Patience (19 page)

Matthew’s heart beat with a deadly determination. “I am going to bury you.”

Benchley lifted his heavy chin. “Do you think I quiver at the paltry threats of a worthless bastard? They mean nothing.
You
mean nothing!” He strode to the door and yanked it open before looking back over his shoulder. “You’re finished, Hawkmore. Do you hear me? Finished!” The door slammed behind him.

A heavy silence filled the room.

“Good then,” Matthew growled. “War, it is.”

SONG OF SOLOMON 5:16

 

 

 

 

Patience drew her bow across the strings of her cello with calm concentration. She played Vivaldi’s “Largo” from the
Winter
concerto. Though the piece was meant for violin, she liked the deep, resonant sound of it on the cello.

As she played, she saw the music in her head—each note and cue appeared before her, one leading to the next. She executed each one perfectly, and each completed measure was a triumph. Perfectly and precisely, she moved through the piece until reaching the end. And as she played the last notes, she felt victorious.

Lifting her head to the applause of the audience, Patience smiled at the rows of seated guests that filled the large music room. There were always two factions amongst the people who watched her play. There were those who really admired music and appreciated her skill. And then there were those who came only to gawk because she played an “indelicate” instrument that required the parting of her legs. She could see in the face of each guest who fell into which group. Many of the ladies, including the odious Lady Humphreys and her followers, looked at her with barely repressed censure. Many of the gentlemen, including Lord Fenton and others she had danced with the night before, looked at her with barely repressed lechery.

How she loathed the sly glances that passed between these so-called lords and ladies. Ignoring any disdain or venery, she nodded appreciatively to those who showed genuine enjoyment. She smiled at Mark, Passion, and Aunt Matty, who all sat together in the front row of seats. Her smile widened as she saw Lords Farnsby and Asher standing at the back of the room, clapping enthusiastically alongside Lord Fitz Roy, who nodded and lifted his gloved hands for three short claps.

Then, at last, she found Matthew. Her heart skipped a beat. Where had he been all evening? He stood alone, leaning against the jamb of the open music room doors. Her blood rushed and her clitoris pulsed in recognition of his presence. He was so amazingly handsome, and he wore his flawless evening attire as if he’d been born in it. But, as always, it was his dark stare that made her breath quicken and her body tremble.

He looked at her with an admiring pride and, suddenly, what anyone else thought was unimportant. The disdain of certain ladies, the salaciousness of certain lords meant nothing. Matthew was the only one who mattered—he who tied her to his bed at night, and brought her tea in the morning.

In the quiet after the waning applause, Aunt Matty’s loud voice echoed across the room. “Oh look, it’s Mr. Hawkmore. Why don’t you ask him to join you, my dear? I do so enjoy duets.”

Patience blanched and looked at her aunt, who had turned around in her chair and was gesturing to Matthew. Patience shot a beseeching glance at Passion, but her sister sent her a what-can-I-do look as Mark chuckled silently. Murmurs rose, and people glanced alternately at her aunt and over their shoulders at Matthew.

Patience felt her blood rushing to her cheeks as she saw the snickering and disparaging glances that passed amongst many of the guests, including, of course, Lady Humphreys and her circle. Patience lifted her chin. Her aunt might be a bit unsophisticated, but she had a heart of pure gold.

Matthew had taken a step into the room and was regarding her carefully. Patience tensed. She didn’t want to play with him. The last time she’d played with a man who meant something to her, it hadn’t gone well. And while she may not love Matthew, she definitely—

She definitely what?

Matthew’s low voice carried across the chamber. “I thank you for your enthusiasm, Mistress Dare, but I wouldn’t dream of intruding upon your niece’s performance.”

Patience caught Lady Humphreys raising her haughty eyebrows at her companions, and the fullness of the situation became clear to her. This was not the moment for absurd insecurities. This was the moment to demonstrate her allegiance, both to her aunt and to Matthew.

She looked at him, and, though her heart beat nervously, she lifted her voice so that all might hear. “Please, Mr. Hawkmore. I am to play the prelude from Bach’s Cello Suite Number One as my encore.” She glanced at his cello leaning in its stand. “Your fine instrument is here, and I would be honored for you to join me.”

Matthew kept his eyes unwaveringly on her and, for a moment, she thought he might refuse. But then he stepped forward. “Very well, Miss Dare.” He spoke as he removed his gloves and walked down the aisle between the seats. “For you, I am most pleased.”

Patience’s stomach fluttered, and she heard whispers emanating from the audience. They quieted as Matthew took a chair beside her and accepted his instrument, a beautiful Domenico Montagnana, from the footman. The gold strands in his hair looked bright against the dark ones, and the faintest note of vetiver moved in the air. He positioned his cello between his legs and then slid his long fingers almost sensually up the fingerboard to the peg box.

He looked at her and his eyes were soft. “Suite Number One, you said?”

Patience felt tense and flushed, but not with arousal. “Yes.”

She waited as he made some slight adjustments to the tuning pegs. Then he lifted his beautiful eyes to her and nodded.

Patience drew a deep breath. She hated that he looked so calm while she felt so ridiculously nervous. Positioning her fingers, she set her bow.
Just see the music . . .

She brought forth the first notes of the suite on her own, and then Matthew joined her and the music filled the room.

As she played beneath his unbending gaze, her stomach slowly tightened. The piece had never sounded more beautiful, but not because of she.

It was him.

He was better than she.

But how was he better?

She frowned as she listened. Bach’s prelude was one of her favorite pieces, and she was playing it perfectly. She glanced at him and her frown deepened. He played with a seeming ease and fluidity. And, as they moved into the piece, he added subtle yet provocative variations that fit exactly into each measure she played.

Yet, for all his skill, he did not try to outplay her, or even lead the melody. He kept to the low notes and moved in flawless accompaniment with her. And the whole while, he kept his soft gaze upon her—watching her, and watching her play.

Patience found herself meeting his expressive eyes again and again. They seemed full of both her and the music. How did he watch her so intently and play so wonderfully at the same time?

Her shoulders tensed as she almost missed a note. The shock of that made her keep her eye pinned to her bow. But her ear still searched the music for what made him better. Hard as she tried, she couldn’t lay her finger on it. So as the final notes of the suite floated into silence, rather than her usual satisfaction, she felt perplexed and a bit peeved.

Lifting her eyes to Matthew, she saw a slow smile turn his beautiful mouth, and then enthusiastic applause filled the room. As footmen stepped forward to take their instruments, Matthew stood and offered her his hand. Patience paused only a moment before slipping her fingers in his.

Rising, her heart quickened as Matthew bent to place a kiss on her fingers. His lips felt firm and warm and, again, she smelled the deep scent of vetiver.

Lord.
Despite her contrary emotions, all she could think of was that she wanted so much more from him than just a kiss. But then he was presenting her to the audience, and she blushed uncomfortably as he stepped back so that she might have the guests’ gratitude for herself.

She didn’t deserve it. Turning back to him, she dropped into a low curtsy. What was it about his playing that made him better than her?

She raised her eyes and found that he was looking down at her. One dark eyebrow tilted, and then he held out his hand and lifted her to her feet.

As the applause died, he discreetly stroked her palm before releasing her. Her skin tingled at his touch and her blood rushed, but she had no time to enjoy the lovely sensations, for Aunt Matty was hurrying forward.

Her aunt grinned broadly. “That was wonderful, my dear. Just wonderful. Isn’t she wonderful, Mr. Hawkmore?”

Patience blushed as Matthew looked at her. “She is beyond wonderful, Mistress Dare.”

Aunt Matty’s grin deepened and a knowing gleam lit her gray eyes. “Oh . . . yes, isn’t she though. And my goodness, don’t you both play wonderfully together. Of course, I knew you would. And I’m so rarely wrong about these things.” She raised her silvered brows at Matthew. “What a happy coincidence that you and my beautiful niece should play the same instrument, Mr. Hawkmore. I find that ladies and gentlemen who share one thing in common, often share many things in common. And you know what they say about ladies and gentlemen that share so many things in common.”

Matthew regarded Aunt Matty with an expression that bespoke great interest. “No, what do they say?”

Aunt Matty shrugged and flipped open her fan. “Well, I don’t know what they say exactly. But I can tell you that many married people share less in common with each other than you and my beauteous niece.”

Patience looked to her sister for help, but Passion and Mark had been waylaid by a sophisticated-looking couple who didn’t seem likely to move off soon. So, slipping her arm through her aunt’s, she gave her a warning squeeze. “I do believe that is quite enough, Aunt Matty.”

Aunt Matty batted Patience’s hand with her fan and then pointed it at her. “Rotten peaches. That is all I have to say to you, young lady.” And with that, she turned back to Matthew, who seemed able to regard her with complete seriousness. “You mustn’t mind her, Mr. Hawkmore. She really is a good- natured girl.” She lowered her voice and leaned closer to him. “It’s just that she doesn’t always know what’s in her best interest.”

Patience bristled. “I beg your pardon, but I always know exactly what’s in my best interest.”

Aunt Matty looked at her sympathetically but then sent Matthew a small, conspiratorial shake of her head.

“Oh, really!” Patience exclaimed.

Matthew’s lips twitched at the corners. “Perhaps we should continue this conversation later, Mistress Dare. It seems to be distressing your niece.”

Aunt Matty nodded. “You’re right, Mr. Hawkmore. Better to discuss her future out of her presence—especially when she is so contrary to its proper course.” Aunt Matty sent Patience a brief glare before turning back to Matthew and patting his arm. “We shall continue this little chat at another time, Mr. Hawkmore. But don’t worry”—she winked—“I am for you, sir.”

Matthew bowed and clasped Aunt Matty’s hand. “My thanks, Mistress Dare.”

Patience shook her head as Aunt Matty smiled adoringly at Matthew.

“You know,” her aunt said with a sigh, “I must insist that you address me as Aunt Matty, Mr. Hawkmore. After all, we are already related through marriage, thanks to the good sense of your brother, who could have no finer woman in the world than my eldest niece. For though she is common born, Passion has a nobility and grace of spirit which is unmatched—except by her sisters, of course, who are equally blessed”—Aunt Matty glanced at Patience and managed to smile and glower at her at the same time before turning back to Matthew—“even if they don’t always show it.”

Matthew smiled. “Very well, Aunt Matty. If you insist upon such familiarity, then I must insist upon the same. Please, call me Matt.”

Aunt Matty actually batted her lashes as she fanned herself idly. “Dear Matt. I could tell this morning on the ride from the station that you and I were going to get on swimmingly. I don’t care what anyone says,
I
like you.”

Patience tensed and glanced at Matthew, but if he took offence to her aunt’s backhanded compliment, he didn’t show it. “Thank you, Aunt Matty. I like you, too.”

Aunt Matty blushed like a girl. “Dear Matt.”

Patience cocked her brow at her aunt as a brief silence ensued.

Aunt Matty sighed and then started slightly as she met Patience’s pointed stare. “Oh.” Her adoring look faded. “Well, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go fetch some refreshment.” She raised her brows. “A cup of hot punch, perhaps, as it seems to have gotten a bit chilly in here.” No sooner had she started off, than she turned back. “Don’t let her intimidate you, Matt, dear. She has an extremely annoying way of doing that to men.”

As Patience’s eyes widened at her aunt’s audacity, Matt glanced at her and the corner of his mouth curled. “Don’t worry,
that
I won’t allow.”

Patience met the dominant look in his eye, and her heart skipped a beat as her aunt nodded approvingly and finally moved off.

A brief silence settled between them as the buzz of multiple conversations floated around them. With his back to the room, Matthew held her in his steady gaze.

Patience released a breath and smiled. “You really should disabuse her of the notion that you are interested in marriage. She will hound you unmercifully if you don’t.”

Matthew regarded her for a moment, his eyes moving over her features. “Do you know, it makes me hard just to look at you?”

Patience’s nipples tightened with a sharp, tingly sensation.

Slipping his hands into his pockets, he massaged himself discreetly. “Here’s what you’re going to do,” he said, quietly. “After the next performance, I want you to excuse yourself for the evening. The hunt is tomorrow, so no one will think it odd if you retire early. Go to your room directly, remove all your clothing, and await me. Do you understand?”