Patience (20 page)

“Yes,” Patience breathed.

“Is your cunt wet?”

She shivered. “Yes.”

His eyes were so dark. “Good.” He glanced quickly over her shoulder. “Now smile. Here come Farnsby and Asher.”

Patience drew a deep breath and smiled as the two lords hurried over. Farnsby was juggling two glasses of champagne and a plate of cheese with sugared grapes. Asher came quickly behind him, trying not to slosh champagne over the tops of the etched glasses he carried.

With his breathing coming quickly, Farnsby extended one of the glasses to Patience. “There you are, Miss Dare, a little refreshment after your marvelous performance.”

Patience took his offering. “Why thank you, my lord.”

As Asher handed a glass to Matthew, Farnsby nodded victoriously at his cousin. “I reached her first—carrying two glasses and a plate.” He shook his head. “And I didn’t drop a single grape.” His brows lifted at Asher as if to say,
and what’s the matter with you?
“You may pay me my five pounds later.”

Ignoring Farnsby, Asher lifted his glass. “A toast to the lovely Miss Dare. You play magnificently.”

Patience smiled. “Thank you, my lord, but it is Mr. Hawkmore who plays magnificently.”

“Right, and to her accompanist as well. Fine job, Hawkmore.”

Matthew raised his brows. “My thanks, Asher.”

Once they had lowered their glasses, Asher smiled broadly. “Did you know, Miss Dare, that I play the violin?”

“Do you, my lord?”

“I do indeed. Perhaps
we
might play a duet together sometime.”

“Good Lord!” Farnsby exclaimed before Patience could respond. “You’re bloody awful, Asher, and you know it.” He jerked his vest down and leaned closer to Patience and Matthew. “Saws upon the poor instrument as if he were a woodcutter hacking at a tree. The man has no finesse, no subtlety.” He grinned and slapped the peeved-looking Asher on the back. “No, I advise you to avoid any offer to play with him as you might avoid the plague.”

Patience could barely contain her smile and Matthew coughed into his glass. “I can’t believe that such a dire warning is necessary,” she replied.

Asher shook off Farnsby’s hand from his shoulder. “I’m not as bad as all that, Miss Dare.”

Oblivious to his cousin’s discomfort, Farnsby guffawed. “It’s true. He’s worse!” The stout man broke into a wheezing laughter. “He’s dreadful!” More laughter. “Positively, run-for-the-hills horrid!”

Patience choked back a giggle and Matthew coughed again, this time over his shoulder. Farnsby was almost bent over with mirth.

Just when she thought she wasn’t going to be able to stand it, Asher cracked a smile and then a chuckle. “Well, I may not be very good, but I’m better at the violin than you are at tennis.” His smile widened as he pointed at Farnsby, who was still laughing. “Ah, it’s true! Abysmal—say it! You’re absolutely abysmal.”

Patience laughed, and as she noticed Matthew chuckling at her side, her chest tightened at the incredible handsomeness of his face filled with humor. She realized then that she’d never seen him laugh.

“Oh, all right,” Farnsby wheezed after they’d all calmed. “It’s true. I am an abysmal tennis player. But at least my tennis doesn’t offend the ears.”

“Well”—Asher drank from his champagne—“perhaps I shall hire a new music master.”

“Say, that reminds me,” Farnsby interjected. “Won’t you be off to London soon, Miss Dare? To study with that Italian chap?”

In a matter of a moment, Matthew’s face became cold as stone. He slowly turned his glacial gaze upon her. “What’s this?”

SONG OF SOLOMON 4:9

 

 

 

 

Matthew stood rigid. “What Italian chap?”

Patience looked at him. “I’ve been invited to study with Fernando Cavalli.” She blinked. “In approximately two weeks time, I’m leaving for London.”

No!
Matthew gripped Patience’s elbow. “My lords, if you will excuse us. I require a moment with Miss Dare.”

Without waiting for Farnsby or Asher to reply, Matthew turned Patience down the hall and guided her straight to the library. His heart was beating uncomfortably fast as he pulled her into the large room. Releasing her, he closed the doors and turned the lock. Leaning against the polished wood, he drew a deep breath and watched her walk toward one of the hearths.

The oil lamps were turned low but the two fireplaces in the room burned high. Their flickering flames illuminated the gold-leafed spines on the books so that the walls seemed to sparkle with gold flecks. But their brilliance was as nothing to Patience’s hair, which looked like molten lava in the dim light. And when she turned to face him, the fire lit her with such a radiant glow that it made his heart ache to look at her.

“What’s this about London and Cavalli?” he asked.

Patience regarded him from her spot by the fire. “While on his way to Belton House to visit the Brownlows, Mr. Cavalli heard me play at church. As he was so complimentary of my skill, Father invited him to dine with us and, that evening, he invited me to study with him in London. Father considered the idea, obtained several references, and then finally agreed to allow me to go.” She clasped her hands before her. “I shall be the first woman to ever study with him, which is a great honor as he is considered one of the best cello masters in Europe.”

“I know perfectly well who he is. I trained with him myself for almost eight years.” Matthew pushed away from the door. “He’s a lecher. Did you know that?” he asked as he closed the distance between them.

“He’s married,” Patience replied.

“Yes, he’s a married lecher.”

“He’s seventy-three years old.”

“He’s a seventy-three-year-old married lecher.”

One red gold brow arched as she pinned him with her green gaze. “Are you implying that the only reason he invited me to study with him is so that he might have an opportunity to throw up my skirts?”

He stared at her and caught a trace of gardenia. “I’m not
implying
anything, and this has nothing to do with your worthiness to be his student. I’m
telling
you that Fernando Cavalli has had his aging, but still vigorous prick up every female in his household. And then, of course, there are the women in the households into which he is invited.”

Patience nodded, her expression bland. “Very well, thank you for informing me.”

“You’re welcome,” he said tightly. “And when, exactly, were you thinking of informing me of your plans?”

Her chin lifted. “Well, if you must know, upon the few occasions that you and I have been together, I’ve been a bit distracted by other thoughts.”

Matthew stared into her amazing eyes.
Then distract her every day, every moment. Woo her to distraction.
“I don’t want you to go.”

Patience gazed at him and something flickered in her eyes, but she quickly blinked it away. “Why not?”

He stepped closer to her. “Because you and I have embarked upon something extraordinary—something that cannot be interrupted or stopped.” Did her eyes darken? He took another step and felt the press of her skirts against his legs. “I know you feel it, too, Patience.”

Her lips parted and the pulse in her throat fluttered, making her cut beads twinkle. “Yes.”

“What’s between us has just begun.” He drew the backs of his fingers across her soft cheek. “I have so much more to show you, and to teach you.” He let his hand drop. “But I cannot if you are in London.”

Her intelligent eyes never left his. “You could come to London. I’ll be at Aunt Matty’s. Your brother used to scale the trellis to lie with my sister.”

Matthew shook his head.

Patience frowned. “Why not?”

“Because what I am teaching you takes time. I require you more often than for just a few hours at night.” He lifted his hand and rested it on her breast. “I need you near and accessible at all times.”

Patience’s breathing quickened and her brow creased. “For how long?”

“For now,” he said softly. He could feel her heartbeat.

“And what of my music?” Her voice was low. “Apparently, I did not adequately express to you how important it is to me.”

He hooked his fingers inside the top of her bodice. Her nipple was hard and stiff, and she drew in a breath as he squeezed it gently between his fingers. “So your music comes before everything, even your own fulfillment?”

Patience’s frown deepened. “Physical pleasure is only one aspect of fulfillment. My cello fulfills other parts of me.” She pulled away from him. “I’ll never give it up.”

Matthew watched as her expression turned guarded. Why was she so defensive? “I’m not asking you to give it up.”

She took another step back. “Well, it certainly sounds that way to me.”

Rather than step close to her again, Matthew leaned his shoulder against the mantel. “I’m asking you to give up a teacher, Patience, not your instrument.”

“And do you think teachers like Cavalli come along every day, Matthew? I’m a woman. The opportunities that you take for granted are minor miracles to me.”

“And what of us, Patience? Do you think pairings like ours come along every day?”

She didn’t reply, but she didn’t look away either.

“You know they don’t. What
we
have together is a minor miracle.” He let his gaze move over her slowly. His pulse quickened as he watched her breasts rise and fall with her breath, and his cock moved as he imagined her moist thighs. He raised his eyes back to hers. “And I’m acutely aware of your womanhood. What we have begun magnifies and illuminates your womanhood.” He felt his blood flowing steadily into his cock as her lips parted and a glimmer of soft desire lit her eyes. “Soon, Patience, you will understand that what we have begun is so much more than mere physical pleasure. Is the exploration of this wonder not equal, at least, to the pursuit of your music?”

He could almost see her mind flowing from thought to thought. Her beautiful brow creased as she moistened her lips. “Perhaps it is. But I will not sacrifice my cello.”

Matthew studied her for a moment. “Then let me teach you.” Her eyes widened, and even in the rosy glow of the fire he could see her pale. “No.”

He frowned as the shuttered look returned to her eyes. “Why not? I trained under Cavalli for years. There is nothing he knows that I cannot teach you. In fact, I can teach you more.”

“I said, no.” She turned away from him, only to turn back. “I told you from the beginning—my cello comes first.”

Matthew’s frown deepened and a spark of anger ignited in him. He crossed his arms over his chest. “Why? Why do you put your music before all—before marriage, before children, even before yourself? Why must everything be sacrificed upon the altar of your musical pursuit?”

Patience shifted, and he saw her hands tremble as she pressed them against her skirts. “You play, you should understand.”

“No.” He shook his head. “Actually, I don’t. I adore my instrument. Indeed, my playing was the one thing that my fath—” he paused at his slip—“that George Hawkmore admired me for.” He met her troubled gaze. “But right now I would toss my cello into the fire rather than give up what is between us.”

His declaration didn’t surprise him. It was true. He would do anything to keep her. Why didn’t she feel the same, damn it? “Why, Patience? Why does your bloody instrument rule your life? Do you aspire to the stage?” His voice was growing harder, but he couldn’t help it. “Is it fame you want? Will you be traveling the world—you and your cello—moving from place to place in a perpetual performance?”

“No!” Patience’s hands closed into fists. “Why must people always assume that fame and fortune are the reasons for my dedication?”

“Tell me, then! What are your reasons? Why is your cello so goddamned important?” he yelled.

“Because it’s all mine!” she yelled back. “And as long as I love it enough, it will never, ever leave me!”

Matthew’s anger melted away, only to be replaced by a fierce protectiveness.

Patience sucked in her breath and then squeezed her eyes shut. When she finally opened them again, her expression was one of forced calm. “My cello is important because it challenges me, and it never disappoints me.” Her voice was tight but quiet, and her eyes glistened. “And despite the fact that it is but wood and string, it comforts and satisfies me.”

Crossing to her, he stared into her exquisite face. Her lower lip was trembling, but she didn’t allow a single tear to fall.

His heart constricted.

Resting his hands on her slim waist, he bent and pressed his lips softly to hers. Her mouth was tender and her breath sweet. Once again and twice more, he kissed her before pulling back. A wet streak glistened on her cheek, and he could feel her shaking. This was about more than some bastard music master. He brushed his thumb across the remnant of her tear. “At least consider my request.”

Patience held him in her green gaze for a long silent moment. “Yes, Matthew.”

He nodded and drew her into his embrace.

But as he pressed her head to his chest, he knew that he wouldn’t take the chance.

He would do whatever it took to keep her.

Whatever it took . . .

 

 

Patience took off her dressing gown and stood before the fire. The bright flames warmed her naked body, helping her to resist covering up. Several times already, she had put her dressing gown back on; for it felt strange to walk about with nothing on. She was determined, however.