“Ramscar isn’t a tyrant, Miss Winlow.” Lord
Everod gestured at all of the people around them. Expensively attired, many were content to just circulate and chat with their friends. Others were taking part in the dancing or playing cards in an adjoining room. “This is an evening where everyone selfishly indulges in their own amusements. Lady Meredith is over there smiling at her admirer. She is content. Relax, my dear. I am at your service, and willing to indulge any whim,” he drawled suggestively.
Lord Everod was charming—and unquestionably a handsome scoundrel.
If she dared to whisper an outrageous suggestion into his ear such as a whim to swim naked in the Dowager Duchess of Solitea’s fountain just beyond the open doors, Patience believed the viscount would immediately have her out the door.
There was a subtle leer in his expression that revealed that the man rarely refused a challenge.
“I do have a small request, my lord,” she said in a low, faintly husky voice.
“Anything.”
“Would you mind frightfully if I asked you to get me some punch?” Patience glanced pointedly at the huge crowd blocking the tables displaying the various refreshments. “I am awfully parched from dancing. However, I loathe facing the hordes.” She gave him a polite smile.
The keen interest she had glimpsed in his gaze
was abruptly leashed. Lord Everod was not going to pursue her unless she was willing prey. Relieved, she slowly exhaled.
“As do I,” he said, casting a loathing glance in the direction of the crowd. “However, I will brave them for your sake, Miss Winlow.” Offering her a bow, he turned on his heel and left her alone.
As she observed his departure, she could not resist admiring his lazy, graceful stride. Lord Everod was an exceedingly handsome gentleman. Still, she seemed immune to his masculine allure. His proximity did not make her heart race, nor was she anticipating his return.
Unlike …
As if almost against her will, she found herself searching the faces around her for Lord Ramscar. He had disappeared shortly after her second dance partner had escorted her away from Lady Fayre and her friends. Patience had hoped Lord Ramscar might approach her and request a dance as well, but he seemed determined to maintain a respectful distance.
Aha! There
.
Patience spotted him on the other side of the room. Nor was he alone. An elegant blond-haired lady was laughing at something he whispered in her ear. She laid her gloved hand on his arm. The intimacy in the mystery lady’s tiny gesture stole Patience’s breath. The way the blonde leaned into
him, boldly met his stare, and kept her hand on his arm revealed that they had been lovers. Patience was certain of it. Over the years, she had discreetly observed people, studying and mimicking their movements in an attempt to improve her portrayals of the various characters she played. That woman felt she had a claim on the earl, a silent declaration that was not objectionable to Lord Ramscar.
Suddenly, the ballroom felt a little stifling.
“You poor thing,” an unfamiliar woman said as she and her two friends circled around Patience, effectively cutting off her escape. “All alone. Oh, this will not do, do you not agree, ladies?”
Her two companions concurred.
Patience had not been introduced to the trio, nor was she particularly interested in procuring an introduction now. There was something about their leader that seemed peculiar. Perhaps it was her light blue eyes. Whenever the lady’s gaze touched her, Patience felt a distinct chill.
Where the devil was Lord Everod? She could use his timely rescue. “I am—”
“We know who you are,” the dark-haired woman said, cutting off Patience’s explanation that she was waiting for her escort’s return. “You are Lady Meredith’s little friend.”
Well, she had certainly been put in her proper diminutive place.
The shortest of the three cocked her head in a manner that reminded Patience of a bird. “Miss Winlow, is that not correct?” she asked with a hint of a lisp.
“Yes.”
“We have been told that your people are dead,” explained their stout companion wearing a turban that was too large for her head. Each time it listed to one side, the lady was obligated to straighten it or navigate the ballroom with one visible eye. “Rumor has it that the Knowdens brought you to London because they hope you might secure a respectable position in town.”
It was amazing how gossip circulated so swiftly about a room. However, Patience preferred their rumors to the truth.
The slender dark-haired lady stroked the necklace adorning her throat, drawing attention to the piece. “Lord Ramscar is a generous man. He is so tolerant.”
If he ever returned, Patience had another request for the viscount. She wanted him to make these three ladies vanish from her sight. None of the animosity she was feeling, however, was evident on her face. “That is a lovely necklace, Miss … ?”
The other woman was not as skilled at hiding her feelings. Her dislike was as apparent as the overly sweet floral scent she was wearing. “
Lady
Dewberry,” the young woman said in a haughty tone. “May I introduce my companions, Lady Perinot and Miss Nottige.”
Patience dipped respectfully into a low curtsy. “An honor to meet all of you,” she sweetly lied. Her gaze returned to the exquisite necklace Lady Dewberry was unworthy of owning. “I compliment your husband on his exquisite taste in jewelry. The pearls seem authentic. Are the stones genuine as well?”
She was deliberately being provoking. Besides making her study the movements of others, Julian Phoenix had taught her to recognize the differences between an expensive piece of jewelry and those made up of cheap paste.
The woman’s pinched expression revealed her outrage. “Naturally, the citrine and diamonds are genuine, and are of the utmost quality. The Countesses of Dewberry never wear cut glass! Of all the nerve,” she sputtered.
“I have returned from fighting the hordes, Miss Winlow,” Lord Everod said, handing her a glass of punch. “I trust you will forgive me for leaving you alone.”
He was forgiven as long as he did not abandon her to the three harpies.
The viscount’s cool sweeping glance had Lady Dewberry’s companions taking a step backward.
“Ladies,” he said, his smile revealing plenty of sharp teeth. “I promised my dance partner some fresh air. If you will excuse us.”
Not bothering to wait for their consent, he took Patience by the elbow and guided her toward the doors. When they were out of earshot, she said, “Thank you.”
Distractedly, he murmured, “The fault is mine. I should have warned you that you have already made enemies.”
Patience blinked at him. “Enemies? I just met them. Why would they take an instant dislike to me?” Perhaps the three ladies were snobbish bullies who took pleasure in attacking anyone they considered beneath them.
“It isn’t you, pretty Patience,” he said, stroking her cheek with three fingers. Not wanting to call any more attention to them, he immediately withdrew his hand. “You are a beautiful unmarried lady who happens to be under Ramscar’s personal protection. Certain ladies of the
ton
will despise you on principle, for you have achieved something they have not.”
She took a sip of the punch the viscount had procured for her. It was too warm and sweet to quench her thirst, but it eased the dryness in her throat. “Such as?”
“His interest.”
Patience made a scoffing sound.
“No, really.” When Lord Everod offered her a genuine smile, she merely gawked at him. The effect was devastating, and she was positive the rogue knew it.
“Ram has not been exactly discreet this evening,” the viscount said, shaking his head at his friend’s inexcusable behavior. “I have caught him staring at you on numerous occasions, and I am certain others have noticed his telling actions as well.”
It had been her first formal ball.
She had done well, Patience thought as she pulled the last hairpin from her hair and shook her blond tresses free from their confines. Rather pleased with herself, when she and Meredith had arrived at the house she had asked Scrimm for a small indulgence. A bath. The butler was worth his weight in gold. Within the hour, servants had carried into her
bedchamber a small tub and buckets of hot water. Patience could not wait to soak her aching feet.
Oh, what an incredible evening!
She sat down on a chair and carefully removed her slippers. Pulling up her skirts, she untied her garters and slipped off her stockings. Lady Fayre had introduced Patience to so many people she would not recall their names when she awoke in the morning. Lord Darknell, as the lady had promised, was indeed sinfully handsome. He had even partnered Patience in a dance. As Lady Fayre had predicted, her friend Lady Lyssa had been eternally grateful to them for saving her from the drunken amorous attentions of Lord Wilberfoss. Both ladies had invited Patience and Meredith to explore the shops on Bond Street in the near future.
The incident with Lady Dewberry and her cronies had been unpleasant. For whatever reason, the young countess had taken an instant dislike to Patience. The brief exchange might have ruined the rest of the evening, if she had let it. Fortunately, Lord Everod had rescued her from their malicious clutches and restored her former good spirits.
Patience stood and gently tugged the edge of her bodice downward. While she had been waiting for the hot water, Meredith’s personal maid had undone the back of Patience’s dress and loosened the laces of her corset so she could undress without assistance.
The gorgeous, expensive dress Lord Ramscar had purchased for her slithered down her body and piled at her feet. The corset swiftly followed. Dressed only in her chemise, she stooped over and gathered up her clothing. Humming to herself, she acknowledged that she had never owned anything so costly. With loving care, she laid the dress out on her bed. Later, after her bath, she would put all her treasures away.
Her thoughts turned to Meredith.
The young woman had been incredible this evening. Only Patience and Lord Ramscar knew how difficult it had been for Meredith to smile and chat with the dowager duchess’s friends. Patience had noticed on several occasions that Lord Halthorn had engaged Meredith in a private conversation. The viscount had given her a pretty seashell. Lord Ramscar had raised his brows when his sister showed him Lord Halthorn’s gift, and thankfully resisted sharing his true thoughts. Nevertheless, Patience doubted a negative opinion would have deflated Meredith’s enthusiasm. She was treating Lord Halthorn’s gift like it was a handful of the rarest diamonds.
Ramscar had kept a respectful distance from Patience for most of the evening. He only approached her when other people were hovering around her. She had danced with his charming friends Lord Byrchmore and Lord Everod and Lady Fayre’s husband, Mr. Brawley. Patience was not even aware of
how deeply she had been anticipating an invitation from Lord Ramscar until her hopes had been utterly dashed. At the end of the evening, he had placed her and Meredith in the family coach and bid them a good night.
He had remained behind.
Patience crossed her arms across her breasts and rubbed away the slight chill she felt on her arms. She loathed admitting it, but she was still stinging from his intentional slight. It was because of the actress, Meredith confided to Patience on their drive back to the town house. Angeline Grassi. Lord Ramscar apparently had a fondness for actresses of the legitimate theater. Although he had denied it to Meredith, she was convinced the woman was his current mistress. The woman had sought him out this evening for an assignation.
He is with her now.
Oh, how it hurt! Patience had glimpsed him sharing secrets with Miss Grassi. Meredith was correct. The actress had touched him with a familiarity that reeked of intimacy. From the brief passion that had flared between them, she had deduced that Lord Ramscar was a virile, demanding lover. He obviously desired a lover who matched his voracious appetites, not an unskilled miss who had been coerced with pain into pleasuring her one and only lover.
Patience sighed. She leaned down, letting her finger trail along the surface of the water.
It was still warm.
Bending over, she grabbed the hem of her chemise and pulled the soft linen over her head. Wholly bare, she glanced at the door. Patience knew it was locked. She had seen to the task herself once the footmen had emptied the last bucket of steaming-hot water and departed the room with a ribald comment that it was a shame she was unwilling to share her bath. The footmen meant no offense. It was harmless teasing. Still, a sense of unease rippled through her. She glanced at the windows. The draperies were tightly drawn. Why could she not shake off the feeling of being watched?
Patience wrinkled her nose. She was being silly.
It was late and the servants had retired to their quarters. No one cared whether or not Lady Meredith’s hired companion was indulging in a bath. Laughing softly, she stepped into the elegant tub. The warm water felt heavenly. She had never bathed in anything so lovely or whimsical. Hewn from wood, the tiny exterior of the tub was carved into the shape of a sea horse. A child would have been able to sit comfortably within it. Patience might have been able to squeeze into the narrow interior, but the thought of becoming stuck kept her from
trying. A small ledge had been designed at the back so bathers could sit down while they washed.
Patience reached into the water and retrieved the large sea sponge. She held it high and squeezed. Water sluiced over her hair and face, momentarily blinding her. A muffled noise to her right had her whirling around and wiping the water from her eyes.
She was not alone.
Blinking rapidly to clear her blurring vision, she realized Ramscar stood off in the corner of the room, silently watching her from the shadows.
Even in the dim light, she saw the feral hunger burning in his hazel green gaze.
Her mouth went dry. Patience had nothing to conceal her nakedness from him. She would have to get out of the tub and move closer to him to reach the towels she had set aside. Her damp hair covered her breasts. She slowly lowered the large sea sponge to her sex.
“I locked the door. How did you get in?” she quietly asked. Patience was more curious than angry at his intrusion.
He stepped out of the shadows into the small ring of light the fire in the hearth and branch of candles on the table provided. He wordlessly stalked her, approached her in a casual fashion as if not to frighten her. “I was waiting for you.”
It was a simplistic reply to actions that would complicate everything between them. When had he returned to the house?
“You stayed behind. I thought you were with—” She abruptly closed her mouth. Heavens, she was not about to mention his mistress. Patience was fiercely pleased he was not with Angeline Grassi. The thought of him pleasuring the actress with his hands and mouth, of him mounting her and finding satisfaction in her long, lithe body, was a disagreeable one. Then why was she resisting him, hesitating over what they could have together?
As he came up to the edge of the tub, Patience noticed his breeches did little to conceal his arousal. “Did you want a bath?”
Ramscar gave her a wry grin. “I want to share yours.”
Patience glanced at the interior and giggled. “For once, you were rather shortsighted, my lord. If you desired to bathe with me, you should have commissioned a larger tub.”
Admiring the way her puckered nipples were poking through her damp hair, he absently nodded in agreement. “I will have one commissioned tomorrow.”
While he had been waiting for her, he had unknotted and removed his cravat. His coat had also been discarded. He had come to her room intent on
seducing her. Her toes curled at the thought. “I was rather accommodating, was I not?” Patience stared down at her naked body. He had observed her as she had removed her clothing, and it had aroused him. She carefully sat down on the narrow ledge.
“Yes.”
The scoundrel did not even try to lie.
Rolling her eyes, she threw the wet sponge at him. It hit him squarely in the chest. Ramscar caught it and tossed the sponge into the tub. “What would you have done if I had not ordered a bath?” she asked.
He pulled his shirt over his head. “The outcome would have still been the same.”
The man’s arrogance was truly insufferable.
She was tempted to throw the sponge at him again. “No.”
“Protest if you must, my pretty lady.” She looked away when his hands moved to his waist. “We both know this night was inevitable.”
Patience was too stubborn to concede gracefully. She had suffered all evening because he had stayed away from her. Oh, when she thought of him smiling at that Angeline Grassi, while she prayed he would ask her to dance. She wanted to punish him for the misery he had inflicted on her heart. Closing her eyes, she listened as he removed his shoes, stockings, and, finally, breeches. Each item had a
distinct muffled sound as it was discarded. She felt the searing heat of his body beside her.
“Has a man ever bathed you?”
Her eyes snapped open at his rude question. The way he was grinning at her, Patience could tell that he was deliberately baiting her.
“Dozens. Nay, legions,” she brazenly lied. “This is the first time I have bathed alone in years!”
“I must respectfully disagree,” he said, retrieving the sodden sea sponge.
Her right brow lifted quizzically. “Are you calling me a liar, Lord Ramscar?”
Ramscar shot up and nipped her lower lip before she could react. “No, Patience. I am just reminding you that you will not be bathing alone.”
Patience was fuming and wet, but Ram thought she was the most beautiful woman he had ever been blessed to view naked. It took every ounce of his restraint to refrain from scooping her out of the tub and carrying her to the bed. Once he had her spread out beneath him, he would show her what they had been denying themselves.
She had looked so delectable this evening. As he watched her flirt and dance with his friends, it had taken all of his control not to separate her from the
gentlemen she had partnered, throw her over his shoulder, and carry her off into the night. Instead, he had stayed away from her and brooded. He regretted that his coolness had hurt her feelings. At one point in the evening, Angeline had cornered him and Patience had seen them together. Even from a distance, he saw the hurt glittering in her blue gaze.
Angeline had whispered to him that she was willing to cast aside her new lover. She was repentant for her faithlessness. In her meager defense, she claimed that she had missed Ramscar terribly and it was a fit of anger that had provoked her to invite another man into her bed. If Ram left the ball with her, she was prepared to forgive him for ignoring her all these long months.
Ramscar’s self-imposed celibacy and his unfulfilled desire for Patience had him briefly contemplating his former mistress’s enticing invitation. Losing himself in a willing woman who would expect nothing from him except an expensive token of his appreciation the next day seemed preferable to spending another night denying himself the vulnerable lady who ensnared his senses and made him half-mad with lust.
Or it had seemed appealing, until he had seen Patience’s woeful expression when he had escorted the ladies to their coach. In that moment, he knew
it was not just a willing woman he hungered for; he wanted Patience.
Ramscar picked up the soap ball poised on the lip of the tub and rubbed it against the sponge.
She frowned at his benign actions. “What are you doing?”
Setting the soap down, he bent over and lifted her leg out of the water. “I thought I was being obvious. I am washing you.”
Fearful that she would slip off the ledge, she gripped the sides of the sea horse–shaped tub while he scrubbed her leg. Her telling gaze lingered just below his navel. “Your actions are not the only thing that is evident.”
Ram sighed as he glanced down. His cock was fully erect and primed for mating. There was little he could do to hide his present condition. With his cock jutting from its hairy nest, he could not blame Patience for assuming he would lunge for her. The instinct to take her simmered just below his civility. He released her leg and lifted the other one.
“A natural reaction to your proximity. Perhaps it will abate with familiarity,” he said, his inflection hopeful, though he doubted his own words. “Stand up.” He let go of her shapely limb.
“You cannot wash me
there,
” she said emphatically, crossing her arms over her breasts.
If she needed coaxing, Ram did not mind in the
least. “Evidently, I am quite capable, and I am enjoying the view immensely. Now stand up so I can scrub your charming backside.”
Patience rolled her eyes at him, but she stood, presenting him her back. He had not been exaggerating when he told her that he liked her back. Soaping the sponge again, he moved her hair to the front so he could appreciate her silky flesh. Ram pressed his thighs against the edge of the tub. His cock poked her in the hip. She did not screech or jump away, and he thought her silence was very telling.