Chapter 12

CHAPTER 12

"O f course, we must hear you play," Lady Beckham said when the horror of dinner was finally over.

Patience could have groaned aloud, but instead she smiled. "I fear, Lady Beckham, that my playing will not be of the excellence to which you are accustomed."

"You do play?" that lady said, gesturing to the pianoforte.

"Of course, but my sister Prudence is infinitely more talented and dearly loves to play. It is a matter of routine in my father's house that she plays when we are to be entertained." Patience took a seat in the drawing room as far from the instrument as possible. She also chose a chair that was not positioned to dominate the room, as she feared that might be taken as a challenge.

Lady Beckham paused beside a fine card table. "We have not the numbers for whist or quadrille, though I suppose Miss Granger could be prevailed upon."

Miss Granger, Patience knew, was the governess who tutored Amelia. She scarce had time to marvel at the magnitude of this concession before Lady Beckham continued.

"Her father was a baronet by birth, after all, though the lands were lost when he was only a child." She fixed Patience with a stern eye. "Do you play casino?" Patience shook her head. "Piquet?" Again, Patience was compelled to shake her head. Lady Beckham sighed magnificently. "Is there any game of chance you play?"

"As a child, I played cribbage with my grandmother. Though it has been years, I might recall the game with some instruction."

Lady Beckham turned away. "I am not so aged as that," she muttered.

Arthur winked at Patience, apparently more accustomed to his mother's poor humors. "I would wager that Patience and her family are inclined to read in the evening."

Lady Beckham exhaled and took her seat, the one with the most commanding view of the room. She looked between the two of them, her dissatisfaction clear. Tea was poured for the ladies, a port for Arthur, then the butler vanished quietly. "I do not suppose you have any tidings to share?" she asked Arthur.

"I have been in my chamber all day, Mother, and it is rather early for Patience and I to have any tidings from that quarter to share. I request that you grant us a few months."

Patience felt her eyes widen that he would speak so boldly but Lady Beckham almost smiled.

"A boy," she said to Patience.

"I do not believe children are ordered like flowers for the foyer," Arthur drawled, then his tone hardened. "If and when we are so fortunate as to welcome a child, its gender will have no influence upon our delight." He sipped his port, his gaze like steel. "Mother."

Something passed between the pair of them at that last word, though Patience could not explain it. If she had been compelled to try, she might have guessed that Arthur's mother knew at least one of his secrets. She supposed that made sense, for no one else had known him longer, but she could not help but feel that she missed a pertinent detail.

Lady Beckham turned upon Patience again. "And what will you do, now that you are married, while you await that happy day?"

"I had thought to continue as I have been, if possible. I like assisting clients in my father's shop."

Lady Beckham put down her tea so hard that Patience feared for the china. "You intend to work in a shop? Like a clerk?"

"My sister, Baroness Trevelaine, did as much after she was married."

"The fact that others in your family have no sense of decency does not mean that you should follow their example."

Patience might have argued in Catherine's defense, but Lady Beckham continued forcefully.

"You are my son's wife now, and thus nearly my daughter. I am the daughter of the Earl of Fairhaven and I forbid you to return to such menial labor."

Patience did not think time spent in her father's shop was menial or labor. She straightened to defend herself but Arthur spoke first.

"What would you have Patience do?" he demanded. "Visit the sick? Shop for stockings and pastries? Leave calling cards hither and yon?" He yawned mightily, but Patience could see by the gleam of his eyes that he was deadly serious. "I cannot imagine a life more tedious for a clever lady like my wife. Discussing books all day sounds infinitely more fascinating and a better foil for her nature."

Once again, Lady Beckham glared at him, and once again, he held her gaze as if in challenge.

Lady Beckham took a sip of her tea. "I suppose it would be too much to ask that your wife take an interest in sharing my charitable work."

"That work is your interest," Arthur said mildly. "I would not for a moment make any suggestion that might deprive you of its many satisfactions."

"Arthur!"

"Tomorrow, Mother, I propose that I will escort Patience to her father's place of business to consult with him about her future plans." He finished his port and set the glass aside. "We will return in time to dine with you, if that is satisfactory."

"I suppose it must be," Lady Beckham acknowledged.

"Excellent," Arthur said and rose to his feet. He offered Patience his hand. "If you have finished your tea, I should very much like to retire and read more of my book."

Patience bit back a smile, guessing what book that might be. She rose and put her hand in his, glad that he had come to her rescue. He bowed to his mother and she curtsied, then they left the drawing room together. Arthur cast her a warning glance and she remained silent as they climbed the stairs together.

How she yearned for her own household!

Within moments, Gellis had helped her to undress and left her alone in her chamber. She opened the door to Arthur's chamber to find him leaning there once more, a smile lifting the corner of his mouth. "Alone at last," he murmured, linking their hands and drawing her to the chairs before the fire. "Get along, Tar," he said, nudging the black cat out of one seat.

"Catrame," Patience corrected.

He looked up at her, then his eyes lit with laughter as he understood. "You did rename them."

" Catrame e Piume. Amelia and I decided that Italian cats should have Italian names."

He murmured the names beneath his breath and chuckled, then sat down and drew her down to nestle on the seat beside him. It was a cozy fit, but Patience liked the feel of him against her. "And now we scheme," he whispered in her ear, his arms closing around her.

"Is everything a calculation?"

"No, but more things are than many people believe. When my mother is vexed, it is wiser to proceed with care." He stared into the fire, clearly considering his options. Catrame took advantage of this moment to leap back into Arthur's lap and he smiled as he dropped a hand onto the cat, ruffling its fur. "I am thinking that you might seek your father's advice about our proposed alliance," he said finally and Patience understood. "He may have suggestions."

"He may, indeed. My father loves to solve matters, and I would be glad to consult him first."

Arthur nodded, then studied her. His gaze was dark and his expression made her remember all they had done earlier that afternoon. "Are you sore?" His voice was low and velvety, his concern enough to melt her reservations away.

"A little," she confessed.

"Then we will read tonight."

"I can imagine nothing better," she admitted and he smiled.

"I read one of your favorite books, now it is time for one of mine."

"Is it here?"

"Of course. Who else would I entrust with my treasures?"

She rose to retrieve the book. "Which one?"

" The Canterbury Tales . I had a tutor who believed all wisdom upon the human condition could be found within its pages."

Patience fetched the book, fanning through it. It was a fine edition with several illustrations. "I have never read it all."

"I think the Wife of Bath's tale would be particularly apt this evening," Arthur said. He stretched his legs out toward the fire and opened the volume, his hand still in Catrame's fur. Patience took the other chair and Piume jumped into her lap, circling before she laid down as well. The fire crackled, the cats purred and Arthur read aloud.

Patience was certain there could not have been a more perfect evening. She must have dozed off because she awakened as she was lifted into Arthur's arms. "I fell asleep. I am sorry."

"You did not hear the moral of the tale, then."

His tone was teasing and she watched him. "Which is?"

"That what a woman desires most is her own way, of course." He grinned down at her. "And so the choice is yours, Patience. Would you sleep alone, with me in your bed or with me in mine? I feel compelled to note that my bed is larger, though your chamber is warmer."

"Which would you prefer?"

He looked down at her, smiling slightly, then bent and claimed her lips in a potent kiss. He took his time, savoring the embrace, conjuring a heat within her that made her toes curl. When he lifted his head and looked down at her, his eyes glimmered with an intent that made her heart skip. "I would be with you, here or there, but I heed the wife of Bath's counsel."

"Here, then," Patience whispered. "Tomorrow, we can sleep there."

"For a lady can only make a firm choice once she has gathered all the details."

Patience laughed, though she was concerned that she might not sleep at all. She should not have feared as much. Arthur lay behind her, his arm around her waist and his breath in her hair, his heat at her back. The fire burned down low and first one cat, then the other, jumped onto the bed. She nestled against him and he gave a little growl that made her smile, then she slept again, content in his embrace.

* * *

There were whispers at Carruthers & Carruthers when Arthur escorted Patience into her father's establishment. To his satisfaction, her father appeared immediately and invited them back into his office. Patience was radiant, a fact that her father surely noticed, and Arthur was glad of that man's nod of approval.

She told her father of the plan to invest in Fanshawe & Parke, which made that man's brows rise. He looked at Arthur who nodded once. "I am surprised," Mr. Carruthers admitted, fixing Arthur with a look. "I did not expect you to enter trade, sir."

"I believe Patience has an excellent idea and I would see her ambition supported."

Her father nodded, satisfied with this partial truth. "You must have a plan of what titles you would publish."

Patience visibly took a breath. "There is a volume of intimate advice for ladies that Catherine has been editing…"

Her father shook his head. "The one I declined to publish? Such a book…"

"Is needed and necessary," Patience said with resolve. "This volume helped Catherine and her husband and it has also helped me. I must ensure that it is available to a wider audience."

Mr. Carruthers was wary but Arthur had the sense that two daughters in agreement swayed his view slightly. "And you agree?" he asked Arthur.

Arthur nodded. "I do."

"Your mother will be scandalized, to be sure."

Arthur shrugged and Patience's father studied him for a long moment.

"But then, if it succeeded, such details would not be of concern," he mused and Arthur nodded again.

Patience looked between them, not understanding as much as her father did, but that man continued before she could ask.

"One book does not a publisher make, Patience, no matter how successful that volume might be. I would suggest to you that you make it part of a larger offering. You know that the lending library is highly popular with ladies and many of them have income to spare."

"Special editions?" Patience asked.

"A special library," Arthur guessed. "All of a size, and designed to look well together on a shelf."

Mr. Carruthers wagged a finger. "And such a plan will take advantage of Fanshawe's gift. The man has a skill for ensuring the economy of a series of books the better to ensure their pricing. He can wrestle every scrap out of a sheet of paper, a bindery board or a piece of leather. He created a series of Latin and Greek works for the gentleman's library."

"They were oxblood leather with gold," Patience recalled. "All the same."

"Most attractive on a shelf," Arthur said. "Even if they were never opened and read."

Mr. Carruthers nodded. "There is good revenue in such a series. People can subscribe for two books a month perhaps, or choose them individually. Fanshawe does not have the space in his facility for a lending library, but I would buy at least one of each volume for our lending library."

"And I could write to the other lending libraries to suggest the same to them!" Patience said.

"And you could choose titles that you know to be popular with the ladies who borrow books here. I have no objection to you checking our records to make your choices."

Arthur smiled at Patience's delight. "Papa! That is so clever."

"Ah, the idea was yours, Patience. I merely packaged it up that Fanshawe might find it more appealing. The prospect of steady revenue with these books will outweigh any objection he might have to the other." Mr. Carruthers shrugged. "And if that one is destined to be as successful as you suspect it will be, then Fanshawe will be delighted."

"You might need several copies for your lending library," Arthur said and Carruthers laughed aloud.

"Such a book might tend to vanish, Mr. Beckham. I would suggest you sell the copies that you print. Now you have me intrigued, Patience. Let us consult the files. There will undoubtedly be obvious choices, but perhaps a few unexpected ones, as well."

"Yes," she agreed with delight, spinning to Arthur to kiss his cheek before she turned to the files with anticipation.

"And I would invite you both to dinner this week, at your convenience," Carruthers said. "I regret that I have been remiss in arranging such an event, though truly, I have relied heavily upon Patience to manage the house since her sister's marriage. All is less organized in her absence, to be sure."

She turned to Arthur, her eyes alight. "We should be delighted, Papa."

"Please choose the date," Arthur said. "We are at your disposal, sir."

He watched the pair as he considered what he had just learned. Patience had managed her father's household. Arthur felt foolish for not guessing as much sooner. She was sensible and organized, and probably had managed the house effortlessly. Patience would find it doubly challenging to be beneath Lady Beckham's thumb after being the one to make choices.

Yet he could not finance the publishing venture and the establishment of a household at the same time. Those of his acquaintance who found themselves in debt entered that state due to an excess of ambition and a failure to accommodate unexpected expense. He would ensure the stability of the publishing endeavor first. If the books succeeded as they hoped, they might establish their household in a year or so.

He would also continue to gamble, in hope of giving Patience her wish sooner.

* * *

Dame Fortune abandoned Arthur, just when he believed he had greatest need of her favor.

He returned to the gaming tables on Monday night, even though it was not likely to be an evening with high stakes. Enduring another meal with Lady Beckham, who made no effort to hide her disdain for Patience, had only strengthened his resolve to arrange an escape.

The difficulty, as ever, would be funds.

If he left the house in Berkley Square, he could not rely upon any financial support from Lady Beckham. There might be some, but equally, there might not be. At the same time, he was aware that those of his acquaintance who ended up in debt found that path by pursuing too many options at the same time. Given his preference, he would keep the focus on the publishing venture to ensure its success.

But that might mean several years in Lady Beckham's domain. Could Patience endure it? Would the older lady's view soften? Arthur preferred to have choices, so he returned to the tables with hope in his heart.

His desire was not to be fulfilled. The cards had turned against him with such vigor that his prospects on this night were abundantly clear. He lost ten pounds only before he left, waving off the heckles of his companions that he was distracted by his new obligations of matrimony, and returned home.

His spirits lifted as the hackney approached the house. There was a light in the window of Patience's chamber, and Arthur knew who he most wished to see.

* * *

Patience was becoming convinced that she would lose her wits in this house, for lack of anything of merit to do. She had never been idle and it was not a condition she welcomed.

Though once she would have been enthusiastic at the opportunity to read to her heart's delight, several days of such activity fed her impatience to be useful. She knew that she would visit Mr. Fanshawe with Arthur on Wednesday morning, but that appointment seemed an eternity away.

Arthur had departed for his club after dinner and Lady Beckham had retired, leaving Patience to wander about her room, talk to the cats, and read.

It was not long before she heard a cab halt before the house. She wondered who might visit and peeked out her window, only to see Arthur himself approaching the steps. He glanced up and waved to her with his usual flair, an indication that nothing was amiss.

Still. Why was he home so early? It was scarcely ten o'clock.

She heard his steps on the stairs, his cheerful greeting of Stevens, and the closing of his own chamber door. When he rapped upon the adjoining door, she smiled and could not open it with sufficient speed. He had only shed his hat and gloves, his haste to reach her apparent. He murmured her name, stepped into her room and caught her in his arms, bending to kiss her so thoroughly that she was left breathless.

"I feared you might be asleep," he confessed finally.

"I am not tired." She sighed and chose to tell him more. "I do so little each day, after all."

He nodded and she noted that he did not progress toward the bookcase, to add to the sum hidden in the book-that-was-not-a-book.

"Did you not triumph tonight?"

He laughed a little. "Not at all. I chose to leave rather than linger."

"You said before that gambling was all mathematics."

"And so it is. Would you like to see?"

When Patience nodded, he caught her hand in his and led her back into his own room. Taylor was there and took his jacket, the fire having already been stirred to life. Arthur dismissed his valet and guided Patience to a small table of the sort used for games. There were drawers in two sides of it and a chequered board inlaid in its top, made of polished squares of ebony and ivory. He removed a deck of playing cards from one drawer and shuffled them deftly even as he took the seat opposite her.

"In every game of chance, there is an objective, and that objective defines what the astute player must watch. Do you know vingt-et-un ?"

"Each player must collect cards that total twenty-one," Patience said.

"Precisely." Arthur turned over the cards and spread them across the table. "You see that if you mean to have twenty-one, you will need a ten or a court card, along with an ace."

"Yes," Patience agreed, trying to find the mathematics. "So there are only twenty cards of real import?"

"Four," he corrected, pulling out the four aces. "You cannot win without one of these."

"But perhaps no one will have them."

"Perhaps not." He scooped up the cards and shuffled them again. "If we have six players and the dealer, that is seven by two or fourteen cards. What are the chances that one of those fourteen is an ace?"

"There are fifty-two in the deck, are there not?" At his nod, Patience thought about it, watching as he deftly dealt the cards, face down, two to each place as if there were seven players all together. "One in four?"

"Precisely. So, we assume there is at least one ace already in play, thus one person at the table has a chance of a winning hand. Now we wager."

"Before looking at the cards?"

Arthur nodded. "A show of bravado, for it is based on no information at all." He lifted a finger. "But it will reveal the nature of each player. Are they bold or meek? Do they assume their good fortune or do they wait to see?"

Patience smiled. "It is not just the cards you read."

He grinned. "Not at all. The better you know your fellow players, the more readily their reactions can be read. I know one gentleman whose left eyelid ticks when he has an ace. I know another who only raises the stakes when he has at least twenty."

Patience nodded understanding. How interesting that there were so many ways to anticipate the outcome, beyond the calculations he mentioned. She had a new appreciation for Arthur's cleverness, for his decisions would have to be made instantly and in the presence of many distractions. "How do you do it so quickly?" she asked. "It must be almost instinctive."

"It becomes that way. And drink must be avoided at all costs. It dulls the judgement and fuels one's optimism."

She nodded understanding, watching his hands.

"Once those wagers are made, we look at our cards." He turned over the cards from the first pile to his left.

"The player would not show them to all, would he?" Patience asked.

"No, but we are learning."

There was an ace and a deuce.

"One ace," Patience noted.

"Though no one else knows, as yet. This player is asked whether he will stand or not. Of course, he will not. He asks for another card." Arthur put the card on top. It was a three.

"Sixteen," she said.

"Some would fold, but this player demands another." Arthur snapped down the next card from the deck. It was an eight.

Patience winced. "Too much."

"And he is out." Arthur cast the cards into the middle of the table, face up. "He must pay his stake because he has lost. Now all the players know that one ace is accounted for."

The next ‘player' had a jack and a nine. Patience suggested he might hold and Arthur nodded.

She was next and discovered she had a queen and an ace, much to her delight. She said she would hold and Arthur nodded.

The next ‘player' had an ace and a seven.

"I would hold," Patience said but Arthur shook his head.

"Perhaps if this player was first. But by now, two players have held already. One of them must have twenty, if not twenty-one. He might as well ask for a card." Arthur tossed the card across the table face-up. It was a two.

"He will hold," Patience said.

"He will hold," Arthur agreed.

The next two players took cards until their totals were too high. Among the discarded cards were a number of court cards.

"What do you see?" Arthur invited.

"Only one ace known to all," Patience said. "Three players holding, which means at least one must have twenty, as you said. And I know the location of a second ace."

He indicated the cards before himself. "And here is the moment I see whether the cards favor me tonight. If so, this will be twenty-one." He turned over the cards received by the dealer. He winced at the two fives. "At least Dame Fortune is consistent," he murmured.

"Of course, you will take a card," Patience said.

"It can only bring me closer. Though in practice, I would not know the contents of your hand or that of the other player who held, there are still many court cards in play. I could easily reach twenty and that might be sufficient."

"What about the aces?"

"I would consider that either you or the other player who was holding might have one. That you both kept your original cards might indicate that one of you already has twenty-one."

"Two aces assumed to be gone and twenty-one cards played."

"That's not half the deck."

He tapped the top of the deck with a fingertip. "What do you think it is?"

"A court card or a ten," Patience said.

Arthur nodded. "If the cards were coming to me. I would hope for an ace." He turned over the card. It was an eight.

"Eighteen," Patience said. "You would take another card."

"I would, though it seems Dame Fortune taunts me. The proof will lie in this card."

"You would stake so much upon it."

"There are times when the cards flow, each one appearing for you as if summoned. And there are times when the cards declined to show favor. On those occasions, only fools continue to play, hoping for a change. If the die is cast, it is best to walk away." He tapped the top card. "Will it be a two, a three or a four?"

"If you are lucky."

"And on this night, I have not been. It will be a larger card." Arthur turned it over a five.

Too much.

He picked up his cards and cast them face up into the middle of the table. "And now we have another round of wagers, from those who remain in the game. Then everyone turns over their cards. Anyone who has less than the dealer will pay his stake. Those who have the same score as the dealer do not pay." He tapped her cards. "But you have twenty-one, and you have it naturally—which means it was dealt to you—and the dealer has folded, so you have won the game."

Patience considered the cards upon the table. "I can see why people are seduced. It seems so simple."

"But one must heed the cards and the message they send." Arthur tapped the eight. "If I were lucky this night, this would be an ace."

Patience understood. "That is why you are home so early."

He nodded agreement, gathering up the cards and putting them away.

She could see that he was discontent and wished she could reassure him. She did not like that he gambled, even though he was good at it and seemed to be prudent. "Will you always play?" she asked, fearing the answer.

He turned to study her, his expression inscrutable. "I must contribute something to our shared future," he said. His tone was light, but Patience knew his mood was not. "If I assisted you in the choice of new dresses each and every day, you would soon be overwhelmed by garments."

"You must be able to do other things," she chided.

His brows rose. "Not any that you would deem to be of merit."

Was she so demanding as this? She was shocked to think that he believed she might hold him in such low regard and would have reassured him, had his expression not turned wicked.

"Although," he mused. "I believe there is one activity in which you believe me to have promise." His eyes sparkled as he surveyed her and she welcomed the sight of his smile. "Will you choose a page from your book, Patience?"

* * *

The book manuscript mocked Arthur as vehemently as the cards. Patience chose blindly from the sheaf of papers and they read the page together.

Upon the merit of disguise…

Arthur cast the page back with an excuse and chose another.

Upon the merit of surrendering secrets…

Patience eyed him, the direction of her thoughts most clear, but Arthur pulled another page from the manuscript before she could protest.

Upon the merit of leisure…

It has become routine in our busy world to admire the efficiency of haste in gaining our objectives. This, I suspect, comes from a suspicion of surfeit, that is the conviction that a limited quantity of all goodness exists and that each of us, to ensure we have our share, must lay claim to prizes with speed and enthusiasm. We fear the prospect of missing out on some lauded advantage or pleasure.

I not only adhere to the opposing view—that there is more than sufficient of all goodness to accommodate the desires of all people—but insist that each increment of the pursuit of a goal should be savored. Not only should the chase itself be enjoyed for its own sake, but victories should be appreciated. The capitulation of two parties to physical pleasures, shared affection, and even mutual ardor is a journey of many steps and stages. Each one should be celebrated as it is reached—and the best way to celebrate intimacy is with the gift of time.

What purpose is achieved in a hasty union? Perhaps physical satisfaction is gained, but perhaps not. In my experience, the delight in the encounter increases based upon the time spent in pursuit of the ultimate goal. There is little more seductive or satisfying than an appointment of some hours duration, preferably behind a locked door and without interruption, in which two partners explore each other and each learn the preferences of the other.

This is the basis of a bond to defy all others, for what begins in offering sensation and physical pleasure can readily expand to include confidences and confessions. Once that foundation is made and two partners continue to strive to provide for the happiness of the other, affection is sure to dawn, and from affection, all great loves begin. Indulge in time with your lover. Linger over the pleasure you can offer each other and learn what your partner loves best. Do not hasten to finish an interval, for mutual satisfaction is not a race, and the surrender of the heart is well worth the expenditure of time.

They read the passage together, then Patience looked up at Arthur, her eyes dark. He watched her swallow and wanted nothing more than the sweet capitulation offered by this advice.

"It is yet early," he noted and she nodded immediately.

"I have no other engagements on this evening," she said quickly and Arthur smiled.

He put down the page and framed her face in his hands, savoring her trust. He bent and kissed her cheek softly, feeling how she trembled a little. Her hand rose to cover his and he felt her catch her breath. Her eyes closed as he slid one hand into her hair, drawing her closer, and kissed her ear. "You like this," he murmured, then grazed her skin with his teeth.

"Oh yes," she confessed, her voice shaking.

"Tell me what you like best," he invited.

"Your kiss, your teeth, your breath."

He continued to kiss her, loosening her braid so he could entangle his fingers in her hair. He felt her clutch his shoulder and smiled that she rose to her toes, pressing herself against his chest so that he could feel her pert nipples.

"Your voice when you murmur to me." She caught her breath, almost laughing. "Your very wicked thumb."

Arthur smiled, lifting his other hand to her breast. Through her chemise, he teased her nipple, liking how she squirmed. "This one?"

"That one," she agreed, then drew back to look at him. Their noses almost touched, their breath mingled, and the wonder in her expression humbled him. "I like that you know what to do," she said. "And I like that you do it with me."

Arthur smiled. "How could I resist?"

He might have kissed her but she placed her fingertips over his mouth. "What do you like?" she asked, her gaze searching his.

"I like how clever you are," he admitted. "I like how you tell me details of some pertinence when you are uncertain –" she laughed a little at this and blushed "– but mostly I like that your uncertainty does not stop you."

"It would if I did not trust you."

"Then I like that you trust me. I am honored by that." He watched his thumb slide across her nipple and felt her hair around his other hand. "I like that I can make you blush or prompt your smile. I like that you respond to me, that you heed me, and that there is this wondrous camaraderie between us."

"It is wondrous," she agreed, flushing so that he wanted to devour her.

"I like that you chastise me," he said, for it was true. "And I like that you surprise me."

"There is much that you like then," she said, her tone teasing.

"More than I ever imagined possible, and this in a matter of days." He smiled down at her. "In no time, Patience, you will hold me utterly in thrall." Even as he said the words, Arthur recognized that they were already true. He loved her, heart and soul. And if the way to capture her heart was with leisurely lovemaking, then he would spend every moment seducing his bride.

But on this night, he wagered he would surprise her.