“Julian Phoenix is gone, Deidra,” Patience said tiredly. “So that leaves us to find Perry and Link or face Lord and Lady Powning’s displeasure. I am weary of making all the decisions for the family. For once, why do you not offer some constructive advice?”
Something akin to hatred flashed in Deidra’s blue eyes as her thin lips quirked as if to deliver a scathing retort. Even though she and Patience had a tenuous alliance with regards to keeping the troupe together, their differing opinions of Phoenix would always prevent their being true friends.
“Forgive me for interrupting,” a masculine voice interjected from the threshold. “Perhaps I can be of service?”
CHAPTER TWO
The blonde who had dismissed him so rudely whirled around at the sound of his voice. How fortuitous the young ladies were alone. Ramscar did not relish fighting off a suitor like his friends Everod and Cadd would have.
“I could not help noticing in the outer hall that something was amiss,” Ramscar said smoothly, before either lady could respond to his intrusion. “I apologize for my boldness, dear ladies. Good manners were beaten into me with the flat side of a wooden spoon since I was in the nursery. I could not enjoy Lord Powning’s hospitality without offering my assistance to the most enchanting lovelies I have encountered this evening.”
Neither lady warmed at his compliment. In fact, the tension emanating from them seemed to increase. The dark-haired lady looked askance at her companion, while the blonde’s suspicious gaze narrowed on his face.
Whoever she was, the lady was irritated by his presence.
Now that he could see her face, Ram was struck by her prettiness. There was symmetry to her beauty that encouraged the observer to study and admire. The dress she wore was an uninspiring white muslin, and she lacked the glittering adornments he knew most ladies hoarded like nesting magpies. Her heart-shaped face was fair and free of imperfection. There was an endearing softness to her chin, even though she had tilted her face upward in defiance. Long lashes framed eyes of a fathomless blue that revealed, on closer inspection, several flecks of gold. Her nose was straight and narrow, but it did not overwhelm her delicate features. She had a profusion of blond hair that was piled up high. The pale strands that were strategically left free rippled to the ends in a soft, appealing fashion. She was younger than his six and twenty years, probably fresh from the schoolroom. If she had enjoyed a season in London, Ram would have encountered her.
This petite mythical blond Diana cocked her head in curiosity. “How often do you succeed?”
He had expected coy gratitude or a flirtatious response. Her question befuddled him as much as his reaction to her beauty. Feeling simpleminded, he replied, “Succeed? How so?”
The blonde’s full lips curled upward in triumph. “Why, with your rich flummery, my lord. Do ladies truly flutter and coo when you greet them with such tripe?”
The sting of her condemnation made his face heat, a sensation he had not experienced since he was a boy. The lady possessed a tongue honed for slicing a man’s thick hide. If she expected an apology from him, she was about to be disappointed. “Usually,” he said, giving her a cool nod. “Some even tumble quite easily into my bed,” he added, hoping to goad her with his brazenness.
“Really?” The lady expelled a mocking sigh and exchanged a commiserating glance with her friend. “What silly creatures.”
“Amazingly so,” Ramscar agreed, attempting to hide his smile. “What a rare treat for me to encounter two remarkably intelligent ladies. Permit me to introduce myself properly.” He inclined his head formally. “Fowler Percival Knowden, Earl of Ramscar. And you are …” He trailed off, giving the blonde a look that usually charmed most ladies.
The blonde laughed. The sound was not a polite chuckle or a girlish titter but, rather, the result of unguarded heartfelt amusement that beckoned anyone within hearing to share her mirth. “Honestly, do you ever give up?”
“’Fraid not,” he confessed cheerfully. He was glad he had not given in to his sullen mood and turned down Lord Powning’s invitation, else he would not have met such an interesting lady.
She extended her hand and curtsied when he clasped her fingers. “Miss Winlow. Lord Ramscar, allow me to introduce my friend Miss McNiell.”
“A pleasure, my lord,” Miss McNiell said faintly, not meaning a single word. She looked nervously between Ramscar and her friend. “Patience, I must be off to … to look for—oh, I will speak with you later.” She kept her gaze on Ram while she edged her way to the door.
“Soon!” Miss Winlow shouted before her friend could shut the door.
So he was finally alone with the impertinent young lady who had captured his interest. He was not the charmer like Cadd or as aggressive in his conquests as Everod was or Solitea had been before his marriage, but there was something about Miss Winlow that provoked Ram to be daring.
“Patience,” he said, trying out her name. “It does not suit you.”
His comment was so unrepentantly rude that surprise flared in her blue eyes. “Patience is a fine name. It is a family name and it suits me just fine.” She stepped around him, intending to head for the door. “Besides, you do not have my consent to use it, so it matters not one whit whether you like it or not!”
“Settle down,” he said, laughing and blocking her escape without touching her. “I did not say that I did not like your name. I just said that it did not suit a little spitfire like you.”
His casual praise chilled the brilliant flash of temper. He supposed she did it deliberately just to be contrary. “You know nothing about me, Lord Ramscar,” she said crisply.
“Perhaps not, Miss Winlow,” he said, undeterred by the starch in her voice and stance. “If you would permit me, I would like to remedy that obstacle. We could start with you calling me Ramscar or Ram, if you prefer.”
“I don’t,” she said, refusing to give him any opening of friendship. She pressed her hand to her temple and grimaced. Mumbling something under her breath, she shook her head as if she was having an internal argument with herself.
Intrigued, Ramscar calmly waited until she had hashed out her internal differences. Idly he wondered how Miss Winlow was connected to the Pownings.
She did not keep him waiting for long. “See here, my lord. I think a mistake has been made, and I am partly to blame. Miss McNiell and I are not Lord and Lady Powning’s guests this evening.” Miss Winlow took a fortifying breath. Her pained expression revealed her discomfort, though Ramscar could not fathom the reasons behind it until she continued. “We are players, my lord, hired strictly to entertain the guests. Though the sort of amusement you had in mind is not what we advertise on the playbills. So if you will stand aside, I can see to my business and you can …” She hesitated over her words, probably thinking it better not to wish one of Lord Powning’s valued guests to the devil. “ … can see to yours.”
“So you are Thalia or Melpomene instead of Diana,” he mused aloud.
She blinked, bewildered by his odd response. “I beg your—what did you call me?”
He waved aside her question. “It matters little to the subject at hand. I think you misunderstood me, Miss Winlow,” Ram said quietly. “When I approached you, you could have been Powning’s daughter, his mistress, or the scullery maid. Who you were mattered little to me. My offer of assistance, however, was genuine.” Being alone with him was making her skittish. He silently wondered how often she was forced to fight off the amorous attentions of a male guest while trying to earn a living.
Ramscar moved away from the door.
The relief that flashed on her expressive face made his gut clench with regret. He had enjoyed teasing the feisty Miss Winlow, but he had no desire to terrify her.
She walked steadily to the door and opened it. With the spirit he was beginning to admire in her, she turned, saying, “Less charm flatters you, Lord Ramscar. I actually believe your original offer was genuine.” She smiled at him, revealing pretty, white teeth. “Enjoy the e
vening’s festivities.”
She slipped out the door.
Ramscar crossed his arms and stared at the closed door. So the intriguing Miss Winlow was an actress. Fascinating. He was a devoted patron of the theater, and even if he weren’t, the lady’s spirit inspired him to offer himself as her personal benefactor. He threw his head back and laughed. Everything he had learned about Patience Winlow during their brief conversation warned him that she was protective of her independence. Such a lady would not allow herself to be owned by any man.
He left the anteroom, realizing belatedly that neither Miss Winlow nor her friend Miss McNiell had revealed what had upset them.
“Perhaps we should begin soon,” Lord Powning said, frowning with uncertainty at Patience. He had caught her on the stairs as she debated whether she should search high or low for her male companions. “The marchioness and I were imagining our theatrical evening a bit less formal than the proceedings of a traditional playhouse. I would like our guests to participate in the performance whenever possible.”
“Of course, my lord. I have not forgotten our earlier discussion on the subject,” Patience assured him.
I only need to find Link and Perry before something goes terribly wrong.
Patience gave Lord Powning the practiced smile she reserved for stage managers and patrons. She had discovered while conversing with the marquess that he had once in his youth dreamed of becoming an actor. Unlike her, he had understood his responsibilities to his family and dismissed his frivolous aspirations. “We are merely here to support and encourage the true players of the evening, your guests. We shall not disappoint you, Lord Powning.”
I hope.
“Very good. Very good.” He clasped her hand and gave the top of her hand a friendly pat. “Off with you, now. Gather up the others, and we shall create an unforgettable evening for everyone to discuss over their breakfast.”
Her smile dimmed slightly at the older man’s optimism. “I will send a footman to you when we are ready to begin.”
Patience curtsied to the marquess before turning and starting up the stairs. There was little time to search the entire household for the errant gentlemen. If she had any sense, she would flee the Pownings’ country house before anyone thought to look for her.
She did not want to be responsible for Deidra, Perry, and Link. They clearly did not respect her abilities as a leader. This evening’s debacle was proof of that fact. Still, she could not seem to abandon them. Guilt over Julian Phoenix’s death had tied her to them as thoroughly as the fear and violence Phoenix had used to keep her at his side when he was alive. Regardless, Patience was not a quitter. She was trying to make a better life for all of them, one that did not force them into the shadows. Her friends did not seem at all appreciative of her efforts.
Her approach to finding her missing companions was linear and methodical. She moved from door to door, peeking into each room. When she came across a locked room, she moved on, resisting the temptation to spring the lock by less than honorable means. A large old country house like this one would be the perfect assignation place for an amorous coupling. She tried another door and discovered it was locked.
Patience sighed. At this pace, she would be ducking in and out of rooms all night. A muffled sound from across the hall had her crossing the hallway to investigate the noise. If it were one of Lord Powning’s guests, she would profusely apologize for her rudeness and abandon her search. With Deidra’s assistance, Patience would give the Pownings an evening worthy of the money they had agreed on.
And then I shall take my time throttling Perry and Link for their incompetence!
Patience pulled on the latch and peeked inside. Gasping at what she glimpsed, she pushed the door open and charged into the room. “What the devil do you think you are doing, Perry Kiffin!”
The lean twenty-year-old whipped around so fast, he tumbled backward into the wardrobe he had been searching. She seized him by the edge of his frock coat and pulled him out, which was a testament to her anger, since the top of her head barely reached the middle of his chest. The relief she had glimpsed on his stunned pale features was quickly replaced with fury.
“God’s sakes, Patience. I nearly jumped out of me bleeding skin when you came rushing in like the militia.” He yelped in pain when she reached up and pinched him on the earlobe. “Ow, or me cruel mum,” he said, rubbing his abused ear.
Patience dug her fists into her hips and gave him a penetrating look. “Whatever you took from that wardrobe, I want you to put it back.”
Perry feigned astonishment. She had known him long enough to recognize when he was trying to be clever. As he shoved back the long, straight blond hair that always seemed to cover his eyes, his smile was guileless when he said, “Honest, love. Nothing tucked in me breeches except what God blessed me with. On me oath.”
“Do not be swearing oaths when I am standing within striking distance, Perry Kiffin,” she muttered as she slipped her hand into his coat.
“Hold. Hmmf.” Perry shifted, attempting to avoid her questing fingers. “Christ, that tickles.” He collapsed against an inner shelf of the wardrobe and laughed.
“You promised,” she seethed, her eyes burning with hurt and outrage. “You all promised. No pilfering. No trickery. We left that awful business behind when Phoenix discarded us. We are honest players, now, and I will not have you stealing from our generous employer.”
Patience reached for the buttons on his breeches. There was nothing carnal in her actions. Although he was older by two years, she thought of him as a younger brother. If she had to strip him bare to prove her suspicions, she would do it.
Perry realized he was soundly caught, too. He grabbed her wrist, and for a few seconds they struggled for domination. “Quit. I surrender. There is no need for you to be rummaging around in places that are no business but mine!”
“Fine, then.” Patience shook off his grasp and held out her hand. “You return what you have taken or I will tell Lord Powning of your thievery.”
Perry gawked at her. “Bleeding harpy! Selling out your own family, why, I ask you? To impress His Lordship, who will likely hand all of us over to the magistrate if he gets a whiff of our business.” He dug into his breeches and slapped a garnet necklace into her hand. “Where is your loyalty, woman?”
“You want loyalty? Keep your promises!” she snapped, her fingers tight over the necklace. “What else is rattling around in your breeches besides your brains? It is unlike you to be so stingy.”
His brown eyes flared at her insult. His full lips formed into a sneer as he sullenly slipped his hand back into his breeches. Patience saw the promise of retaliation in her friend’s expression, but she was unconcerned. Unlike Julian Phoenix, Perry had never used his fists on a woman. He slapped a pretty gold bracelet and two pairs of earrings on top of the necklace.
“Is that all?” she said in a tone guaranteed to infuriate him.
“Yes,” he hissed, clearly perturbed. “That’s all of it. Though I don’t see why you are being so fussy. A few trinkets tucked away for hard times fill not only my empty belly, but yours as well!”
“Not anymore.” Patience gazed wistfully at the jewelry. It was not longing to possess such treasures for herself that nipped at her good intentions; it was the thought of one day being hungry. She shook her head in denial. “Return everything to its proper place. And be quick about it. Lord Powning is expecting us in the ballroom, and we still have to find Link and Deidra.”
Perry snatched the jewelry from Patience’s hand. “Patience, my lovely girl, honor is costly and not for the likes of us.” He poked his head into the wardrobe to look for the pouch he had taken Lady Powning’s jewelry from.
“I disagree.” Patience closed her eyes and pressed her fingers against her temple. “You and I just never appreciated its value when it was rightfully ours.”
CHAPTER THREE
“Where did you find the pretty Miss Winlow and her troupe?” Ramscar found himself asking
his host several hours later after his brief encounter with the lady. She had reappeared at Lord Powning’s side with Miss McNiell and two male companions.
The marquess had not taken his keen gaze off the lady in question. He had set up the ballroom to be reminiscent of a medieval great hall. Two exquisite stately chairs had been positioned in a place of honor so Lord Powning and his lady had a clear view of the players. Ram leaned negligently against the back of the gentleman’s chair while they observed the two male performers juggling flaming torches.
“Are they not remarkable, Ramscar?” Lord Powning said; the reverence in his tone reminded Ram of a boy given his first sword. “I encountered the troupe nearly four months ago while we were off visiting Lady Powning’s mother. They were performing at an obscure fair just outside Bath. A very depressing affair, mind you, but Miss Winlow and Miss McNiell stood out like fragile blooms in a conservatory.”
“I noticed,” Ram said dryly, though, truthfully, he had barely noticed Miss McNiell. “I assume you approached the players after their performance.”
“Naturally.” Lord Powning’s expression revealed there had been no other rational choice. “It was later that I learned that the troupe had no commitments to a playhouse and they were willing to lend their expertise to private endeavors.”
Ram raised his brow in doubt. “And Lady Powning approved?” Perhaps Miss Winlow was the man’s mistress. It was an unpleasant thought.
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