Patience (34 page)

Dressed in her corset and petticoats, Patience was preparing a tea tray on the large table in the middle of the room. She wore an apron around her slim waist and one red curl, having escaped her loosely upswept hair, bobbed before her eye as she settled things into place.

He loved her. Why had he bothered resisting it? He’d loved her from the first, deeply and desperately. He’d known because the feeling was unlike any he’d ever experienced before. It was exhilaration, hope, happiness, and desire all bound tightly together with a ribbon of bliss. Only one thing could possibly lift him higher—her love in return.

He watched her for a moment longer and smiled as a tiny frown turned her brow. God, did she know—could she possibly know—how beautiful she was?

“I have only one question,” he said gently, drawing her immediate attention. “
What
is that heavenly aroma?”

Patience smiled and pushed back her curl. “Lemon cream scones.”

Matthew stared at her and his heart wavered. There was something new in her eyes. A tender susceptibility, perhaps.
Yes.
It was tentative and fragile, like the glimmer of light that halos a barely opened door. But it was there. He swallowed. “Scones?”

“You said that you always wake hungry.” She smoothed her hands on the front of her apron. “And you were sleeping so deeply . . .” Her fingers clenched the fabric and then let it go. “Besides”—she shrugged—“it’s about teatime and you’ve brought me breakfast twice. It was the least I could do.”

Oh, no you don’t—no platitudes.
“Was it?” Matthew slipped his hands in his pockets and tilted his head. “So you made scones in order to pay me back for the breakfasts I’ve brought you?”

Patience looked at him for a moment, and then a small frown turned her brow. “No,” she said softly. “That’s not why.”

Matthew stood very still. “Then why?”

She looked down for a long moment and a curl fell against her temple. When she finally raised her eyes back to his, Matthew’s heart wrenched. Behind a glistening veil of unshed tears, her gaze seemed fraught with both hope and dread.

Matthew tensed with anticipation and the desire to take her in his arms, but he forced himself to remain still. If he moved, he might chase away the words that she seemed on the brink of speaking. His gut tightened. The patter of the rain and the snap of the kitchen fire filled the silence.

Patience released a long, tremulous breath.

Matthew held his.

“It’s just that you’ve—” Her voice shook and her lips trembled. “You’ve made me so happy, you see. And—and, I’m not certain, but I think that I haven’t been happy in a very long time.” Her tears spilled over, and she quickly swiped them away. “So, I—I wanted to do something for you. Something that would please you.” She swallowed and her chest heaved with a quick breath. “I made the scones because I wanted to make you happy.” Her voice trailed off and she stood stiffly, her fingers clenched in the fabric of her apron.

Matthew felt like his heart was going to burst. He wanted to rush to her and hold her against him. He wanted to discover all the reasons for her unhappiness, and then he wanted to banish that unhappiness forever. He wanted to pledge his love to her and give her everything—heart, home, family, and fortune.

But he had to proceed with a delicate seesaw of push and release, push and release. For Patience was like a wounded bird. Although he’d coaxed her to eat from his hand, if he tried to grab her too soon, she would surely claw and peck to fly away.

So he crossed to her slowly. He took her hands gently, and drawing her fingers to his lips, he kissed them reverently. Then, holding her hand to his heart, he looked into her moist gaze. “You make me intensely happy. Thank you.”

Patience’s lashes fluttered and then her lovely mouth turned up in the corners. “You’re welcome.”

 

Patience felt Matthew’s heart flutter beneath her hand. Then he smiled at her with such a happy, carefree light in his dark eyes that it made her own smile deepen.

They stood there for a moment, and it suddenly occurred to Patience that they were grinning at each other like a couple of—well, like a couple of love-struck children. With a shake of her head, she pulled her hand away. But as she crossed to the oven, her smile remained. Removing the scones, she returned to place them on a rack on the table.

Matthew’s eyes widened. “God, those look absolutely marvelous.” Moistening his lips, he took a seat on one of the benches and rubbed his hands together enthusiastically. “I’m famished.”

Patience couldn’t suppress her pleasure, and laughed lightly as she sat across from him. Her bottom was a little sore, but while she was grateful for the padding that seven layers of petticoats offered, she had already discovered that she rather liked the achy, tender feeling. As she moved, bent, and sat, it was a constant reminder of what had occurred between them—a constant reminder that, even if only for now, she belonged to Matthew. “I’m glad you’re hungry.” She reached for the tea tray. “The scones need to cool just a little, though.”

“Very well. But I’ll have you know that when it comes to food—and you—I hate waiting.” He leaned his chin in his hand with a smile, but as he watched her pour the tea a tiny frown marred his brow.

Patience paused. “What’s wrong? You don’t care for any tea?”

“No, I’m quite eager for tea.” His frown deepened. “I’m just wondering what you’re doing sitting way over there?”

“Oh.” Patience glanced at the wide expanse of table that separated them. “Well, it’s customary to sit across when one is conversing, isn’t it?”

“My sweet Patience, nothing between us is customary. How can I possibly ogle and fondle you from such a great distance? I can barely see you across this vast wasteland of a table, and I most certainly can’t touch you.”

Patience grinned. “No wonder you and Aunt Matty get on so well. You’re as prone to exaggeration as she is.”

“Yes, now stop stalling and come sit beside me immediately.”

Patience started to move but the feel of her sore bottom made her pause. Had her submission to punishment gained her any leniency? Surely it had. Her heart beat faster as she met Matthew’s gaze. “You could come over here.”

Matthew’s eyes seemed to darken slightly but his expression remained mild. “Ah, my sweet Patience. I see you need reassurance.”

Did she? What exactly did she need to be reassured of—that he would yield, or that he would
not
yield?

A small smile turned Matthew’s mouth. “I love your challenges, Patience. They give me something to rise to. They give me a special purpose.”

Patience tilted her head. “What purpose?”

“To bring you to your proper place—which, at this moment, is beside me. To help you grow in your obedience. To reassure you and comfort you.” He stood up and his cock was a hard, thick bulge in his trousers. “To make you happy, my beauty.”

Patience’s heart thumped and the tiny heart between her legs answered with an echo. “Is that your purpose, Matthew? To make me happy?”

“But of course.” Matthew regarded her as he began to roll up his sleeve. “Your happiness is one of my foremost desires. Now, come to me immediately and bend over the table.”

Patience’s eyes widened and her cunt throbbed. “You mean to punish me? Again? Just for a question?”

Matthew raised his brows as he turned up his other sleeve. “Oh, come now, Patience. Stop acting so surprised. I told you this morning that I would not tolerate this sort of petty disobedience.” He rested his hands on his lean hips, and her attention was drawn again to his prominent erection. “Or is it that you thought I would spare your sore bottom?”

She snapped her eyes back to his.
Yes!
That was exactly what she’d thought.

He shook his head with a small smile. “If you think submitting to punishment is a pass to disobedience, you are
sorely
mistaken.” He lifted one brow. “No pun intended.”

Patience tried to slow her racing pulse as she rested her chin in her hand. “Hmm.” She knew she was being cheeky. “And if I refuse to obey?”

Matthew regarded her for a moment, and then his smile lifted slowly on one side. “I wouldn’t, were I you.”

Patience felt the tingle of her nipples hardening. She was surely escalating the situation, but she felt no inclination to stop. She shrugged. “Why not? I can always speak ‘the words’ if I want.”

Matthew crossed his arms over his chest with a sigh. “You can, but that would be a mistake. The words of refusal are not really meant to be spoken, Patience. They exist to comfort you. They are the escape that always
can
be taken, but never
is
taken.”

It was true. Several times she’d thought of saying “the words,” but she hadn’t. It was enough that she knew she could. But what if she actually did voice them? She tilted her head. “So if I spoke ‘the words,’ you would not heed them?”

“Of course I would. But it’s a moot point, for if I serve you well enough, you never will speak ‘the words.’ ” Matthew leaned his hands on the table. “Remember, Patience, it isn’t submission if you only do it when you want to. It isn’t submission if you only do it when it’s easy. And it most certainly isn’t submission if you start avoiding it with the speaking of a simple sentence.” He held her with his dark gaze. “Is it?”

Her clitoris pulsed as she stared into the depths of his beautiful eyes. “No.”

He was quiet for a moment and then his voice came, soft as velvet. “You will submit to me when it pleases you and when it doesn’t. You will submit to me when it is easy and when it is difficult. You will submit to me through pleasure and through pain. And you will most definitely submit to me despite the existence of certain words to the contrary.” He straightened slowly. “Come.”

Patience regarded him only a moment longer before she found herself getting to her feet and walking slowly around the table. Her heart beat fast and she felt a little uneasy for her sore bottom. Yet, the closer she got to Matthew, the wetter she felt between her legs. How strange it was to feel both dread and desire at the same time.

She paused beside him and felt herself blushing as she met his determined gaze.

“Lean forward,” he said quietly, “forearms on the table.”

Patience did as he said. The position was quite comfortable, but the moment she felt her petticoats flipping up, she tensed as both her anxiety and her excitement escalated.

“Ah, Patience”—Matthew smoothed his warm hand over her bared curves—“your beautiful bottom is still rosy. However, you can well afford this little reminder.”

Patience bit back a surprised yelp as his hand came down fast and firm on her sore flesh. Despite all he’d said, she had really expected to feel a gentler reprimand. But such was not the case, and in no time she was gasping and writhing as Matthew heated the entirety of her aching posterior with short, sharp spanks.

The moment he stopped, she dropped fully onto the table. With her cheek pressed to the smooth wood, she drew shallow, panting breaths that quickly slowed and deepened. Her bottom was hot, sore, and throbbing. The sensation pulsed through her body with a strange and sensual deliciousness that massaged her from the inside out. She felt completely relaxed and completely at peace. But most fascinating of all, she felt a deep and intensely satisfying sense that she was Matthew’s—that she belonged to him and that he would take care of her.

A flood of relief and overwhelming gratitude washed through her. Her eyes stung with fresh tears.

For how long had she felt neglected? How long?

Matthew pulled her up, and she immediately wrapped her arms around him. She breathed in his skin, and pressed soft, urgent kisses against the warm column of his throat and the smooth line of his jaw.

He held her with his whole self. His body braced her, his arms encircled her, his fingers pressed her tenderly, and his head bent over her. She was enveloped in his protective embrace, and she felt entirely safe—entirely happy.

She nestled her face against the curve of his neck. Would that such feelings could last forever. “Thank you, Matthew.”

His arms tightened around her and his mouth turned to hers. “You’re welcome,” he whispered against her lips. Then he kissed her with a slow gentleness that made her feel weak.

SONG OF SOLOMON 2:14

 

 

“Patience, I have never had scones as delicious as these.”

Sitting gingerly beside him, on what he was sure must be a nicely aching bottom, Patience grinned. “I’m glad you like them.”

Truly, the spanking he’d given her hadn’t been a very hard one at all. But she was just beginning, so everything seemed more than it was.

She leaned her pretty chin in her hand. “Would you care for another?”

“Yes. But how many have I had?”

“Three.”

Matthew raised his brows. “Only three? Then I’d better have one more.”

Patience’s smile deepened as he picked up another scone and took a big bite. Not only were they delicious, but
she
had made them—for him.

Since he was sitting astride the bench, he stared into her smiling eyes as he swallowed the fluffy mouthful.
She
had made them. The more he thought about it, the more it pleased him. “You know, this is the first time in my life that I have ever eaten food that was not prepared by a kitchen staff or purchased from a merchant.”

She looked him up and down. “Spoiled.”

Matthew looked at the sugar-glazed scone and then back at Patience.
I love you.
“No—not spoiled.” Leaning forward, he kissed her soft lips. “Not until now.”

Patience’s mouth curled back into a smile as he withdrew to finish his scone. It was such a sweet and endearing smile—one he hadn’t seen before. His heart beat a little faster.
Ah, Patience, your walls are crumbling.