Sea Scoundrel (29 page)

Precious but hearty, white on white, like my kitten.”

“Snowdrop,” Grant said, “I like it.”

Shane coughed. “That’s ‘Lady Snowdrop’ to you.” Grant raised a critical brow at his brother who chuckled, along with Angel and Sophie.

Patience decided to ask him about that later.

“Now, al you need is a house and a rose garden,” Grant said, and Patience’s joy in the evening dimmed. He wanted her settled so he could go about his life. Was she holding him back?

“Does anyone know where Angel is? She has a present for Patience too,” Sophie said.

As if she heard them, Angel came rushing in, out-of-breath and rosy-cheeked, package in hand. “I’m sorry I’m late. I was just getting some air.”

“Were you running, dear?” Aunt Harriette asked.

Angel laughed, a false sound, which made Patience examine her face.

“Here Patience. I bought this on Portobel o Road the other day from a lovely old lady who promised good fortune and happiness to the person who received it.” Patience looked for a place to put Snowdrop, took Grant’s hand, turned it palm-up and placed the kitten into it. She thought the sight rather adorable—the man not the cat—his hand fil ed with a drowsy feline sporting a huge copper bow.

Angel’s gift was hidden inside an oval box covered with cloth-of-gold which Patience thought very pretty. She opened the lid and raised a porcelain figurine for everyone to see. “Angels playing on a cloud. It’s beautiful.”

“There are
four
, see?” Angel said. “One for Grace, Rose, Sophie and me, your four angels.”

Grant’s bark of laughter startled Snowdrop, who jumped to Angel’s skirt before it flew toward Aunt Harriette.

Aunt Harriette screeched and knocked over the tea things, spurring the kitten to greater speed. The frightened fluffbal knocked a vase off a table before scurrying up the curtains where it final y came to rest, shivering at the top.

A rusty masculine chuckle began, and grew, to become a great gust of hearty laughter.

A jolt of shock surged through Grant. He looked at Shane, just as surprised. They watched mesmerized as booming laughter came from their sober, unsmiling, father. The man laughed so hard, he might injure himself.

When Grant recovered sufficiently, he saw Patience on a wobbly chair trying to reach the kitten. “Wil you wait a minute, you little idiot.” He arrived in time to catch her as she tumbled into his arms.

“See?” he scolded even as he hugged her.

“You frightened me. I would have been fine.” His father laughed again. Shane, too. Grant turned, Patience stil in his arms, to watch. How boring his life must have been before the advent of Patience and her angels.

Setting her on her feet, Grant rescued Snowdrop from her perch and placed her safely in her mistress’s waiting arms.

When everyone was settled again, he felt a strong need to hear more of his father’s laughter. “Father. Have I told you about Horatio?” And so began several hours of stories concerning the girls’ beginnings, their journey on the
Knave’s Secret
and their adventures in London.

In the recounting, the adventures, though in actuality often ordeals, became merry frolic, and no one laughed more than his father who dabbed at his eyes so often, they were red. Embroidered tales continued through dinner and after.

“You’l be at our bal on Saturday, Mr. Garrick?” Harriette asked as the men left.

“Certainly, my Lady. Wouldn’t miss it. Anything involving

‘
the Angels’
is sure to be entertaining. Until then.” His father bowed and kissed Aunt Harriette’s hand.

Grant bid her a sober farewel , a rare occasion where no kiss was shared in the leaving. He saw disappointment reflected in her eyes.

“Thank you for Snowdrop.”

He was uncomfortable with the look on her face, her yearning as intense as his. “You’l have everything you need to set yourself up after the girls are settled.” He hated how he sounded.

“Yes,” Patience said, struggling to keep her smile. She cuddled the kitten closer. Grant wished it was him.

“Come along now,” his father urged.

* * *

Dressing for their bal became a festive occasion. Patience sat in her chemise and wrap while Aunt Harriette hummed a lively tune and coaxed each of her curls into its proper place. “Aunt, I believe this is the first time I have ever heard you sing.”

“Wel , I’m happy. I have you back and you know I love you.” She patted a stubborn curl. “There, you are done. Beautiful, as always.”

Her Aunt turned to the girls. “Having you al in my life has given it new meaning. She took Amy from Rose. “Go get dressed now. I’l put her down for the night. Wouldn’t want to keep that handsome man of yours waiting.” Two hours later, Aunt Harriette declared the event a sad crush, which meant they were a big success.

Patience perused the gathering, disappointed Grant had not come through the receiving line with Brian and Shane.

She kept seeking broad shoulders and dark wavy hair and listening for the sound of his voice. She had assumed he would be here.

The girls behaved with decorum and fol owed the rules Aunt Harriette drummed into them. Sophie, Angel and Rose had a bevy of beaux, Shane among them. They enjoyed every glorious moment of attention. Grace spoke with an attentive gentleman, also wearing glasses.

Aunt Harriette whirled about the floor with Brian Garrick.
He
might have something to do with her humming. He’d cal ed several times since her birthday, and it wasn’t her girls he paid attention to, but their chaperone. Lady Harriette Belmont looked absolutely regal tonight. Young. Happy.

The orchestra in the gal ery finished with a flourish. Brian delivered her aunt to her side and bowed. “My dear, I hope you wil honor me with a dance later this evening.” Patience nodded. “I certainly would not miss the opportunity to dance with the most handsome man in the room, Mr.

Garrick.”

The older man chuckled. “Speaking of handsome men, I promised my son I would present someone to you this evening, but I have not seen the gentleman in question as yet.” He looked about as if to be certain.

“And, what gentleman would that be?” Patience asked, puzzled.

“Why, the Marquess of Andover, of course. Grant did promise an introduction, did he not?”

Excitement beat in Patience’s breast. “I didn’t know we invited him, Aunt?”

Harriette looked as perplexed as she. “We didn’t.” Brian looked away. “Grant probably made one of the girls send the Marquess an invitation as a surprise.” Patience laughed. “None of them could have kept that secret.”

“Perhaps Grant invited the Marquess, himself,” Aunt Harriette said.

“Perhaps,” Patience said.

Brian walked her aunt to the punch bowl, then after a while, he returned and took her hand. “He’s here. Come along, Patience, I would like to get this introduction concluded, so that I may take your aunt on another turn about the room. Do you think people would talk if I danced with her more than twice?”

“Don’t even consider it. We cannot do with an ounce of gossip; we’ve caused too much already. You’l have to settle for taking her in to supper.”

He kissed her hand. “Of course, my dear.” A staccato rhythm began in the region of Patience’s heart.

The Marquess of Andover, at last. His introduction to the girls would fulfil her promise to their mamas, not to mention that meeting him would appease her growing curiosity.

Brian excused his way through the crowd surrounding the Marquess, explaining he would like to introduce their hostess to the nobleman. The gentlemen and ladies parted.

Brian drew Patience into the center of the circle, and she stood face to face with Grant resplendent in black evening attire. God’s truth, the man is handsome, she thought.

“Lady Patience, may I present the Marquess of Andover.” Grant bowed and kissed her hand then he gazed into her eyes, an inscrutable look upon his face.

Patience could not move. Warning bel s went off in her head. Loud. Grating. Her smile faltered. She looked from Grant to Brian and back again. Afraid to speak and sound utterly foolish, Patience replayed the last minutes in her head. When Brian had introduced the Marquess of Andover, Captain Grant St. Benedict bowed and kissed her hand.

Patience removed her shaking fingers from Grant’s and turned to Brian. “Sir, is your son the Marquess of Andover?” Speaking with pride, tinged with, what seemed, regret, Brian answered quietly, “Yes, my dear, he is.” Patience heard speculative whispers. If she turned away and ignored such an important man, she would commit a catastrophic error similar to the many committed by her girls at their last bal . She stiffened her spine. “I am honored to meet you, My Lord. If you wil excuse me, I must see to my other guests. Do enjoy your evening.” She curtseyed and turned away, congratulating herself on her aplomb.

The orchestra struck up another waltz, and as Patience walked sedately toward her aunt, she found herself neatly maneuvered into Grant’s arms and onto the dance floor.

For several moments they remained silent. Discomfort, then anger replaced the immutable joy Patience found in his arms. “I seem to remember you once cal ed me a fraud.”

The black devil holding her captive did not respond, instead, he waltzed her into the center of the dancers.

“My Lord, I have no wish to dance. Wil you please return me to my Aunt’s side?”

“No. I wil not. And my name is stil Grant.”

“I recal that you told me your name was Grant St. Benedict.

You are a liar as wel as a rakehel .”

“I have always considered my title a curse. It was bestowed upon me for services rendered, and one does not tel one’s monarch what to do with an offered title. I have no use for the aristocracy, a fact I have told you repeatedly, Patience, which is why I went to America to seek my fortune in honest work. My ful name is Grantland St. Benedict Garrick, Marquess of Andover, known to some as, ‘The Saint.’”

“At this moment, my Lord, if you wil forgive me, I find the name, Saint, particularly il -suited. Please return me to my Aunt.”

“I wil not, Patience, until you cal me Grant. I have the fortitude to wait for days.” He raised one Satanic brow. “I would welcome the chal enge. Now be a good girl and cal me Grant.”

Chal enge. He was offering a chal enge. She could accept that. “I am not on familiar terms with anyone by that name, my Lord.”

When he moved his hand lower on her back and pul ed her imperceptibly closer, she stiffened and tried to pul away but could not move so much as a muscle.

“Cal me Grant, Patience.”

“Lady Patience to you. It’s no wonder you cal ed me fraud; you would know.”

“Patience, I weary of this game. I am one and the same person you have cal ed Grant ...” His voice lowered to a whisper. “With breathless abandon as I kissed you or stroked—”

SNAP
. The heal of her slipper broke as she ground it into his foot.

He cursed under his breath and lifted her higher into his arms, her feet barely touching the floor. With deft movements, he gave the impression of dancing her through the open French doors and out onto the balcony. She hated his power—physical and otherwise—over her.

He sat her down hard upon the cement balustrade bordering the darkened garden. “You little hel cat, you could have broken my foot.”

She wiggled to get free, but he held her firm, his hands on her hips.

Palms flat against his chest, Patience tried to push him away, like trying to move a brick wal . “I wish I had. I wish I had cracked your skul , you black devil.” Her voice rose, but she hardly cared. They were outside after al . “Father of bastard babies, rakehel , no good lying ... scoundrel.” She grabbed Grant’s shoulders and tried to shake him.

They were of a height at this angle and it gave her a feeling of power for a change. But just as quickly as it came, the powerful feeling faded. “Damn, I’ve run out of dastardly things to cal you.” She stopped trying to throttle him, marginal y aware that she caressed his shoulders toward his neck. Her fury died as his eyes captured hers. She tried to fight the pul . “There aren’t enough words to describe how vile, how despicable....”

Grant took her mouth so unexpectedly, in a kiss so masterful, heat shot through her with the force of a lightening bolt.

In response, Patience slid her arms ful around him.

His hands wandered to just beneath her breasts.

She stiffened.

“Open your mouth, Patience. That’s my hel cat. Show me a witch’s passion to meet a black devil’s desire.” Grant’s words struck some primal chord within her, and she matched him on a plane of mutual need that begged to be satisfied. He drank from her parted lips in long greedy drafts. She heard whimpers of ecstasy, surprised they were her own. He traced the bodice of her gown, lower, lower stil , for slow tantalizing moments, until he final y slid his hand beneath.

Oh. She closed her eyes. Oh, Lord. “Yes,” she whispered against his mouth as she shuddered with the contact. He insinuated his leg between hers. She pushed against his arousal, reveled in it, pul ed him closer. Fire emanated from her chil ed breast as Grant’s mouth crept slowly toward the taut peak. “Oh,” she sighed, “Grant, please.” She anticipated the touch of his lips with a physical pleasure bordering on agony.

He lifted his head to gaze at her, his dazed look turning from passion to satisfaction. “Correct, Patience. My name is Grant. Now you have learned that basic lesson, we wil continue to more advanced studies ... at a later time.” He lifted her off the railing, stood her on her feet, and before she realized what was happening, he raised the bodice of her dress and patted her hair in place.

As he straightened his cuffs, her fury burst forth.
SNAP.

“Damnation!”

Her second heel had gone the way of her first, every bit as satisfying the second time. “I needed them to be the same height, so I could walk properly,” she said. “If you wil excuse me, I must go upstairs to repair the damage you have done.”

She’d caused him pain, yet his eyes danced. She refused to be charmed. As she was about to enter the bal room, a very firm slap to her bottom made her squeal in surprise.