“Thank ye, my lord,” the barmaid said to Ram, but her eyes were on the viscount. “If you have a need or two, just ask for Marjorie.”
No doubt, Everod would be freeing his need especially for Marjorie in some private corner of the gambling hell later in the evening.
Ram picked up one of the bottles of wine and poured some into his and Everod’s glasses. For a time Ram looked forward to forgetting about his personal problems and getting drunk with his friend. “So tell me of Cadd and Solitea. What news do you have of them?”
It was nigh past midnight when Ram heard the soft knock at the door. He had been expecting a visit from Meredith’s champion. However, he had thought the late hour would discourage her from confronting him tonight.
“Lord Ramscar, are you awake?”
At the sound of Patience’s low, husky voice Ram shut his eyes and tried to resist answering her summons. He was tired, edgy, and slightly drunk. The last thing he wanted to do was discuss his sister or his unpardonable behavior. When he had departed for the evening earlier, Meredith had still not forgiven him for his highhandedness.
“Ram, please.”
Patience’s quiet plea slipped under his weary defenses. Rolling out of bed, he padded to the door. For modesty’s sake, he could have donned his discarded shirt. He refrained. A lady who dared to venture into a gentleman’s bedchamber at midnight deserved to glimpse the ravenous beast she provoked.
Ram opened the door.
“Good evening, Patience.”
He leaned his forearm against the door frame, admiring the young woman in front of him. This was a Patience Winlow he had yet to meet. Her long blond hair was down but neatly plaited into a braid down her back. She wore a simple white nightdress and kid slippers over her bare feet. A light green shawl was draped over her shoulders, preventing him from admiring her breasts.
“How many hours did you sit by the window awaiting my return?” he asked, giving her a wolfish grin. “If I had known, I would have told you it was a fruitless endeavor.”
Patience was not immune to his near nakedness. Instead of looking away, she gaped at him, her expressive blue eyes taking in his bare chest and feet. Dressed only in his breeches, he looked as if he had been about to indulge in a night of debauchery.
It was an outstanding notion.
“My apologies,” she said breathlessly. “I had heard your return. I did not know you were already in bed. Please forgive my intrusion.” She turned away, preparing to leave.
Oh, this would not do.
They had both been pretending the kiss at Swancott had not occurred. Now she was here at the entrance of his lair. Surely, her bravery should be rewarded.
“You must be cold. Pray, enter.” He backed away and gestured her toward the fire. “We are both awake, and evidently you desire a private audience with me.”
Ram glanced at his shirt on his bed and dismissed it. The sight of his half nakedness had rattled her composure, but she was too strong-willed to swoon. He joined her near the hearth and crouched down to tend the fire.
“Sit down,” he called over his shoulder.
She gingerly sat down at the end corner of the small walnut daybed to the right of him. The long squab and head cushions were covered in dark blue velvet. The gilt headpiece had been carved into the fan-shaped plumes of a peacock. Despite its eccentricity, the daybed was a comfortable piece of furniture. Often he had fallen asleep near the fire with an open book splayed facedown across his chest.
“I suppose you have come to lecture me about my cruelty toward my sister,” he said, setting aside the poker. Since she was poised on one measly corner of the daybed, Ram decided there was no reason not to enjoy the rest of it. She recoiled somewhat when he sat down and stretched his legs out behind her, but she did not seek a safer place to sit.
With her hands clasped together, she turned her head, and their gazes locked. “Is this where you tell me I have overstepped my position, my lord?”
“‘Ram,’ if you please, or ‘Ramscar,’” he softly admonished, irritated that she was using his title to distance herself from him. “Remember our ruse. I should not view you as anything less than my equal.”
She grinned triumphantly at his admission. “Then you do solicit my opinion regarding Meredith.”
He grinned at Patience’s arrogance. “No. I have been handling Meredith longer than you. While I admire your dedication to her, there will be instances when our methods for easing her fears will differ.”
“You shamed her in front of the staff, Ramscar,” Patience said, shifting so her knees were facing him. “Certainly, you must agree that your so-called method was autocratic and a bit cruel.”
They might not have an audience, but his companion was attempting to shame him into extending an apology to his sister. And Patience thought he was bossy! Carelessly he used the edge of his thumbnail to scratch an itch just below his navel. Ram noticed her gaze had dropped down to his belly. A faint blush stained her cheeks.
Beguiled by her reaction, he decided that he was already bored with their discussion of Meredith. He would rather see what other responses he could provoke from the little actress. Still, the lady would be likely to leave him, disgusted by what she perceived as callous actions toward his sister. “How was Meredith this evening?”
“Calmer.” Patience’s soft sigh revealed it had been a trying day. “Nevertheless, she is very peeved with you.”
“And her fears of the house or London?” He wiggled his brows knowingly at Patience.
Her lips parted in surprise. “Forgotten. Dear heavens, you deliberately set out to distract her, did you not?”
He grinned at Patience’s accusation. “I understand my sister. She has a nasty habit of fretting over something until she works herself into a fit of hysteria. It seemed prudent to give her something new to concentrate on.”
There was a quiet awe in Patience’s expression as she stared at him. “Ramscar, you are a very wise gentleman,” she said humbly. “I had not considered—Mayhap I owe you an apology?”
Ram straightened and moved closer to Patience until he was positioned behind her. Everod had believed Ram had installed her in his house for his own pleasures. While that was untrue, he was beginning to see the benefits of having her within arm’s reach. “Why spoil your delightful arrogance with humility? It does not suit you.” He caressed the long braid, admiring its subtle blond hues.
She stiffened at his touch. “I should go. I have kept you from your bed long enough.” She clutched the ends of her shawl like it was a shield. If she grasped those taut ends any tighter, she was likely to strangle.
He reached around to her front and tenderly pried her bloodless fingers from the shawl. “Tarry a moment, Patience. There is one small matter I wish to address.”
“Such as?” she whispered. Her mouth trembled when his fingers brushed under her chin.
She did not resist him as he guided her face toward his. “This.”
Ram kissed her sweetly on the lips.
CHAPTER TEN
His kiss had not been an aberration.
With her hands shaking, Patience brought her fingers to his face and pulled him closer. Ramscar tasted like the brandy he preferred in the evenings. The beard stubble beneath her fingertips was rough and foreign to her. She wondered how that scratchiness might feel against her sensitive breasts, down her back, or along her inner thigh. Would the earl be scandalized if she expressed her question aloud or would he simply lay her down on the daybed and show her?
Egad, what was she thinking? Such curious musings would only lead to trouble. Although she had not wanted to humiliate Meredith further by revealing that she fully intended to chastise Ramscar about his appalling behavior, she now understood the risk of confronting him alone in his bedchamber. The friendly informality she and Deidra had shared with Perry and Link had lured Patience into believing that she and the earl could share a similar familiarity without the messy consequences.
Patience ha
d made a grave miscalculation.
She had underestimated her attraction to the earl and overestimated the gentleman’s restraint.
Ramscar nipped her chin and then proceeded to nibble the line of her delicate jaw until he reached her ear. “Just as I thought,” he murmured, swirling his tongue around the inner spirals of her ear.
“W-what?” Leaning away to avoid his tingly torment, she bared her neck, giving him the access he eagerly exploited with featherlike caresses with his lips. She mentally willed herself to stand and walk away from the earl. It mattered little that his touch exceeded her wildest dreams. Oh, how he smelled? Intoxicating. Clearly there was no harm in a few kisses?
“Your scent reminds me of one of my favorite desserts as a lad. Warden pie,” he said, his lips sampling the juncture between her neck and shoulder. “I swear your skin has the subtle essence of clove.”
It was the soap she used. Her sole private luxury, the soap was a pleasing aromatic mixture of cassia, clove, and lemongrass. “And this pleases you?”
Ramscar nonchalantly pushed her onto her back and crawled up her prone body until his face hovered inches above her nose. “It makes me want to devour you.” He flipped the ends of her shawl away, exposing her thin nightdress. “Slowly. And most thoroughly.”
She fought back the urge to giggle. Patience sobered quickly when he lowered his head to her breasts. Unwillingly, she arched her back at the teasing strokes of his hot lips over her right nipple. Even through the fabric of her nightdress, she could feel the moist heat of his tongue as he laved and suckled the swollen bud.
“So responsive,” he murmured, kissing down her abdomen until he reached the juncture between her legs. “A man could become drunk on the power of evoking your unbidden passions.”
Patience murmured a soft protest when Ramscar pushed up her nightdress, revealing the blond triangle of curls between her legs. Her hand instinctively moved to cover herself from his keen gaze. He lightly kissed the knuckles on each finger and nudged her hand away.
“Are you a virgin, Patience?” Ramscar asked, drawing his finger down her womanly cleft. The gathering wetness of her arousal allowed him to slip his probing finger deeper into her sheath. Before she could form a coherent reply to his brazen question, he shook his head. “Nay, you do not have to tell me. In truth, a lady’s virginity or lack thereof means little to me.”
Patience could not decide whether she was appalled or relieved by his statement. “You have a very tolerant view for a man,” she said tartly.
She sensed his smile against her inner thigh. “You misunderstand. I value a woman’s honest response in my bed more than her maiden’s flesh.” He pressed his fingers deeper into her sheath, and she bit her lower lip to keep from moaning. “A man would pay a king’s ransom to savor the exotic flavors of a woman’s passion.”
To prove his point, Ramscar skillfully parted her womanly folds and savored. Sweet heavens! What a magnificent sensation! Her thighs quivered at the first flick of his tongue.
“Lord knows I should keep my hands off you,” he murmured huskily, the heat from his breath melting her all the way through to her bones. “Troublesome business it is, tupping the help. Tell me to stop.” His sensual actions belied his command. His nimble tongue was sheer wickedness, she thought as she clenched her teeth against the erotic onslaught. The serpentine motion of his tongue along her inner folds sent her heartbeat racing beneath her breasts. No other man had touched her in such a manner. The brief occasions she had been intimate with Julian Phoenix had been focused on her seeing to his needs. She had despised touching his stiff, ugly thing. Phoenix had only reinforced her hatred by causing her pain to gain her cooperation.
Ramscar moaned and inched closer as if he could not get enough of her. His actions perplexed her. What pleasure could a man receive by taking a lady in this manner? Patience reached forward and threaded her fingers into his long dark blond hair with the intent of stopping him. At that precise moment, he slid his fingers deep into her while his tongue circled the small, acutely sensitive nubbin at the apex of her cleft.
“Tell me to stop.”
Instead of pushing him away, she impulsively pulled him against her.
Ramscar chuckled at her enthusiasm. He lifted his head and wiped his lips against his forearm. There was no hint of his amusement in his scorching hazel green gaze. The gleaming, feral intensity of his stare stole her breath. “I sensed there was passion in you, lady. I could only hope you would share it with me.”
“You do not have to continue. Surely, a man does not find pleasure in the act,” Patience said, although her protest was only halfhearted.
Ramscar gave her an incredulous look and shook his head at her foolishness. Suddenly, his eyes narrowed as a sly grin slid into place. With his fingers still buried deep in her sheath, he flexed them, ruthlessly surpassing his earlier penetration.
He thrust his fingers into her. Again. And again. The man was relentless. The muscles encompassing her stomach tightened as something not yet defined simmered in her loins. Patience freed her fingers from his hair and fell back against the daybed.
The sensation he was building within her was incredible!
Her right leg slid restlessly against his muscled side. The notion of Ramscar’s manhood replacing his agile fingers was not so repulsive. In fact, she was beginning to crave more of him.
Except for her dreams, Patience had never experienced pleasure in a man’s carnal embrace. The first time Phoenix had bedded her, it had hurt terribly. There had been other nights when he had climbed into her bed and taken his pleasure rutting between her legs. Although his carnal demands had no longer hurt her, there also was no pleasure in the deed.
Not like this.
“Ramscar,” she said, saying his name as if it were a prayer.
The earl understood her soft plea. Licking her swollen nubbin, he began suckling it while his fingers continued their rhythmic thrust. Thoroughly. Deeply. Hard.
Patience gripped the sides of the daybed and screamed. The crest of an internal wave of pure sensation rippled through her entire body, only to reverse itself. An explosion of light burst in her head, blinding her. Small waves akin to raindrops striking the surface of a pond rippled everywhere. She had never experienced something so beautiful. Ramscar slowly withdrew his fingers from her still-quaking sheath. Patience did not have to glance at him to see the satisfied smirk on his handsome face.
A niggling thought intruded after the last lovely ripple faded. Pleasure gave him power over her. She had always been able to resist Phoenix in spite of his violent fists. What defense did she have against the man who could devastate her using only his mouth and hands? With her emotions so close to the surface, she covered her face with her hand and wept.
“Here now … What is this all about?” Ramscar crooned, gathering her up into his arms. His kindness only made her cry harder. “Did I hurt you, Patience?”
Patience fiercely shook her head in denial. “No! I had no notion I could feel—” She pounded her fist to her heart, frustrated that her words were so inadequate to the exquisite pleasure he had given her.
“Hush.” The earl cradled her silently and let her sob against his shoulder. His arousal pressed insistently against her buttock, and yet he did not demand equal attention to his own carnal needs.
When the worst of her tears had waned, she hiccupped and used the edge of her sleeve to wipe the dampness from her cheeks. “Forgive me, my lord. I cannot account for my teary outburst. You have been quite wonderful throughout it all.”
“Wonderful,” he echoed absently.
Patience gave him a watery smile. Her fingers boldly reached for the buttons on his breeches. Abruptly, shaking off his lethargy, Ramscar seized her wrist and halted her efforts.
“My lord?” she inquired, fearing she had somehow offended him. He had given her a grand, exhilarating experience she would never forget. The least she could do was ease his apparent suffering. He had already proved he was a
better man than Julian Phoenix had ever dared to dream of being.
“No, stop, if you please.”
Lord Ramscar tenderly placed her back onto the daybed. He knelt in front of her while he pulled her nightdress down over her legs.
Men did not refuse a willing lover. Over the years, countless gentlemen had vied for her interest. Lord Ramscar’s actions completely baffled her. “I do not understand. I thought you—”
“So did I,” he replied grimly. “I was wrong.”
What the devil was he talking about?
Oh God, she had done something wrong. Perhaps he had been repulsed by the dewy moisture that seemed to increase when he touched her. “You no longer desire me?” she said, detesting how pathetic she sounded.
His gaze jumped up to her face, and the hunger she noted in his piercing gaze silenced her. “You should return to your room. Do not forget to take a candle.” He stood up and moved back to the fire.
“If I offended you by crying—” she began.
“It wasn’t your tears,” he snapped, speaking over her attempted apology. Ramscar scrubbed his face with his hand in agitation. “I was wrong when I told you earlier that a lady’s virginity matters little to me.”
He had been disappointed, after all, that she had not been a virgin.
“Oh, I see,” she said, a feeling of shame stealing the residual joy she had experienced in his arms.
Ramscar broodingly studied her face. “Clearly, you do not,” he said angrily. He marched over to her and hauled her against him. His mouth roughly claimed hers. She could not breathe as he greedily devoured her lips like a starving man. When he released her, both of them were panting.
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