Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10

T he rain had stopped when Patience awakened. The fire had burned down to embers, though her room was still warm, and the cats looked to be at ease in the chairs before the fire.

She was alone.

There was no sign of Arthur.

Had he not returned home yet? She had heard nothing. Surely no ill had befallen him?

She slipped from the bed and listened at the adjoining door.

Silence.

She could knock and disturb him, or she could look. She steeled herself to be audacious, reminding herself that she had an apology to deliver, then turned the knob and opened the door soundlessly. She waited on the threshold for a moment, relieved when she heard the steady rhythm of his breathing.

Arthur was home! Patience sniffed but did not smell brandy, another encouraging sign.

Unlike her own room, her husband's chamber was in darkness. The drapes had been pulled and she could not discern any details of the room beyond. One cat whisked past her ankles and vanished into the darkness with the confidence of one who knew its surroundings well. She heard a weight land on something padded.

She crossed the room cautiously then opened one drape to admit a beam of sunlight so that she would not trip. When she turned, she caught her breath at the sight of Arthur sleeping nude, the black cat curled against his side and a book fallen to the floor beneath his hand.

Patience stared, her mouth dry. His room was larger and more splendid than her own, but she could not look away from Arthur himself.

Goodness. What a remarkable specimen he was. He must have cast off his nightshirt for it was on the floor in a heap, his tanned skin revealed to her view.

She took a step closer and looked, emboldened by fascination. She could not find a single flaw. Everything was as it should be—perhaps even more artfully shaped than any ideal. Those who illustrated medical volumes could have used Arthur as a model, perhaps even of the ideal man, or maybe an artist would see him as inspiration. He was powerfully built, his body all sinew and strength, and so gloriously male that something deep inside her quivered. There was a shadow of stubble on his jaw and a tangle of dark hair in the middle of his chest. His hair was ruffled and his eyes were closed, his strong fingers barely grasping a book.

Her book.

Patience yearned to touch him. The thought was startling and bold. But she wanted to run a hand over his skin, to learn how he felt. She wanted to lift aside the linens draped across his hip and thighs, and see all of him.

Even that.

She took a step closer, realizing only after she had done as much that she had blocked the sunlight. A beam of it fell across his face and he grimaced, rolled to his stomach to evade the light.

His move granted her a view of his bare back and buttocks. This, too, was worthy of scrutiny, particularly as the sheet had slipped lower, and she could find no cause for complaint. Arthur was as lean as a Greek statue and nearly as perfectly formed. She could see a scar upon his shoulder, perhaps the one she had been told about, and she averted her gaze, unable to even consider the peril of him at duel.

The sight of his discarded breeches and boots on the floor made her frown. He had returned home too late even to call for his valet. He could not have been doing any deed of merit at such hours and her heart sank that he would be a wastrel forevermore.

She started to turn away but he stirred sleepily.

"Patience," he murmured with a lazy satisfaction that would have weakened her knees, had he whispered thus in her ear. Instead, he mumbled into his pillow, frowned and seemed to struggle against his need to sleep.

He might be drunk upon some substance of less strong scent than brandy. In truth, Patience knew little of spirits.

But the discarded book hinted at sobriety. As one who routinely fell asleep reading, Patience found it difficult to harden her heart against him.

How could she chastise a man who lifted her own book from her hand as she slept and read it himself? In truth, she could find no fault with that.

In truth, she admired the choice.

And Arthur was quite alluring when rumpled and nude. The sight made all of Patience flutter.

"I would apologize to you, sir, for my doubts of last night," she said and he stirred.

"What is this?" Arthur mumbled then glanced over his shoulder at her. "Patience?" He pushed a hand through his hair and peered at her, evidently confused by her presence in his chamber. "What time is it?" He collapsed onto the bed before she could reply, his lashes fluttering before his eyes closed once more. In a heartbeat, he was breathing deeply once more.

Had he visited another woman? The very prospect was devastating, but it made Patience realize that she dared not make the same mistake twice.

Whatever he had done the night before, it was time to repair matters between them.

Patience needed that book—immediately. She could only start anew with information.

* * *

The last person Catherine expected to welcome on a Sunday morning—the Sunday morning after her sister Patience's wedding—was Patience herself.

Her heart squeezed to see that her sister was looking a little saddened and a little stubborn, and guessed that all had not proceeded well the night before. Rhys had noted that he had seen Beckham at White's, worse, that he had seen the newly married man in discussion with Miss Esmeralda Ballantyne. Catherine urged Patience to join her in the library, where the fire was blazing, and called for tea. The sisters sat opposite each other and Catherine took Patience's cold hands in her own. She guessed that her sister was not entirely at ease in Beckham's fine house and had not wished to call for a carriage.

"Tell me you did not walk here," she said with a smile.

"I did." Patience took a quick breath. "The rain has stopped."

In that very moment, the rain began to patter against the window panes again. They both turned to look, then back at each other.

Patience lowered her gaze. "I would ask you for the book, Catherine. I need the book."

Catherine had no doubt which book her sister meant. But if she was still a maiden, that book's contents were not appropriate for her to see. "I gave you a passage from it."

"Which only encouraged me to prompt a disagreement. I must make matters right, Catherine, and you must help."

"The wedding was lovely," Catherine said instead of immediately agreeing

Patience nodded, her impatience clear.

"And the wedding night?"

Patience wrinkled her nose. "We argued and he left." She sipped her tea. "It was my fault but I do not know enough to be sure I can repair matters."

"You could ask Mr. Beckham."

"Please give me the book, Catherine, before it is too late."

"Has he abused you? Has he done you injury in any way?"

"No, he is most gentlemanly."

"And you like him?"

Patience blushed. "I do. I find him more intriguing than any other man I have met, but I cannot anticipate him, which is most vexing." She lifted a hand. "I cannot understand why he does what he does!"

"Perhaps that is interesting rather than vexing."

Patience looked up, consideration in her gaze.

Catherine, of all women, knew that a rocky beginning did not doom a match. Though their match was not consummated, Mrs. Oliver's book could be of assistance to her sister, just as it had been to herself. "I never told anyone but Rhys spent our wedding night at his club. He did not even come to my chamber to have an argument first."

"No!" Patience was visibly shocked. "But you are so happy together."

"It took a year for us to find our way," Catherine admitted, the memory making her more confident of her decision. "And it was the early pages of that book that assisted us." She rose and retrieved the manuscript of Mrs. Oliver's book. "It is curious, but I unexpectedly received some additional pages this morning about wedding nights." She handled the bundle to Patience, hoping she made the right choice. "They are on the top as I have not edited them as yet, much less decided where they should appear in the volume itself."

"It is a weighty opus."

"The author has much to say about relations between man and wife. Will you promise me to read it first in Mr. Beckham's company?"

Patience's cheeks burned anew. "Oh, I could not!"

"I cannot surrender it to you without you having an understanding of the material, and if you mean to publish it with Mr. Beckham's assistance, he needs to be aware of its contents."

Patience stared down at the bundle of papers, her indecision clear.

"It might help you to find your way," Catherine said softly. "Any prize worth the having requires some effort, Patience."

"I know." She finished her tea and picked up the book again. Catherine pointed her to the carpetbag that had held the manuscript and adjured her not to lose a single page. By the time she had made that promise, Patience looked to be both encouraged and filled with new purpose. She glanced at the window—and the sound of the falling rain—with some trepidation. "I suppose I must ask you for your coach lest the pages become wet. Perhaps I can return before Arthur awakens and he need never know I left at all."

But Catherine heard the jingle of trap and horses coming to a halt before the house. "I have a feeling he already knows of your departure."

Patience went to the window and looked out at the street. The change in her expression was all Catherine needed to be convinced she had chosen correctly. Her sister's lips parted and her eyes lit with anticipation, then she looked back at Catherine with a smile that might have been triumphant. "He is here," she whispered, as if her voice might be overheard though the closed windows.

"Then I am encouraged. And you will read it with him?"

"Oh, Catherine. I will, though I cannot imagine how I will suggest as much."

"Read it together. Invite his views. It will all be well." Catherine stood and kissed her sister's cheeks. "Good luck," she whispered. "Though I suspect you do not need luck when you have that book."

Patience laughed, then left with a quick step. Catherine returned to her chair by the fire, sinking into it and savoring a sip of hot tea.

"That book will turn you into a fairy godmother yet," Rhys teased from the doorway. Catherine's heart leapt when she turned to meet his warm gaze and she smiled as he crossed the room toward her.

"You should not complain, given how it aided us."

"Did I complain? Not a syllable." He kissed her hand, sitting on the footstool beside her, his gaze searching hers. "You still feel well?"

"I remain in robust health, sir, and vow that your fears will soon be proven false."

He kissed her hand, holding it against his cheek. "So I pray, my Catherine, so I pray."

She watched him, knowing he struggled against his earlier convictions that childbirth must be fatal to the mother, and she gripped his hand more tightly. In a matter of months, he would be assured of the truth, and her husband's deepest fear would be banished forever.

For Catherine did not intend to leave her beloved alone.

* * *

Arthur awakened with the familiar sense that he had slept late. The light coming through the windows was so dim that it provided no insight as to the time. It was the hall clock, chiming eleven, that provided a hint. He rolled to his back and considered the canopy overhead, wincing at the embroidered insignia of Fairhaven as was his daily custom.

It was also his habit to take a reckoning before rising from bed to begin his day. On the upside, he had nine thousand pounds he had not possessed the morning before. That was no small asset.

On the downside, he had completely bungled his wedding day and night, at least from Patience's perspective. Would she listen to his explanation?

He had a vague recollection of Patience standing over the bed, the sunlight behind her. Had he dreamed that? If she had entered his chamber willingly, all might not be lost—even if she had done as much to chastise him. An angel of judgement did not spend time upon a soul already lost.

He rose with purpose and enthusiasm. Taylor must have anticipated Arthur with his usual accuracy, for the water that had been left by the valet was still steaming hot. He washed and shaved, then changed to a clean shirt.

He tapped gently on the adjoining door.

There was no reply.

He knocked a little more vigorously, but again, there was no reply.

Arthur opened the door and looked into the room. There was not a lamp or candle lit, and the drapes were pulled back. The bed was unmade. A breakfast tray was on the footstool where the book had been the night before, and apparently Tar had already charmed the lady in question, for there was an empty saucer on the chair cushion beside his clearly contented self. The black cat did love his morning sip of tea. Feathers was snoring gently, as was her custom, but the room was otherwise unoccupied.

He crossed the room and opened the door to the corridor, listening for voices below. There were none, which could mean that his wife was in the breakfast room alone. Would she eat twice in rapid succession? He had no idea. Amelia would eat as many breakfasts as were presented to her. His mother would remain in her room all day, after her exertions of the day before. He knew that as well.

But Patience was a mystery.

As yet.

He caught sight of a maid at the end of the corridor and hailed her when she might have vanished into the servant's stairs. "Gellis! Do you know where my wife might be found?"

The woman curtsied and kept her eyes downcast, a reaction that made Arthur realize he stood before her barefoot and wearing only a shirt. He grinned and she blushed. "She went out, sir, early this morning it was."

"Early? How early?"

"I should say it was nine or so, sir. She was already dressed when I brought her breakfast, but she had granted no direction as to how early she might desire it. Your mother calls for hers." She curtsied again. "Mr. Stevens has said she must have her tray earlier tomorrow, sir, but perhaps the lady might advise us as to her expectations."

"Of course, Gellis. I will ask her to do as much. I believe Carruthers House has a smaller staff and my wife may not have considered such details." He began to turn back to the room, thinking of potential destinations. Home to Carruthers House? He hoped that had not been Patience's choice. They had not yet been wed a day and it was early for her to abandon hope in him and the match.

"Sir, I wish only that she had not been obliged to wash in cold on her first day in the house," Gellis said behind him. "She must know where the bell is, sir."

Arthur thought the location of the bell was evident. What might be lacking was Patience's desire to trouble anyone in the house. She did strike him as being quite independent. He smiled for the maid. "I will ensure that she does, Gellis. Thank you again."

Gellis curtsied. "And congratulations to you, sir. Her ladyship ordered a lovely supper for us belowstairs last night and it was much appreciated, particularly as none of us had to serve."

Arthur spun. "What is this? There was no dinner last night?"

Gellis flushed. "Her ladyship chose to have a tray in her room, sir, and your lady wife agreed to the same."

Patience had eaten alone in her room on their wedding day?

He was a cur and a louse and nothing he could say could repair that damage.

He thanked Gellis and fairly ran back into Patience's room, scanning it for clues. He leaned back against the door even as Tar wound around his ankles.

Where would she go?

If not her father's home, what might be her destination on a Sunday? She might have gone to church, as he so seldom did. Did she have other friends in town? She might have gone to Bettencourt's home. That was where he had encountered her before, after all, and the sisters might well be close.

The baroness had given her that page from the book of advice, the one about secrets.

Patience had gone to collect the book. He would wager his soul upon that.

Arthur returned to his room, rang for Taylor and dressed quickly. It turned out that Patience had not requested the carriage or coach that morning, which did give him pause. It was a considerable walk to Trevelaine House and again, he was stymied by a lack of knowledge of his wife's inclinations. Would she walk so far as that? He hated that he did not know.

Arthur's luck held from the night before, though, for the carriage no sooner arrived before the steps of the baron's house in town than the door opened and Patience herself emerged. She was carrying a large bag that might have been heavy, and Arthur leapt out to greet her.

She wore a plain dark coat and he glimpsed a dress that might have been the one she had been wearing at her father's shop on the day they first spoke after his return from Venice. Her boots were polished and plain, her bonnet graced with a single cluster of silk lily-of-the-valley. Banished were the soft curls that had framed her face at their wedding and her hair seemed to be pulled back with greater severity than ever.

Arthur had the strange sense that their wedding might not have happened at all, and that troubled him greatly.

As was his custom, he hid his uneasiness with a smile. He jumped down, keeping a hand upon the lead horse as there was no one to hold the team. To his relief, Patience came to him, one hand upon the brim of her hat and the other clutching the bag. The rain was no more than a slight mist.

"And so I guessed aright," he said. "Did you walk all this way?"

"I did. The morning was fine."

They eyed each other for a long moment, and he was humble by the questions in her eyes. "I am sorry that we parted badly," he said, his words filled with conviction.

"As am I."

"But if you will forgive me long enough to accept the surrender of a secret, I have one to share." He gestured to the carriage. "Might I offer a ride, perhaps shelter from the storm?"

Patience smiled just a little, a sight that gave him hope, and tilted her head to study him. "Does your secret have to do with the book that is not truly a book, the one you left in the bookcase?"

Arthur was astonished and he could tell by the twinkle that lit in her eyes that it showed.

"I did not take the money," she whispered and he loved his sense that they were allied together. She frowned a little. "Though I did count that your sum was correct."

Of course, she had. Arthur found himself grinning as he took the bag she carried.

"But is it?" he countered, securing the bag beneath the seat where it would be out of the rain. He guessed that it contained the sole copy of the book in question.

"I can count well enough…"

"But I made an addition this morning."

She looked at him. "That was why you did not return home last night."

"It was only part of the reason." He raised a finger. "I was not cavorting."

Patience did not smile. "Are you certain the funds are safe there?"

"Of course. Safer than in my chamber, where a servant might expect to find money unattended." He touched her cheek. "It is as safe in your care as in the bank."

"Thank you for your trust."

"I have never met anyone more trustworthy," he said, for it was true.

"Arthur, I owe you an apology," she said quietly.

"And I owe you a greater one." He turned and gestured to the carriage, his confidence growing with every passing moment. "Let me make it."

"You did not bring the coach, despite the rain," she said.

"As you have noted previously, servants all have ears, and I would not have the driver and two footmen knowing the location of our savings or the intended destination of those funds." He smiled at her, noting that she could not hide her pleasure. "Only you will be privy to the confession of my secret, Patience."

"That hidden sum is your winnings, is it not?"

"It is the fund for our shared venture," he corrected, watching her lips part in awe. "And it was a secret from everyone until you found it."

"They are winnings, not savings," she said sternly as he handed her up. "You might lose the amount twice over the next time you play."

Arthur shook his head. "I play only so long as I win, and I leave the table when I lose." He cast his cloak over her shoulders, protecting her from the rain that might gain momentum before they reached home.

"But it is gambling," she insisted when he sat beside her. "You cannot be so certain…"

"It is mathematics," Arthur said with crisp authority, taking the reins in hand. He slanted her a glance, noting how she watched him. "I have been playing since our betrothal to win the funds we will need for our venture. Good fortune has smiled upon me, as if Providence itself would support your scheme. But let me start at the beginning."

"Please do," she replied and he turned the team away from Berkley Square, taking a quiet road so they could talk.

* * *

Patience could not complain, despite the rain. Arthur had sought her out, he had correctly guessed her destination, and now he would surrender a secret. She yearned to ask him questions but instead knew it was better to listen.

"Last night," he said finally. "I visited my solicitor to ask his counsel with regard to printers and publishers. Are you familiar with Fanshawe & Parke?"

"Of course! My father was saddened by Mr. Parke's demise last year."

"Friends?"

"I would consider them acquaintances. I know they liked to talk at auctions and such. Why?"

"Mr. Fanshawe seeks a new partner to ensure the continuation of his firm. I have requested a meeting, contingent upon your view."

"Arthur!"

"I expect to hear from one party or the other shortly, perhaps so early as next week, but wished to know your view of their establishment."

"It is highly respectable, and their books are beautiful. My father and uncle often admire the skill of their tradesmen."

"Good. I have mentioned the possibility of your idea and have not been rebuffed, but it would be helpful, I believe, if you were present to argue the merit of your plan."

Patience caught her breath and Arthur smiled at her.

"Our investment will be contingent upon you gaining your desire from the partnership," he said with welcome conviction. "And you will make a good case, I am certain. You can be a compelling advocate when you believe in a matter."

She glowed at his praise.

"There is the question of an investment, which my solicitor calls substantial and which I call staggering."

She watched him closely, waiting for the disappointment she feared..

The carriage rocked as it made its way through the street and he leaned closer to her, lowering his voice. "I did not return home last night because I heard of a game with high stakes. The Earl of Queenston had arrived in town and meant to play, and he is inclined to lose."

"You played cards all night?"

"And rather well."

"Does that mean you won?"

"Nine thousand pounds," he admitted easily and watched her eyes widen.

"But you could have lost it all instead."

"No, Patience, that is not how it words."

"Gambling is an unpredictable venture…"

"It is mathematics," he said crisply, interrupting her. "Each game is a calculation. Even given that, sometimes the cards favor a person and sometimes they do not. The trick is to walk away once the tide is against you."

"Do you not lose?"

"It is not common, and when I lose, I lose only a little. My luck has been remarkably good since you accepted me, perhaps a sign of divine favor."

"How so?"

"I play to earn the funds needed for your venture, Patience, no more and no less."

She frowned. "But you are wealthy. You have an income, I understand, and a hope of inheritance…"

"And Lady Beckham does not approve of those in trade. There will be hell to pay if I use any increment of funds that originate from her in such a venture."

"Is this why she does not approve of me?"

Arthur winced. "I fear so. I had hoped your charm would undermine her objections." She watched his lips tighten. "I heard that she declined to dine with you last evening. I am sorry, Patience. I never imagined she would be so rude. By the time I left Mr. Sommerset, I believed dinner would have been served, and she has always insisted that it is better not to arrive at all than to be late."

"I did not mind as much as I should have," she admitted and he cast her a sparkling glance.

"I don't suppose you would mind if we dined in your chamber alone tonight. We have a great deal of research to do, after all."

"Arthur! Will she not be vexed with us?"

"Perhaps. I am vexed with her." He smiled down at her. "And having botched our wedding night, I fear I must labor long and hard to redeem myself in your view."

Patience found herself flushing at his perusal. "I am not certain it will be such an ordeal, sir."

Arthur laughed. "Nor am I." He turned the horses then and she recognized that they headed toward Berkley Square again.

"I suppose you have more than one secret," she said and his smile flashed.

"I might contrive to have a hundred to keep your interest."

"I do not jest, Arthur."

"Nor do I and I apologize for my reticence." He frowned. "The fact is that I have never had a confidante." He halted the horses before the house, then turned to look at her. She saw the truth in his darkened eyes and watched him swallow, her chest tight that he confided such a truth in her. "I am so accustomed to keeping my secrets close that I was not certain how to begin."

Patience's heart clenched tightly. He had never had a confidante. That meant he had never truly had a friend. Patience had sisters, and had confided in Prudence all her life. "But you must have had friends at school."

Arthur shook his head slowly. "I was not there long." His gaze rose to hers, an appeal in his eyes. "There was an accident, a prank in truth, but a boy died. I was taken away from school immediately and had tutors at home since."

"How dreadful!"

His throat worked. "It was tragic, to be sure." He seemed discomfited by the memory and Patience did not dare to ask him about the lost boy. Had that been his friend?

"Goodness. That is two secrets in rapid succession," she said lightly, hoping to prompt his smile.

But Arthur simply raised a gloved hand to her cheek, his gaze warming in that way that made her heart nigh stop. "You have made it so easy that I fear you will soon be burdened with another confession." He bent and brushed his lips across her cheek, his touch sending a thrill through her. "Forgive me, Patience," he whispered and she could not have refused him anything.

"Of course," she said, pulling back to meet his gaze. "But I was wrong last night as well. I must beg your forgiveness."

"You?"

It was galling to admit the truth. "I was afraid."

"Because you had no guide or instructions," he replied with a small smile. She nodded and his smile broadened. "But you have me, Patience." He sobered. "I will never hurt you and I will never demand more than you wish to give," he vowed.

Patience believed him.

Arthur kissed her again, this time upon the mouth, and she kissed him back. She felt as if they began anew and had a newfound accord.

When he finally lifted his head, his eyes were glittering and his expression bemused. "How scandalous we are, Mrs. Beckham," he murmured, his gaze flicking to the butler who stood impassively at the door, waiting for them to alight.

Patience felt herself flush with predictable ease and saw the flash of Arthur's smile. "Indeed, we are," she agreed. "Perhaps we should do something about the matter."

"Perhaps we should," he agreed, then jumped from the carriage with admirable ease. He reached back to lock his hands around her waist and swing her down to the ground, then claimed the bag she had collected from Catherine before escorting her toward the house. "Fine day, Stevens," he said.

"Indeed, sir."

"I know Lady Beckham likes to have tea on Sunday afternoon with everyone in attendance, but my wife and I will send our regrets today."

The butler's brows rose for a heartbeat, but his tone did not change. "Very good, sir."

Arthur swept Patience up the stairs with purpose. Outside of her room, he surrendered her bag, bowed and left her there—much to her astonishment. Then he winked before vanishing into his own room and Patience understood. She went into her chamber, locked the door, shed her coat and bonnet and set the bag down. She went to the adjoining door and opened it, only to find Arthur leaning against the wall there, her book in his hand. He had discarded his jacket but looked as if he had been waiting a long while.

His eyes twinkled when she laughed. "Your book, my lady," he said, presenting it to her.

"I wish for more than a book, sir," she said, feeling audacious indeed.

"Truly? Are you my wife? Because I am given to understand that Patience Beckham née Carruthers finds the greatest of satisfactions in a good book…"

She reached up to kiss him quickly, silencing him with surprise at her move. "And I invite you to demonstrate my error, Arthur," she whispered, loving how he laughed, caught her up and fairly charged into her bedchamber.

* * *

The truth of the matter was that Arthur much preferred intimate interludes in daylight. There was something seductive about a lazy afternoon spent abed in amorous pursuits. He liked the light, whether it was sunny or raining. He liked the sense that time had halted. He liked feeling that whatever was done was not a secret or a stolen moment or an interval seized before sleep came upon them both.

To be sure, he also enjoyed liaisons at night, when the shadows added mystery to the encounter, but overall, a rainy Sunday afternoon was ideal.

He could think of no better time to first seduce his wife.

Patience, despite her comments, was still vibrating with uncertainty and he moved more slowly than was his wont, not wanting to startle her. The fire had been lit in her room and the cats had claimed both chairs already. He opened the bag she had brought from her sister's home and lifted out a pile of loose sheets of paper. They might have been a sheaf of letters, for the text was written by hand. "This is the book?" he asked in surprise and she nodded, an enticing flush touching her cheeks. He read the title aloud. " The Ladies' Essential Guide to the Art of Seduction."

He could not help but think that had promise.

Patience came to his side, her fingertips dancing over the pile of paper as she spoke. "Catherine says she is still editing it, and that new pages came this morning." There were, in fact, several sheets loose on the top of the bundle, which she claimed. He watched her read the first of them. "Oh!" she said, her gaze flying to him with surprise.

Arthur smiled as he plucked the sheet from her hand.

"Upon the importance of first encounters. Suggestions for the lady and for the gentleman," he read.

"That one is for the lady," Patience said, switching sheets with him. She evicted Tar and settled into a chair to read with enviable concentration. Arthur found himself watching the way she bit the ripe perfection of her bottom lip, the grip of her slender fingers on the sheet. Even more delightful was the exposed softness of the inside of her wrist, the curve of her neck and the loose tendril of fair hair beside her ear. If he had an ability to draw, he would have captured the sight of her in charcoal on the page. As it was, he could only stare and admire.

She cast a reproving glance at him. "You should not look at me thus," she whispered.

"How?"

"As if you would gobble me up."

"I am tempted. You look delicious." He bent and kissed the side of her neck, then grazed her skin with his teeth. She shivered in a most delightful way.

Her cheeks pinkened as he had hoped they might. "You are full of nonsense," she chided.

"You did wed a rake and a scoundrel. I would not have you disappointed to find me a sober man of honor instead, of sedate temperament and modest appetites."

She laughed aloud at that, her eyes dancing in a most attractive way. "You are wicked."

"Agreed. The question remains is whether you will reform me or whether I will lead you astray."

"We could each continue as we are and not influence the other a whit."

"And how would that be diverting, Patience? The only thing I could not abide in a marriage is mutual tolerance." Her gaze brightened at that and he wished he had not spoken thus. "There. It is decided. I must lead you astray with as much haste as possible to avoid such a dire fate."

"You should read your sheet. I have read mine already."

"But it is so much more satisfying to prompt your blush."

"Arthur!" she said in mock outrage so that he was delighted by her sparkling eyes. "Read it!"

For once, Arthur did as instructed.

His own lips curved into a smile as he read, the advice reassuring him immeasurably.

Upon the responsibility of a wedding night…for gentlemen.

I recommend that those ladies who have not as yet been introduced to the pleasures of the marital bed offer this page to their husbands in advance of that event. For there is little that can be so sweet as one's first encounter with a partner, nor are there many events that can go so badly awry. Worse, the first night of a marriage may well set the tone and expectations for all future years of such encounters, and so, the required deed should not be embarked upon without thought and preparation.

Gentlemen, you hold the power to ensure your lady's devotion and her satisfaction, by your persuasive indoctrination of said companion to sensation and pleasure. Most ladies come to their matches in innocence, and an innocence that is so complete in its ignorance of such body matters that many men fail to anticipate the breadth of the chasm between the expectations of bride and groom.

I encourage you to be leisurely, to coax her laughter in her uncertainty, to awaken her to your touch with gentle caresses. I invite you to explain what will happen, to indulge in physical comforts beyond your own satisfaction. Compliments, given in good faith, can only encourage us all when we are uncertain of our path. I urge you to remain with her afterward, to hold her while she sleeps, to whisper plans for your shared future. Confessions made abed, be they sweet or audacious, are inclined to bind a couple more closely together.

Above all, do not rush.

If you conjure your lady's response with sufficient fortitude, you may earn a lifetime of merry moments abed together, the loyalty of a devoted partner and the joy of complete trust, one in the other. The lady you introduce to pleasure may ultimately ensure that you conquer higher peaks of satisfaction than ever you dreamed—for the act of union is made more potent with emotional intimacy, and that far beyond the expectancy of many a man who seeks only momentary relief.

Seduce your wife, sir. Beguile and entice her, and you may find yourself in possession of the greatest prize of all, a match that provides such satisfaction that neither of you will ever be content with another. This is the promise of the nuptial night, and I adjure you to fulfill it—body, heart and soul.

There was a challenge Arthur meant to accept.