Chapter Ten

Nate tried not to smile at the memory of Patience ducking and diving that brute as she sat opposite him in the breakfast room. In fact, the sight of a large, purpling bruise on her face should have made him furious. If it were any other woman, perhaps he would be, but not so with Patience. And that was not because he did not care she had been hurt, but more because he had seen what a scrappy little thing she was. Had he not turned up, she might well have come out of it just fine. He had never met a woman like her.

Breakfast consisted of a veritable feast compared to the dinner the previous evening with meats, eggs and fish to be enjoyed. Joyce had confessed she had suffered a disaster in the kitchen yesterday and Patience had helped—along with telling him where the damned woman was. It seemed the housekeeper was trying to make up for the lackluster meal. Nate slathered butter on toast while Patience covered hers in a generous helping of blackberry jam.

"How is your jaw?" he asked between bites.

"Tender," she admitted. "No more so than my pride."

He chuckled. "Your pride does not need to be tender. You're quite the fighter."

She giggled. "I'm not sure there was much fighting involved."

"Very well, you are excellent at evading punches. But any pugilist will tell you that's half the battle won, knowing when to dodge a punch. Were it not for you, I would probably be sporting a fine bruise too."

A rose redness sprung up on her cheeks. She leaned in, glancing around as though people could be listening in. "I hope we can forget last night."

"Of course," he said, adopting his most gentleman-like pose.

She nodded with satisfaction.

Good, she believed him. Because there was no way in hell he'd forget the sight of her baring her breasts, even if he'd only caught the briefest of glimpses. It was enough to remain embedded in his brain for life. Patience was steadily turning him into a breast man—or more specifically a Patience's breasts man.

He poured a cup of coffee and left it black. He needed the bitterness to keep him awake. After a night obsessing over Patience and her assets, his head was gritty. "Where is Joyce this morning?"

"She made breakfast then left to send a message to her sister."

"I've been thinking..."

"As have I."

"You were right to ask around."

"I know." She gave him a far too smug smile. "The woman I was speaking with—the one that nearly had me beaten to a pulp—said there was a French woman down at the docks and that she had been seen with a wealthy man. I think it's her."

Nate digested this information. It was hard for any French person to go unnoticed in England, not with the war. Most would be suspected of spying or worse.

"Think about it, Nate. She's a clever woman, used to using men to get ahead in life."

"You've met her, have you?"

She gave him a stern look. "I only know what I would do if I was in her position."

He lifted his brows. "Oh really?"

"Not that I would ever become an emperor's mistress or that any man would want me as one, but you know what I mean," she blustered.

Though tempted to try to flatter her, he didn't think she would want flattering. In fact, he was not at all sure what Patience wanted apart from to prove herself to her all-male family. It was odd indeed not to understand how to charm this woman. When had he ever struggled to enchant a woman?

Never. Not once. Not even when he'd been a young, scrawny man with a breaking voice.

"So you believe our Pauline has taken off with a man. Why go from Napoleon to her bastard husband to another man?"

"She needs shelter, protection, time, and she would not settle for living in the slums. This is an emperor's mistress, Nate. She is used to being spoiled."

"How do we track this man?"

"I suggest we go to the docks. Speak with some of the workers. Perhaps we can even discover which ship she came in on."

He took a long gulp of coffee. "I cannot fault your logic."

Her smile grew more smug.

Nate shook a finger at her. "Do not go running off on me this time. We both know how well that ends."

She gave a huff. "I won't go alone, I promise."

"You are a handful, Miss Patience Grey."

"And you are hardly the first person to say that."

"Am I the first to say that I rather like that in a person?"

"That they're a handful?" The color that had receded sprung back into her cheeks.

"Yes. Of course, one has to have big enough hands..." Nate shook his head as he considered quite where he wanted to put his hands. "Never mind."

She narrowed her gaze at him. "You said we would forget about last night."

"Absolutely. Of course. Entirely forgotten."

Her gaze narrowed in on him and he threw up his hands. "Utterly forgotten. No one shall ever know. It shall be our secret."

"How can it be forgotten if it's our secret?" she demanded.

"Well, almost forgotten then. Buried deep down. Come on now, Patience, do you really expect me to entirely forget that you saved my skin by way of flashing a little of your own?"

"Yes, if you were a true gentleman, you would."

"Patience, no true man could ever forget that, even the most gentlemanly of them all. If he did, I would suggest he was dead or insane."

"For goodness sakes, you act as though you have never seen..." she dropped her voice, "breasts before."

"I have never seen yours before," he pointed out. "At least I had not. I have to say, they lived up to all my expectations and more."

She sucked in a sharp breath and stood. "You really are the worst of men."

Nate lifted a shoulder. "If that is true, then why are you so flattered?"

"Flattered?" she spluttered. "Flattered by you making such lewd comments? I might not look much like a lady but I certainly never expected such comments."

"Never expected, but certainly enjoyed."

She threw down her napkin. "You are despicable."

As she stormed out of the room, Nate let a smile slip across his face. He might not understand how to charm Patience but he understood one thing, she was not immune to flattery. Buried under those masculine clothes and that stompy little walk was a woman—one who wanted to be called beautiful and appreciated for her sexuality.

Now all he had to figure out was why exactly he wanted to be the one to call her beautiful and maybe even appreciate that sexuality.

∞∞∞

"If you wore a dress, we would not get so many looks."

Patience swung a sideways glance at Nate and ignored him. A fresh breeze twisted through her hair, ripe with sea salt. They took a turn through a tight alleyway that brought them out between an inn and a shoemakers. The buildings leaned in close together and cobbles, worn from years of use, slipped between them. Above, several lanterns hung from the eaves of the bottom story, presumably to light what would be a dark alleyway at night.

When they emerged, they were confronted by the road that ran along the dock to bring goods in and out. Although it was not a far cry from their own town, this was a bigger operation. Most of the supplies for Cornwall's towns came in through Falmouth. The docks were deep enough for ships bigger than even Nate's brother's and occasionally soldiers shipped out to France from here when they wanted to be assured of a quick, safe journey without fear of running into any French fleets.

There were no war ships in dock today, though. Several merchant ships were about, their masts rising above the smaller fishing boats. Wagons drawn by horses and donkeys crossed the road that ran all the way along the dock to the end of the town where they could then make their way to the other towns or to be loaded onto other vehicles or stowed in buildings.

Patience looked left and right as they covered the distance between the dock edge and the buildings. Amongst what were likely storage buildings were more shops and she counted at least another three inns, no doubt popular with the men coming off the ships. About them people moved with brisk certainty. It had seemed an excellent idea to come down here and find out more but now she saw the hustle and bustle of it all, she was not even sure where to start.

Nate paused and took a moment to peer up the dock. "That way," he said, pointing to the right. She spotted a big merchant ship, its sails raised, looking as though it was ready to depart at any moment.

"Why?" she asked, scurrying to keep up with him.

"I know that ship," he said.

"He works with your brother?"

He grinned. "Something like that."

They made their way along the dock, avoiding the unloading and loading of goods going on about them.

"Watch out, lad," someone shouted at her as she nearly knocked a box out of his hands trying to keep pace with Nate. "Uh, miss," he mumbled after looking at her.

"See, you should have worn a dress. People would not trip over you then."

"When you are as small as I—" she sucked in a breath. Why did the man have to walk so damnably fast? "When you are as small as I, people trip over you regardless of what you wear."

"I doubt they would trip over a well-dressed lady."

"I do not suit dresses, I'm not comfortable in dresses, and I would rather be tripped over one hundred times than wear one."

"So you have never worn a dress?"

"Of course I have. I could hardly attend balls in breeches or pantaloons now, could I? Why, we have even attended balls together where I have worn dresses. But, of course, I would not expect you to notice."

"No, why would I notice such a short person?"

She let out a huff, aware he was trying to rile her. He was succeeding, damn him. Why did he love to tease her so much?

"Nate." she called as she fell behind. "Nate!"

He paused and twisted on his heel, waiting until she caught up.

"Must you walk so fast." She drew in a breath. "As you have noticed I do not exactly have the longest legs."

And he seemed to have the longest ever. He strode with utter grace and confidence while she bumbled along, looking like a child trying to catch up to her father. God, she wished she was taller.

Once she had asked her brothers to try to stretch her. Jacob had grabbed her arms while Edward had grabbed her legs. They had pulled with all their might until she was in tears and they declared there was nothing they could do—she would always be as short and as stubby as a mushroom.

Nate glanced down. "It's hard to tell in breeches."

She gave him a look. "If you tell me you would be able to tell better in a dress, I would call you a liar."

"Not at all. I'm simply saying that the breeches are distracting. The way they...cling to you. It's hard to focus on the actual length of your legs."

"Are you truly trying to be rude again?"

The gall of the man! Was he making yet more comments on her figure? And why? No one had even acknowledged she had a body let alone made some sort of lewd comment about it. The only time people spoke of her was to complain that she was in men's clothing again.

He shrugged. "What can I say? I cannot help myself."

"Well, try," she snapped.

"I'll be on my best behavior from now on, I promise."

"Somehow I suspect your idea of best behavior and mine are a little different."

"Perhaps," he admitted, his grin far too rakish and appealing for her liking.

"Never mind, I shall take what I can get."

They stopped outside the merchant ship. The black painted hull gleamed in the early morning light. The autumn sun was low on the horizon and would remain so for most of the day if the skies remained clear. Nate stopped one of the men who was loading the ship with supplies. The man peered at him with suspicion then looked at Patience. He took in her appearance and his scowl deepened.

"Is the captain aboard?"

"Yes," the man said, hesitantly.

"Will you request an audience with him? My name is Nate Kingsley. He knows me." Nate gave the man a look that Patience did not quite understand. "I know his business well."

A flicker of understanding lit in the man's eyes. "I'll speak with captain," he said, hastening up the gangplank with a box of supplies.

"What did you mean, you know his business?"

Nate gave an overly innocent look. "These merchant men are suspicious types. I was simply telling the fellow that I was not here to steal business or cause some mischief."

She scowled. "That wasn't at all what it seemed like," she muttered.

Nate ignored her comment and the man eventually reappeared and waved them on board. He led them down into the bowels of the ship. It smelled of grease and sweat. Patience had been around ships all her life yet had never actually had the occasion to step on one. It was as cramped as she'd expected.

The captain's cabin was a little more generous than the living quarters they had moved through. With enough space to fit a desk and several chairs as well as a bookcase with worn books and leaflets filling its shelves, the large lamps and small port holes lit it well enough.

The captain was a small man, though he still had several inches on her. With thin dark hair, a slender face and boney hands, there was not a single part of him that could be called anything other than scarecrow-like. He offered a hand to Nate.

"Lord Nathaniel, what are you doing in my neck of the woods?"

"A little bit of business and pleasure," he said vaguely. "May I introduce Miss Patience Grey. Her father was Colonel Archibald Grey. You may have heard of him."

The captain gave her a glance over and somehow managed to keep the surprise from his face when he noted her appearance. Not that she was unused to such looks. At home, that happened rarely but here, they had likely never seen a woman wearing men's clothes.

"I believe I have. Quite the man. Captain Phillip Taylor at your service."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Captain. How is it you know Lord Nathaniel here?"

Nate gave her a sharp but not quite annoyed look. She resisted the desire to stick her tongue out at him.

"His brother and I have done business once or twice," the captain said smoothly.

Too smoothly for Patience's liking. Something about this whole thing was odd but she could not say what.

"What can I do for you, Nate?"

"We're looking for a woman—a French woman. She came into Falmouth potentially a few weeks ago. We've been trying to track her down but with no luck. A source told us she was seen in the area, maybe soliciting for company."

The captain nodded. "French women hardly go unnoticed around here."

Patience straightened. "So you've seen her?"

He shook his head. "Not seen, but several men were talking of a fine, accented woman. Though she would have nothing to do with them. They say she was seen on the arm of a well-dressed gentleman and never seen again. The chances are she found herself a rich sponsor for the time being."

"Do you know anything about the man?" Nate asked.

"Nothing specific but if he was spending time here, you have to assume he has a ship. The biggest ships to come in here are for the Harrison Shipping Company. If I were a woman in want of rich company, the owner would certainly be the sort of man I would target."

Nate grinned. "I bet that's our man."

Patience nodded. "I think so too. We had better find out who it is."

" I will find out who it is, you can return home."

Eyes narrow, she glared at him. "Why would I return home and wait for you when I could be asking questions with you? You really do think of me as the little wife, do you not? I should be sitting at home, waiting with baited breath for your return."

Nate and the captain shared a look but Patience couldn't bring herself to care. She was not going to be forced out of this investigation.

"No," Nate said slowly. "But if Lord Nathaniel Kingsley is going to make enquiries about the owner of a business he might be interested in investing in, it would look better if he was alone and not accompanied by an unmarried woman in breeches."

"Oh."

"Yes, oh."

Patience dropped her gaze to her boots and waited for Nate to stand before she followed suit. "Thank you for your help, captain," she said meekly.

They made their way off the ship and Patience reluctantly met Nate's gaze. "I suppose I shall see you at the house then."

"Yes, and, little one, do not go getting yourself into trouble again. I could do without having to get into any more fights and I am sure you wish to keep yourself covered this time."

"Will you forever bring that up? I was trying to save you."

"And what an admirable job you did. I shall always be...grateful." His lips quirked.

What he meant was he would always remember it. Warmth struck her face for what had to be the hundredth time that day. She should be embarrassed—she was—but at the same time there was something horribly appealing about him thinking of her in that manner.

What a fool she was. Nate probably thought of thousands of women a day. She was just one in a whole blur of images.

She tapped his arm. "Go find out about that gentleman. And stop thinking about you know what."

"I shall try!" He gave her a jaunty grin and tapped the brim of his hat.

Damn that man. Damn, damn, damn, damn him. What were the chances that he was thinking of her breasts at this very moment simply to rile her? And why did she hope, so very much, he was?