Barbara Pierce

by Naughty by Nature

  “What are you reading?” he politely inquired, attempting to ease their discomfort resulting from his impulsive display of affection.

  Meredith glanced helplessly at the book in front of her, seemingly flustered by his question. “Oh, this? Nothing important. Just an old book of poetry that belonged to our grandmother.” She hesitated, searching for some equally polite subject to discuss.

  Their mutual awkwardness was telling. They had shared breakfast countless mornings over the years. Ram realized that although they had shared the room, had eaten breakfast together, they had never truly paid attention to each other. Meredith always had a book to hide behind. He usually read the paper or reviewed his steward’s calculations in Swancott’s household ledgers. With the exception of polite comments about the weather or plans for the afternoon, Ramscar and Meredith rarely spoke. The situation was worse than he had initially thought.

  After he had been served his coffee he dismissed the footman. Once Ram and Meredith were finished, he doubted food would settle well in his stomach. “You missed a fine evening at the Pownings’.”

  She stroked the edge of the binding of her book. He usually did not discuss his outings with her. Ram had learned years ago that any subject outside Swancott upset his younger sister. His silence had been a show of respect, but it had also allowed her to hide from her fears.

  “Did I? Mama always thought Lord and Lady Powning rather dull,” Meredith said, her voice sharpening with defensiveness.

  Ram took a tentative sip from his cup. As he had expected, he scalded his tongue. Grimacing, he set the cup down. “They are a charming, merry old couple who have always greeted me warmly. If you bothered to receive them at Swancott, you would know their kindness extends to you as well.”

  She glanced down at her book, feigning to read the page. Ram was not fooled. Nor would he give up so readily.

  “They hired performers from a fair,” he continued, watching her face for some kind of reaction. “Powning set up a mock royal court in their ballroom and encouraged his guests to take part in the performances.”

  Meredith made an ambiguous sound as she studied the page before her.

  Ram waited a minute before adding, “I was even persuaded to participate.”

  Frowning, his sister slammed her book closed and gave him a gimlet look. “I cannot fathom you agreeing to anything as frivolous as reciting poetry or serenading Lady Powning with a romantic song.”

  “Nor I,” he said, pleased Meredith knew something of his character. “I was coaxed into playing a small part with two jugglers who tossed flaming torches at my head.” He had not been thrilled with the notion when he realized the distinctly uncomfortable predicament Miss Winlow had lured him into; nevertheless, he had endured and was no worse from the ordeal.

  His sister’s eyes rounded in horror at his casual confession. She brought her fist to her heart as if pained. He had never spoken of his private fears of fire, but she had her own terrifying recollections of the nursery with walls of living flame.

  “How could you?” she sputtered, amazed he was not distressed by his ordeal. “What was Lord Powning thinking to allow such a—”

  Concerned by her tormented expression, Ramscar reached over and held her hand. She clutched his fingers so fiercely, he felt the edges of her nails cut into his palm. “Meredith, my sweet, Powning meant no insult. No one recalls a fire that took place in London eleven years earlier, and even if they did, it is old news. Look at me. I am unharmed. I will admit I did not relish the thought of fire so close to my hair and clothing—” He abruptly broke off his confession when she clapped her hand over her mouth and sobbed.

  No longer caring if his touch upset her, Ramscar released her hand so he could circle around the table. He pulled her out of the chair and gathered her trembling body into his arms. “This is what I was trying to discuss with you the other day,” he murmured into her hair as he rubbed her back. “You should not become so undone by the thought of fire.”

  Neither should I.

  “Do not be silly. I am not a child,” she said crisply. “I light a candle if I require one, and on cold nights I appreciate the warmth of a hearth.” She delicately sniffed and pulled back to see his face. “Having flaming torches tossed at your head for the amusement of Lord Powning and his guests borders on lunacy!”

  Her concern for Ram was so sweet, he could not help laughing at her endearing lecture. “No harm was done.” If truth be told, the incident was entirely his fault. His interest in the enchanting Miss Winlow had truly placed him in his awkward predicament. Had he not been so wholly focused on her, he would never have approached the jugglers.

  “Is this how you behave when you leave Swancott? Do you spend your evenings amusing yourself with reckless games, foolishly taunting fate, for what end?” Meredith asked breathlessly, her face a rosy hue from her impassioned outburst.

  Ram cupped her chin, gently forcing her to meet his steady gaze. “Come with me to London and discover the answer for yourself.”

  Meredith froze at his challenging words. He saw her refusal even before the words formed on her lips. She pushed him away and stumbled backward into her chair. “No.” She steadied herself with the chair and then moved around it to put more distance between them. “I sensed you were up to something. You planned this, did you not?” Her eyes glittered with tears and indignation. “Was it a lie? Did you make up that story about the jugglers and the fire to soften me to the notion of coming with you to London?”

  “I am not a liar,” he said, his face hardening into an unyielding mask. “Nor have I misled you. I told you last evening that I want you to join me in London.”

  “I beg of you, Brother … Ram … do not make me. I cannot.” She shook her head, her demeanor collapsing into hysteria as he watched her dispassionately.

  Meredith would never forgive him if he took her to London against her will. Still, if he surrendered to her pleas she would remain at Swancott until she died. At a loss, Ramscar knew he needed help. Suddenly he heard Miss Winlow’s low, teasing voice in his head.

  “You seem like a gentleman who likes to dazzle the ladies. What could turn a lady’s head more than proving that you would walk through fire for her?”

  He needed a blond angel who could tempt the devil into giving up his sinful ways.

  Ram knew the perfect lady for the task.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “You wish to offer me employment as a paid companion,” Patience said, not quite believing her good fortune. “Here?”

  When a footman from Swancott had arrived at the inn, inquiring after Miss Winlow, her initial reaction had been alarm. She had never heard of Swancott. Nor could she think of a single reason that someone from the estate would know her name. Only when she learned that the Earl of Ramscar was seeking an audience with her had she allowed herself to relax. The gentleman had been polite to her the previous evening. He had not prolonged their conversation after the juggling demonstration or sought her out later. She had overheard Lord Powning speaking highly of the earl. Normally, she would have never consented to climbing into a gentleman’s carriage. However, her curiosity regarding the earl’s summons and possibly employment for the troupe lured her out to Swancott.

  Lord Ramscar had skipped the formalities of the drawing room and had ensconced them in his library personally. She had not viewed his actions as untoward, since she was not visiting Swancott as his guest but as a prospective member of his staff albeit a temporary post. She had noted he had glanced apprehensively upward as they strolled past the grand staircase, and she realized she did not even know if the earl was married.

  “Our stay at Swancott is almost at an end,” he said, disrupting her private musings. They sat in two large overstuffed chairs near the hearth to compensate for the slight chill in the room. It was a quiet, intimate setting, but Lord Ramscar was too caught up in revealing his plans to question the impropriety of the situation.

  “I have already begun to make preparations for
our journey to London for the season. Originally, I had thought to travel ahead. However, Meredith will be difficult, and I fear it will take both of us to coax her off Knowden lands.”

  Oh dear. So the earl did indeed have a wife. Patience sensed there was a tragic tale involving his countess. What had happened to the poor lady that she was afraid to leave her own house? “Lord Ramscar, I am an actress of little acclaim. I cannot fathom why you think I would make a satisfactory companion for Lady Ramscar.”

  “Lady Ram—” He was startled by her deduction. Stroking his jaw, he gave her a chagrined look. “Miss Winlow, I have no countess. Meredith is my younger sister. She will be four and twenty in a fortnight. I intend for that celebration to take place in London.”

  His reasons for selecting Patience still baffled her. “You are aware that I have never been employed as a lady’s companion.”

  He dismissed her concern with a flick of his wrist. “I am not concerned by the lack. In truth, you intrigue me, Miss Winlow. While the other guests enjoyed the various amusements Powning had provided, I found myself studying you.”

  Patience felt her face heat at his admission. A tiny flutter of excitement rose in her chest. Lord Ramscar had been watching her. She had been utterly unaware of his close scrutiny. Usually, her instincts were faultless. “If you were anxious that I might reveal your aversion to fire to Lord Powning or his guests—”

  He silenced her with a piercing glance. “I do not care about the gossips. You caught my attention because you are rather good at your craft. You are lovely and have a quick wit. Your movements are graceful and your speech is refined. If we had met under different circumstances, you might have passed as a relation to Lord and Lady Powning.”

  The man saw too much. “I have a talent for mimicry,” she said humbly. “Me mum would have been proud, hearing yer praise.”

  His hazel green eyes narrowed at her deliberate attempt to mock her gifts. “Your gifts have served you well, and now I intend for them to serve my purposes.”

  Lord Ramscar was offering her a chance to walk away from a life of wandering the countryside in hopes of finding a small parish or fair that might have use of her skills. She would have shelter, clean dresses, and daily meals. All that was required was that she look after his shy younger sister. It sounded heavenly. There had to be a catch.

  If I accept the position, I will have to abandon the troupe.

  Patience nibbled her lower lip in agitation. “Perhaps you should engage one of your sister’s friends to join her?”

  “My sister has no friends, Miss Winlow,” he said brusquely. He rose out of the chair and began pacing behind their chairs. “I am not comfortable sharing private family matters with anyone. However, I intend to make an exception. You will be spending most of your day with Meredith, and I think it is important that you understand certain details about my sister.”

  His expression revealed that he dreaded such a distasteful task. A surge of sympathy mingled with her curiosity about his sister. “My lord, you do not have to reveal anything to me.”

  “I disagree.”

  He paused near her chair and fiercely gripped the back. Suddenly, the heat from the hearth was stifling. Patience tried not to fidget. His keen gaze and proximity were unnerving her.

  Lord Ramscar leaned down and growled in her ear, “I am trusting you with our family secrets, Miss Winlow. Do not make me regret my decision.”

  She heard the unmistakable menace in his tone. Pivoting in her seat, she quirked her right brow. “Are you trying to intimidate me, my lord?”

  “Yes,” he said, his teeth snapping together like those of a huge predator. “Have I succeeded?”

  She laughed at his question. There was no doubt in her mind that the earl quietly and ruthlessly dealt with people who defied him. “Amazingly so. Proceed.”

  Ramscar stared down at Miss Winlow, suspecting that it would take quite a bit to terrify her into submission. She was remarkably poised for a young lady her age.

  “How old are you?”

  Choking on what he assumed was laughter at his amazingly rude question, she sharply retorted, “How old are you, my lord?”

  He nodded, pleased with her reaction. As he had guessed, she was not easily cowed. She could hold her own with the curious and oftentimes vicious ton. “Twenty-six. And you?”

  “Eighteen. Is my age imperative to gaining this position?”

  “No.” Christ, she was a prickly little thing. Ram could not help but admire her forthright disposition. It was a refreshing quality in a lady; however, he was certain her quick tongue had gotten her in all sorts of trouble. “In comparison to my sister, you seem ten years older than your given age.”

  She stiffened at his careless observation. “Oh, really?”

  Ram’s lips twitched in humor. He had not deliberately intended to insult her, but the results were delightful. So the little actress had a temper. If there had been more opportunity, he would have enjoyed provoking her to see how far he could push her before she surrendered to passions.

  However, getting Meredith to London was more important to him. “If it soothes your vanity, you look younger. My observation was regarding your demeanor, not your beauty. Meredith has been sheltered at Swancott too long. Although she is older, you will discover she is rather fragile in spirit.”

  “Oh, I see,” Patience said, her relief evident as she sank back into the chair.

  “Do you?” He sauntered around her chair and walked to the mantel. Idly, his fingers caressed the painted head of a hawk made out of porcelain. “Eleven years ago, my father accused my mother of adultery. Naturally, she denied it. Enraged, my father decided to challenge the man he believed was my mother’s lover.”

  “Was she?”

  Ramscar glanced at Miss Winlow, who nervously moistened her lips. His eyes narrowed as he watched the tip of her tongue as it flickered over her upper lip.

  “Guilty, that is. Had your mother taken a lover?”

  It was a question he pondered on occasion. “I believe the speculation to be false. My mother was devoted to my father.” Nevertheless, Ram’s father had been a difficult, private gentleman who was prone to fits of jealousy. Ram had been fifteen at the time and he recalled hearing them argue behind closed doors. If his mother had faltered in her marriage vows, Ram believed his father had driven her to it.

  “My father was mortally wounded during the duel. He was dead before he reached our London town house,” he said dispassionately. Eleven years had passed since they had carried his father’s bloodied corpse into the front hall. The grief Ram had experienced had dulled and eased with the passage of time.

  Moved by his loss, Miss Winlow reached out and squeezed his hand. “It must have been horrible for all of you.”

  He marveled at the hint of tears he saw in her blue eyes. Was her compassion genuine or feigned? The ladies he had encountered over the years would have never shed a tear over the death of a stranger. They made the appropriate platitudes when they learned both Ram’s mother and father were dead. Most ladies were interested in Ram’s title and the lands he owned, not the tragic reasons why he had inherited the wealth of responsibility at fifteen. He stared down at Patience’s sorrowful expression and gently disengaged her hand from his, recalling that she was a first-rate actress.

  “My father has been dead a long while, Miss Winlow,” he said, abruptly turning his back on her and gazing into the fire. “I have come to terms with my loss.” Before he moved away, he noted a flash of pain in her eyes as if his rejection had hurt her. Ram was not dredging up the family history to gain her sympathy. He was telling her details he had not shared with another because he believed she could help Meredith.

  “Your sister has not—come to terms, that is.”

  Ramscar gripped the end of the mantel, quietly testing its integrity. “No, she has not. Meredith is not weak-spirited. She just has suffered more than I. You see, the day my mother learned of my father’s death, she was inconsolable. She bla
med herself. He would have never issued the challenge if he had not called her faithfulness into question.”

  Ram heard a rustling noise and knew Miss Winlow had risen from the chair. She stood behind him. He stiffened, half-expecting her to try to soothe him with her touch. It was damned awkward making a confession to a stranger. Ram was not in the mood to be coddled. She must have sensed his rejection before he could offer it, because she refrained from touching him.

  “You do not have to say anything more, Lord Ramscar. I think I understand,” she said quietly, attempting to spare him.

  “Not all of it. How could you?” He released the mantel and faced her with his arms crossed. “The guilt and grief drove my mother into the realm of madness. One night while the household slept, she carried an oil lamp into the nursery where my sisters were sleeping. Meredith had a twin. Audra.”

  He glanced away. If he looked too deeply into the open sincerity and compassion Miss Winlow’s eyes reflected, it would be his undoing. “Many think what happened was an accident. I disagree. I cannot fathom the utter despair my mother must have felt. Why else would a mother douse a room and herself with lamp oil before igniting her night rail?”

  Miss Winlow gasped. “Oh, the horrors your sisters must have endured to wake up surrounded by flames!”

  The girls had not been the only ones.

  Ram had not spoken the admission aloud, but Miss Winlow was too intelligent not to connect his aversion to the jugglers’ ignited torches to that night eleven years earlier. “Dear God, small wonder you reacted—uh, were surprised by the juggling demonstration.”

  She was being kind. If she had not distracted him, he would have truly entertained Powning’s guests by panicking in a very unmanly fashion. Everod and Cadd would have teased him unmercifully if they had discovered his weakness.