The marquess finally pulled his attention away from the jugglers and gave Ramscar a startled look. Expelling a bark of laughter, Lord Powning slammed his fist down on the carved arm of the chair. “You savage rogue! Not those sorts of private endeavors. Are you serious? My lady would geld me for even contemplating such a fantasy.”
The tension in Ram’s stomach abated with the man’s revelation.
Lord Powning did not notice Ram’s discomfort. “The troupe is content to travel like the jongleurs of old. No audience, whether it is three or three hundred, is beneath them.” The marquess smiled as he noticed Miss Winlow wending her way through the rapt spectators into the open area where her male companions defied setting their garments aflame. “An antiquated and charming tradition, I grant you. However, I predict our Miss Winlow is fated for greater things.”
“My lord and lady,” Miss Winlow greeted the Pownings, showing deference with a low and graceful curtsy. “The gentlemen behind me require a brave volunteer for their next feat. I leave it to you to name your fool—” She coughed delicately into her hand. “Uh, gentleman.”
Everyone roared with laughter at her deliberate slight. She smiled sweetly at those around her while several names were shouted out in hopes of swaying the marquess. Ram sensed Miss Winlow was enjoying herself immensely.
“What say you, my lord?” she shouted over the din of the audience.
Lord Powning rose from his chair. “A brave man, you say?”
“Aye, my lord,” she replied, willing to indulge her host. “The bravest. A man whose nerve will not falter when tested.”
Lord Powning leaned down and whispered something to his wife. The marchioness nodded in agreement and smiled. Straightening, he said, “Well, my lady and I can think of no other man than the Earl of Ramscar!”
An encouraging cheer momentarily deafened Ram as Miss Winlow offered to him her hand. Her cheeks were delightfully flushed from excitement. “Do you like to play with fire, Lord Ramscar?” With a dramatic flourish, she gestured toward the jugglers.
Ram scowled at the flaming torches. “It depends,” he drawled in her ear. He was not exactly afraid of fire. Nevertheless, since he had carried Meredith from the conflagration that once had been the nursery, Ram had kept a respectful distance from any open flame. “I’m rather particular on what I ignite with my hands.”
Miss Winlow reacted to his saucy remark as he had expected. Giving him an amused side glance, she said, “How interesting. It has been my experience that fire is rarely tamed for long.”
The screams of his mother and sisters still rang in his ears when he thought of that night. “I agree, Miss Winlow,” he said grimly.
His trepidation increased as he followed her closer to those flaming missiles that shot out between the two men. Why, of all things, did it have to be fire? What was wrong with juggling several razor-sharpened knives? Or battle-axes? Ram could feel his skin heat under his clothing, and the trickle of perspiration as it collected along his lower spine. By God, he had no intention of being undone by a few lit torches. If word of this reached his friends, he would never hear the end of it.
“What will you have me do, Miss Winlow?” he asked, appalled at his behavior when he realized he was reaching up to tug on his cravat. “My skills as a juggler are abysmal, I can assure you.”
“Never fear, my lord. I would never demand more than you would give willingly.” She moved in front of him and offered him her hands with her palms facing upward.
He stepped forward, briefly wondering if the lady was speaking of more than this brief opportunity to humiliate him in front of his neighbors. The urge to loosen his cravat was as insistent as a hard-to-reach itch. The fire crackled and hissed with each practiced throw behind Miss Winlow. Entwining his fingers with hers, Ram was startled by the strength of her grasp.
“Did I happen to mention that I prefer my fires in a hearth?” he asked, his gaze following the arcing flames.
A glint of comprehension dimmed her smile. He felt like an utter fool for being so transparent to a complete stranger. Ram wanted to evoke any emotion other than pity in her lovely blue eyes. He tried to release her fingers, but she would not allow it. In fact, she tugged him closer. Ram raised a quizzical brow at her brazen actions.
Tilting her chin in a challenging fashion, she said, “Come now, Lord Ramscar.” Miss Winlow made a soft chiding noise with her tongue and coaxed him to take another step forward. “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?”
Swallowing thickly, he focused on Miss Winlow’s face and matched her measured steps. His initial appraisal of her was that she was pretty. He was wrong. On closer inspection, Miss Winlow was captivating. There was an inner radiance that enhanced her natural beauty. It added a healthy glow to her cheeks and a merry twinkle to her eyes as she beckoned him to pursue her. He was close enough to her now that he could count the gold flecks floating on a fathomless sea of blue. There were three flecks in her right eye and one star-shaped fleck in her left.
Ram was startled by the sudden burst of applause around them. It took him a few seconds to realize they were cheering for him. Miss Winlow stepped away from him and extended her elegant arm toward him, encouraging the guests to continue their clapping. He had been so focused on her face, he had not noticed she had positioned them between the two jugglers. The spinning flames seemed to leap out of each man’s hands as they expertly caught and returned their dangerous missiles. Ram shivered despite the overly warm room.
“I-I had not realized—” He did not bother finishing the thought. Ram had not confessed his slight aversion to fire to his friends; he certainly was not going to reveal his fears to her.
Miss Winlow gave him a genuine smile, and the sheer power of it clouted him like a solid blow to his sternum. He felt his chest constrict as the air was squeezed from his lungs.
“Now, I am flattered, Lord Ramscar.” She hooked her arm in a friendly fashion, and they strolled away from the jugglers. The level of relief he experienced heightened with each step. “Take your bow, my lord,” she coaxed him with a nudge.
Feeling foolish, Ram gave an abbreviated bow and raised his right hand to silence the clapping around him. He must have been bewitched to permit Miss Winlow to lead him in an act of buffoonery. His sister, Meredith, had been wise to remain at home this evening.
“You have talent, my lord,” Miss Winlow mused aloud. “I vow, no one noticed your discomfort earlier.” She inclined her head as she curtsied.
“Except for you, Miss Winlow,” he countered, his tone edged with a hint of unexpected resentment. Since others were watching them, he returned her show of courtesy with a bow.
She shrugged casually. “Observation is a useful skill for an actress, my lord. It is, however, of little consequence,” Miss Winlow said, brushing by him.
Ram surprised them both by halting her departure by grasping her upper arm. “How so?”
The blonde gave him an innocent look. “I doubt we shall meet again. Your little secret is safe, Lord Ramscar. You have my word on it.”
“You and the earl looked rather intimate earlier this eve,” Link remarked to Patience hours later as Lord Powning’s coachman drove them to their lodgings.
“‘Intimate.’” Perry made a rude noise. “Such a fancy word for a crude act. The gent wanted to tup some pretty miss, and thought our Patience was ripe for a tumble.”
She grimaced at both her friends, although she doubted they could see her face clearly in the shadowed interior. “Not every gent has one hand in his breeches while the other is groping up some lady’s petticoats!” she said crossly.
Deidra, Perry, and Link laughed at her naivety. The four years she had wandered the countryside with the troupe and Julian Phoenix had not completely eclipsed fourteen years of genteel innocence. Unlike the rest of them, she still believed there were a few notable individuals left in the world who were not
self-serving. On the surface, Lord Ramscar seemed like a decent gentleman. Besides, he had been too preoccupied worrying about the proximity of the fire to think about seduction.
Why are my thoughts so troubled?
The marquess and his wife had declared their evening an out-and-out triumph, and the troupe had been paid handsomely for their efforts. Lord Powning had even given Patience a letter of recommendation, which she intended to use for procuring future engagements. Still, she could not shake off her edgy mood of discontentment.
“What were you and the earl chatting about?” Deidra asked while she rested her head against Link’s shoulder. “He certainly seemed taken with you.”
Patience wrinkled her nose at Deidra’s suggestion. “If you had worn your spectacles, you would not be spouting such nonsense. Our brief exchange barely qualified as a conversation.”
She was not going to admit that a tantalizing awareness stirred her senses whenever her gaze met Lord Ramscar’s very direct hazel green eyes. Patience was too honest with herself to deny that she found the earl handsome. He was shorter than Perry and Link; she approximated his height at five feet, ten inches. His lean, muscular frame was likely honed by outdoor sports rather than the indoor variety suggested by the others. There was a confidence and arrogance in his bearing that drew one’s gaze to him.
It was more than masculine beauty, although fate had not been stingy there. His chiseled oblong face was softened by hazel green eyes framed by long brown lashes, a straight nose, and full lips. Lord Ramscar’s hair was much darker than her pale blond tresses, lightened only in places by the sun. Its thick length was slightly longer than what was considered fashionable to some. Nevertheless, he kept it neat and clean, the ends tied in a queue at his nape. The earl was not handsome in the classical sense, but his face reflected intelligence, humor, and vitality. If she were still Miss Farnaly, she would have found him charming and hoped to have partnered him in a country dance.
As Miss Winlow, she knew better than most that manners and a handsome face could mask the vilest scoundrel. Alas, she would never know if he were saint or devil. The troupe would not be in the parish long enough for her to discover the answer.
“Bah, you are evading our questions,” Link said, slightly slurring his words. “We all saw him whispering into your ear. What did the gent do? Offend your fragile sensibilities by inviting you to his bed?”
Perry burst into a fit of laughter, and Link shared his amusement. Deidra gave Patience a sympathetic smile. Her friends knew that no amount of money would lure her upstairs with any man. She was still relatively innocent in matters of a carnal nature, and she was content to remain that way. Julian Phoenix might have taken her virginity, but her innocence would be given to the man of her choosing. The distinction was beyond her companions’ understanding. The three of them came from a world where they bartered anything and everything. Patience’s prim ways did not fit in their ruthless world. It was a quandary, since there was no place for her in the world where she was once Miss Farnaly.
So where do I belong?
She closed her eyes and rubbed her aching temples. Lord and Lady Powning’s gathering had stirred up feelings Patience had thought were buried. It was so easy to imagine herself in her former life. Miss Farnaly would have certainly sought a conversation with Lady Powning in hopes of attaining an introduction to Lord Ramscar. Would the earl have treated Miss Farnaly differently? Patience groaned. There was no place in her life for regret. Right or wrong, she had chosen this path when she ran off with Julian Phoenix.
For now, her place was with this small troupe of players. What they needed was a strong leader. Unfortunately, they would have to settle for her. “If anyone is evading a subject, it is you, Link,” Patience said tartly. “You as well, Perry. Do not think I have forgotten you both almost ruined the evening by disappearing.”
“Me? What’d I do?” Perry defiantly protested.
Anticipating a battle, Link shrugged off Deidra, who appeared to be dozing against his shoulder. “So I wandered off to share a bottle or two with the grooms.”
“The number was closer to twelve,” Deidra sleepily murmured. “They were opening five more bottles when I stumbled across them as they sat around a large bonfire behind the stables.”
Link gave Patience a patronizing look that always seemed to raise her hackles. “I do not understand all the fuss, my girl. Deidra located my whereabouts before an alarm was sounded, and the fancy folk were pleased with their evening. You should be showing us some gratitude, rather than sniping at our faults.”
Deidra gave Link’s knee a sympathetic pat. She had been listening to her companions’ complaints about one another for years and knew there was little she could do to stop them from arguing.
“Gratitude? For what, I ask you?” Patience yelled back. “If it wasn’t for me, we wouldn’t be able to pay for our lodgings, you ninny! I was the one who negotiated the terms of the engagement with Lord Powning. If we had left it up to you, we would still be performing at that filthy, pathetic excuse for a fair near Bath, while you and Perry drank and gambled away our meager earnings.”
“We all earned our share. The blunt belonged to all of us,” Perry argued. Sitting beside her, he turned his body so he could glare at her profile. “Who are you to tell us all how we spend our individual shares?”
“Shares of what? The shillings we collect from our performances at flea-ridden booth theaters from Dublin to Cornwall? We wouldn’t have even them if I was not nagging you at each performance. Or perhaps you are referring to Deidra wandering off with every man willing to throw silver on her bed when he is finished with her—”
Deidra’s eyes snapped open at the insulting remark. Her mouth thinned in anger. “Not every gent. I am not a whore!”
“Or Link. What did Phoenix call you?” Patience said, feigning innocence. “Oh, right, a handy ol’ fool who will do anything for a bottle of blue ruin!”
“Enough!” Perry grabbed her arm and gave her a hard shake. “Your tongue could cut tough hide when you are full of bile.”
“Oh, and what about you?” Her eyes burned with frustration and hurt as she scowled at him. “Stealing from our patron. How could you?”
“It’s what we do, woman!” Perry slammed his fist several times against the side of the coach, causing the coachman to signal the horses to slow.
“Drive on!” all four members of the troupe shouted in unison.
Patience cleared her throat and strived to calm down. “You swore—no, we all swore an oath to live an honest life. We are not without talent. Phoenix’s schemes would never have worked if we could not have presented ourselves as a real troupe. There is nothing stopping us from realizing our dreams—”
“Yours perhaps,” Link said bluntly. “Not ours. I won’t speak for the others, but my needs are simple—a dry roof over my head, a warm dinner in my belly, and a fat purse to pay for my pleasures. Why do you want to mess with what Julian set up for us?”
“Have you all forgotten what it was like to live under his tyrannical rule?” Patience asked, the past rushing into her lungs like foul air until she choked. “The abuse, the hunger … the fear of rotting in some godforsaken gaol?”
Perry made a disagreeing sound in his throat. “Phoenix filled our pockets, too.”
This was not the first time they had argued over their former leader or the last. Wearily she said, “No one should have to sell their soul to fill their bellies and pockets.” Patience could never admit that she would never be free of the man. He haunted her in quiet moments. His words taunted her each night before she drifted off to sleep.
“You’ve killed me.”
“What will your precious family think when they learn that you are a murderess?”
It was Deidra who broke the tense silence within the compartment of Lord Powning’s coach. While she and Patience had formed a tentative alliance after Phoenix’s disappearance, Deidra’s loyalty to her dead lover was always apparent when his name
was mentioned. It was a battle Patience had no hope to win. “Perry and Link were wrong to run off without a word.” Deidra silenced both protesting men with a gesture. “Come morning, I am certain, both will be appropriately contrite for their actions.” Her expression dared either man to contradict her.
She mutely blinked at Deidra’s unexpected support. “I cannot do this alone,” Patience said hoarsely, her throat raw with emotion.
Sharp, dark eyes glittered with undisguised malice at her confession. “It just sticks in your throat, doesn’t it? Admitting that you need us.” Deidra sniffed derisively in Patience’s direction before giving both men conspiring nods to include them. “Gents, she sees us as the drunkard, the thief, and the whore. We do not fit in your grand lady’s schemes, do we, Patience?”
CHAPTER FOUR
Ram had expected Meredith to avoid him in the breakfast room the morning after Lord and Lady Powning’s gathering. He was surprised to find her sitting at the table, her plate already removed and an open book in its place. Distracted by her book, she did not notice him until he greeted the footman. Polite caution wiped away her blank expression when she lifted her head. “Good morning, Brother. You are up earlier than I had expected.”
He resisted the urge to groan. Meredith was prepared to forget they had argued the previous evening. His usual response was to allow her to have her way. In the past, it had been easier than facing her tears. Unfortunately, their argument had not dissuaded him from his goal. In fact, the evening spent with the Pownings had only convinced Ram that he needed to take action.
He sauntered to her chair. “I have several matters that need my attention this morning. You look lovely this morning, Meredith,” Ram said, bending down to kiss her on the cheek.
She stiffened at his proximity, and belatedly he realized he was about to kiss her ruined cheek. He was not repulsed by her scars, but he knew she was sensitive about anyone getting too close. Resigned that their day together would likely not be a pleasant one, Ramscar gave her a quick peck on the cheek before seeking his own seat.
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