Chapter Six

The incessant tick of a nearby clock rattled through Patience's brain. Tick, tick, tick, you can't sleep , it told her. She tossed to one side, aware of the strange sheets sliding against her skin. The mattress gave a creak and she heard a carriage rolling by outside, the driver whistling a far-too happy tune for what had to be the extremely early hours of the morning.

Patience huffed. "I give up," she muttered.

There was no sleep to be had. Her mind was insisting on running over every little incident from when her brother had first announced she was to pretend to be Nathaniel's wife to now. She could not stop thinking about that confrontation in the barn and how roguish and...well, attractive Nathaniel had looked in shirt and breeches. And then there was that sheep. Who had a pet sheep, honestly? But there was something about his fondness for the creature that appealed to her. After all, demonstrating a kindness to animals was hardly an unwanted trait.

Then there had been their conversation in the carriage. If one could call it a conversation.

Very well, for the most part it had been an argument.

But within that argument had been information her brain had kept hold of. For example, he had talked of displaying her figure. She should be disgusted by such bawdy talk. She was disgusted. However, that irritating little voice that could not be tamed was secretly pleased.

She blew out a breath. Pleased! She of all people. She did not give a fig about being seen as a woman or a man noticing her figure. Heck, if she did, she would not be wandering around, inviting ridicule by wearing what she deemed as more comfortable clothes. It was all well and good looking pretty and inviting admiration but how could a woman do anything in such restrictive clothing? No, she would not be wearing a dress unless it was absolutely necessary and it had nothing to do with wishing to show off her figure to Nathaniel.

Not that she really had much of one. Her arms were too thick, so were her thighs. She did not even have much of a defined waist. Sturdy, her mother called her. Enough people had definitely called her masculine, even with her rather large breasts. If it was not for them, no one would consider her womanly at all, especially Nathaniel.

Patience threw back the covers and sucked in a breath of air. The night was cool but the embers from the fire in her room continued to give off a little warmth. All her tossing and turning, however, had made her hot and aggravated anyway, and she had developed quite a thirst. She would have to make her way through the strange house to find a drink if she was to ever get some sleep.

The wooden floor on the soles of her feet gave instant relief. She inched open the thick curtains to let in a little light so she could navigate her way around the unknown room. Even though they had plenty of time after lunch, their discussion had revolved around the French woman and their future plans. All of which seemed far too vague and frustrating to her. But she had yet to properly look around the property.

Smaller than her own house but still grand and elegant, it contained four bedrooms plus rooms for the servants. Joyce was upstairs to keep up the pretense. She said she preferred the simpler rooms anyway.

Easing open the door, she stepped out, keeping her door ajar so she could return easily if her hands were full. She might as well see if there was some food to be had too. Her stomach grumbled a little after being unable to finish her dinner. Joyce had cooked a fine supper but eating opposite Nathaniel left a lot to be desired. Not that he had terrible manners or anything of the like, but it was disconcerting eating opposite a man of his looks and demeanor.

Patience crept downstairs, regretting that she had not stopped to grab a candle from her bedside. Each darkly shadowed corner offered some new danger. A table to knock into or a vase or an umbrella holder. Her smallest toe seemed to find and connect with every one of them, leaving her cursing aloud as she made her way through the house to the kitchen.

She found the stone steps that led down to the room and hissed. The stone might as well have been made from ice blocks. She should have slung something on over the man's shirt she habitually wore to bed.

A hand to the railing, she ascended the steps with caution until she reached the bottom. The stone slabs of the kitchen floor were no warmer or kinder but at least she could no longer complain of being hot. Perhaps once she returned to bed the strange sheets would feel warm and comforting.

The kitchen windows were high in the ceiling. They would just peek out at the bottom of the building to let in what light there was to be had. Had it not been for a lone candle, resting upon the long wooden table in the center of the room, she would likely be stumbling around blind. She paused and listened for a moment. Was someone else up? They had to be to have left a lit candle, surely? Yet she could not see nor hear anyone. Perhaps they had gone to bed and left the candle burning. It was down to a mere slither of wax, after all.

She picked up the candleholder by its curved handle and shrugged. At least she would no longer be stumbling around and striking everything with her poor, abused toe.

"That's mine," came a deep voice.

Patience screamed and whirled. Or perhaps she whirled and screamed. Either way, she reacted so quickly she hardly had time to register the face attached to the voice before she flung the candle and its metal holder at the intruder. There was a hiss of pain from the man and a loud curse. Patience whipped around the table only for her toe to strike one of the table legs. She yelped and nearly toppled to the floor.

She would have too, had it not been for the grip of a man's hand upon her arm. She screeched again and brought back her fist. He grabbed it before she could do anything with it.

"Damn it, Patience, how many other men do you think are in this house?"

She struggled again, even while her brain began to register the reality of who was in the now pitch-dark room with her. He gripped her tighter, hauling her close so that she was pressed against his body. While it might have taken her a while to understand this was Nathaniel, it did not take her long to recognize the lack of fabric between them. When her chest struck his, she was certain but a scrap separated them. Her hand came to his chest in an attempt to steady herself and she discovered she was right. He was either entirely naked or only wearing some briefs or breeches.

Patience closed her eyes. "Please do not be naked, please do not be naked," she whispered.

Nathaniel chuckled. "I am not."

She opened her eyes again and sighed. "What were you doing? I could have hurt you." Now that her eyes had adjusted to the dark, she could make out his profile and the light from the upper windows caught in his eyes.

"Too late."

"But—"

"Hot candle wax is not the most pleasant of greetings."

"You should not have been sneaking around. I had to defend myself."

"I was not sneaking. You were sneaking."

"I most certainly was not."

"What else would you call tiptoeing around barefoot?"

"I was merely looking for a drink and trying not to wake everyone."

She saw that arrogant smile slip across his lips and settle comfortably in place. "What a coincidence, so was I. Struggling to sleep?"

"Yes," she confessed. "I am seldom away from home. And if I do travel, it is to stay with my cousins in Devon. I'm unused to strange surroundings."

"Well, I am quite used to sleeping in other beds—"

"I bet you are," she muttered.

He ignored her comment. "But it never gets easier."

The revelation startled her, no matter how small. How was it this man—who likely did spend many a night in the strange beds of his female companions—could not settle at night in anywhere other than his own bed? She would have expected him to feel so secure, so comfortable wherever he was that he would have no concerns about falling asleep. Did he too toss and turn at night and worry over matters of which he could have no control? The idea of Lord Nathaniel Kingsley acting at all human had her speechless.

"Shall we see if we can find another candle?" he suggested. "Just in case you forget who I am again and decide to punch me once more."

"I did not punch you."

"You were going to." He released her and only then did she realize she had become accustomed to his body close to hers and the way the strength and warmth of him made her feel comforted.

Comforted! Preposterous. This was a man who would take advantage of any situation. Why, if she were some beautiful widow with an elegant figure, he would not be releasing her so quickly. She knew enough of his reputation to understand that much.

He gripped her hand, though, to guide her around the kitchen as they played a sort of blind hide and seek.

"Here, candles, candles, candles," she whispered, unable to resist.

"I have my suspicions they do not come when called." She heard the rattle of something as he fumbled in one of the drawers.

"It was worth a try."

Not thinking about her hand tucked in his was also worth a try.

She did try. And failed. Over and over until he finally declared he had found some candles. He released her hand to light them and recovered the discarded candle holder, then used it to light a few scattered about the kitchen. It was not enough to light the whole room but they created an amber glow that ensured neither of them would be smacking into kitchen tables or throwing punches at other household guests.

She bent to inspect her still throbbing toe then straightened. "I do not suppose—"

Patience froze when she considered his eyes. One brow was raised, his body was stiff and unmoving. The only part of him that did move was his gaze, which darted down to her feet, up her legs, over her chest before starting the movement again.

Fiery heat flared in her cheeks when she finally realized quite why he was acting so bizarrely. Her attire was of course not the norm for a woman of her age and breeding. Or, well, any woman really. The fact was she found chemises too constricting. The fabric always tangled around her legs and the high necks made her feel as though she was being strangled. After deciding her brothers' shirts looked much better, her mother had given up and started giving her all her brothers' old clothes. At least she was not wandering around naked, was her mother's conclusion.

Patience coughed but Nathaniel did not get the hint. She tried again, and he eventually snapped his gaze up to her face.

"You wear men's shirts at night?"

She nodded.

" Men's shirts?"

"As you can see."

He shook his head and chuckled to himself. "Of course you do."