Patience (5 page)

Patience drew back with a start.

“My dear Miss Dare, here you are! I have been looking everywhere for you. I do believe this is our dance.”

Patience heard the overture to the waltz. She glanced over her shoulder only to find that three gentlemen had crowded into the space behind her. Where were the horrid women?

Barely able to hide her frustration, she smoothly withdrew her hand from the eager man before her and looked down at the dance card that hung from her waist. “Why yes, Lord Fenton, it is.”

“Bloody rude, Fenton, taking the beautiful Miss Dare from us,” Lord Farnsby complained.

“Indeed,” said Lord Montrose.

“Yes, don’t go far with her, Fenton,” Lord Danforth warned as he brushed a speck of lint from his evening attire. “Her next dance is mine.”

“And then mine,” called Lord Asher.

The eager Lord Fenton merely smiled at her crookedly from beneath his mask as he led her from her circle of admirers and out onto the dance floor.

Patience sighed. Was Matthew truly there, amongst the dancers? Fleetingly, she searched the crowded floor, but in the next moment she chastised herself. He obviously hadn’t sought her out, so what did it matter?

She managed a smile for Lord Fenton as the waltz began, but she was soon grimacing as he trod repeatedly upon her toes.

“I’m terribly sorry, Miss Dare. A thousand pardons.”

The man was concentrating so hard upon her décolleté, he wasn’t leading. So she did.

“There now,” Lord Fenton grinned. “We’ve found the way of it now.”

“We certainly have,” Patience agreed.

“It may take me a moment, but I always find the way of it.”

“Do you?” she replied absently.

Why try to fool herself? If Matthew was in attendance, she at least wanted to see him. Just for a moment.

The morning after their kiss, he had left Hawkmore House. Three days later, she had gone home to the vicarage with her father, younger sister, and cousin. She had resolved to put Matthew from her mind, but no matter how hard she had tried, he had persisted in invading her thoughts, especially in the quiet of the night. In fact, his handsome features had come to mind so often that his face had become engrained in her memory—the hard angle of his jaw and the soft curve of his mouth. And then, of course, there were his dark, soulful eyes.

Frowning, she reflected. Had a day gone by that she hadn’t thought of him? She didn’t think so.

Where was he? Lifting her chin, she scanned the crowd as she turned to the urgent strains of the waltz.

Masked faces filled her view. Half revealed, half hidden, they whirled around her in a kaleidoscope of color. More masked revelers surrounded the dance floor of the huge ballroom, moving in an ever-shifting tide. Even the liveried servants, adorned in black demi-masks, seemed to dance through the milling crowd as they swiveled their trays of sparkling champagne.

But where was Matthew?

The music swelled. A tingle of awareness shimmied down Patience’s spine. Sudden anticipation coursed through her. She whirled.

He was striding purposefully across the dance floor, his dark, penetrating eyes fixed unwaveringly upon
her
.

Patience drew in a breath.

The sense of inevitability that had overcome her after their kiss flowed through her even more strongly now. And desire—warm, rushing desire.

She couldn’t take her eyes off him. Was he leaner than since last she’d seen him? His tall frame was adorned in strict black evening attire. No mask covered his incredibly handsome features. That had been a calculated move, she was sure. In fact, the hard and unassailable expression he wore seemed to say: Damn you all, this is who I am and I shall not hide.

Deep in her body something pulsed. Was it pride?

He drew closer.

A couple danced in front of her, blocking him from her sight.

“I say, Miss Dare, I don’t believe you’ve heard a word I’ve said.”

Patience snapped her attention back to Lord Fenton. “Forgive me, my lord. Uh”—she blinked—“you were saying . . . ?”

“I was saying we dance so well together that perhaps we might consider partnering for other activities.” He smiled in what she was sure was supposed to be an alluring fashion. “I’m quite certain that we are very well suited.”

“And I’m certain that you’re not.” Matthew’s deep voice drew them to a halt. Patience’s blood surged as he took her hand in his and bent a cold eye upon Lord Fenton. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m cutting in.”

Lord Fenton frowned. “I’ve been waiting half the night for this dance with Miss Dare, Hawkmore.”

Matthew’s fingers curved warm and possessive around hers. “Then you won’t mind waiting longer.”

Lord Fenton pushed back his mask, revealing a sudden and nasty glare. “Blast you, Hawkmore. I suppose
cutting
in should come as no shock from a gardener’s son.”

Patience gasped her anger and spoke from Matthew’s side. “Is that supposed to be a pun, my lord? If so, it is a poor one. Now, if you will excuse us, I find I am in agreement with my brother-in-law. You and I will not suit.”

Lord Fenton turned haughtily to Matthew as if he were the one who had spoken. “I never did like you, Hawkmore. I see I was right to petition for your dismissal at White’s.”

Ignoring the man, Matthew swept her into his arms and turned her into the waltzing throng. His features were hard with fury, so she lowered her eyes to give him a moment.

Despite the uncomfortable exchange, exhilaration and relief coursed through Patience’s body. She found herself leaning into Matthew, both offering support and taking succor. He held her so closely that she could smell the vetiver, rich and woodsy, that clung to him. She could feel the press of his lower body and the brush of his legs. His shoulder was strong beneath her hand as he led her with unwavering surety. It all took her back to the last time she had felt the power of his arms around her and the press of his body against her.

She closed her eyes and wished she could just lay her head against his shoulder. God, she hadn’t realized how tired she was—so very tired of the constant onslaught of male attention. The wrong male attention.

“Look at me, Patience.”

Her body hummed with sensual appreciation at the sound of his voice. She lifted her gaze to his dark, heavily lashed eyes. What did she see now? Determination? Pride? Desire?

God, his eyes were more beautiful than she had remembered.
He
was more beautiful than she had remembered. Glints of gold lit his brown hair, which was cut short at his nape and left longer on top. It waved back from his brow and she suddenly longed to displace it—to see it falling forward against his temples, as it had been the night of their moonlit meeting.

“What took you so long?” she asked. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

Though her words surprised her, she knew they were true.

Matthew’s nostrils flared and his eyes seemed to darken. “I’m here now.” His fingers pressed against her back. “Are you prepared to give me what I want?”

The deep, resonant tones of his voice stroked her like a caress.

“Well, I don’t know,” she replied. “The last time I gave you what you wanted, against my better judgment I might add, you left.”

His beautiful brown eyes didn’t waver from hers. “Not a day has passed that I haven’t regretted leaving you that night. Give me what I want now, and you won’t be sorry.”

“What is it you want?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, his gaze dropped to her low, flower-strewn décolletage. “Your gown is lovely. As whom are you costumed?”

Patience drew a shallow breath. “Persephone.”

“Ah, how appropriate. Persephone, the herald of spring—the goddess.” His low voice held her captive as he turned her to the music. “Then I am Pluto, god of the underworld, and I want you. I shall steal you away and hide you in my shadow. I shall chain you to my side and demand your submission. I shall take everything from you and, in the doing, give you everything you desire.”

Something dark and hidden reverberated in Patience’s heart. Like a strike upon a tuning fork, it flowed over her in waves, filling her womb, her quim, and the pulsing heart between her legs with a desperate but unrecognizable hunger. Her lips parted on a silent sigh.

His gaze dropped to her mouth. “And you—you shall light my dark world.”

Patience remembered the women’s cruel words and her heart tightened. “How shall I do that, Matthew?”

His eyes returned to hers and they were unfathomable. “I don’t know, perhaps by speaking my name as you just did.” A spark tumbled from her heart to her womb. His voice was so tender. “Perhaps I have lost my way.” He paused then drew back a little as he turned her. “Does it really matter, as long as I give you what you desire?”

“It does to me.” When he didn’t respond, Patience sighed then gave him a small smile. “You speak of knowing my desires. Yet, how could you?” She shook her head. “We’ve only ever shared a kiss.”

He didn’t return her smile. “It was more than a kiss, and you know it.”

Her blood rushed. “Yes,” she admitted quietly. “But that doesn’t mean you know my desires.”

He held her with his gaze. “Oh, I’ve been watching you, Patience. You’re the belle of the ball. Every man here wants you. They practically stumble over each other to get to you. Isn’t that true?”

She stared into his long-lashed eyes. “Yes.”

“And isn’t it true that your fawning admirers crowd you, almost beyond bearing, in their urgency to impress you. Isn’t it true that they drown you in continuous compliments that are meaningless to you? That they suffocate you with their innocuous but unending attention?” His dark eyes seemed to reach inside her. “Isn’t that true, Patience? Hasn’t it always been true?”

She frowned into his almost hypnotic gaze. “Yes.” The word came on a whisper. Did he hear it?

He bent closer. “And though you smile and sweep them off their feet . . .”

She breathed in vetiver.

“. . . I think none of them inspire your passion . . .”

His cheek touched her temple.

“. . . let alone your love.”

Patience trembled.
Love?
Love was not for her.

But what of passion? Her need for sensual fulfillment often rode her hard—and she grew weary of being her own lover.

She looked into Matthew’s proud, handsome face. “You’re right about almost everything. But I have no desire for romantic love, nor marriage either. I love my family, and I love my cello. That is quite enough for me.”

“Really?” One dark eyebrow lifted. “Are you sure?”

Patience drew a breath but then paused. Why didn’t “yes” burst from her lips? She frowned as she met Matthew’s inquiring gaze. “The pursuit of love and the pursuit of art are antithetical. One cannot live in the face of the other.”

“Who told you that?”

The man I loved.
“A former music master of mine.”

“And you believe it?”

“I know it.”

“How do you know it?”

“Experience.”

“You’re being cryptic.”

“Yes.”

The corners of Matthew’s mouth lifted just slightly. “Very well. I’ll allow that for now.”

A tingle moved over Patience’s skin. She raised her brows. “You’ll
allow
it?”

Matthew nodded. “Yes. For now.” He continued before she could make further comment. “Shame all your admirers don’t know you’ve chosen your cello over them.”

Patience shrugged as Matthew turned her with the music. “It wouldn’t matter if I told them. They would never believe me.”

“No, I don’t suppose they would. Each wants to believe that he shall be the one to win your heart.” His beautiful eyes delved into hers. “Hope springs eternal, Patience.”

“Yes.” He had such a sensual, kissable mouth. “Hope springs eternal.”

“Poor souls, with their hopeless hope.” His head tipped closer. “None of them will ever have you, will they?”

“No.”

“No. Because they don’t know what you need.” Matthew’s hand tightened around her waist as he whirled her amongst the dancers. “But I know what you need, Patience. I am the perfect foil for your needs.”

Patience’s heart quickened. She stared into his dark eyes—such deep, compelling eyes. He tempted her, almost beyond her endurance, for it seemed he knew something she didn’t—something that touched her with a deep and inexplicable force.

And yet, she couldn’t help but be reminded of their tense parting in the gallery. She had
no
desire to be a substitute for Rosalind. “It’s never good to be the one who follows in the footsteps of lost love, Matthew. And as I’ve already said, I cannot offer you love. So, perhaps you should have a run at someone else.”

The set of Matthew’s mouth softened and his long lashes flickered with a slow blink. “That would be a complete waste of time, Patience. You’re the only woman I want—the only woman who can satisfy me.” His dark eyes held her as he leaned close. “You are meant to be mine. And I
will
have you.”

Patience’s mouth went dry, even as moisture wet her thighs. She had felt certain this day would come. But now that the moment was upon her, she didn’t know if she could go through with it.

“I know you feel it,” he said softly. “It’s always been there, hovering between us. You felt it in the gallery the night we kissed. You feel it now.”

“I see you. I feel you.”

“Yes,” he breathed. “But why me? Why not another? Why not Montrose or Asher, or any of the other dozens of men who want you?”

“Why can it only be me, Patience?”

His eyes were hypnotic. She couldn’t look away from them. “I don’t know why. I only know that it is so.”

His hand moved on her waist, drawing her even closer. His voice came low and soft. “Give me tonight—only tonight—and I’ll show you why.”