Chapter Four

The mail carriage to take them to Falmouth arrived half an hour late.

Patience nearly collapsed to the floor when it finally rolled up outside of Mrs. Whittaker's supply store.

Half an hour of standing with Nathaniel, of being far too aware of him nearby and of uncomfortable conversation.

At least from her side.

She doubted Nathaniel even knew what discomfort was. A man of wealth and breeding like himself would be used to being comfortable everywhere he went.

The moon shone brightly, reflecting off the silent harbor and highlighting the painted livery of the coach, declaring it belonging to the Royal Mail and emphasizing its stops that were carefully labelled on the side. No parcels were collected or swapped so they got on quickly and found the coach to be empty.

"I imagine the recent bad weather has put people off travelling," Nathaniel suggested as he settled himself.

Patience had chosen the seat opposite and to one side on purpose. That way she could keep her distance from him. From the amused smirk on his face, he understood her choice. However, she could not help wonder if sitting next him would not have been better. Yes, their bodies might have touched as the coach made its way across the rugged Cornwall terrain but at least she would not have to keep looking at him.

Not that she had to. After all, there was nearly a full moon out there she could eye. Or even the star speckled sky for her to watch go by. With such a clear night, she could even look at some of the scenery and admire the quaint cottages, their windows lit with the comforting glow of candles.

But, apparently, none of those things interested her more than her companion for the foreseeable future. Which was ridiculous. There was nothing interesting about him. Nathaniel Kingsley was a rake and a rogue. A man who took pleasure in the most sordid things in life and knew nothing of hardship. There was naught at all interesting about him.

The way his blue gaze skimmed over her and made her skin tingle was not interesting. The artful cut of his chestnut hair that left it just long enough to make one wonder if it was soft to touch was not at all intriguing. The wide set of his shoulders… No nothing to be seen there. Nor did she like the width of his chin or how his spectacles enhanced his blue eyes and made him look all the more intense and intelligent.

No. Nothing of interest there at all, and she would do well to remember that.

"If you and I are to work together, I think you need to be willing to speak with me, Patience."

Argh, she hated how reasonable he sounded. So much of her wanted to stamp her feet and throw a fit. No, I do not wish to speak with you. No, I do not want you here. No, no, no, no, no.

But that would not help her cause, would it? After all, she was meant to be proving herself and being a brattish young woman would do nothing for her.

"Very well," she said tightly. "Of what do you wish to speak?"

"This French woman, what do you know of her? I have had little time to get up to speed."

"Pauline Fourès was nothing more than a miller's daughter. She married a lieutenant in the French army and soon became rather popular with the men. It was not long before she caught Napoleon's attention but she would not be swayed. So he sent her husband on various missions, ensuring he had time with Pauline until she finally consented to being his mistress. I believe they were together for two years."

"What changed? Why is she coming here?"

She could not help but smile. "Why else? She has been scorned."

"By Napoleon?"

Patience nodded. "And her husband. Napoleon lost interest after time apart while he campaigned in Spain. Her husband found out about the affair and it is said he has a terrible temper. She applied for divorce, stating she feared for her life."

"So she is escaping these men?"

"So to speak, but she wants revenge too."

"Ah. And the government wishes to use that to their advantage."

"Precisely."

"What information does she have and how do we know she has some?"

"Pauline has a second cousin living in Falmouth. Part of my brother's duties was to watch over those who were in some way related to Napoleon. They are obviously not his direct relations but Pauline wrote to her distant cousin, Francine, enough to warrant interest in her. The British intelligence has been intercepting and reading her letters for quite some time."

"That is how her departure to Cornwall came to their attention?"

Patience nodded. "She asked her cousin for help and a safe place to stay. But what was perfect for us—my brother and myself I mean—is that she has never actually met her cousin."

"And this is why you were to pose as a couple," Nathanial stated.

"And this is why my brother wants us to pose as a couple," she said, with a sigh. "Pauline is expecting to be met by her cousin and her cousin's husband."

She stole a quick glance out of the window to note their progress. They continued along the road that led over the hills, the moonlight frosting the tips of rocks and shrubs. Little else could be seen besides the occasional chimney from old and working mines and sometimes the milky light lit the ocean, revealing its expansive stretch toward the horizon.

"I could do this alone, you know." She turned back to him. "I have no need of your help."

"Not this again," he groaned. "And here I thought you would have resigned yourself to the fact that I am not leaving your side." He grinned. "Face it, Patience, you are stuck with me for better or for worse."

"It will definitely be for worse," she grumbled.

"Come now, I am not such terrible company."

"I would not know," she said haughtily.

"Do I detect a hint of longing?"

The moonlight caught his eyes at that precise moment, highlighting the twinkle of teasing in them. She gritted her teeth. "The only longing you detect is a longing to be alone."

"So you've never desired my company? Never been a little envious when I have say...danced with another woman?"

"Do not be ridiculous," she spluttered. "I loathe dancing."

He eyed her for a moment and she somehow kept her body still and fought the need to squirm. "What is it?" she finally snapped after too long under his observation.

"I don't believe you."

"That I loathe dancing?"

"No, that you do not wish to dance with me."

Patience rolled her eyes. "Your arrogance really does know no bounds. Is it that hard to believe that a woman might not wish to dance, and more specifically she might not wish to dance with you?"

He folded his arms and lounged back against the chair. The comforting rock and clack, clack of the wheels upon the road did nothing to help the moment. Patience tightened her jaw and eyed him back. What was it with this man? Did he simply enjoy riling her? Did he take pride in being wholly arrogant and rude?

"I have certainly never met a woman who does not wish to dance with me," he said after a time.

"Well, you have now."

He merely smirked.

"You have!" she insisted.

"If you say so."

Patience let out a near scream of frustration. "You are impossible."

"And you are not the easiest woman to deal with so I would say we are even."

Another almost inhumane sound of annoyance escaped her. She slumped back against the chair and turned her gaze pointedly out the window. There was no reasoning with him. He would never leave her be. Her only hope was she could escape his company once they reached Falmouth and do her own thing.

Nathaniel had apparently given up the fight for the time being and remained quiet. It was good. Yes. She liked the quiet. Far better than arguing with him, was it not? Even if there was something faintly stifling in the air. A sort of heat like a blanket closing upon her.

She stole a peek at him. He was staring at her. She turned away, warmth rising in her cheeks. No wonder she had felt odd. Anyone would while being stared at so obviously. She looked again, this time not so subtly. He still watched her.

"What is it?" she finally snapped.

"You know if we are to pose as husband and wife, you ought to show some affection for me."

"Not all husbands and wives are affectionate."

Her own parents, for example. Before her father's death, she had become aware there was not much love between them. She considered them like odd sort of friends. They had nothing in common and she never saw them touch each other, but they seemed to muddle along well enough as long as they both had their own space when they needed it.

"I always thought I would have some affection for my wife," he mused. "And I had hoped she would have some for me."

"Well, I am not your wife."

"For now."

She nearly choked on a breath. "What is that meant to mean?"

"Once we reach Falmouth, you shall be. In appearance at least." A smile curved his lips. "Though I suspect some will have a hard time believing it."

"Because a man like yourself would never marry a woman like me?"

"No, because a man like myself would not let you dress so. He would adorn you with the finest gowns and silks and..." He paused and Patience found herself awaiting the next sentence with baited breath. "And he would ensure your womanly assets were perfectly displayed."

Sucking in a sharp breath, she shook her head. "You, my lord, are truly scandalous. How dare you discuss my...my assets?"

He gave a shrug and chuckled. "They can hardly be avoided. After all, they are quite bountiful."

Patience snapped her head around and vowed to focus on the passing scenery once more. The shocking man did not deserve her attention. How dare he? How very dare he?

Yet...

Yet a tiny voice inside her told her she was pleased he had noticed that about her. It was so foolish it was almost laughable. She, who could not care one jot for appearing womanly and bountiful, liked that this arrogant lord had noticed her assets. She resisted the desire to press her head against the cool glass of the window. Could this get any worse?