She mumbled, “Oh,” anxious to look anywhere in the room other than into his intent stare. “I think I should return to my room now. Thank you for assisting me.” She started to raise herself up.
He pushed her gently back. “A little longer so I can attest that you are feeling better.”
He left her side to return to the shadows near the fireplace. “I must know what you were doing out there tonight, if you are strong enough?”
She faltered under his questioning, then rubbed her forehead, trying to gain time. “I decided to go for a walk and saw the light near the road. With the news about spies, I thought the tree might be a safe place to see what was happening, only I suppose that proved far from the truth,” she finished ruefully.
“I see. A simple explanation. You thought you were eavesdropping on spies.” The tone of his voice gave explicit doubt to her reasoning. “And, Mrs. Grundy, if that is your name, how came you to be in my home wearing a maid’s disguise?”
The moment of defeat had arrived before a thought occurred to her. Suddenly, she found the beautiful designs on the counterpane quite fascinating. “You see, my lord, uh…I am, my…my brother…my brother wants me to marry a man I abhor.”
Where had that story come from? She hurriedly continued. “He is at least ten years older than me. I have run away, and since I was afraid my brother would find me, I thought it best to disguise myself.” She raised her gaze to him in innocent supplication. “I hope you might reconsider discharging me.” Her voice trembled, assuming the worst for her transgressions.
“It is certainly vexing that you must resort to such measures to avoid an unwanted marriage. Nonetheless, you are welcome to stay under my protection as long as you desire it. But you cannot run away from your responsibilities forever,” his voice sounding almost kind.
She blinked in astonishment. Was he offering her protection from her fabricated enforced-matrimonial story? Oh, goodness, why did she seem to keep falling into more lies?
His next question took her by surprise only by the timing. “What is your real name?” he asked, gazing intently at her.
A little unnerved by his intent stare, she managed a small smile and said, “Patience Simmons, my lord,” remembering the surname she had given Mr. Gibbs upon her hire.
A sudden brisk wind issued into the room through the open window. She felt the coolness on her chest, and looked down to find that in her misadventures her bodice had come untied and now the top half of her bosom was displayed more than was prudent. Finding herself almost unclothed and unmasked shocked her into complete wakefulness.
Hoping to distract his lordship, she remembered her earlier endeavor and looked up at him. “Have you seen Gulliver? I am sure he will be better in no time.”
He looked taken aback as he rested one hip on the end of the bed, watching his prey, or least she felt like it.
“What about Gulliver? I know nothing of this.” He straightened up and waited for her response.
“Lem and I found Gulliver in the woods, his paw having been caught in a rabbit trap. We brought him to the stables and did our best to repair the damage. I believe Lem is with him now.”
Bryce stood and walked to her side. “I will check on Gulliver directly. Thank you for seeing to his injuries.”
Once more the room remained silent. She felt an utter fool under his watchful stare, and her wounded arm pricked pain at the back of her eyes. She looked away, trying to hide the unshed tears.
His next suggestion flabbergasted her. “I would like you to stay on, as I need assistance with my books. My house steward has left my employ, and I have no one whom I can rely upon. It is a temporary position. That is, of course, assuming you can read and write?”
She lifted her chin. “I am well-versed in many subjects—history, Greek, Latin, and more. I can sew, thread a fishing pole, speak French, and care for sick animals.”
He raised his eyebrows. “You neglected to mention playing the pianoforte and singing like an angel,” his mouth in a slight smirk.
She avoided his gaze before replying. “Ah, I cannot claim singing or playing the pianoforte. They are virtues, however, my parents believed their children should be well taught in many subjects. Education should be available to all who wish to learn. Do you not agree?”
“True. Perhaps some of your duties could also include tutoring Lem. I daresay he cannot spell his own name, and I do not wish my servants to be ignorant of their basic letters.”
Patience stared in shock at the earl. Why should he care whether Lem could read or write, or any of his servants for that matter? His lordship was proving a puzzlement. And why was he not sending her on her way? And not only allowing her to remain but placing her with his books?
She could hardly contain her glee. In no time, she should have the information she sought to convict him. And only a graze to the arm for her sacrifice. Wait until Rupert heard.
“Thank you for permitting me to stay. I know I erred tonight but I shall be more obedient in the future.” She hesitated. “May I now leave to return to my room?” she asked, holding her bodice tightly. She fidgeted under his close watch.
The earl tapped his chin. “Not yet. Let me clean up here, and I will help you to your room.” He turned from her while continuing, “One more thing: you will need more appropriately fitting clothes than what you have produced so far. I will have Mrs. Knockersmith arrange for new attire.” He began to unbutton his shirt.
Patience nodded, the scene before her leaving her speechless. Gathering her courage around her shredded dignity, she asked, “What shall we tell the others?”
Bryce ignored her question as he peeled off the bloodied shirt and threw it into the fire. She watched mesmerized while he emptied the basin water out the window, poured fresh water, and started cleaning off the dried blood.
The shadows of the dancing fire played across the sinewy ridges of his muscular chest and arms. She let her study of him continue down his black breeches, fashionably tight against the lean contours of his waist, thighs, and buttocks. What she would not give to be a lot closer to this magnificent form, forgetting the ache in her arm as heat filled her cheeks and dampened other maidenly places.
Water slurped from the basin as he splashed the liquid over his nearly hairless chest. When she raised her eyes to his face, she saw him watching her with an intrigued look and a smug smile.
“If you continue to look at me in that way, I may be hard-pressed to return you to your room,” he told her in amusement.
Patience quickly looked away and gulped. Every time she saw him, she wanted to see more. Much more.
Finally, clothed in his dressing gown, he sat on the side of the bed, careful not to disturb her arm.
“I will inform everyone that you are indisposed for the next few days, until your arm feels better.” He cocked his head, watching her closely, his face enigmatic.
“If you will turn your back…I shall endeavor…to—” She spoke, wanting to vacate his room immediately and restore her senses, alone in her room.
He shook his head. “Although I do enjoy the sight of you in my bed, I fear neither of us would get much sleep.” He leaned over and carefully lifted her head and shoulders, wrapping the sheet around her. Then, to her astonishment, he scooped her into his arms, placed her injured arm gently across her body, and easily carried her out the door and up the stairs to her bedroom as she directed him. If she had any energy left, she would not have given in to the temptation to rest her head on his strong shoulder. But the night’s events had caught up with her, and she reluctantly embraced Morpheus’s dreams, feeling protected and safe in his arms.
When he had laid Patience on the bed, Bryce drew the faded coverlet over her slumbering form, and