Free Having Patience by Debra Glass Page B

done? It didn’t make sense. She hadn’t mistaken the look of lust and…oh God—love—in his eyes.
    Her knees gave and she grasped futilely at the post of her bed as she dropped to the floor. Tears welled in her eyes. James loved her. And she’d all but laughed in his face. Patience was mortified. How could she ever redeem herself?
    * * * * *
     
    “Dammit!” James slammed the door to his own rooms and marched straight to his liquor cabinet.
    He slapped a crystal tumbler on the counter and started to pour a shot of Irish whiskey. “Fuck it,” he muttered, dispensing with the glass and instead, turning up the bottle.
    Although the whiskey had a reputation for being smooth, the way James slugged it down set his throat on fire. His eyes watered and blurred. Heat unfurled through his limbs but the liquid comfort did little to assuage his anger and disappointment.
    Just moments ago, his cock had been buried practically to the hilt in Patience’s mouth. James had never felt more alive and thrilled that he was married to a beautiful, intelligent woman who was willing enough to experiment sexually. But all that had been dashed by her cold response to his kiss.
    Briefly, he closed his eyes as he dispelled a breath.
    He’d told her he loved her. Cringing, he regretted the admission. His heart twisted. At the moment, he had been so overwhelmed with emotion and had felt so connected to her, he’d uttered the first words that had sprung to his lips.
    The problem was that he did love her. He loved her with all his heart and he wanted only for her to return his affection.
    His stomach churned and he thought for a moment he might vomit. When the queasiness subsided, he turned up the bottle again. After a third slug, his heart rate slowed and some of the tension eased out of his body.
    There had to be more to this. Other than her reticence to be intimate with him, she had not demonstrated anything but kindness and respect for him. He began to think his initial observation of her actions was correct.
    She was afraid to love him and she was definitely afraid of his loving her. But why? He’d never been anything but kind to her. He’d never said a cross a word to her. He was certainly not the type to ever raise a hand to a woman—unless of course, she asked for it.
    Despite everything else, James smiled at the thought of spanking his wife’s scrumptious bottom.
    No. Patience would never have asked him to do such things to her if she hadn’t trusted him on some level.
    He stared at the dark amber liquid in the crystal decanter. Her terror stemmed from something else and the way she behaved indicated that her fear was dark and deep seated.
    He sank into a chair, decanter in hand. He’d first met Patience during her debutante coming out when she’d been eighteen. At once, he’d been astounded by her beauty but her quick wit and sharp mind had won his heart. As society dictated, they’d had a respectable engagement. When they married, it had been under the high honor of a special license from the Archbishop of Canterbury which was difficult and expensive to obtain. During none of that time, had Patience ever given him any cause to doubt her. So what about love and sexual intimacy frightened her into frigidity?
    “I only know what I was told by Miss Killian.”
    James wondered exactly what the all-too-venerable Miss Killian had taught her charge. Since Patience’s mother had died, it was doubtless that Patience had been forced to rely on Miss Killian for all aspects of her education. James knew full well that Miss Killian would have had no marital experience to impart.
    He thought back over his own governess. Miss Marjorie Makepeace had been a shy, homely spinster who’d never entertained the affections of a man in her life. No doubt Miss Killian had been of the same ilk.
    He took a sip of his whiskey, this time savoring its woody redolence before swallowing. With the loss of her mother, Patience had missed a proper education.