Having Patience (3 page)

“Really?” James asked, his mind already formulating a plan.

“I still have them in a box somewhere. I could send them over for you.”

“It wouldn’t hurt to give it a try,” James said, not wanting to sound over eager. But in fact, this was just the sort of scheme he needed. The naughty novelettes would be a perfect way to not only find out what sort of things Patience thought she might enjoy but to whet her appetite as well.

Lambden’s smile broadened. “Just be prepared. Your reticent bride might surprise you.”

James doubted it. “Let’s hope so.”

Lambden’s eyes widened in playful skepticism. “You’ve never read a penny dreadful, have you?”

James scoffed. “Of course not.”

“They’re filled with bawdy tales of lust and interludes—and even pleasurable punishments.”

James waved a hand at him. “Lady Somerset will never participate in anything like that. I’m certain she’s more interested in kisses and pledges of undying devotion than being manhandled.”

“As I said, you might be surprised.” Lambden tapped on the leather covered armrests of his chair. “I’ll have my man bring the books over straightaway.”

* * * * *

Patience gaped as servant after servant, hefting box after box traipsed through her bedroom door.

James followed behind them. “Place them all there against the wall,” he said.

She looked at him askance until the last box was deposited.

“That will be all. Thank you,” James said to the servants who then filed out of the room.

“What’s this?” Patience asked. She couldn’t imagine.

James lifted the lid off one of the boxes before withdrawing a book.

“What on earth?” she began but James thrust the book into her hand.

Her gaze dropped to the title.
The Rose and the Rapier.
“What is this?” she demanded.

“A romantic novel.”

“A what?” she inquired but she knew very well what it was. Her handmaiden, Wanda, read novels such as these all the time. Patience did not see the benefit of reading such trite writing. Why had James brought her these? Surely he knew she preferred the philosophical musings of the ancients to this drivel.

“My lord, you insult me,” she said, wagging the book at him in an effort to get him to take it back.

He cocked an eyebrow and for a split second, Patience forgot about the book. She had agreed to call him by his given name. “James,” she said softly. Something warm and liquid swirled within her at the intimate utterance of his name. The fact that he’d practically commanded her to use his name instead of some other formal address only added to the mysterious feelings churning inside her.

“My gift is not intended as an insult,” he told her.

“We have…known each other for nearly a year now. Have I ever given you the notion that I would read…
this
? For heaven’s sake, James,
The Rose and the Rapier
?”

One corner of his mouth pulled into a partial smile.

“What then?” Patience was confused. “Are these for Wanda?”

“Of course they’re not for Wanda. They’re for you.”

“I don’t understand.”

James folded his arms over his chest. “I think perhaps that you did not get a good
education
from your governess.”

Patience suddenly comprehended the meaning of the books. A torrid blush infused her cheeks. Anger knotted her stomach. “Are you insinuating that I might learn how to…how to submit to you by reading this…this twaddle?”

His shoulders rose and dropped with a sharp breath. “Not in the least. I’m not insinuating anything. I only hope to learn what pleases
you
.”

Patience laughed and the high-pitched, almost hysterical sound of it seemed as if it were coming from someone else. She shook her head. “There’s surely nothing in those books that would please me.”

His dark eyes narrowed into vicious slits. He gestured to the book. “Well I suggest you find something in there that does.”

She realized she was shaking. And yet, this was the very opportunity for which she had yearned. Here and now, she could make him angry enough to take her, to claim her.

Something clenched inside her—something between her thighs. She summoned courage. “No. I’ll not do it.”

Two steps closed the distance between them. She gasped as James hauled her against him. All at once she was aware of the heat of his body, the sinister gleam in his eyes, the cruel twist of his lips, the hard feel of every unyielding inch of his chest, his thick, powerful thighs, the spicy, male scent of him and the warmth of his breath fanning her face.

Oh do it now! Make me. Please, make me.

But instead, he glared. “You will read each and every one of these books and you will take a pen and underline what piques your interest.”

He snatched the book from her hand and opened it at random. “Here,” he said and began to read. “Rose yielded as Sir John pressed a kiss to her breast—”

“Stop!” Patience wailed. What was she saying? She really wanted to beg him to do just that right now. Where was her pen and ink?

“Furthermore,” James said, “you will bring me an underlined passage each morning and then you and I will enact it the following evening. Each and every evening.”

Gnawing her bottom lip, Patience nodded.

He continued. “I will do no more or no less than is indicated by your pen.”

“I understand,” she said.

He stared as if he hadn’t expected her to capitulate to easily. “So, we are agreed?”

She nodded.

He gave her a little shake. “Say the word!”

“Yes,” she gasped.

“Very well,” he said and handed her the book. Shock was evident in his voice but it was short-lived. Almost at once his initial severity returned. “You have exactly one hour to deliver a passage to me. After that, we will dine and then we will adjourn to this room.”

Clutching the book to her chest, Patience nodded again. Already, her blood was hot and pulsing in thick bursts through her veins.

James started toward the door but stopped and looked back at her. “Be warned, Patience. I will brook no refusals.”

With that, he turned and left.

Patience retreated until the back of one knee came in contact with her bed frame. She sank onto the mattress and looked at the book in her hands. She’d gotten exactly what she’d wanted. He was not giving her a choice. Well, not really.

She opened the book and began to read.

Chapter Three

Supper seemed a never-ending affair. Every nerve in Patience’s body was as taut as a violin string.

From the lust-filled looks James gave her, she had no doubts that he’d read the short passage she had underlined.

Even now, as he sat blandly discussing the reconvening of Parliament and the upcoming season’s festivities with their neighbor, the Earl of Waverly, James cast sidelong glances at her.

Patience clenched her fists in her lap, praying no one would ask her to play the pianoforte or God forbid, to sing. Given her current state, both would be impossible.

Warring emotions vied for prominence. Patience couldn’t decide whether it was dread or anticipation.

A servant placed a dessert in front of her. “Thank you,” Patience said softly and as the staff served the others at the table, she took the opportunity to observe her husband.

What did he think of her? She had not agreed to do much. The passage was short. And yet, it was a step. One tiny step.

But it was a step Patience felt she needed to take. Perhaps it would even dispel the fear she needed to overcome her hesitation about submitting to James. Doubt surged. She dragged her bottom lip between her teeth. There was no turning back. She had agreed. It was out of her hands now. Out of her control. She’d chosen her passage.

After supper, she would have no choice except to act out the scene in the book.

James’s gaze converged with hers and Patience’s heart skipped a beat. The muscles in her stomach and thighs tensed. That little pulse throbbed between her legs and she felt herself grow damp with her desire.

Panic began to well. No! It was an act. Merely an act. She could do this much. He had promised her he would go no further than she permitted.

But what if he did?

She drew in a breath that sent desire spiraling through her body. What if this one act pushed him to the limit and he decided to simply take what he wanted?

Images of him rearing above her with her wrists pinned to the bed above her head raced in her brain. What was this wild need she had for him to dominate her? Why?

There had been so many paragraphs in that book Patience had wanted to underline, that she’d wanted to try. Still, something prevented her from underlining more than she had.

Waverly blotted his wiry whiskers with his napkin, cleared his throat and began droning again about people and places Patience did not know. She wanted to scream. This waiting was utter torture.

James reluctantly dragged his gaze from his jittery bride and feigned interest in Waverly’s conversation. There would be another hour of conversation, at least. Dessert would be followed by brandies in the parlor and even more bland stories about high seasons long past.

While Waverly yammered on, James thought back over the passage Patience had underlined. Each and every word repeated in his mind. He had expected a kiss, a simple touch, maybe going so far as to fondle her through her dressing gown—but what she’d underlined had surprised him.

No. It had
intrigued
him.

And right now, he hated himself for inviting Waverly into his home this evening.

As he suspected, the evening dragged torturously by. Every minute seemed to last for hours and Waverly was so full of himself, he could not see that the newlyweds wanted to be alone.

When, finally, Waverly asked a servant to fetch his hat and coat, James resisted the urge to sigh his relief aloud.

Patience practically jumped to her feet. Ever the elegant lady, she smiled and bade Waverly goodbye, reiterating how welcome he was in her new home and how delightful the evening had been.

James stood behind Waverly, eyeing his wife and resisting the urge to smile. Oh, but how coolly she lied when James knew how anxious she must be inwardly. He admired her, now more than ever.

The dimples deepened at the corners of Patience’s mouth and James did smile. When her gaze met his, a jolt passed through him that sparked a steady throbbing in his trousers.

James patted Waverly on the back as the servant showed him out of the parlor. Once they were alone, he inhaled deeply. “I thought he would never leave.”

Patience gave voice to the most delicious little laugh. “As did I.”

Their smiles faded and James stared. He wanted to dispense with this game. Some primal urge made him want to yank up her dress and take her right here against the back of the closed door but he forced himself to resist.

“Go to your room,” he said. “Have Wanda hurry. I will be up in half an hour.”

* * * * *

Patience shook as Wanda helped her out of her dress and into her nightgown and dressing gown. Her gaze kept returning to the clock on the wall. She’d thought this half hour would drag by. Instead, the minutes had taken flight. She swallowed.

Wanda gently drew Patience’s hair out of the ruffled collar of the dressing gown and smoothed the long locks down her back. “I would have brushed it longer but—”

“It’s fine, Wanda,” Patience blurted.

“Will there be anything else, ma’am?”

“No, thank you.”

Wanda dipped into a curtsy before she opened the door to leave. Patience nearly gasped when she saw James in the hallway.

Without words, he passed Wanda, entered the room and then closed—and locked—the door behind him.

Patience’s heart fluttered like a wild bird trying to escape her rib cage. Her mind fled back over the evening in reverse order. Supper. Dressing for supper. Taking the book to James. Underlining a passage with a trembling hand. The blot of ink on the yellowed page. Choosing the passage. Reading.

She inhaled.

Despite what happened earlier, what she had chosen—she could not change it now and knowing what was about to come next both excited and terrified her.

Her heart felt as if it were lodged in her throat.

James loosened his neck cloth as he strode confidently across the room and took a seat in one of her chairs. “Come here,” he commanded.

Patience’s bottom lip trembled. He was really going through with it. The scenario had begun.

Briefly, very briefly, she closed her eyes and then she moved closer to where he sat with his legs spread casually. It was such a masculine posture that it rendered Patience to a quivering mass of nerves.

He regarded her, his dark eyes flashing as his gaze drifted down the length of her body before lifting once more.

Her blood thickened and heated and pulsed so hard her ears roared.

His eyes locked with hers. “Take off your dressing gown.”

Trembling, she slowly untied the ribbon that held her dressing gown together in the front. She opened it and shrugged it off her shoulders.

Something akin to a moan escaped James’s mouth. “That’s it, love. Take it off for me.”

Tingles skittered from her scalp down her spine and arms. Patience wriggled out of the heavy fabric and was at once aware of the loss of its warmth—and protection. Part of her felt exceedingly vulnerable. Another part of her wanted to give herself completely to the man sitting across from her.

She twisted to lay the dressing gown on the bench at the foot of her bed.

“No.” James’s voice startled her. “Let it fall to the floor.”

Patience complied and the embroidered damask whispered as it pooled around her bare feet.

James shifted in his chair. “I can see through your nightgown.”

Instinctively, Patience crossed her arms over her breasts.

“Oh, no you don’t,” James warned. “Put your arms down.”

She exhaled as she forced herself to put her arms back to her sides. Her gaze fell to the pile of damask at her feet.

“Look at
me
, love.”

Slowly, she lifted her gaze and when her eyes met his everything within her tightened to the breaking point. Exhilarated, she held his lustful stare. One corner of his mouth twitched into a knowing grin, deepening the lines in his face.

Patience had never felt more alive than she did at this moment.

“Now, take off your nightgown. I want you naked.” His voice washed over like a lover’s a caress and at once, she found herself readily dragging up the long hem of her fine cotton nightgown.

Cool air brushed her calves, her thighs—higher. Her hands shook. She was totally, completely, utterly naked underneath.

“Don’t stop,” he urged.

Summoning all the courage she possessed, she pulled the nightgown higher. His gaze lingered at her thighs and Patience lost her resolve. She squeezed her eyes shut.

“Open your eyes,” he demanded.

The harsh utterance startled her and Patience’s eyes snapped open.

“Don’t think to hide from me like a scared goat,” he said. “You do that once more and I’ll turn you over my knee.”

Wetness flooded her channel at the thought of him doing just that—turning her over his knee and swatting her rump until it flamed. Heat sweltered at the back of her neck and she fought to resist the urge to rake her hair away from it.

“Now my pet, let me see your lovely cunny.”

Her channel clenched over and over as she lifted the tail of her nightgown higher. Heat radiated from within but gooseflesh broke out along the sensitive swell of her bare tummy.

“Beautiful,” James murmured.

Her thighs quivered as she raised the nightgown up and over her head. James must have anticipated her next action because before she could cover the front of her body with it, he said, “Drop it.”

Little by little, Patience lowered her hands and then she released the nightgown.

James’s gaze slid with maddening slowness down every bare inch of her body and then back up again, lingering in all the places that made Patience want to squirm away from his view.

Her areolas tightened and her nipples hardened.

James’s smile broadened the tiniest bit and Patience watched his face as he admired her body. He seemed…pleased. Was he really?

He stretched out one leg and tugged at his trousers. She immediately saw why. His dove gray pants strained against the outline of a rigid cockstand. He rubbed his palm over it. “Do you see what you’re doing to me, Patience?”

That statement wasn’t in the passage she’d underlined.

She swallowed. “Yes.”

His hand continued to stroke and fondle. “The sight of you makes me hard. Ready for you.”

Her breathing became even more shallow.

“Hold your pretty breasts up for me, sweeting.”

Shaking violently, Patience cupped the underside of each of her breasts. She’d never really touched herself this way. Not like this.

“Lift them,” he told her, still stroking his phallus through his clothing.

She obeyed.

“Tell me how they feel,” he said.

When she didn’t answer immediately, he repeated, “Tell me.”

“Soft. Warm. Heavy,” she whispered.

“And your nipples?” he asked. “Tweak them. Pinch them. Roll them between your fingers and describe it to me.”

Patience whimpered as she did as she was told, sliding her palms upward until she could pinch her nipples between her thumbs and forefingers. Everything—everything about this moment—urged her to close her eyes but she didn’t dare. The little button between her legs swelled and began to ache. She wanted to squeeze her thighs together, to reach down and assuage this yearning, but she didn’t do that either. Touching oneself was naughty, a sin.

Somehow, right now, this seemed much more like heaven than hell.

“How does it feel?” he asked again.

“G-good,” she stammered.

He slapped his thigh so hard that she jumped. “No, Patience,” he said sternly. “Give me details. Tell me, in the most unladylike language you can muster, how your nipples feel.”

She pressed her lips between her teeth and tried to summon the words. Why couldn’t she recall what the heroine of the story she’d read had said in this same situation? Her head swam.

“Tell me,” he said. “Don’t make me punish you, love.”

“It feels good. It feels…it pinches and…it’s like they’re connected to my…like they’re connected…lower,” she said with great difficulty.

“Pinch them harder.”

She did and cried out.

“No, darling, don’t release them.” He scooted closer to the edge of his chair.

Patience fought to hold both his penetrating gaze and the biting grip on her nipples. Her knees threatened to buckle any moment. Looking him in the eye was torturous.

“Do you wonder what it would be like if I pinched your nipples that way?” he asked. “If I sucked your breasts into my mouth and flicked my tongue over them?”

“Yes,” her voice was but a whisper. This was unbearable. Why had she ever agreed to it?

“And what of your clitoris?” he inquired. “Would you like me to flick my tongue over your clitoris, too?”

Shocked, Patience gaped. “My lord!”

James arched an eyebrow. “Are you testing me? What have I asked you to call me?”