Barbara Pierce

by Naughty by Nature

“A stage strumpet,” Patience said, tasting the phrase with a contemplative frown. “I daresay no one has risked hurling that insult to my face before.”

  “I would think someone in your position would be quite used to having derogatory names and rotting vegetation thrown in your direction,” Lady Meredith said, her expression one of scornful triumph.

  “My position?” Patience politely replied.

  “As an actress, of course.”

  “Oh? I could say the same of you, Lady Meredith,” Patience said, crossing her hands behind her back and giving her a knowing look.

  “I cannot fathom what you are about.”

  “Really?” She strolled closer to the young woman and gestured at a nearby chair. “May I sit?”

  At first, she thought Lady Meredith might refuse out of spite. Suddenly recalling her manners, she nodded regally. “Of course. Please join me.” She waited until Patience was sitting down before she gave in to her curiosity. “Now that the pleasantries are done, I insist you explain your earlier comment.”

  Lord Ramscar had warned Patience that the task of preparing his sister for London would not be an easy one. Lady Meredith viewed Patience as the enemy. This was nothing new to her. She was used to working beside people who merely tolerated her presence. Ram’s sister would have to work harder if her goal was to discourage Patience. “You called me an actress. I simply returned the favor.”

  “You insult me?”

  “On the contrary, Lady Meredith, I was admiring your efforts,” she said, radiating sincerity. “Like recognizes like. You certainly had your brother fooled.”

  “You know nothing of me. What can anyone deduce from a few minutes of conversation?”

  “Oh, quite a lot,” Patience admitted candidly. “My profession has made me a student of human nature. Much can be deduced from inflection, expression, and posture.”

  Lady Meredith tilted her head in curiosity, and her lips parted as if she might ask Patience to elaborate further on her observations. Then the lady recalled the circumstances that had brought her new companion to Swancott, and mutinous rage doused any milder discourse. “My anger was not feigned, Miss Winlow. I resent your presence in my home. I do not want you here. My brother is wasting good coin in hiring you, because I have no desire to go to London.”

  Patience saw through the lady’s anger to the heart of the matter. Her fears. Patience tried a different approach. “Oh, I would be foolish to contradict such a strong opinion. I actually was referring to your outlandish tantrum. It was quite a magnificent display and so contrary to your disposition.”

  The other woman choked with outrage. “What do you know—My brother spoke to you about me?”

  She had gleaned enough from Lord Ramscar’s tragic retelling of the fire and his sister’s life afterward that Patience could make a fairly accurate presumption about the young woman’s character. “Naturally, he would mention you, since we will be spending much time together. I would have thought it odd if he had not.”

  “You do not seem wholly surprised by my disfigurement. He must have warned you not to react to my scars,” she said bitterly, her hand involuntarily rising to conceal her cheek.

  Patience knew she had to tread carefully. Lady Meredith was hurt and troubled, but she was nobody’s fool. If Patience pretended not to see what the young woman viewed as hideous scars, she would never earn Lady Meredith’s trust. “Lord Ramscar told me that there had been a fire and that your twin sister perished. It was a miracle you survived.”

  Lady Meredith blinked, apparently not expecting the response she had received.

  “A miracle,” she mused, as if tasting the word. “I have never considered it as such. My death would have spared my brother the burden of hiring me a nursemaid.”

  Patience wrinkled her nose in disapproval. “You have two functioning arms, two legs, and some wits about you.” She noted the lady’s lips twitched. Perhaps they were making progress after all. “Why not pretend we are friends, and figure out the rest as we get to know one another?”

  The defiance was back in Lady Meredith’s pale face. “I do not want to go to London.”

  I am anxious, too.

  Patience got up from her chair and knelt at Lady Meredith’s side. “When your brother spoke of you, his love was so apparent. Such a gentleman would challenge anyone who dared to hurt you.”

  The young woman shook her head, wanting to deny her companion’s words. “My scars—”

  “Are inconsequential,” Patience declared flatly. “I have some expertise in changing my appearance. There are things we can do to not call attention to your scars.”

  There was that glimmer of curiosity again. “How so?”

  Patience grinned up at her. “Have you thought of cutting your hair? We can arrange your hair in a style that would conceal some of them. Perhaps a touch of powder also?”

  Lady Meredith placed her hand over Patience’s. Instead of anger or fear, she saw wary hope. “You could do that?”

  “Not alone,” she cautioned, needing the woman’s cooperation if they were to succeed in this endeavor. “However, if we pool our intellect, I promise you that your brother will not even recognize you when you enter a ballroom.”

  “I do not believe you,” Lady Meredith said flatly.

  “Well, if I fail at my task, then you will have the pleasure of gloating about my spectacular blundering to your brother. Most likely, I will be unceremoniously sacked without references,” Patience said pragmatically.

  The notion of ordering her brother to sack Patience apparently appealed to the angry young lady. “So you are an actress?” Lady Meredith repeated her earlier question, though this time the mockery had lessened in her inflection.

  Patience braced her hands on the arms of the chair and stood. “No. As of today, I am a lady’s companion and your friend if you will have me.” She held out her hand, half-expecting the other woman to refuse it.

  Lady Meredith grasped Patience’s hand. “We shall see, Miss Winlow. You know, I have never met an actress. I suppose you have all kinds of interesting tales of adventure.”

  If she only knew …

  While Miss Winlow began regaling her companion with an amusing tale about a vicar and a goat, Ramscar quietly closed the door.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “You handled my sister with a level of compassion one does not normally expect in a stranger.”

  Begrudgingly, he had to admit that the little actress had dealt with Meredith’s fit of temper much better than he had ever managed. The scene he had witnessed and Miss Winlow had dwelled in his thoughts for most of the evening. After he had departed the sitting room unnoticed by either lady, he had dedicated the rest of the afternoon to writing letters. He wanted the London town house ready for their arrival. The details for planning a small ball in Meredith’s honor were sketchy, but he knew a few ladies who could assist him in that endeavor. Ram belatedly recalled Angeline Grassi. He absently wondered if she had found another gentleman to share her bed.

  “Her resentment is normal, my lord. I believe—” Realizing she was overstepping her bounds again, Patience ruefully said, “May we speak frankly?”

  “Yes, on the condition you will accept my apology.” It was one of the reasons he had impulsively summoned her to the drawing room after Meredith had retired. Patience had cautiously agreed to his offer of hot chocolate and conversation. Her hesitation had made him feel brutish. “I regret chastising you earlier. My sister is not the only one who possesses the Knowden temper.”

  Amusement danced merrily in Patience’s blue eyes. “I accept. You might not believe this, but I have been accused of having an unguarded tongue.” She absentmindedly stirred her hot chocolate. “It is a failing I hope to improve upon while I am in your employ.”

  Charmed, he tipped back his head and laughed. He found nothing wrong with her refreshing arrogance, and neither did she. Ram had chosen brandy instead of hot chocolate to imbibe. Discreetly, he studied her through lowered lashes
. His sister’s opinion had been correct. Miss Winlow was beautiful. Her pale skin glowed with vitality under the candlelight. She had been a delightful and amusing companion at their table this evening, so unlike the quiet dinners he normally shared with Meredith when he was at Swancott. The swift molten heat of desire that struck him did not surprise him, but the aching intensity in his loins did.

  Ram had never bedded anyone under his employ. It gave him a distinct advantage that he considered distasteful. Any lady he bedded was there of her own free will, not because she feared dismissal. What was he to do about his attraction for Miss Winlow? Pensive, he sipped his brandy.

  “Is the chocolate not to your liking?” he asked politely, noticing she had barely touched her cup.

  Appalled that she had insulted him, she said hastily, “Oh no, it is delicious.” She brought the rim of the cup to her lips and sipped. Her eyes closed in bliss as she savored its rich flavor.

  Ram shifted uncomfortably in his chair. The way she tilted her head slightly back with her eyes closed and her lips parted made his cock twitch in anticipation. Her reaction to the hot chocolate was so sensual, he wondered if it was deliberate.

  Christ, he hoped so!

  He groaned, and Miss Winlow’s eyes opened. Finally, aware of his intense stare, Miss Winlow set her cup aside. “You must think I am silly.”

  Silly? On the contrary, the lady was making him crazed. Oblivious to her effect on him, her tongue touched the corner of her mouth to catch a drop of missed chocolate. Ram resisted the urge to leap out of his chair and pull her down onto the floor. As far as he was concerned, the lady could put chocolate anywhere on her body and he would be happy to lick it off.

  “It has been a while,” she explained rather apologetically.

  He heartily concurred. Usually, he was not so bothered by his bouts of abstinence. However, there was something about Miss Winlow that made him want to demonstrate to her why the ton called him and his friends les sauvages nobles.

  She was Meredith’s hired companion and under his protection, he reminded himself. Control. He needed to grasp it with both hands and cease fantasizing about bedding his little actress.

  His.

  “Lord Ramscar, are you ill?” Miss Winlow asked, her mouth pouting with her growing concern. “If you would rather continue our discussion tomorrow—” She started to rise, but she halted when he gestured for her to sit.

  “I am fine,” he said, wishing he had not made a damn fool of himself, mooning over this woman. “You mentioned that it has been a while.” He prayed she would continue talking while he willed the slight swell in his breeches to abate.

  “Yes, the chocolate. It has been years since I enjoyed a cup of hot chocolate,” she said candidly. “You must think I am silly. I suppose if you were inclined, you could drink hot chocolate every night.”

  He had not considered what her life had been before he had met her at the Pownings’. “There is nothing ridiculous in taking pleasure in something you like. Your appreciation for the hot beverage is enchanting. Go on. Indulge.” He motioned for her to sample more of the hot chocolate.

  She smiled shyly at his flattery. Picking up her cup, she delicately sniffed the contents before drinking.

  It was a near thing, but he stifled his groan. Ram watched her throat undulate with each swallow. He should have never invited her to the drawing room without Meredith. He had to think of something, anything, to distract him from the very bad idea of putting his hungry mouth to Patience’s slender throat.

  “You have been on your own for some time?”

  The innocent question wiped the open pleasure from her face. Guarded, she cradled her cup with both hands. “Yes. Since I was fourteen.”

  She had been so young to be fending for herself. He was outraged on her behalf. “What of your family?”

  A hint of sadness shadowed her blue eyes. “There is no one living who will claim me, my lord.” Abandoning her hot chocolate, she hastily rose from her chair. Clearly, the subject of her family or lack thereof was not one she would willingly discuss.

  It was his curse in life to be surrounded by prickly females.

  “Lord Ramscar, I should retire.”

  “‘Ramscar’ will do,” he corrected her as he stood also. Fortunately, his unruly body had calmed somewhat. “Or ‘Ram,’ if you prefer.”

  She balked at his suggestion. “It does not seem appropriate.”

  “Oh, it is when you consider you have practically become a member of our family,” he said, finding his reasoning sound. “We will be spending a great amount of time together. It creates intimacy, even amongst strangers.”

  Miss Winlow looked as if she was about to disagree. Wisely she resisted the urge to debate him. Instead, she nodded warily. “I bid you good night.”

  He was making her nervous. Ram did not mind. He wanted her to be aware of him. “Very well. We will talk again soon. Pleasant dreams, sweet Patience.”

  Eros, the Greek god of love, must have visited her while she slept that first night at Swancott. Her dreams were dark and strangely erotic. Restless, Patience rolled onto her back, kicking off the sheet that was tangled around her legs. Visions of Julian Phoenix’s face fluttered like pages of a book caught by a spring breeze. A bottle of laudanum suddenly appeared in her hand. Although it made no sense, she poured the contents over the book.

  Stepping away from the book, she sensed Phoenix coming up to her, his arm snaking around her waist. She tensed against him, knowing what he wanted.

  “Let me show you pleasure,” her dark lover whispered in her ear.

  His hand moved upward and cupped her breast. The dress she had been wearing melted away. Such was the magic and wonder of dreams. Patience moaned as he playfully pinched her nipple. She arched her back, teasing his rigid manhood with her buttocks. He gave her a good-natured swat on her backside for tormenting him. The Julian Phoenix of her dreams was different from the man she knew. She tilted her head to the side, exposing her neck. She smiled at his playful nip. This Julian, her magnificent dream lover, seduced her with his mouth and hands. His beautiful body was hers to command. She was free to explore him thoroughly in this realm; no request was forbidden.

  I want to feel you inside of me.

  She did not have to speak the words aloud. He sensed her needs almost before her. Patience slid her back down the front of his body, scoring his thighs with her nails.

  “Get on your knees,” he ordered huskily. “I love taking you from behind.”

  She did not mind yielding to this Julian. He never hurt her or forced her obedience when she defied him. This man was an inventive lover who only brought her pleasure.

  Yes.

  The background shimmered as the floor rushed up to meet her. When the mist cleared, they were in front of a hearth. She was now on her knees, and her fingers gripped the luxuriant animal pelt meant to protect her from the hard floor.

  Her lover’s warmth covered her like a warm blanket. Patience felt his hot breath on her right shoulder as he positioned himself. She wiggled against him. There was never any pain when he entered her. In her dreams, her body desired this lovemaking. In fact, she craved it.

  Patience moaned at his forceful penetration. Julian slid into her, burying his firm rod deeply. He flexed against her womb, his manhood throbbing. As always, her womanly sheath was wet, her desire for this union acute. His left hand splayed over her stomach possessively. Her toes curled in anticipation.

  Please.

  He slowly pulled out of her. Patience almost whimpered at the loss. Her lover was not about to leave her unsatisfied. He thrust against her, his rhythm energetic. She dug her fingers into the fur pelt, rocked against him, matching his tempo. Julian’s hand slipped lower, seeking the cleft between her legs.

  “Cry out for me.”

  He bit her shoulder to remind her who was in charge. The intense pleasure he could wring from her body was worth the surrender. Julian buried his fingers into the wiry nest of curls between h
er legs as he slammed his hips against her buttocks, over and over.

  It was overwhelming. Lowering her head, she grimaced as the first wave of pleasure rolled through her. Her dream lover was relentless. His measured thrusts pummeled her, while she lay helpless and quivering. The maelstrom he had created had left her breasts sensitive and her body aching for more.

  It was precisely what her lover had in mind. Julian carefully withdrew his manhood and rolled her onto her back. Her eyes were still blissfully closed when he parted the tender feminine folds as he sought the heart of her. Patience smiled. The man was insatiable.

  She opened her eyes, prepared to share her saucy opinion. Her lips parted in shock. The handsome face hovering inches above hers was not that of Julian Phoenix.

  It was Lord Ramscar!

  “Did you honestly think I was finished with you, Miss Winlow?”

  He masterfully penetrated her before she could conjure a coherent reply. Her previous lovemaking had made her drenched sheath unbearably sensitive. One definitive thrust and she was lost.

  Patience awakened sobbing, her hand pressed fiercely between her legs as the pleasurable rippling from her womb receded with her dreams. Confused, and more than a little frightened, she sat up in the bed.

  She was alone.

  It took her a moment to recall that she was at Swancott. She brought her clenched hand to her face and noted the subtle fragrance of her arousal.

  It had been a dream.

  A shudder she chose to view as relief gently shook her shoulders. She grabbed the blankets she had kicked off and pulled them over her bare legs.

  There were tears on her cheeks.

  Oh God, what was wrong with her? She rolled to her side and curled her knees to her chest. Since Julian Phoenix’s death, she had endured these distressful dreams. He was always so tender in them, so unlike the man she knew. When she awoke, the recollection of their lovemaking had left her aching and guilty. Patience slammed her head against the pillow in frustration.

  There was something truly wrong with her. She hated Phoenix. He had been a dreadful, inconsiderate scoundrel who thought only of his pleasure. Why was his handsome face the one her mind summoned? Why did she long for his touch?