Patience (9 page)

Matthew hated the way people’s eyes followed him. As he passed amongst the guests on his way to the card room, he was distinctly aware of their reactions to his presence. Many looked away, perhaps fearing he might engage them in conversation—a risk of which they were in no danger. But many also met his gaze, either openly or tentatively, and exchanged a brief nod or greeting. Regardless, he could feel the curious and speculative glances that followed him.

He frowned. Once, his friendship, his presence—hell, even his name on a guest list—had been valued. What a difference a father made.

As he passed three young ladies, he heard the wind of their whispers behind him. His frown deepened. He hated being talked about. It was almost worse than the outright snubs.

He lifted his chin and rolled his shoulders as he approached the card room. But since he couldn’t stop the relentless tide of gossip, he would turn it to his advantage. He’d really give them something to talk about—and he didn’t even need Benchley’s presence in order to deal his first blow. He stretched his fingers, and exhilaration flooded his veins when he heard Danforth’s snorting laughter. Ah, the vile prig was right where he was supposed to be.

Striding into the card room, the first face Matthew saw was Danforth’s. Seated at the center table, the tall, narrow- shouldered earl was balancing on his rear chair legs. Upon seeing Matthew, he sat forward as an arrogant, condescending expression came over his florid features.

“Well, if it isn’t the infamous Mr. Hawkmore,” he said, loudly enough to claim the attention of the entire room.

It seemed all eyes turned to him. Matthew settled his expression into lines of bland indifference as he moved to the center table. “Danforth.” He nodded to the other men at the table. “Gentlemen.” He was in his brother’s house. They wouldn’t dare decline him a seat. “May I join you?”

Lord Hillsborough nodded.

The aging Lord Rivers indicated the open chair across from Danforth. “Of course. Take a seat, my boy. The game is
vingt et un
.”

“Very well. Ten thousand, then,” Matthew said, taking his place. His balance sheet could little afford such a withdrawal, but he must show no sign of financial weakness. He would just have to bloody win.

As Lord Rivers gave him his chips and made an accounting in the betting book, Danforth tipped back in his chair again and stroked his long moustache. “Tell me, Hawkmore, whatever did you do with Miss Dare? You infuriated Fenton when you cut in on him, and then you infuriated every man in the room when you led her off the floor. And now you’re back.” He leaned forward as the cards were dealt. “But is she?”

Matthew flipped a chip onto the table then took a moment to examine his cards. Finally, he glanced up blankly. “I’m sorry, what was that, Danforth?”

The earl’s eyes narrowed. “I said, where is Miss Dare?”

A vision of soft full lips, swollen from his kisses, flashed in Matthew’s mind. Would she stay or flee? He indicated he would take another card, and then shrugged. “I don’t know where Miss Dare is at the moment. She complained of a headache, so I escorted her to the family wing.” He placed his opening bet then met Danforth’s cold stare. “Perhaps she had a little too much of your good company.”

Danforth upped the bet without even looking at his cards. “Perhaps she did not understand what
low
company she had entered into when she allowed you to escort her from the floor.”

The room quieted and Matthew’s body stiffened with anger. He clenched his jaw and moved a tall stack of chips into the middle of the table. “Perhaps she preferred my low company to your boorish manners.” He frowned for a moment. “In fact, if memory serves, even when we were boys at school, the girls didn’t favor you.”

Danforth leaned forward as the crowd surrounding the table thickened. His lip curled. “You thought you were such the golden boy then, didn’t you? But look at you now,” he sneered. “Now you can’t even get an invitation to clear the plates in the dining rooms you used to preside over, and no gentlemen of honor will do business with you.” He threw a stack of chips upon the growing pile. “So who is the favored one now?”

“Good lord, Danforth, at least look at your damned cards!” one of the onlookers exclaimed as Lord Rivers and Lord Hillsborough bowed out of the game.

It was just the two of them now.

The earl swept up his cards and cast a cursory glance over them.

Matthew watched him carefully then pushed forward another stack of chips. “I don’t know who the favored one is, but it can’t be you, for you have neither charm, nor talent. Your lack of the former makes you ill suited to the ladies. And your lack of the latter makes you ill suited for cards.” He raised a brow. “Why don’t you quit, and admit defeat to me.”

“Damn you, Hawkmore! If I’m so ill suited to the ladies, then how is that I have become engaged to
your
former fiancée?” A hush fell over the room. “That’s right,” Danforth said victoriously, his moustache quivering, “the lovely Lady Rosalind is to be mine.”

Matthew thought of the note tucked in his pocket. Danforth could have her. A vision of brilliant green eyes swam in his mind. Patience. He need only have Patience.

Danforth positively beamed in the face of Matthew’s silence. “So”—he shoved the last of his chips into the pile—“why don’t
you
admit defeat to me?”

Matthew allowed a mock scowl to briefly crease his brow. “Why ever would I do that?” He moved another stack of chips to the center of the table. “Oh, and I already heard about your betrothal.” He moved another stack. “Forgive me for not mentioning it earlier,” he said idly as he moved another stack of chips and then another. Finally, he sat back and leveled his eyes on Danforth. “Congratulations. I’m certain you deserve each other.”

Danforth’s forehead gleamed with a sudden sheen of sweat as he stared at the huge pile of chips. Murmurs filled the room, and Lord Rivers leaned forward. “You were already rather deep in before this hand, Lord Danforth. I fear that you are overextended.” He laid his aging hands upon the table. “I believe that passions have overruled common sense this evening. Why not ask Mr. Hawkmore for a draw? The hands shall remain private.”

All eyes turned to Danforth. His chest puffed up and his expression hardened. “I will not! He’s bluffing.” Reaching into his breast pocket, Danforth pulled out a folded sheet of paper and tossed it atop the huge pile of chips. “That is a coal mine in Gwenellyn that I just acquired from Lord Benchley, my future father-in-law.” Danforth managed a grin, but his face was flushed. “Now show us your cards, Hawkmore, and let’s have an end to this.”

“You must sign that deed over to the table before the cards are shown, my lord,” Rivers said calmly.

Danforth paused but then hurriedly signed the deed and the betting book. Tossing down the pen, he raised his chin as many in the crowd regarded him doubtfully. “Doesn’t matter,” he said dismissively. “I’ll have it back in a moment.”

Matthew stared at him and then at the piece of paper. He sat completely still as the beautiful irony of the moment overcame him. How often was one gifted with both a shield and a sword simultaneously? And how often did such a gift come from the very hands of one’s enemies? Clearly the angels were favoring him tonight, for such a boon, coming from as unlikely a quarter as the Earl of Danforth, could only be heaven-sent.

Maybe his life wasn’t entirely bad news after all. First Patience and now this. Indeed, if he hadn’t come to the ball to claim her, he wouldn’t be sitting at this table now.
She
was his lucky angel.

A wide grin had spread across Danforth’s face at Matthew’s silence. He threw confident looks of victory to the crowd of onlookers. Finally, he leaned forward casually. “Well, Hawkmore? Put your damned cards on the table.”

With a steady hand, Matthew laid the ten of clubs, the eight of hearts and the three of diamonds upon the table. “
Vingt et un
,” he said quietly.

All eyes turned to Danforth. His face became a red mask. Matthew barely glimpsed a ten and a face card as the earl leapt up. “You bloody bastard!”

Come on!
Matthew threw back his chair as Danforth rounded the table.

“I ought to have known better than to play with the likes of you,” the earl raged. “You’re nothing but the cheating bastard of a cheating slut. You’re noth—”

Matthew’s fist connecting with Danforth’s jaw interrupted whatever insult would have come next. The tall man reeled back, but no one seemed inclined to catch him. He fell against a marble column topped with a bronze statue of Athena. The goddess of war tipped then hit the ground with a clanging cacophony.

In the brief silence that followed, Matthew clenched his fists. Then pandemonium broke out as Danforth lunged forward, swinging wildly. Matthew pushed the startled Lord Rivers out of the way, but caught a glancing blow against his chin for his effort. Whirling around, he managed to sink his fist into Danforth’s gut before he was leapt upon and restrained by several of the gentlemen in the room. Danforth was held back as well, wheezing while he glared defiantly.

“What the hell is going on here?” Mark drew up short when he saw Matthew. The men holding him let him go.

Matthew rotated his shoulders and straightened his coat. “Ask him,” he said as he swept the deed from the floor.

Mark frowned at Danforth. “Well?”

Danforth looked up with watery eyes and a flushed face. “Your half brother has cheated me, Langley.” He yanked away from the men who were supporting him and pushed back his hair. “I demand that my bet be returned to me.”

Matthew recognized the angry set of his brother’s jaw. “My
brother
doesn’t cheat, Danforth,” Mark said tightly. “Your demand is denied.”

Matthew slipped the deed into his breast pocket and watched a flicker of panic light Danforth’s eyes.

“I tell you, he cheated me!”

“And I tell you, that’s impossible.”

“You take the word of a gardener’s son over the word of an earl?”

“I take the word of my brother over the word of an ass.”

That was good.
Matthew almost smiled.

“I ought to have known you would stand with him,” Danforth sneered. “Any man who would allow his wife to cavort about in costume whilst with child is no gentleman.”

“Cavort? Are you speaking of my lady?” Mark growled. “My lady wife, who has not once taken the dance floor this eve? My gentle wife, who is an angel of virtue and decency?”

Uh-oh. Matthew looked at his brother and saw all the warning signs—angry tic in the cheek, raised shoulders, and two twitches of the right hand. “You know, Danforth, I don’t even like you. Why are you here? I didn’t invite you.” Mark turned to Matthew. “Did you invite him?”

Matthew shook his head. “No. No, I didn’t invite him.”

“Well, I didn’t invite him.” Mark strolled over to Danforth, who was sweating profusely. Even the man’s moustache looked damp. “Ah, yes. It must have been my wife who invited you. My beautiful, gracious wife, who
I
insisted should enjoy this last event before her confinement.” He leaned into Danforth’s glistening face. “The woman I vowed to God I would protect, you son of a bitch.”

Danforth didn’t have a chance. In the next moment, he was being dragged across the room by his lapels. A noisy crowd followed as Mark yanked the man from the card room and hauled him down the stairs to the main floor.

Matthew leaned upon the landing rail to watch Danforth be thrown out. He smoothed his hand over his breast pocket where the deed had joined the note from Rosalind. He felt exuberant. The night had gone far better than he’d expected.

A light touch upon his arm drew his attention. He smiled into the beautiful face of his brother’s wife and turned her gently from the scene below. “Hello, Passion.”

She glanced over her shoulder as he pulled her away. “What’s going on, Matt?”

He pulled her arm through his and escorted her from the crowd of onlookers. “Everything is fine. Your husband is just throwing out a little vermin.”

“Oh, dear. I didn’t realize we had invited any vermin.” Passion smiled and, for a moment, it was as if he were looking at a vague reflection of Patience.

He wanted to go to her. He glanced at the stairs. Surely he had waited long enough.

“Matt?”

He returned his attention to Passion. They had paused in a quiet spot outside the grand salon. “Yes?”

“I saw my sister leave with you.”

He regarded her intently as his neck stiffened. “Yes. I escorted her to the family wing.”

“I see.” Passion regarded him with her gentle eyes. “You know, I’ve always sensed that there was something between you two.”

“So have I.”

Her hazel eyes held his. “Matt, though Patience is very assured and capable, and has held innumerable beaux at bay, her heart is not unbreakable. She hides a deep and passionate nature—one that has suffered loss and disappointment. So, be careful with her. Be careful with my sister.”

Matthew frowned. “What loss? What disappointment? Did someone hurt her?”

“Yes.”

Matthew’s frown deepened. “Who? What happened?”

Passion’s gaze softened and she seemed to study him for a moment. “I won’t say more. Patience wouldn’t like it.”

Matthew tensed and leaned close. “Who was he, Passion? It was her former music master, wasn’t it?”

“That is not for me to tell you, Matt.” Passion lifted one auburn brow. “But, if Patience tells you, then you may be sure that you have won her trust.”

Matthew pulled back. He wanted to know everything—right now.

Passion put her hand on his arm. “Just take care of her, Matt. She needs to be taken care of.”

Remembering the feel of Patience’s straining body, his prick stirred. He looked into Passion’s gentle eyes. “Marmalade or jam?”

Passion’s brow creased. “What?”