Patience had taken a hell of a chance, wandering the streets alone with her saved wages in her reticule. She was tempting prey for any footpad who discovered her.
Ram privately wanted to throttle her for her carelessness. Instead, he shut the door. He retrieved the chair she had used to secure the door and shoved the high back against the latch. “Several gentlemen at the coaching inn in town recalled the beautiful blond-haired lady who traveled alone. If not for the thunderstorm, I would have arrived sooner.”
He removed his sodden greatcoat and laid the garment over the chair. His frock coat had not fared much better, so he shrugged out of it and placed it on a chair closer to the small fire.
Patience hugged the pillow. “I suppose you bribed the innkeeper and he happily told you where to find me.”
Ram smiled slightly at her waspish tone. “Honestly, no bribe was required. It seems my wife was anticipating my arrival.” Ram wondered if she would fight him if he took the pillow she was using as a shield from her.
“I had to tell the man something. I hoped a husband would discourage him or any other man who thought to visit me uninvited.” She sniffed disdainfully. “Clearly, such precautions were needed, since you are here.”
“You have more courage than any other lady I know. Mayhap more than you should. Look me in the eye when you speak to me, Patience,” he said harshly.
There was defiance in her blue eyes when she lifted her chin. An angry Patience was preferable to the defeated weeping girl he had glimpsed when he kicked open the door. “Why have you come, Ramscar?”
If she believed she was free to flit into his life and then leave without a word, Patience had sorely overestimated her abilities at guile. “I told you. For answers. What did you expect me to do when Meredith and I discovered that your room was vacant? You did not even bother to write a note explaining your abrupt departure. Meredith was upset, and I must admit I was struggling with a case of manly vapors at the thought of you running about London without protection.”
Patience’s lips twitched; she was amused by the notion of him suffering from any nervous condition. Ramscar did not return the smile. The lady before him had pulled him into the very depths of hell with her antics, and he was not certain he would fully recover.
He sat down on her bed and removed his boots and damp stockings. Ram gave her a considering look. “Patience, why did you run? Meredith mentioned that you both had encountered a gentleman and his wife, Sir Russell and Lady Farnaly, and that they claimed to be your parents. Were they telling the truth?”
She bit her lower lip and glanced away.
Ramscar growled in frustration. “Perhaps I am asking the wrong question. Let’s try this again. Has anything you’ve told me been the truth? Who are you? Are you Patience Winlow or Patience Farnaly?”
In a quiet voice she said, “Things would have been simpler if you had just let me go.”
Let her go? Not likely.
“How fortunate for you I prefer the complicated over the simple,” he replied, his temper not improving with her hedging. “Whatever your secrets, they will not damn you in my eyes. Give me the truth. Which name belongs to you?”
“You have been so generous with your time, Lord Halthorn,” Meredith said after the viscount had thoroughly trounced her for the third time at Draughts. In truth, her mind was not on the game at all but on the handsome gentleman who sat across from her. “I feel guilty for squandering your evening.”
“An evening with you is never squandered, Lady Meredith,” Lord Halthorn said, a hint of gentle censure in his tone. “You are an amiable companion but …”
“But what?” she prompted when he hesitated.
He sighed as if reluctant to finish his confession. “You are perfectly horrid at Draughts.”
After a few seconds of speechless bewilderment, both the viscount and Meredith burst into laughter at his rude observation.
“How kind of you to notice, my lord!” Still laughing, she slid her chair away from the gaming table. Before she could rise, Lord Halthorn had jumped up from his chair and had positioned himself so he could help assist her.
He gently placed her hand in his. “You are worried about your brother and Miss Winlow.”
Meredith nodded. “I am certain Ram has found Patience. Most likely they were forced to seek shelter elsewhere because of the storm.”
“A sensible notion on such a foul night,” the viscount concurred, stroking her fingers in a comforting manner. “While I regret the grim circumstances that pressed you to summon me, I cannot regret our quiet evening together.”
There was something in his solemn gaze that quickened her pulse.
“Nor I, Lord Halthorn,” she said breathlessly as their gazes locked. Meredith abruptly glanced away. “You have been so kind to me. I treasure your friendship, my lord. I …”
Slightly puzzled, he moved closer when she pulled away from him. “What is it? Have I offended you in some way, Lady Meredith?”
Meredith smiled at his question. “No, my lord. I just feel your kindness warrants a confession.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“Both.”
Ramscar stirred, his ominous expression hinting at his need for violence.
“Honestly, I can claim both names,” she said hurriedly as he leaned menacingly toward her. “Though four years have passed since anyone has called me by the name Patience Farnaly. Truth be told, I would be content if I never heard the Farnaly name uttered in my presence.”
The earl reached over and tenderly cupped her cheek. “None of this makes sense. You are the daughter of a baronet. Why have you been fending for yourself since you were fourteen? Were you mistreated?”
Lie. Gain his sympathy.
The urge to lie to him burned her throat. His protective nature would never allow the Farnalys to approach her again if he thought they had been cruel. With his hazel green eyes level and sincere, Patience wondered if he was prepared for the truth he demanded.
“Not mistreated.” She took a fortifying breath. “Leastways, not in a manner that would warrant running away. There was a gentleman.”
Ramscar let the hand cupping her face drop to the mattress.
The telling action stung. “What is the point in my speaking the truth if you are unwilling to hear it?” she demanded passionately. “If you recall, I did not come to you a virgin, my lord. Did you think my lack was a romantic tale of love and loss? What do you think happens to the sweet virgins you and your friends, les sauvages nobles, entice into bed and then, when you are finished, leave to move on to the next conquest?”
Her heated accusation cut him to the quick. “Christ, is that what you think? My friends and I may deserve the notoriety bestowed on us, but callously seducing virgins for sport is not one of them!” He felt insulted, and his eyes were like living green flame. “Is that what happened to you? Were you seduced by a gentleman and your family cast you out in disgrace?”
Patience laid the pillow she had been clutching flat on her lap and smoothed the wrinkles from its surface. “No. Perhaps you will think badly of me, but I left with Julian Phoenix willingly.”
“I suppose this Phoenix was the worst sort of bounder.”
“Yes,” she said simply. “Although he called himself an actor, he wore the profession more as a mask to conceal his real talents.”
“Which were?”
She allowed her hair to fall forward, concealing her face. Her shame. “He was a charlatan. Phoenix was very good at getting people to believe what he told them, and all the while, with the help of the troupe he had assembled, he was stealing their valuables.”
The muscles along Ramscar’s jawbone visibly tensed. “How did you meet him?”
At least Ramscar had not accused her of being a thief yet. She pushed her hair away from her face and tucked the strands behind her ear. “My father, Sir Russell, introduced us. Phoenix and his troupe were performing in our parish. My family attended one of their plays. At fourteen, I was enamored
with the stage, and my father thought I would be eager to meet a real actor.”
She sighed, wistful for her lost innocence. “I was. Mr. Phoenix was an impressive gentleman. Before I knew it, this beautiful man was begging to meet me in secret because he had fallen in love with me. I was flattered to have such a worldly gentleman praise my acting skills as well as my beauty. I was so infatuated by him, I never thought to question his claims of undying love. He suggested that we make a dash for Gretna Green. Afterward, as man and wife, we would share both a bed and the stage. Oh, he had painted such a lovely life for us.”
“Bastard,” Ramscar succinctly spat out the word.
The corners of her mouth lifted slightly. “I agree.”
He glowered at her. “Phoenix had no thought of marrying you.”
Ramscar had never even met the gentleman, and yet he had seen through Phoenix’s ruse. A part of her despised that innocent fourteen-year-old girl who had willingly assisted in her own ruination. “None at all. Originally, he had paid attention to me in hopes that my father might notice and bribe Phoenix to leave me alone.” She wrinkled her nose. “A sound plan, but Sir Russell is …” She searched for the appropriate word to describe her father. “Dedicated to his inventions. He left any family business to my mother. I wager he did not notice Phoenix’s keen interest until my mother had brought it to his attention. By then, it was too late.”
“Why did the scoundrel keep you?” Ramscar scoffed at his ridiculous question. “Of course he would keep you. You were a beautiful child.”
Her pulse fluttered at Ramscar’s compliment. “In part. What appealed to Phoenix more was the raw talent he glimpsed within me. I had the makings to be an actress and a potential new member of the criminal class. I was young and trainable. It amused him and the others that they were turning a gently reared lady into a petty thief.”
It was painful to admit her failings to anyone. She hesitantly told Ramscar about her harsh life with Julian Phoenix and the troupe. Her throat ached and her soft voice was ripe with suppressed emotion in the retelling. She spoke of her thoughts of escaping Phoenix’s scheming guardianship and of her father’s cruel rejection the one afternoon she had tried to return home.
“What’s this?” Sir Russell glanced around as he descended from his carriage to see if anyone was witnessing his discussion with the daughter he had never expected to see again. Clearly Patience’s sudden appearance and babbled apology had flustered him. “You think a pretty apology will absolve you. You arrogant chit! Your defiance was a betrayal, not only to me and your mother, but to your sister and brothers as well. How did you expect us to hold our heads high, once our friends and neighbors learned you ran off to become another man’s whore?”
Patience brought her trembling hand to her breast as if her father’s words had scored deep furrows into her heart. She had expected, even deserved his anger. What she had not anticipated was the revulsion twisting his features into a cold, unfamiliar mask. “Papa, please—I beg of you—”
Sir Russell’s hand lashed out and he slapped her hard across the face.
Both father and daughter seemed horrified by his violence.
Shaken, he curled the offending hand into a fist. “I have no mercy left in me, girl. If you must beg, beg on bended knee to God, though I doubt even He will listen to such a miserable, selfish creature as you. From this day forward, I want—I want nothing more to do with you.”
Patience grimaced, banishing the unpleasant memory. Her gaze focused on Ramscar’s face. He had remained silent for too long. Oh, how she wished that she could discern his thoughts.
Ramscar had not visibly reacted to her admission that she had been trained as a thief. His lack of reaction was disconcerting. Although he had assured her on numerous occasions that he had not believed her capable of thievery, she worried that her revelation might alter his view of her innocence.
“Ram?”
Slowly, he stirred from his stupor. “You must have loved him a great deal.”
She was taken aback by his conclusion.
“Love? I despised him!” Patience tossed aside the pillow and hopped off the bed. She began pacing. “He took everything from me, and I—” She pounded her chest with her fist. “I let him!”
“You were little more than a child, Patience, when you ran off with this Phoenix,” Ramscar said, rising off the mattress. He stepped in front of her and halted her frenzied pacing. Her eyes filled with tears at the humbling compassion she detected in his tone. It shattered her. “As for remaining with him, what choice did you have? Your family had cast you out. You were frightened and penniless. Phoenix offered you a substitute family and a means to support yourself. Many young ladies faced with your plight would have made the same decision.”
“You are merely being kind,” she murmured, mentally shying away from the sliver of hope his words gave her. “I lied to you once. How do you know I am not lying to gain your sympathy?”
Ramscar rested his forehead against hers. He exhaled noisily. “I may dislike being lied to, Patience. Nevertheless, I am trying to understand your reasons.”
She lightly touched his cheek and stepped away while she struggled to believe him. Most people were not so forgiving. The one time she had tried to approach her father in the hopes that he would save her from Julian Phoenix, he had callously rejected her. “Do you? Another man might wonder if my admission of being a willing accomplice to numerous thefts was proof that I stole Lady Dewberry’s necklace the night of your sister’s ball.”
The corners of his eyes crinkled in his amusement. “Looking for a fight, are we?” he said, not bothering to agree or deny her charge. His hands slipped over both elbows as he roughly pulled her against him. “Poor, pretty Patience. You seem so determined to roil in your misery and past failings.”
“Cease your mockery, my lord,” she said crossly. He smelled of male musk, linen, and spring rain. She resisted the urge to press her nose to his shirt and breathe in his scent. “I am not claiming to be a martyr.”
“Good.” He tilted her face upward. “I have other plans for you.”
Ramscar cradled her face in his hands with a reverence no other man had shown her. Light as a butterfly’s wing, his lips teased her parted lips, quietly coaxing her into forgetting what awaited them beyond the closed door.
“You are so lovely, my hands tremble at the notion of touching you,” he breathed against her cheek.
Patience arched her head back, giving him a mischievous glance. “Are you loving me, my lord?”
Ramscar was pleased that she wore only a thin nightgown. After she had tried to run from him, his feelings for this complicated, maddening woman were too close to the surface. He needed reaffirmation that she belonged to him, and he was impatient.
“Always,” he vowed, nibbling her luscious neck. “You have slipped under my skin, Patience. Your very essence mingles like a fever in my blood.” Ramscar gathered the fabric of her nightgown and pulled the offensive barrier over her head. He tossed it away.
Completely naked, she moved like a graceful cat. “You, too,” she said, nuzzling her face against his chest. “I like the feel of you.”
Not waiting for his permission, she pushed up the ends of his shirt, and he obliged her by removing it. His hands moved to the buttons of his breeches.
She circled around to his bare back. “You are the first man I have ever viewed naked. You are such a hairy beast. I never knew that such tantalizing pleasure could be had by the searing heat of your skin as you move against me or the delicious abrasiveness of the hair on your arms, chest, and legs. Julian Phoenix was a selfish boy in comparison.”
Jealousy surged out of every pore, altering Ramscar into a full-fledged beast. The thought of another man intimately touching Patience was enough to make him hunt down the man and destroy him with nothing more than his bare hands. “Is he dead?”
Patience’s fingernails dug into Ramscar’s hips. She laid her cheek against him. He felt her warm breath t
ease the almost invisible hairs on his back. “Yes. There was an accident. His wounds were mortal.”
Ramscar sensed there was more to the tale than a simple accident. Something she was reluctant to reveal. He had heard enough for now. Phoenix was dead, and Patience was his. He did not have to deny himself. “Good. Then I do not have to kill him,” he said flatly, meaning it.
He turned until he faced her. Sweeping his arm under her legs, he picked her up. Patience clung to him, kissing him ardently. He blindly carried her to the bed. The violent need to protect the woman in his embrace worried him a little. It gave her power over him, and he was not the type of man who willingly surrendered to anyone.
In a display of great tenderness, he placed her down on the mattress. “Promise me that you will never run from me again.” Belatedly he realized that he was slightly hurt by her actions. She had not trusted him to keep her secrets.
Patience eyed him impatiently, watching him as he removed his breeches. “Yes. How can I resist a man who clearly has the natural elements on his side?”
Ramscar chuckled. His cock was already swollen with need. Only Patience could give him the relief he craved. “Consider yourself fortunate the storms delayed your escape. If I had been forced to scour the countryside for you, I would have paddled your defiant backside for the trouble.” He crawled into bed beside her.
“Oooh … issuing threats,” she said, unimpressed with his angry posturing. “Who says you would have caught me?”
He grinned at her arrogance. For an intelligent lady, she did not fully comprehend her predicament. “I do,” he said, shifting his weight so that he reclined on his side. He playfully tousled the curly nest between her legs. “This eve or the next, the results would have been the same.”
Barbara Pierce Page 17