Sea Scoundrel (28 page)

I’l just send a note round to summon him, shal I?” Relief fil ed her. “Please. Thank you, Shane.”

“Come into the library. The fire’s lit.” Sitting in a cozy chair inhaling the spice of Grant’s cologne, Patience eyed the brandy Shane left for her, wondering why the Garrick men had such a penchant for the bitter stuff.

Then she curled up in the chair to wait.

And wait.

When Patience opened her eyes, her first sleep-fil ed sight accelerated her heart. Back-lit by the blaze in the hearth, standing there frowning down at her, Grant looked like Satan. And he must have her in his clutches, because Aunt Harriette’s edict that she end their friendship scared her to death.

“What a sight,” he whispered before he kissed her. “I like finding you asleep in my favorite chair, though it’s not the thing, Patience, to visit a man in the middle of the night.” He lifted her and sat with her on his lap, their favorite position.

He grazed her cheek with his lips. “What are you doing here at this hour? Not that I real y mind.” Awake now, Patience remembered her alarm at Aunt Harriette’s words and she began to tremble. “Oh, Grant.” Grant rubbed her back. “God’s truth, sweetheart, you’re frightening me. What on earth’s the matter?”

“Aunt Harriette said we shouldn’t, shouldn’t.... ” Grant feared her aunt suspected that they had been intimate.

“She said we shouldn’t ... be friends any longer.”

“What?” He sat her away from him so he could see her face.

She fiddled with his cravat. “She said to go on correctly, I must only mingle with the elite of English Society, and that
you
aren’t.”

“Elite?”

“My social equal.”

“Are you certain she’s not trying to push us together.

Remember, she tel s you, you can’t, if she wants—”

“Stop it,” Patience said annoyed. “I fail to see what’s so funny, unless you don’t see our friendship as anything for which to care overmuch?”

“Of course, I care about our friendship. But you must admit that I shot myself in the foot with that one. I’m the one, don’t forget, who made you bring her to London so everything would be done properly. Don’t you see? She is exactly correct. We shouldn’t be friends.”

“You don’t wish to be my friend any longer?” She looked like a sad pup. A damned cute one. “That’s not the point. We need to do what’s best, so the girls wil find titled husbands. Your own chances, Patience, could suffer.

A sea Captain for a friend is not conducive to reeling in a titled husband.”

“I don’t want a titled husband, you dolt. They do. I want—and I can’t believe you can’t remember such a little thing, because sometimes you seem to be so very intel igent—a house, a white kitten and a rose garden. Remember?”

“Listen to me.” He took her hands in his and rubbed her fingers with his thumbs. “You don’t know what you want. You are too passionate a woman to live without a husband. You must marry someday.” He squeezed her hands. “Patience, you’l never know of love. Never have children, if you don’t.” Grant wondered for the hundredth time why her hands in his felt so perfect and he tried to recapture the logic in giving her up.

“You know,” Patience said. “You are also too passionate to live without being married. Yet, you say you wil not.”

“I’m a man. With a man, it doesn’t matter. He can always—” He searched her face for the dawning of understanding.

Surprisingly when it came, there was no accompanying blush. He was sorry he had done that to her—taken away her blush.

“Oh yes. Ladybirds. Men may have them but it is frowned upon for a woman to take a....” She tilted her head in question.

“Lover.”

“But for a man it is not cal ed a lover?”

“No. Wel , yes. Sometimes.”

“The rules are very different for a man than for a woman, are they not?”

“I’m afraid they are. But the fact remains that a passionate man can exist very comfortably outside of marriage. A woman with passion, the kind you have, Patience, cannot.”

“I don’t understand why.”

“Because society wil not al ow it. Oh, occasional y wives of very wealthy, very influential men have discreet affairs.

These are overlooked because their husbands are important. But everyone knows, and though the women are not ostracized, they are frowned upon.”

“I certainly have lived a good part of my life being frowned upon. Aunt Harriette was once very good at it, you know, so I shal not care for the usual.” She nodded her head as if coming to a satisfactory conclusion. “I expect I’l fly in the face of convention and take a lover.”

Fury exploded inside Grant’s head. He damned near dropped her on the floor when he stood. Grabbing her by the arms, he held her in place. “Dammit, Patience, don’t be a fool. A nobody like you would never get away with it.”

“Don’t squeeze so hard. You’re hurting me.” Shocked, Grant let her go.

Patience rubbed her arm, her look rebel ious. “I don’t need your permission to take a lover, Captain. We’re only friends after al .”

For the life of him, Grant couldn’t understand these warring urges to beat Patience one minute and make love to her the next. He stood rooted, his fists clenched, waiting for her stubborn jaw to firm in determination, certain it would.

It did. She nodded. “I shal take a lover. I wil .” Even though he expected it, the shot landed like a fist to his gut. He grasped her arms again. “You little hel cat. If you are so wil ful that you wil throw society’s rules in its face by taking a man to your bed then that man had damned wel better be me!”

That man had damned well better be me!

For two days, the memory of Grant’s words tortured Patience with images best left unimagined, but like sustenance, they fed her.

Gazing at her reflection in the cheval glass, she frowned.

She was supposed to be dressing for her birthday, not mooning into a looking glass. Twenty-five years old and besotted like a child with a first crush.

She should know better. She was on the shelf and happy for it. And today she was of a mind to celebrate the occasion.

She took up her hairbrush. She’d celebrated her twenty-forth upon the sea heading for an arranged marriage. Her twenty-third in Arundel with Aunt Harriette eating mutton stew with fresh-baked bread. Now that she thought on it, that one had been special, considering the circumstances.

There had even been a plum tart for dessert and a warm scarf for the winter.

She sat on her bed, lip between her teeth, regret for her selfish, angry childhood fil ing her. She picked up a cooling cup of tea and sipped absently. No wonder Aunt’s resentment for a brother-in-law who squandered every coin and left his only daughter destitute. Her frustration at being unable to provide must surely have added to her anger. The days of fasting for little sins would have stretched their food.

Patience recognized the ploy. When she’d asked recently about the pup that disappeared, her Aunt confessed she couldn’t afford to feed him and gave him to a good family.

Most titled ladies in Society would never make the kind of sacrifices Aunt Harriette had. Thank God for an aunt who loved too much to be conventional.

Patience realized her hate had been born when she’d heard her aunt say her father had as good as kil ed his wife and sons too. She shouldn’t have been listening, she knew, because hearing and understanding are very different, especial y when you’re twelve and you’ve just lost your parents.

She placed her cup in its saucer and stood to smooth her gown. Recent days with Aunt Harriette were ones of revelation and love. And this would be a special birthday, because Grant would be here. He was bringing his father, of al people, a man she hadn’t known existed. Grant said they’d recently mended past differences, and that he had her and Aunt Harriette to thank for the example.

Rose was happy Shane was coming. Patience didn’t know why he hadn’t asked Rose to marry him yet, but he’d better ask soon, especial y with an expected baby.

Patience had told Aunt Harriette she was inviting the men for Rose’s sake. Of course, it was just as much for herself as Rose, but she refused to feel guilty. It was her birthday after al . Anyway, she hadn’t the slightest intention of ending her friendship with Grant—if friendship it was.

After his suggestion that she take him to her bed if she intended to take anyone, she’d spent so much time considering it, she could not get it out of her head.

A clock chimed somewhere in the house. “Oh, Lord. I’ve a party to attend.” She adjusted the skirts on a gown of bishop’s blue taffeta shot with silver threads, like dancing stars on a night dark sea. The fabric had been one of Grant’s particular choices at Madame Lambert’s. Her thoughts centered on bold suggestion as himself for her lover, Patience descended the stairs with a bemused smile.

“I told you she was beautiful,” Grant said. His deep throaty chuckle at her blush making her heart beat faster.

Beside Grant stood a tal , dark-haired man. Though gray peppered his hair, and he stood a bit thick about the middle, his arrogance and bearing said he could only be Grant’s father. Aunt Harriette beamed as she stood beside them. Shane’s blonde good looks were alien to his family coloring. She’d have to ask Grant about their mother.

Patience curtseyed before the older gentleman.

“Patience, my father, Brian Garrick.”

The man bowed and took her hand. “My dear, your beauty does a man’s heart proud. My sons have their father’s taste in women.”

Harriette laughed. “Hardly old, dear man.” She tapped his arm playful y with her fan. “Come along now. We can await Rose and the others in the drawing room.” It was soon apparent that Grant’s father loved Rose.

He declared his approval of both his sons’ choices in women, giving Patience the uncomfortable notion he thought she and Grant were a couple. “Grant and I are just friends,” she said, finding his laugh as annoying as his son’s.

“There is nothing funny about it. We are simply friends.” The older man waved away her protest. “Of course, my dear.” He shook his head at his oldest. “Knowing Grant, I understand only too wel .”

“That wil be enough,” Grant said.

“Mr. Garrick,” Sophie said, “How is it that you and your sons do not have the same last name?”

Grant looked as if he’d like to turn Sophie over his knee.

Brian smiled. “Garrick is our last name. Shane and Grant chose to use my mother’s family name for their ... careers on the sea. St. Benedict is their middle name. A simple matter to drop the Garrick.”

Patience did not comprehend the undercurrents passing between father and son.

Grant placed his hand on her shoulder. “I think you should open your gifts.”

“Splendid idea,” Sophie agreed.

Patience would never stop thanking Providence for the girl’s enthusiasm. It had fil ed many a tense moment.

Grant sat on the arm of her chair. She opened Sophie’s gift first. “A silver name brooch. It’s lovely.” She attempted to pin it to the bodice of her dress, but could not secure it.

Grant leaned close to maneuver the clasp, slipping his fingers inside the neck of her gown to anchor it. Until Aunt Harriette coughed discreetly, Patience had not been conscious of the impropriety. From Grant’s look, neither had he. He raised his eyes, wide and suddenly aware, to hers.

She asked with her look,
‘What shall we do now?
’

With a wink, his expression said,
‘Leave it to me.’

“There, al fixed,” Grant said moving back to his perch. “It’s lovely, but, Sophie, the spel ing is wrong.” Patience examined the pin in confusion.

“It should be spel ed:
I M
P A T I E N C E.” Patience elbowed him, approved his grunt then she returned to opening her gifts. Delighted with her scent bottle from Grace and the cameo from her aunt, she turned to Rose and Shane’s gift. The large box had intrigued her into saving it til last.

Drawing the crystal decanter from the box, Patience gasped. With a cut nautical design and leather holder, the carafe was exactly like the one aboard the
Knave’s Secret
.

“It’s beautiful.” She remembered raising it to throw at Grant the day he gave her the bath.

Shane beamed. “To remind you always that Grant
didn’t
trade his best first mate for good French brandy.” He took Rose’s hand. “From both of us. You should always have brandy around for when my brother visits.” His words lessened her pleasure in the gift. She would leave it on display. Whether she would ever fil it was another question. But she thanked them each with a kiss. “It reminds me of our voyage. Thank you.”

“One more,” Grant said as he went to fetch his gift for her.

He placed a wil ow basket, soft pink fleece covering it, with a white rose on top, in her lap.

Patience picked up the rose, looked into his eyes and was lost. Another of Aunt Harriette’s wel -placed coughs broke the spel . “Thank you,” she said, not certain who she thanked.

“I couldn’t get you a rose garden for your birthday,” Grant said, husky-voiced. “So the rose must be a symbol.” He removed the fleece from the basket. There, curled in the center, lay a sleeping kitten, a bal of white angora, a bow twice its size about its neck. Patience lifted the tiny creature with a squeal. No larger than her hand, the kitten yawned mightily as she pressed it to her heart.

“Patience, the bow is the color of your hair,” Grace said.

Patience tilted her head at Grant in silent question.

“They’l probably take bets at my club as to what idiotic thing I’l do next. I went to two dressmakers before I found the right color. There is no color cal ed foxpelt.” He nudged the kitten under its chin. “Open those big eyes, Fluffbal , and let your mistress take a look.” The feline complied and meowed as it gazed up at her. “Green eyes, just like yours. I couldn’t resist.”

Patience touched the fuzzy mite to her neck and rubbed her chin gently against the velvet fur. Grant was a beautiful man with a heart to match. “Thank you. I think I’l cal ... him?”

“Her.”

“I’l cal her Snowdrop,” Patience said, pleased with her choice. “Delicate white flowers that brave a spring snow.