practice.” How quickly anger stormed into her bright eyes, he thought in amusement.
“I would request that you find another partner to practice with, my lord. I do not need or wish further instruction,” Patience told him, with her chin lifted.
“Yes, I do believe you do”—he paused—“need further instruction.”
And with that obtuse reply, he quitted the room with his ministering equipment.
Chapter 8
Patience put a hand to her quivering, swollen lips as she watched the earl leave the room. What have I done? What had he done? Rupert had been right, this man was dangerous, but not in the way either had imagined.
She still felt his hard lips on hers. It must be wrong. No man kissed like that unless the woman was his wife or his mistress. And she was neither. Was she already on the path to damnation? James would condemn her for responding to his kiss, for allowing misguided passion to rule her head. Confusion reigned because, try as she might to tell herself she was here for Rupert’s sake, part of her knew she was also doing this for herself.
Although she had not encouraged his lordship’s attentions, she had been the recipient of his soul-taking kisses and