Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11

P atience watched as Arthur read the document, liking that he gave it his undivided attention. That granted her the opportunity to scrutinize him. She liked how intent he was, and how quickly his gaze flew across the lines. She liked how he returned to a passage or two, how he smiled to himself as if in anticipation of what they might do together.

She liked also how he lounged in the chair from which he had dismissed the grey cat, completely at ease with his own power. He looked both young and virile, a man whose very presence made her chamber seem smaller. She felt more aware of herself in his company, remembering not just his wondrous kiss, but the vigor of his response to her participation. She recalled the weight of his hands on her shoulders, the feeling of being swept into his arms, and understood how women were dazzled by the surety of a handsome man.

She felt herself on the cusp of being dazzled, for certain.

The cat jumped back into his lap and he was not startled. On the contrary, he stroked the beast gently, knowing its preferences so well that it closed its eyes and purred. She admired his hands, the way his gaze flicked to her when he was done, how his eyes filled with a mischief that made her smile before he spoke. He was a good companion, to be sure, but so consistently good-natured and easy-going that she wondered what he held in esteem beyond his own comfort.

He had never had a friend, but he had placed his winnings in her bookcase.

He had chosen to trust her, probably against his learned impulse, and Patience would never betray that trust.

In truth, she found it difficult to concentrate on the page she had claimed. She frowned and forced herself to read it again.

"This might have been written for my own eyes," Arthur said, reaching to capture the other sheet from her hands.

"It is not for you!"

"But I would know what you know, or what you do not know," he said so solemnly that she relinquished her grip. "Truly, the responsibility to do as much is mine, as this first sheet declares." Once again, she had the luxury of watching him, though this time, he frowned. "It is cursed vague."

"It is true that everything we are told is vague," she agreed. "But I did consult a medical volume in my father's collection."

Arthur's brows rose as he looked at her. "Your father agreed to this?"

"Of course not, but a man cannot keep inventory of all his books and his daughters at the same time."

"I shall bear that in mind and take it as a warning of future curiosity," he said solemnly, though she saw the twinkle in his dark eyes. "And what did you learn from that volume?"

She took a breath, feeling the heat of a blush rise from her very nipples. "That the first time a female is penetrated, she may feel some discomfort, as the protective membrane of the hymen is broken."

"That does not put one in mind of romantic novels."

"It does not, although the hymen is named after the Greek god, Hymen, who died on his wedding night. He was one of the sons of Apollo and a love god, who was invoked before the marriage ceremony when the bride was being escorted to the home of the groom." As was typical when she was flustered, Patience became fulsome about details that were unlikely to hold as much interest for her companion as herself. "In fact, his attendance at a wedding was deemed crucial to the happiness of the match…"

She was almost relieved when Arthur interjected a question.

"Did we invoke him yesterday?"

She shook her head. "But we are not ancient Greeks."

"There is that," Arthur said with a sage nod. "But I think there are more practical means of ensuring the future of a match. And fortunately, we have all day to pursue such objectives."

"We do," she agreed, recalling his instructions to the butler with another flush.

"And so, we will take our leisure, as this volume advises, to begin again." He offered his hand and Patience, uncertain what else to do, took it. He stood and raised her to her feet, setting the pages of the book aside and led her toward the adjoining door to his chamber.

"But surely this room suffices?"

"You do not have a mirror of goodly size so we must use mine."

"A mirror?"

"I cannot grant you a map to your beguiling spot, but I can show it to you."

Oh!

He led her across his chamber to a large mirror on a stand, one almost as tall as she, and stood before it with her. It felt both sinful and delicious to be in his chamber, with its dark hues, wood paneling, velvet and leather. The room even smelled of his skin in a most delightful way. He stood her before him and leaned over her shoulder, meeting her gaze in the mirror.

"You argue that you are not pretty, but Patience, you are mistaken in that." She parted her lips to protest, but his fingertip landed upon her lips to silence her. "Look, for example, at this mouth. I invite you to consider its assets." At his gesture, Patience eyed the reflection of her own face, Arthur looming behind her. "A more perfect and rosy bud has seldom been seen. It fairly invites a caress." He slid his fingertip across her bottom lip slowly, making her shiver to her toes. His other arm closed around her waist, drawing her against him, lifting her slightly. She could not look away from the slow motion of his finger and savored the weight of it against her mouth.

Arthur leaned closer and her heart leapt. "Such a mouth as this entreats a kiss," he murmured. "Indeed, so pretty a mouth is irresistible." He kissed the corner of her mouth slowly and she caught her breath. He brushed his mouth across hers, once quickly and then more slowly. She felt his lips ease against hers, tempting her response and once again, she kissed him back.

This time, she dared to trust in sensation. She closed her eyes and let herself enjoy the pleasure of their embrace. She also mimicked Arthur, parting her lips as he did and catching her breath at the playful flick of his tongue.

"You are wicked," she whispered when she pulled away and he laughed, untroubled. There was satisfaction and pride in his response and she could not be annoyed with him, not when he looked at her as he did in this moment.

As if she were a queen.

As if she had hung the moon and the stars.

As if…their match could be more than an arrangement. How often had he looked at another woman thus? Was it a practiced scheme to win his way? Patience did not know and could not care, not when she was so beguiled.

"And these eyes," he continued in that low voice. He framed her face in his hands and pressed a kiss to one eyelid and then the other. "Perfection indeed. Such a hue, both stormy and serene, distinct and unforgettable. Perceptive and perhaps as dangerous as a medusa's stare."

He kissed her lips again, slowly and sweetly, and Patience could not deny the tide of heat rising within her. She was being carried away by his seductive touch, and she resolved to enjoy whatever sweet torment he meant to inflict.

Once again, his fingers were in her hair, scattering pins and freeing her long tresses. "And this hair of yours," he rumbled. "You cannot guess the temptation it offers, so lustrous and golden, like a silken net over my hands." He set it loose, pushing his fingers through it, spreading it over her shoulders. It fell to her hips and Patience had never thought it particularly remarkable—Prudence's hair was a lighter hue of gold and prettier in Patience's view, but she could not dispute the admiration in Arthur's expression. He framed her face in his hands and bent to kiss her leisurely once again.

"You would seduce me," she whispered.

"I would appreciate you, and take my time in so doing. Your book advises a leisurely progress and I have no objections to that. Indeed, I do not wish to miss a single detail." He turned her before the mirror and she felt him unlacing the back of her dress. He raised his gaze to watch her reflection, no doubt noticing how her throat worked. Could he see the pulse of her heart? She was almost paralyzed by his steady progress, his smooth movements, the brush of his warm fingertips. He set his hands on her shoulders when the dress was unfastened, his hands beneath the cloth, and held her gaze as he bent and kissed the back of her neck sweetly. "You smell divine, Patience," he murmured, his lips against her neck. Again, she saw a sudden flare of heat in his eyes, a hint that he, too, was affected by these caresses.

When he eased the dress from her shoulders, Patience shook it free and they both watched it cascade to the floor. She stood before him in her sheer chemise, her stockings and garters visible through the fabric, along with a good deal more. She felt her color rise, even as Arthur cupped one of her breasts in his palm. He stood behind her, all strength and heat, and she heard him catch his breath as his thumb landed on her nipple. She watched in the mirror as he caressed the tightening peak slowly, sliding the edge of his thumb across it repeatedly, back and forth, creating a sensation that was both wondrous and excruciatingly insufficient.

He cleared his throat and she felt his other hand, the one on her waist, flex, as if he sought to muster his control and that sent satisfaction surging through her. He bent to kiss her neck at the curve of her shoulder, then inhaled, breathing deeply of her scent as if he could not get enough of it. When his gaze met hers in the glass, his eyes were deepest blue, his manner intent. She was not snared in sensation alone and she was glad.

"You cannot argue that this breast is less than perfect," he said softly, then reached to unfasten the tie of her chemise. Once again, the cloth tumbled from her shoulders but this time, the fire in Arthur's eyes could not be denied. He whispered her name like an invocation as his hand rose to cup her breast again. She felt the heat of his palm against her bare skin. She watched as he bent and kissed that same nipple with a gentle reverence that made her gasp aloud.

His tongue proved to be even more wicked than she had imagined and when he flicked it across the taut nipple, she gave a little cry.

He halted immediately. "Does it hurt?"

"No. It feels wondrous, but insufficient. I cannot explain it better."

"But you have explained it perfectly, Patience." Arthur's voice was low, intended only for her ears, and the rough sound of it was perfect. "It is the sensation of lovemaking, the temptation, the sweet torment and the anguish of anticipated release." He kissed her ear and her throat, his hands running over her and she turned in his embrace, reaching to kiss him back. "I promise you—" he said with a resolve that thrilled her "—that the reward will be worth the price."

Given the merit of the adventure thus far, Patience could only believe him.

* * *

Could a man die when confronted with such sweetness? Arthur halfway thought it might be so. Patience was both lovely and trusting, her confidence that he would ensure her satisfaction so complete that Arthur was humbled. He had to force himself to be slow, to not hasten to the prize of release, to pace himself that she might be pleased, too.

He could smell her arousal, a most encouraging sign, and he could not find fault with this slow exploration. Would he survive a similar exploration of his own body on her part? That might kill him if this did not.

But the volume advised leisure and a slow afternoon of lovemaking it would be. The rain was pounding against the windows again, but he did not care a whit for the rest of the world. There was only Patience with uncertainty in her glorious eyes, and her unexpected audacity in returning his embrace.

He shed his jacket and knelt before her, unlacing her boots and setting them aside. Of course, they were sturdy and sensible. She had been to visit her sister and a woman like Patience would not wear satin slippers in the street. "Perfect feet," he said to her and she giggled as he ran a fingertip along the underside of one. She leaned upon his shoulder, her hands feeling delicate upon him. "Of an ideal and delicate size, and finely shaped."

"Feet cannot be perfect," she chided.

"You err in that, my lady," he said, bending to untie her garter with his teeth. She caught her breath at the flick of his tongue on the inside of her knee and he knew then that she was ticklish. He wrapped his hands around her thigh, then smoothed them downward, easing the stocking down her very shapely leg. "The legs of a lady who walks often," he said in admiration.

"Perhaps too robust," she said and he glanced up at her.

"Perhaps not," he argued gently, watching her eyes widen slightly. The scent of her arousal tempted him to bend closer and kiss the top of one thigh, even as he held her gaze. She caught her breath and flushed a little more, but did not move away.

Indeed, her eyes glittered and her lips parted. He released a slow breath, felt her shiver, then let his tongue flick against the softness of her skin again.

"Oh!"

Arthur had to avert his gaze lest he pounce upon her and ruin the mood he had himself created. The other stocking was discarded a little more hastily than the first, despite his effort, then he stood again, letting his hands slide up her smooth soft skin to frame her face once again. Her eyes were gleaming and she was on the cusp of a smile.

"My turn?" she asked in a whisper filled with welcome hope and yearning.

"I demand a kiss first," he replied.

"As payment for your assistance?" she teased and he grinned down at her.

"At that price, you may summon my assistance at any time."

"Perhaps I will," she said, her manner impish, then Arthur could resist no longer. He caught her around the waist and pulled her close. He liked the feel of her in his arms, her breasts against his chest, her hair wrapped around his fingers, her mouth hungrily upon his own. He could not restrain himself entirely but kissed her more hungrily, emboldened by her own avid response. She gripped his hair in her hands and rose to her toes, kissing him back with a demand of her own and one that made his heart thunder. Once again, he whispered her name when they parted, and he saw her smile of triumph.

Her hands landed upon his chest, her head turning back and forth as she surveyed him. She plucked the gem from his cravat first and set it carefully aside, then untied the length of smooth cotton. Her brows drew together as she figured it out and Arthur provided no guidance to the mystery, being more than content to stand with his hands locked around her waist and look down at her. The fire on the hearth crackled, filling the room with its light and gilding the fair lady before him.

Not pretty. He would spend every night arguing that matter with her. How could a woman of such intellect not see the truth?

Her eyes lit with such triumph that he laughed when she discarded the cravat. "Should it be folded?"

He shook his head. "It has been worn and will have to be washed and pressed again."

"What a foolish garment," she said beneath her breath, but her eyes were glimmering in a thousand shades of silver and grey. They were like the sea in this moment, shifting and changing in the sunlight, disguising untold mysteries and secrets. Her lashes were long and unexpectedly dark, and when she dropped her gaze, it was as if a veil was dropped to hide her thoughts.

She had unfastened his waistcoat already and was pushing it from his shoulders. "You have to raise your hands," she said.

"But I would have to relinquish a most satisfying grip." He gave her waist a playful squeeze, liking how she smiled at him. He dared to tickle her a little and she gasped in outrage, twisting out of his grasp to retreat.

"Do not tickle me!"

He shed his waistcoat and held up his hands. "I cannot make such a promise. The temptation is too great."

She braced her hands on her hips, doubtless unaware of how alluring she looked. "The temptation to have me at a disadvantage?"

"The temptation of seeing those eyes flash." He caught her chin in one hand and bent toward her with purpose. "Perhaps you are a siren, intending to hold my heart in thrall."

"Perhaps you talk too much, sir," she replied, then kissed him of her own volition.

Arthur was startled to silence—and utterly delighted. He caught her around the waist and lifted her from the ground, deepening their kiss in a thoroughly satisfying way. When he set her on her feet again, they were both breathless and he was aroused beyond all.

Patience noticed. Her fingertips swept across the front of his breeches and Arthur inhaled at her touch. "The word penis," she said. "is derived from the Latin for ‘tail', though in English, the organ was referred to as a ‘yard' from at least the fourteenth century." She fixed him with a quizzical look. "Surely that is not an indication of its size?"

"Only in stories inappropriate for ladies," Arthur acknowledged, now confident that her perusal of the medical volume had provided her with some expectation of what they would do. "I am certain you will find it of manageable dimensions."

"Manageable," she repeated, then reached for the opening of his breeches with resolve.

Arthur bent in the same moment to remove one of his boots and they bumped heads and parted awkwardly. He held up a hand and retreated a step, shed his boots with haste, then hauled his shirt over his head and casting it aside. His breeches quickly followed suit, then his smalls, and he looked up to find Patience staring at him, her cheeks aflame.

"Manageable," she said again, and as if summoned by name, his arousal became more pronounced. "Oh!" she breathed, then came closer to investigate. Her eyes shone with curiosity and he was glad she was not fearful or repulsed.

"You are bold," he said with pleasure.

Her eyes danced. "You do not realize that I looked upon you this very morning." Her cheeks burned crimson at this confession.

"You did?"

She nodded. "While you slept."

Arthur thought of a detail. "I had discarded my nightshirt." If he thought her cheeks had been red before, that had been but a faint promise of how they flushed now.

"You did," she agreed, her voice tight.

She walked around him, looking him up and down, then reached out to touch him. Arthur closed his eyes at the light caress of her fingertips on his arm, feeling desire rise within him at her touch. Her hand slid from his arm to his shoulder. Her fingertips feathered down his back, up his spine and into his hair, down his back to dance across his buttocks. She traced a line across the top of his thigh as she circled him, then flattened her other hand against his side as she came to face him.

She was a temptress, and one who would destroy his control, undermining it a little more with each soft caress. Echoing his own exploration, she slid that hand over him, from hip to chest, letting her fingertips slip through the tangle of hair there. He had one glimpse of the mischief in her gaze, then she kissed one of his nipples, her tongue flicking it to attention just as he had teased her own. He felt her hair against his erection and closed his eyes, fighting his urge to carry her off and bury himself within her.

Leisurely .

He might die this afternoon of sweet pleasure, and he would be content all the same.

"Sweet torment?" she whispered and he looked to find her watching him through her lashes.

"Precisely," he agreed and she smiled.

"Good. I should hate to be enduring it alone."

Arthur began to laugh and lifted a hand to her cheek with the plan to reassure her, but she touched him, her fingers closing around him with a gentle surety that banished every thought from his head. Her gaze was fixed upon him and suddenly he could not think coherently. There was only Patience and her curiosity, Patience and her glorious eyes, Patience and her sweet mouth that demanded his kiss.

* * *

Something changed when she touched him. Patience saw the heat in Arthur's eyes and saw how he caught his breath. He moved like lightning then, sweeping her into his arms and carrying her to the bed. She might have protested, but he kissed her to silence, stretching out beside her as one hand roved over her body. She should have felt brazen in her nudity, but the admiration in his touch made her want to preen.

She arched her back when his hand cupped her breast this time and dared to squirm when he teased her nipple to a peak. She kissed him back with more enthusiasm than she had allowed herself to show so far, and when he growled approval, she reached up to tangle her fingers in his hair and pull him closer. He was partly atop her, braced on one elbow as he kissed her and slid his hand down from her breast. She felt his fingers slide between her thighs, then gasped aloud when he touched her and a surge of heat raced through her.

"Oh!" she said, breaking their kiss.

He looked alarmed. "Did I injure you?"

"No! No, far from it." She urged his hand back into place and her lips parted again when he touched her. She wanted to purr at the sensual languor that resulted, an irresistible combination of temptation and pleasure, again with the sense that there was more to be savored. She heard herself moan and Arthur settled against her again, his fingers moving more deeply against her until his thumb caressed that place with surety.

He chuckled. "It seems I introduce you to your most bewitching spot."

"I can only hope it is uncommon for it to be worn callous," she said before Arthur's thumb stole every word from her lips. She gripped his shoulder more tightly and felt her lips part with pleasure.

"You are a siren," he whispered, bending to capture her lips beneath his own. His kiss was rougher and hungrier, filled with a ferocity that made Patience want more. His hand moved against her, demanding her response with a surety she could not resist. "And you will hold me in thrall," he growled against her neck.

But Patience was the one in thrall to his caress, and she could not find fault with that situation. She felt his finger slide inside her, first one and then the second, his kiss demanding her all even as his thumb drove her to madness. She felt lost in a storm, one in which Arthur was her only anchor, and she clung to him, surrendering to the sensation he provoked, trusting in him completely. The tide rose within her, relentless and thrilling, seizing every crumb of her attention and demanding that she surrender even more. She realized that Arthur teased her, tormenting her and then retreating, taking her to the cusp of something she could not name, then relenting in his caress. Again and again, he did this until he claimed her with his most demanding kiss yet. His thumb moved against her with new demand and she felt as if an explosion erupted within her, spilling heat and light in every direction.

Patience cried out with her release, shaking with its vigor and digging her nails into Arthur's shoulder. She smiled at him even as she struggled to catch her breath, and he moved atop her with purpose. "It may pierce this first time," he warned her, his voice low in her ear, then he moved against her. His hands were on her waist now, and she knew what would replace the demand of his fingers. She gasped only once, then felt a glorious satisfaction of being filled.

She opened her eyes to find Arthur looking down at her, his gaze still hot and intent. "Oh," she said, stroking his shoulders as she smiled.

"Oh," he echoed, watching her closely as he moved. The thrust rubbed against her, sending shivers through her once again, and she knew she flushed with delight.

"Arthur!" she said softly, her voice uncommonly low, and daringly lifted her knees to give him better access. When she saw the effect of her move in his reaction, she wrapped her legs around his waist. She heard his surprise in the way he caught his breath and saw desire in the glitter of his eyes.

"Siren," he murmured, then moved again, both of them gasping at the sensation. He chuckled then gathered her close, making her feel both treasured and aroused as he moved with deliberation, conjuring the storm again. Patience felt a quickening that she already recognized, and noticed the tension in him.

"What do I do?" she whispered.

"You are doing it," he said, his teeth gritted.

Patience laughed at the very suggestion. "I am doing nothing at all! You are doing all, and that is unfair. Let me inflict pleasure on you this time."

He studied her, a welcome fire in his eyes, then moved quickly so that she was atop him. He pulled up her knees so she was seated there, then interlaced their fingers. "I am your captive, Patience," he rumbled, looking entirely content with his situation. "Do with me as you will."

Oh! There was an invitation she could not refuse. Patience began to echo his movement, rising and falling atop him and watching the need grow within him. It was thrilling to watch his desire grow, to see his pulse at his throat, to feel the tension of his body beneath her own. It was potent to feel that she had some command over this man, that she was not the sole one lost to the sensation conjured between them.

With each stroke, she became bolder. With each move, she knew better how to continue. She watched him and repeated what gained the greatest response, finding her own desire grow along with his. She rocked atop Arthur, seeing his nostrils flare and his eyes glitter, feeling his grip tightening upon her hands as he gave her free rein to torment him. She gasped aloud as her pulse thundered in her eyes, felt her skin flush as the tumult rose within her. He felt larger and harder with every stroke and she bent impulsively to touch her lips to his, sliding her tongue between his lips to kiss him as fervently as he had kissed her.

And with that caress, Arthur lost his composure. He locked one arm around her waist and seized her nape, rolling her to her back to bury himself inside her. His hardness rubbed against her in the most perfect way and she cried out in ecstasy, clutching him as she shook in her release. She felt him shudder and the spill of his heat within her, then he murmured her name and caught her close, rolling to his back and cradling her against his chest.

"Arthur," she whispered, her cheek over the thunder of his heart, and he chuckled.

"Temptress," he accused, letting a fistful of her hair spill over his fingers and pool on his chest. She lifted her gaze to find his warm and filled with stars, his smile making her heart flutter anew. He bent and captured her lips once more, kissing her so sweetly that she thought her heart might break. "And so it is done, Mrs. Beckham," he said, clearly content with that.

"It is not done, Mr. Beckham," she replied, feeling audacious. "You have not shown me my beguiling spot."

"I have located it."

"But you promised to show me."

He rose with purpose, carrying her from the bed and sat down on a stool before the mirror. As she watched with wonder, he parted her thighs and caressed her boldly. Once again, his touch made everything jump within her and she writhed on his lap. "Look at you," he growled, and she stole a glance at the disheveled and flushed woman reflected in the glass. "Ah, Patience, now we can begin to discover what you like best."

"What do you like best, sir?"

His smile twisted. "I begin to think it might be you," he whispered, then stole another slow and thorough kiss. She was beginning to think his thumb was what she liked best, but she had no chance to confess as much. This time, the tide rose quickly and consumed her, leaving her clutching Arthur as she gained her release.

He grinned down at her and stood, holding her in his arms. "A bath," he whispered and when she might have argued, his eyes shone with devilry. "Together, Patience," he added and she flushed from head to toe at the very suggestion.

It was a sight that evidently gave him great satisfaction, for he laughed aloud and did not relinquish his grip upon her as the bath was summoned. Patience found herself wrapped in his nightshirt and held fast in his grip, and truly, there was nowhere she would rather have been.

* * *

It was a shocking thing for Lady Beckham to be so completely aware of the pursuit of pleasure beneath her own roof. She heard Arthur's roar of satisfaction repeatedly that afternoon, and even the delighted cry of his new bride. The springs of first one bed and then the other could be heard to move in a rhythm that could not be mistaken for anything other than what it was. Feet scampered down the hall as fires were built up then as a bath was summoned, then later yet as hot water was delivered to two chambers once again. She was certain she heard a tray being delivered to sustain the lovers and ground her teeth that matters should have gone so far awry.

Not only had he wed the daughter of a tradesman, but that match was consummated so surely that everyone in Mayfair must know the truth of it.

Perhaps the girl would conceive soon—there was no reason she might not, given their enthusiasm for each other—and die in childbirth. Lady Beckham took some reassurance from that possible means of removing the unacceptable bride from Arthur's life.

She supposed the chit was better than the other one, but only just.

Why were men such ridiculous fools?

She had no reply to that question by the time she descended for dinner, uncertain whether she would be dining alone or not. To her dismay, her brother had arrived, having invited himself to dine.

"I gather your luck has not changed," she said by way of greeting. "It is a sad day that you must visit me only to ensure that you have a good meal."

"Yvonne, how can you doubt my devotion?" Reynaud demanded, striving for charm and missing his target completely. He bowed and she surveyed what had to be a new waistcoat. She shook her head and proceeded into the dining room as Arthur and his new wife appeared.

They both looked so delighted that she almost forgave him for his matrimonial error. He seated her with a consideration that filled Lady Beckham with envy. She was not to be revered or teased or honored in future. She was only to be a means to an end, a source of funds, a treasury for his indulgences.

The girl was wearing a necklace and earrings that Lady Beckham wagered had been purchased by her son.

"Are those sapphires, Arthur?" she asked, knowing she sounded waspish and not caring.

"They are indeed, Mother," he said smoothly, taking his own place. "Patience has no gems so I saw fit to repair that with a wedding gift. I thought the hue of the stones would favor her eyes."

His bride blushed prettily, her eyes sparkling as she held his gaze.

Arthur stared at her like a man besotted.

Had Lady Beckham chosen the gift, one that she surely paid for, she would have been less generous. "Amethysts might have suited as well," she found herself saying and Reynaud chortled.

"Ever frugal, my dear sister," he said. His words might have been teasing, but there was an edge to his tone that hinted otherwise. "But Arthur has been confoundedly lucky of late at the tables. Doubtless, he could have stretched to diamonds and tiaras to adorn for his wife, without concern for the expense at all."

Arthur granted his uncle a cool glance. "It is true, Uncle, that I paid for the gems from my recent gains. I did not realize that would cause offense."

It did not cause offense, but it made Lady Beckham wonder. "I did not realize you had been so fortunate of late," she said, as the soup was served. A good hot clear leek soup for a damp night. There was nothing better. She inhaled in approval.

"I thought it vulgar to discuss such a detail," Arthur said lightly.

"You have not in the past," Reynaud noted.

"I have not been so lucky in the past." He saluted his bride with his glass. "It is clear that good fortune comes to me in all matters."

The lady smiled and tasted her soup, murmuring admiration of it that was wholly deserved.

"You might lend me some of those funds," Reynaud said.

"I think not, Uncle." There was steel in Arthur's tone.

"You have no need of it," Reynaud protested, his tone becoming peevish. "You have every comfort here while I am utterly without funds."

"Perhaps you should have left the tables sooner," Arthur said mildly.

"Perhaps you could show some kindness to your relations," Reynaud snapped.

Arthur looked up. His gaze flicked to Lady Beckham, his resolve as clear as the direction of his thoughts. Something had changed. She had an intimation of a new defiance, though he had never given money to Reynaud that she knew of.

What was he going to do?

Why did he need that money? That he had not spoken of it, not so much as mentioned it, was curious to her. She would check with her bankers in the morning about his funds, for Lady Beckham smelled a plot.

"I have declined, Uncle," he said quietly.

"And I am in dire straits," Reynaud said, casting down his napkin. "That wretched tradesman, Grosvenor, has bought up all of my outstanding debts and would compel me to wed his daughter!"

"This is not my situation to repair," Arthur said calmly.

"It is!" Reynaud shouted, as petulant as only he could be. "You should have married her. You were the one she wanted. Now the chit is determined to have me, the better to cheat you of any chance of inheriting the title."

"Truly?" Arthur said calmly. "She does not surrender a battle readily, does she?"

He did not seem to care about the title, but that, Lady Beckham knew, was his lineage speaking. She gritted her teeth.

Reynaud, of course, was in the midst of a tantrum and disinclined to notice anything but himself. "Worse, her father is determined to grant her desire. Instead of acting for the best of the family, Arthur, you betrayed me, abandoned your duty, and married her ." He pointed to the new bride and all turned to consider her.

The new Mrs. Beckham put down her soup spoon. She looked pale but resolute. She did not cry, nor did she rise to Raynaud's words and reply in kind. "Lady Beckham, I would ask to excuse myself. My presence appears to be causing offense at your table."

Despite herself, Lady Beckham admired the girl for speaking thus. She quickly assessed the situation and decided that she would prefer Arthur's loyalty to that of her younger brother. Reynaud would always come crawling to her for one favor or another, but Arthur showed signs of potential rebellion.

The situation might yet be saved, and turned to her satisfaction.

Lady Beckham smiled at the younger woman. "Nonsense. My brother is the one whose manners are bad and whose comments are unwelcome. I apologize for his vulgarity." She lifted her gaze to the earl, who glared at her from the other end of the table. "And I suggest, Reynaud, that you are no longer welcome on this night. Perhaps you can find someone else to see your belly and your purse filled." She lifted a finger. "I know. Perhaps you should call upon Mr. Grosvenor and spend some time with your intended."

Reynaud swore with impressive vigor, then spun from the table, marching out of the dining room then out of the house.

"I thank you, Mother," Arthur said quietly and she smiled at him.

"Perhaps you might find me a little trinket when next you visit the jeweller's shop," she said, intending to make a jest though it did not sound like one.

Her gaze locked with that of Arthur, who did not appear to be amused, then he smiled thinly and nodded once, returning his attention to his dinner.

Something was in the wind and Lady Beckham intended to discover what it was, with all haste.