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Authors: Tamara Lejeune

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BOOK: The Pleasure of Bedding a Baroness
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Milford was angry now, because his question had not been answered immediately. “Who has gone over?” he demanded.
“Mr. Purefoy!”
Milford hurried to the window, but he was too late to see Mr. Purefoy going into the American ambassador’s house. “You’re joking with me,” he said. “Or else you are mistaken. What would Purefoy want with those barbarians?”
“I don’t know,” said Isabella. “But I am not mistaken. He did go in that house. And we shall wait right here, Brother, until he comes out again!”
Chapter 13
 
The fresh-faced young officer on duty at his ambassador’s residence clearly had never heard of the noble family of Purefoy, and, as Max had no invitation, he was obliged to wait while the lieutenant dispatched a servant into the house with Mr. Purefoy’s card. After a time, the servant returned to conduct Max into the house. The noise coming from the room beyond was almost deafening, but with effort, Max could hear the musicians struggling to rise above the sounds of raucous gaiety.
Mrs. Adams did not keep him waiting long. “Sir?”
Max offered her a bow, and, somewhat to his surprise, she responded with a very graceful curtsy. He opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again as he suddenly heard the sacrosanct strains of “God Save the King.” The Americans, however, had invented their own lyrics:
My country ’tis of thee
Sweet land of liberty
Of thee I sing ...
 
As an Englishman, he found it quite unforgivably cheeky. Mrs. Adams hastily signaled to the servant to close the doors. “Are we making too much noise, sir?” she began nervously. “I do apologize. Our young men are in constant need of diversion, and, when given the chance, I’m afraid they can be quite boisterous. They need wives, of course, but, other than that, there’s nothing really wrong with them. But we’ll try to keep it down, sir. We do want to be good neighbors, you know. Would you care to come in for some punch? Mr. Adams makes it himself.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” he said.
The ambassador’s wife blinked at him in surprise. “Oh, you would? How delightful.”
Max had the impression that her hospitality was usually declined by his countrymen. She accepted his arm, again with an air of surprise, and together they made their way through the doors into the crowded, noisy ballroom.
He saw Patience instantly. Indeed, he could hardly have missed her, for she was wearing a low-cut gown of crimson velvet. She was dancing, if dancing it could be called, in the middle of the room. Her green eyes were sparkling, her cheeks were flushed, and her heavy black hair was slipping its pins. Her partner was a tall, grinning young man who seemed to think he was handsome. Hands clasped, the pair was spinning in ever-quickening circles while the crowd around them shouted their appreciation of the maneuver. Max had never seen Patience looking so happy as she smiled up into the bright blue eyes of her partner. They weren’t even wearing gloves, which somehow made it worse.
Without realizing it, Max began to frown. “Who is that young man dancing with Lady Waverly?” he demanded of Mrs. Adams without thinking.
Mrs. Adams fluttered her fan. “Are you acquainted with Lady Waverly, sir?”
Glancing up, Patience saw Max coming down the stairs, and nearly tripped over her own feet. Her partner caught her with an efficiency that did not please Max at all. The young man’s hands were much too quick. Patience seemed hardly to notice as she stared at the newcomer.
Max could easily read her lips: “Lord, what is
he
doing here?”
No one else paid the slightest heed to him. He might have been invisible as he slipped through the crowd. To Max, so accustomed to being fawned over wherever he went, it was a welcome respite.
Patience lost him for a moment in the crowd; while he stood head and shoulders above most of his own countrymen, there were a dozen or more American men in the room who matched or exceeded him in height.
“Are you all right, Miss Patience?” her partner inquired.
Patience felt out of breath and a little dizzy, but pleasantly so. “I think I see someone I know,” she said, raising her voice to be heard. “Would you excuse me, please?”
Leaving her countryman, she plunged into the crowd in search of Max. Each was so determined to find the other that it was not long before they were face to face.
“Mr. Purefoy!” she said, laughing almost in disbelief. “I thought I saw you! What on earth are you doing here?”
He felt a foolish grin spreading across his face, but, before he could answer, she said suddenly, her eyes wide, “Is Prudence all right? Has something happened?”
“Your sister is perfectly well,” he shouted over the din of the music and voices. “I came to see you.”
“Me? Why?”
She seemed a little short of breath, probably from her exuberant dancing with Mr. Quickhands, Max thought sourly. But he forced himself to smile pleasantly.
“If the mountain won’t come to Mahomet, Mahomet must go to the mountain!”
“What?” she cried, cupping one hand over her ear.
“I came here to dance with you!”
Her eyes widened. “Oh, no! Shouldn’t you be at your own ball, dancing with Prudence? You promised her the first two dances, I believe.”
“I have faithfully kept my promise,” he shouted. “Dance with me! Prudence will never know.”
He held out his hand to her.
For a moment, Patience stared at him. Max felt, absurdly, that everything depended on her answer. Then she said simply, “I will!” and he knew it was not absurd at all. Everything was perfectly all right, and nothing could ever be wrong again.
To his surprise, she caught hold of his wrist and began peeling off his glove. “In America, we don’t need these!” she shouted. “We dance hand in hand, not hand in glove!”
“But this is England!” It was a protest in word only. She had already removed his gloves and tossed them aside.
“No, sir! This is America,” she shouted back. “Like it or not, when you passed through those doors, you crossed the Atlantic Ocean. You’re in my country now!”
For some reason, this delighted him. “I am at your disposal, Lady Waverly!”
She clucked her tongue at him. “Patience! None of your silly titles here, sir!”
“In that case, I am Max.”
She laughed. “I know!”
The Americans lined up for the reel rather like civilized human beings, with gentlemen on one side and ladies on the other. The ladies curtsyed, the gentlemen bowed.
“A curtsy?” Max mocked his partner. “You swore you would not.”
“Only as part of the dance,” she said quickly, a frown drawing her dark brows together. “I suppose I ought to explain about court—about the diamonds—”
“No need!” he said, anxious to dispel her dismay. “I am well aware that Miss Prudence took your place.”
“You are? How?”
He smiled. “She curtsyed,” he replied. “You, of course, would never do that. Also, her hair is different. She has curls over her ears.”
Patience felt oddly disappointed. For some reason, she had wanted to hear that he would know her anywhere, that he could pick her out amongst a thousand copies. If he had a twin, she wondered suddenly, would I know him? She smiled at him.
“Are you ready?” she called out.
He looked surprised. “For what?”
The musicians struck up a lively air, and, all at once, the two sides rushed at each other, and with roars from the gentlemen and whoops from the ladies, the dancing began in earnest and soon escalated to ferocity. Late to the start, Max was hard-pressed to keep up with his partner.
“Sir, you are too quiet,” Patience complained. “In America, we do not dance with our mouths clamped shut!”
“Dance?” Max shouted in Patience’s ear. “I thought the war had started up again.”
“Only a skirmish!” she responded merrily. “This is nothing like the dancing you are used to at Almack’s,” she added.
“No, indeed!”
“English dancing is so elegant! So precise! Just like clockwork. Tick tock. Tick tock!”
The dance separated them, but they remained connected with their eyes until they could join hands again.
“Who is that young man staring at you?” he asked her as they met briefly between the two lines. “He is impertinent, I think.”
Patience followed his gaze. Roger Molyneux, leaning against a pillar, was indeed staring.
“Oh, dear!” Patience cried. “Poor Roger! I forgot him completely.”
“Roger!” Max exclaimed. “Is that his name?”
“Yes. He must be furious with me.”
“Who is he? Has he some claim on you?”
She smiled. “
He,
sir, is
American
royalty.”
Max frowned. “No such thing.”
“We have an aristocracy,” she told him. “But it is an aristocracy of talent, not birth.”
“Oh, I see,” Max said sourly. “The young man has talents! What, pray, are his talents? Besides pouting, I mean? You were dancing with him when I arrived, I believe.”
Patience nodded. “Roger is a physician,” she said. “He has come to London to finish his training. We came over on the same ship. He tended to me when I was ill.”
Max did not like the sound of this at all. “And a wonderful job he did of it, too,” he said. “As I recall, you arrived in the pink of health!”
“It’s not his fault I was seasick,” she protested. “Prudence got better almost at once. There’s no predicting how it will go. Come! I’ll introduce you,” she added, tugging him by the hand.
“We are dancing,” he said, resisting.
“By all rights, I should be dancing with Roger,” she said. “I owe him an apology and an explanation, at the very least!”
Max did not think so, but he allowed her to drag him to the other man’s position. At their approach, Molyneux abandoned his post and stood with his arms folded.
“Roger, I am so sorry!” Patience began. “I saw a—a friend. Mr. Purefoy, this is Mr. Molyneux. Mr. Molyneux, this is Mr. Purefoy. I was just telling Mr. Purefoy about your studies. Roger is working very hard.”
“Oh, I can see that,” Max said dryly. “Are you by some chance any connection to the Lancashire Molyneuxs?”
Molyneux gave a short, derisive laugh. “Try the Jersey Molyneuxs.”
Max frowned, puzzled.
“He means
New
Jersey, Mr. Purefoy,” said Patience, laughing behind her hand. “Roger’s family is from Princeton, New Jersey. That’s only about forty miles from Philadelphia.”
“A very easy distance,” Max said slowly.
“Actually,” said Molyneux, “my family are settled near Pennsauken. I was schooled at Princeton.”
“Pennsauken!” Patience exclaimed delightedly. “We’re practically neighbors!”
“We’re just on the other side of the Delaware,” Molyneux agreed. “Not twenty miles from your door in Chestnut Hill, I daresay, Miss Patience.”
“When we are home again, I hope you will visit us,” Patience said impulsively.
“Perhaps I will set up my practice in Philadelphia,” he said.
Max was liking this conversation less and less. “Very nice to have met you, Molyneux,” he said curtly. “But, now, I think, Lady Waverly and I must finish our dance.”
Molyneux raised his brows. “
Lady
Waverly?”
Patience was embarrassed. “It’s nothing, Roger. A meaningless honorific.”
“It is not meaningless,” Max said coldly. “You are a Peeress of the Realm.”
“Peeress of the Realm!” Molyneux snickered. “Patience Waverly of Twenty-six Cambridge Street, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania?”
“Baroness Waverly of Wildings, Number Seventeen Clarges Street!” Max said angrily.
“Stop it!” said Patience. “You are embarrassing me!”
“Yes, Molyneux! You are embarrassing her ladyship! You should apologize!”
“I mean
you,
” Patience said angrily.
Max stared at her. “I? How so, ma’am? Indeed, how could
anyone
be embarrassed at an assembly such as this? Am I not shouting loud enough, perhaps? Am I too precise? Do I dance too mildly?”
Patience was pale with shock. “Mr. Purefoy!” she murmured in dismay. “What is the matter with you?”
Max looked down at her coldly. “Nothing is the matter with me,” he said sharply. “I am giving a ball tonight—in England, where gentlemen are scarce. I am sure more than one lady is in want of a partner. I must go back.”
With a curt bow, he turned to go.
“Come, Patience,” Molyneux said. “You don’t want to dance with that cold fish anyway.”
Without thinking, Max spun around and drove his fist into Roger Molyneux’s face. Without a chance to defend himself, the young man went down.
“Roger!” Patience gasped, sinking to her knees beside him. “He’s out cold!”
“You’ll look after him, though, won’t you?” Max sneered, as a group of young men appeared to drag him away.
Roger Molyneux sat up, shaking his head and feeling his jaw.
“How many fingers am I holding up?” Patience asked.
BOOK: The Pleasure of Bedding a Baroness
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