Chapter Seven

"I hasten to add," Patience said, far too matter-of-factly for a woman who was practically naked, "that this is not the first time you have seen me in a man's shirt."

"Nor will it be the last, I'm sure," Nate drawled. "But I have never seen you in only a man's shirt."

And what a sight to behold it was.

He'd been aware that Patience had some redeeming qualities. Two to be precise. The way the cotton carefully caressed her breasts and drew his attention had him wondering if he'd been spending too much time with the breast-obsessed Drake. He was normally an arse man.

Not when it came to Patience it seemed. But it was not only her breasts that drew his attention. Her legs were surprisingly long for a short woman. Though not slender, they were strong and capable-looking. Just the sort of legs perfect for when the woman was on t—

"Stop staring," she hissed.

"You're staring too."

He had only just noticed. After all, he'd been far too busy leering at the unexpected delights that had been hiding under those baggy masculine clothes. Why did she hide herself? No doubt she considered herself free, unconstrained by womanly garments, but he suspected it was more to do with disguising herself than anything, whether she was aware of that or not.

But she was staring, and she certainly was not hiding it. Her gaze ran over him like that of a ravenous wolf. She should have licked her lips to finish off the picture. As it was, her top teeth came down to bite upon her plump bottom lip. He near groaned.

"I am not staring," she said, her voice a raspy whisper.

She was. Still. Nate lifted his chin a tad and straightened his shoulders. He was no stranger to female admiration but, he had to confess, Patience admiring him did more for his pride than one hundred looks from society ladies. Given that she loathed the very air he breathed, it was quite an achievement.

Nate took a step closer. A little experiment just to see. She did not move, instead seeming to sway slightly into him.

"You stubbed your toe?" he asked, keeping his voice low.

Oh, she was far too much fun to toy with. And, of course, that was what it was. A game. What else could life be for a second son? No responsibilities, no heirs to bear, no future set forth for him. Had he been able to join the military perhaps it would have been different but he would not dwell on that fact. He would only play so far, of course. They had a mission to do and while he enjoyed teasing her, he did not touch virgins. Unless they begged and there was little chance of recourse, naturally. But he doubted Patience would ever beg.

"Pardon?" she asked, her gaze remaining latched upon his chest.

"You stubbed your toe?"

She nodded, her teeth still digging into that lip delightfully and making him want to pull it between his own teeth and suck at it until it was even more plump and red.

Nate put his hands to her waist and heard that satisfying inhalation of surprise. She stiffened but he had little trouble lifting the small woman onto the table.

"Which foot?"

She peered at him as if he was speaking in a foreign language.

" Parlez vous Anglais? Which foot?"

"The left."

He took her foot in his hand and eyed the toe in the candlelight.

"What are you—"

Apparently, the fight had returned. She tried to wriggle her foot away from him but he kept his grip tight around her ankle.

"Nathaniel, put me down."

Alas, the effect of his bare chest had not lasted as long as he had hoped. Had she continued to be so malleable it would have been easy to have this mission completed swiftly. He would have to try harder next time. He smirked at the idea of walking around naked simply to ensure he did not get completely dominated by this woman.

"It is not funny," she hissed.

"I was not laughing at you," he assured her. "Now keep still and let me see your toe. You might have broken it."

"It is fine," she insisted, giving one last wriggle before letting him manipulate her toes.

Delicate feet, slender ankles, and muscled calves meant he had a hard time concentrating on her toes. The shadows between her legs beckoned. He was willing to bet there were no men's briefs on under that shirt. Christ, if he was not careful, any control he thought he had would be gone. He gritted his teeth and eyed her foot.

"Seems fine."

"I told you it was." She kicked out at him then jerked her foot back before hoping off the table. "You, on the other hand..."

"Me?"

She put a finger to his chest and tore off a lump of wax that had covered his person during her attack.

"Ouch."

"Baby," she teased.

He eyed his chest to see the now solid wax had left a red mark. It would be gone by morning but that did not mean it felt particularly pleasant to have it torn off. She picked at another wax splodge.

"You would make a terrible nurse."

"I have little intention of nursing you." She viciously, and deliberately, tore the biggest piece of wax from his arm.

"Good God, woman. I think you took half of my hair with it."

"Probably." Her smile was far too self-satisfied.

"Witch."

"My mother says witches were unique and powerful women, who were merely misunderstood."

"Perhaps I did not mean it as an insult."

She gave a half-smile. "I doubt that."

"You have me pegged as quite ungentlemanly, do you not?"

An eyebrow arched. He had to admit, he quite liked the way the candlelight brushed across her smooth skin. His fingers twitched with an urge to stroke her cheek then perhaps trace a line down to her neck, then in between—

"Not ungentlemanly—and I could hardly complain if you were, as I am not exactly a lady—but you did tell your brother we were engaged without my consent. Hardly the behavior of a gallant man."

"My brother is too wrapped up in his own engagement to worry about my fictional one. And I disagree with you not being a lady."

She blinked at him several times. "You would be the first then." She flicked another bit of wax off his shoulder. "And I am fairly certain your brother worries about you regardless of his own marital state."

Nate shrugged. "Perhaps. But I do not need him to. I'm sure you can well understand how frustrating it can be having a brother watching your every move. You have three after all."

She shook her head. "They're all too busy to watch my every move or even pay attention to me. I would be grateful for a brother like yours, Nathaniel."

He heard the wistfulness in her voice. It seemed odd to him that her brothers were not more protective. If he had a younger sister, he'd likely not let her out of his sight, particularly with men like himself around. No matter how contradictory that was.

"Red is a good man. Better than I to be sure."

"A hard example to follow."

"Precisely." He grinned. "Which is why I carve my own path."

"Spoken like a man."

He let his grin expand. "In case you had not noticed, little one, I am a man."

"It is just so very easy for men to speak of their own paths. There are no such paths for women to follow." She folded her arms. "And I have a name."

"Yes but little one suits you so well."

"I am not a child."

" Meine kleine fr?ulein , then."

"No!"

" Ma petite mademoiselle? "

"Certainly not. What is your obsession with other languages?"

He shrugged. "Most women find it charming."

"Not me."

"Little one it is then." He glanced around the kitchen and found the pitcher of lemonade he had discovered in the larder whilst looking for a drink. "Did you come here for food? Or drink?"

Patience huffed. There was no arguing with him. "Both ideally. I found myself quite hungry after dinner. The travelling must have whetted my appetite."

Nate tried not to consider any appetites that were being whetted at present. He poured a lemonade and set down the platter of cheese he had found on the table. They both sat, taking a chair next to one another. If Nate thought hard about it, he'd find he liked the quiet companionship that had settled over them but he really did not wish to be thinking of something dull like companionship for the moment.

"Can you cook?" she asked, taking a chunk of cheese and taking a bit from it.

"Do I look like I can?"

"No."

"And you?"

"Not really. I baked a few cakes with the cook when I was younger but I think my father complained about the smell."

He scowled. "The smell of cakes?"

Patience gave a little laugh. "Yes, cakes of all things. I think he was not happy unless he could smell gunpowder or oil all the time."

"I imagine it's a hard adjustment no longer living the military life."

She nodded. "Oh yes. I was too young to remember of course but my brother Harry says he missed the army sorely."

"I had pictured the same for myself once, but of course," he motioned to his glasses, "these do not much help."

"I cannot imagine you enjoying the discipline of the army."

"Well, it was not so much the discipline I wanted but the adventure. There's much to be said for one to have a goal in mind, so the military seemed perfect. You are forever being given a new goal."

"Yes, that always appealed to me too."

He peered at her. "You envy your father and brothers for going off to war?"

"Why would I not? They are afforded the ultimate opportunity to protect their country. What can I do? Stay at home and raise morale? I think we have enough finer ladies than I to do such things."

"You forget the main risk of war, which is, well, dying. I do not think your family would be too happy about that."

"My family live and breathe the military. With the exception of my mother. She tends to do her own thing and ignore it all when she can. I think sometimes it's too much for her to deal with—all her sons off fighting battles and such. But my father and his father and even my uncles have done nothing but serve."

"And here you are, unable to follow in their footsteps."

"I am not so foolish to romanticize war, Nathaniel." She took a long sip of lemonade and he found himself distracted by the arch of her neck while she drank. "But it always makes me wish I was doing something ."

"Now you are."

"Yes, as are you. But I still do not need your help, regardless of what you say."

Nathaniel gave a dramatic sigh. "And here I thought we were finally coming to an understanding."

She peered at him with an odd sort of smile. "I do not think we will ever understand each other, Nathaniel."

"Nate," he corrected.

"Nate," she said, albeit with a little uncertainty. "You are a wealthy second son with all the advantages the world can offer you. I am a supposedly gently bred woman whose only goal in life is to find a husband. You can imagine how many offers I have had so far."

He did not protest. Patience would have a reasonable dowry but she had no connections and the mere fact she wore men's clothes would put off a potential husband in an instant.

"Not that I ever want any, anyway. I would rather die alone than marry."

"Come now, we are not all so terrible."

She lifted her chin. "I have yet to meet a man who can convince me otherwise."

Nate wondered if he should consider that a challenge but he strongly suspected he was not the man to do so. He could tell her that he was not simply sitting around and twiddling his thumbs while men died at war but, firstly, it was too risky to tell anyone else about their smuggling antics, and, secondly, he could not quite decide if such information would raise him up in her eyes or lower him, considering her probably rule-bound military background. Better to remain quiet and let her think whatever she wanted of him. In the meantime, he would try to keep his attention from her breasts and those strong legs and focus on the mission at hand.

He glanced at her cleavage.

He would. Definitely.