The Resurrection of Lady Ramsleigh

by Bowlin, Chasity

  “Did you ever love your husband, Viola? Did you ever long for him?” he whispered against her ear.

  “Never.”

  “And do you long for me?” It was a question that her body had already answered for her. He could see the pounding pulse at the base of her throat, feel the shiver that arced through her.

  “God help me, I do,” she admitted softly.

  That breathless confession was all the prompting he needed. Slowly, deliberately, Nicholas pressed his lips to her neck just below her ear. Her skin was scented with the rose oil that had been added to her bath. Kissing her there, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath his lips as she let out a startled gasp, he knew that it would not be enough. He imagined that where Viola Grantham was concerned, the idea of “enough” was a myth. She was the type of woman who invaded a man’s very soul. In all likelihood, he would crave her till the day he died.

  When she sagged against him, her head dropping back to rest against his shoulder, it bared her neck more fully to him and provided him a delectable view of her breasts in her borrowed evening gown. But they were a temptation he would resist for now, because a wise man knew his limits. He contented himself with kissing her neck, teasing the delicate skin there with his lips and tongue until she was pliant against him. Only then did he scrape that same sensitive spot with his teeth. It was a gentle nip, one that would not leave a mark. But he wanted to mark her. It was a primal urge in him, to show his possession of her.

  A sound escaped her, soft and breathy, but filled with the same longing that he felt for her. “You said a kiss,” she admonished.

  “And have I not kissed you?” He asked.

  “Not as I anticipated,” she replied.

  “Is that what you want, Viola? To feel my lips on yours?”

  “Yes,” she admitted. “It’s foolish and unwise beyond measure, but yes.”

  Nicholas shifted slightly, turning her to face him. “I wouldn’t call it foolish… not when it’s as necessary as the breath we draw.”

  Rather than wait for her to reply or to come to her senses, Nicholas lowered his lips to hers. The fullness of her lips was soft and pliant beneath his and when her lips parted softly, welcoming him to deepen that kiss, he did so without hesitation. She tasted of sherry and the sugared fruit that had been served for dessert. But it wasn’t that which made the kiss so sweet. It was her.

  Desire unlike anything he’d ever known threatened to consume him. It tested the limits of his willpower and called upon every last shred of control that he possessed. He’d pushed, prodded and challenged her, but he would not take more than she was willing to give. When she came to his bed, it would be of her own choosing and wouldn’t be because he’d lured her there. If he’d any doubts about that course of action, the gentle and tentative manner in which she responded to his kiss would have quelled them.

  Soft, hesitant but oh-so eager, she was a study in contradiction. A widow with a child and yet her innocence was undeniable. She had taken a man into her bed, but it was clear to him from her untutored touch that she had never been made love to. He would rectify that, but only when she was ready.

  Easing back from her, he paused to press one more gentle kiss to her softly parted lips, before stepping back entirely. “A kiss can be a dangerous thing even if it leads to nothing else.”

  “I thought you’d be more smug,” she said. “As it’s clear I have no will where you are concerned.”

  He grinned. “I might be smug later… for now, I’ll send you back inside and allow the crisp night air to cool the fire in my blood.”

  “And if there is a fire in mine?” she queried.

  “Then I hope it never cools. It is my fondest wish that the kiss we shared lingers in your mind and upon your lips—that it teases you with the fantasies of what might follow. At least until our lips can meet again.”

  She shook her head and started to walk away. As she neared the terrace doors, she turned back to him. “My husband never kissed me. Not even on our wedding day.”

  “And you said you had no virtue left to give.”

  Viola ducked her head, and it was easy to surmise that she blushed. “That hardly makes me virginal.”

  It was, to his mind, worse than being virginal. He hadn’t forgotten his earlier assessment that Viola had suffered at the hands of her husband. Her admission only confirmed the suspicion. Ramsleigh had used her body, abused it no doubt, with no thought whatsoever to tenderness, passion, or the pleasure that it was a man’s duty to give his partner. “A virgin fears the unknown. You may know the details of the act, and have likely experienced them in their most brutal reality. Your fear is, therefore, more intense and even more well founded… but in this case, it is unnecessary.”

  “I’m not afraid of you,” she countered.

  “No. But you’re afraid of him still… the specter of your husband’s cruelty will cast a long shadow I think. But I am a patient man. I understand the value of waiting for one’s reward. In the meantime, I’ll steal kisses where I can and whisper shocking and improper things in your ears when you least expect it.”

  “You mean you’ll seduce me.”

  “No, Viola. I mean to instruct you on what it means to share a passion with someone, to know desire and all the pleasures of the flesh. Once you have that knowledge, I will let you seduce me,” he offered.

  She gaped at him for a moment, before managing to say, “You are certainly very sure of yourself, Doctor.”

  “Not in the least. But I am hopeful.”

  Nicholas watched as she turned once more and walked away from him. At the door, she paused, glanced back, and then rushed inside. He did not. He needed to let his blood cool and to let the raging evidence of his desire for her subside before making his way inside. It might come to naught. She could very well decide that it was too great a risk and if she did, he could not and would not fault her for it. But with everything in him, he wished for a different outcome.

  Chapter Ten

  Vivid dreams, sometimes highly erotic and at others terrifying, had robbed Viola of any true rest. Haunted by the kiss she’d shared with Dr. Warner, Nicholas, she’d plead fatigue after their walk and sought the solace of her bedroom. Isolation had not been the answer. Rather than offering her peace, it had instead prompted her to relive those moments again and again. When she had finally sought her bed, she’d lain awake for hours, her heart still racing and the only faintly familiar stirrings of desire flaring within her.

  In spite of the very businesslike arrangement of her marriage, in the beginning, she had not been repulsed by her husband. Though older than her by more than two decades, Percival had not been an unattractive man. There had been times, at the outset of their marriage that she had welcomed his touch and found that he’d incited some desire in her, as well. But as the union progressed and his cruelty began to show more frequently, her response to him had shifted entirely.

  It wasn’t until Nicholas had kissed her, until she’d felt that strange warmth suffusing her once more, that she even recalled the feeling enough to identify it. Percival had said kissing was for mistresses and not for wives, that women of her stature were not supposed to enjoy the physical aspects of marriage. He’d denied her the right to take pleasure in her own body. But Nicholas was another matter altogether. He’d seemed to glory in the fact that she responded to him thusly, instead of shaming her for it.

  Shaking off thoughts of Dr. Warner and her late husband, Viola rose from her bed and moved toward the dressing table. After unbraiding her hair, she combed the dark tresses and then pinned them up in a loose chignon. It was a simple style, one that she’d often employed because it kept her from requiring the attendance of her maid who would cluck in disapproval at the bruises Percival had often left on her.

  With her hair done, she dressed in one of the borrowed morning gowns that Beatrice had provided for her. She’d only just made her way to the top of the stairs when she heard a commotion followed by a familiar cry.


  “Tristan,” Viola whispered.

  The cry echoed again, growing louder. She didn’t hesitate but nearly flew down the stairs to see her harried nurse and her very fussy baby standing in the great hall next to a very flustered butler.

  “Oh, my lady! What a trip we’ve had! He’s fussed all the way here,” the nurse said.

  Viola opened her arms and the little boy flew into them. She hugged him closely, the weight of his body against her a welcome burden as she smoothed his silky, brown hair. For that moment, with her child once more safely in her arms, it didn’t matter that she hadn’t slept more than a couple of hours or that her entire life was in upheaval. All that mattered was that he was there, he was safe, and they were together again.

  “Oh, my sweet boy!” she whispered, kissing his cheeks, his forehead, inhaling the sweet scent of him. “How I have missed you, my little man!”

  The nurse clucked her tongue. “And there he is again, the angel we normally see. All it took was setting eyes upon his mother once more. He’s been miserable since you left, my lady. Awful to say that to you, I know, but it’s true. Fair broke that baby’s heart, it did!”

  “It very nearly broke mine, as well,” Viola said, cuddling him again as he simply laid his head against her, one hand fisted in the neckline of her dress and the other tugging at a stubborn curl that had escaped her chignon. “I’m so happy Lord Blakemore sent for you. I don’t think I could have waited for spring!”

  “Well, now you won’t have to. The dear boy is where he belongs again… at his mother’s side!” the nurse said emphatically.

  “Oh, dear heavens! Look at this handsome little fellow!”

  The exclamation had come from Lady Agatha who had just emerged from the breakfast room. Viola smiled with pride. He was a beautiful boy, smart, independent, willful, and so very dear to her that her heart ached with it. “He is handsome… and quite the little rogue, as well. Be mindful, Lady Agatha, or he’ll soon have you as wrapped around his chubby little fingers as I am.”

  Lady Agatha stepped forward, placed one hand on the child’s back and patted him gently. “Oh, it has been so very long since we’ve had a child in this house. It will be a delight to hear such innocent laughter here again.”

  Tristan turned his head, pressing his face into the curve of Viola’s neck and held on to her even more fiercely. Playing shy, he still kept his gaze locked on Lady Agatha. Viola patted his back soothingly, marveling at how even in the few short weeks she’d been away from him he had grown so much. He’d grown and she had missed it. That thought caused her immeasurable pain and she vowed that she would let nothing else separate her from her child, ever again.

  “He doesn’t appear to be in a good humor at the moment, Lady Agatha. It might be some time before you hear any laughter from him. The stress of travel appears to have taken a toll on him,” Viola said.

  Lady Agatha laughed softly, “Of course, it has! Why don’t you and your servant see him to the nursery? The footmen will bring his bags up. Get the child bathed and dressed in clean clothes. Tuck him in for a nap and appease your own wounded spirit by watching him sleep for at least an hour.”

  Viola laughed then. “I think that sounds like a fine idea. I plan to do just that.”

  At that point, Lord Blakemore and Dr. Warner entered, along with Lord Ambrose. The three of them were dressed for riding, their boots dusty and their dark hair windblown. Together, they presented a shockingly attractive trio, but it was Nicholas who held her attention. Her gaze was drawn to him immediately and made her breath hitch. He was looking back at her, his gaze locked on Tristan’s small form as the small boy uttered a broken, hiccupping sigh—evidence of his recent bout of tears. Nicholas’ lips curved in a slight smile.

  “It appears that the Ramsleigh heir has arrived safely, if not in the best of moods.”

  “It was a trying journey, Dr. Warner,” Viola agreed. “I’m going to take him upstairs and get him settled.”

  “Have you had breakfast yet?” He arched one eyebrow with the question. “You are not so far from injury yourself that you can afford to skip meals.”

  “I have not.”

  “Then take him on. I will bring something up for you and help you attend him,” he offered.

  She wanted to protest that she could handle it alone, that she could care for Tristan without help. But selfishly, she wanted his company. And with her son present to act as a buffer, she might actually manage being in his presence without losing all sense. She nodded her head in acknowledgement and gratitude. “Thank you, Doctor.”

  Turning away, she carried Tristan securely on her hip as she made her way back up the stairs. Nicholas would follow soon enough.

  *

  It was early for Randall to be up and about, especially given his exertions of the night before. His widow was quite greedy for all the pleasures, and the pain, that he could provide her. As much as he’d been enjoying her company, there was something missing from their encounters. He had no plans on halting their arrangement but there was something vaguely unsatisfying about inflicting pain on one who was not only willing but eager for it. An unfeigned protest, a struggle that he would always ultimately win—that was what he longed for. Thinking of Viola and the way she’d battled him at every turn, he felt a pang of regret that he wouldn’t get to sample her charms once more before she shuffled off the mortal coil for real.

  Stifling a yawn, he halted his mount in a stand of trees at the edge of the woods that bordered his property and spilled over onto the Blakemore estate. Timothy Cobb stood waiting for him beneath the shadows of a large oak tree. The man reeked of cheap ale and the stench of being unwashed. Snarling his lip in distaste, Randall said, “You’re prepared to do what has been asked of you, Cobb?”

  “Aye, m’lord. I’ve already talked to some folks in the village, and some others what live just outside it. It makes people rightly uncomfortable when folks come back from the dead. It won’t be hard to convince ’em to send her back to hell once and for all,” the man chortled.

  Randall pulled a small pouch of coins from his pocket and tossed it to the filthy urchin. “See that you do. That’s half the payment. You get the other half when they march through the village with her head on a pike.”

  Cobb opened the pouch, counted the coins, and then in a crass manner, removed one and bit into it to test its worth. He grinned, showing great gaps in his blackened teeth. “Fair enough… I’ll see her dead. Whether drowned, burned, or beheaded will be up to the mob you’re after, now won’t it?”

  “So it will. This is the last time we speak until it’s done,” Randall warned. “It’s too much of a risk being seen in your company.”

  “Oh, I ken it’s a risk all right… and I ken I might not be up to snuff for the likes of you, my lord. I’ll do your dirty work and be well paid for it,” Cobb said, his voice gruff with barely contained hostility. “But you take heed, Lord Ramsleigh, I’ll not be crossed. Not by you or anyone else!”

  “Fair enough… and you be warned as well, Cobb. If you utter a word of our agreement to anyone, you’ll lose far more than just the pay!”

  Cobb laughed. “We’re not so different, my lord. You might be dressed like a gent… but you ain’t got the heart of one. Black as mine, it is!”

  “Blacker, I’d warrant,” Randall agreed. “Get to work, Cobb. I want that mob marching on Castle Black before week’s end.”

  “And what about Lord Blakemore and all them gents? He’s got the doctor and a Lord Ambrose up there, as well. Might pose a threat… I wager they’d be more than willing to protect the lady.”

  Randall smiled. “It’s called distraction, Cobb. Divide and conquer. Create some hullabaloo that will warrant they must all leave the castle along with a bevy of their servants. Fire, for examples. Fires always require an all hands on deck response, do they not?”

  “There’s an old mill on the estate,” Cobb suggested. “Lord Blakemore’s been working on it something fierce… seems to think th
at if the tenants can mill their own grain, their farms will be more profitable.”

  “Then it’s of great value to him and to everyone else, is it not?” Ramsleigh said. “You have your target.”

  “Aye, m’lord, I do. And I took care of our other target… William Wells, won’t be telling any tall tales about the good doctor’s heroics no more. As for them ladies what heard it, who they’ll repeat it to is unknown.”

  “We’ll deal with that when we have to. Set the fire and make sure it catches well. It needs to be discovered quickly and the whole of the estate called out to battle it. That way we can be certain they are well away and she is left with nothing but an aging woman, a pregnant cow and a household full of worthless servants… I doubt any of them would be willing to risk life and limb for a veritable stranger.”

  “Then we’ve a plan, my lord. I’ll hold up my end and you hold up yours!”

  Randall nodded, wheeled his mount and rode back toward Ramsgate Hall. He intended to sleep the better part of the day away and then drink himself into oblivion. Then, he’d start working on Daventry. The man might be cold through and through, but he had his vices just as all men did. There would be something to hold over his head, some way to get a larger share of the money than had been given so far. He would not give up the lovely inheritance she’d brought with her as a bride. His only consolation was that she posed no threat to the title. Thankfully, she’d never managed to produce a brat for his uncle despite the man’s near incessant attempts to impregnate his young bride by assaulting her with his withered old cock.

  Chapter Eleven

  Nicholas approached the nursery but paused just outside the door. He could hear splashing and the tinkling peal of childish giggles. As he listened, Viola began making kissing noises and talking nonsense to the baby who then laughed even harder. He was smiling as he pushed the door open and observed them. The boy was standing naked in the tub, splashing water on himself, his mother and the surrounding carpets.