Barbara Pierce

by Naughty by Nature

  Bemused, Patience allowed Lady Fayre to lead her into the ballroom.

  “Heavens, Ramscar, let the girl have some fun,” the dowager lightly chided him. When he saw Patience disappear into the ballroom, his instincts told him to follow her. “Miss Winlow is with my daughter. Fayre will keep her out of trouble.”

  Not likely.

  The Carlisles were an eccentric, unruly clan. He was tempted to remind the older woman that Fayre had had a spot of trouble several years earlier when she was seduced by Lord Thatcher Standish. Their brief affair had caused a scandal. Later she made a bargain with her future husband, Maccus Brawley, in hopes of gaining revenge on the scoundrel who had seduced and humiliated her. She had stirred up the family with her mischief. Her brother and her father had thirsted for both men’s blood.

  Wisely, Ramscar held his tongue.

  “When we have done our duty, you can go check up on your Miss Winlow,” the dowager said, shrewdly picking up on his interest in Patience.

  Ramscar had resisted touching her again since the night he had discovered that she had never known pleasure in a man’s arms. Her contrary mix of innocence and worldliness confused him. He desired her, but she aroused his protective nature. Both sides had been engaged in an internal battle, leaving him surly and hungry for a woman.

  “Good evening, Lord Ramscar.” The warm accented voice literally purred his name.

  A month earlier when he thought of easing his hunger in a woman’s soft body, he had thought of this woman. Angeline Grassi. Belatedly, he realized he had not contacted her since his return.

  He also had not invited her.

  Ramscar stared at the dowager, who merely shrugged. “The invitations were sent out before your arrival.” Before she had met Miss Winlow. “I thought you would be pleased.”

  Not above creating an embarrassing to-do in front of his sister, Angeline pouted. “I have not seen you in months. I have looked forward to resuming our friendship.”

  The suggestiveness of the throaty comment was not missed by anyone within earshot, including his innocent sister. He quelled any further comments from the actress with a hard glance. “Miss Grassi, allow me to present my sister, Lady Meredith. Meredith, Miss Grassi is a well-known actress in London.”

  His sister gave the blonde a measuring look. Whatever Meredith saw displeased her. “I am sure she is, Brother. Well-known, that is.”

  Ramscar’s jaw dropped at his sister’s waspish remark.

  Angeline looked puzzled, uncertain whether she had been insulted.

  The dowager duchess laughed gaily. The older woman was plainly enjoying his discomfort. “Miss Grassi, I saw you in a play last October. It was an admirable performance.”

  Grateful to seize upon anything that would end the awkward moment, the actress said, “Thank you, Your Grace.”

  “Let us not keep you from the revelry in the ballroom. Later, if you like, you can tell me about the new play you are rehearsing.”

  “Sì, grazie.” Angeline eagerly nodded. She stared at him hungrily, letting him know her next words were for him alone. “I shall look forward to it.”

  She strolled off, confident everyone was observing her departure.

  Immediately, Meredith pounced on him. “Is that vulgar Miss Grassi your mistress?”

  The older woman snapped open her fan and concealed half her face while she rapidly fanned herself. “Yes, Ramscar, I would like to hear this one, too.”

  Ram suspected the lady was laughing at him. He offered them both an aggrieved look. “No. Miss Grassi is not my mistress.”

  Not anymore.

  “Satisfied?”

  Meredith glared at the distant figure of Angeline Grassi and stiffly nodded. “I will be as long as she is not!” Meredith stomped off in the direction of the ballroom. Most likely she was searching for Patience.

  Ramscar was about to order Meredith to return, but he and the dowager duchess were alone. They had greeted the majority of their guests. Irritated, he glowered at the lady beside him. “Do you want to comment on my former mistress, too?”

  Still laughing, the dowager shook her head. “I believe I will let your sister have the final say on Miss Grassi. I recognize a superior exit when I see it.”

  Upset by the obscene manner in which that horrid woman had stared at her brother, Meredith stepped into the ballroom not really knowing where she was heading. Despite her brother’s denial, she knew he had bedded the actress. The woman thought she had a claim on Ram. She had only accepted the invitation this evening so she could issue a private invitation of her own.

  Horrible, greedy creature.

  Meredith was extremely disappointed in her brother. He was an intelligent man. Why had he not seen beyond the pretty mask to the ambitious woman underneath? Were all men so easily beguiled? A couple walked by her, nodding and smiling as they passed. Meredith noted the gentleman’s gaze had lingered on her cheek.

  Her scars.

  She brought her hand up to her cheek. Changing directions, she stepped on a gentleman’s shoes. Appalled, she looked up to apologize and immediately recognized the familiar handsome face.

  “L-l-lord Halthorn,” she stammered, letting her hand move away from her cheek and drop to her side. She took several steps back and curtsied. “I was not aware you had received an invitation.”

  “Her Grace issued me a belated one.” He stared into Meredith’s face, momentarily forgetting that he was in the middle of an explanation. He shook his head, giving her a beatific smile that warmed her all the way down to her toes. “Forgive me for my tardiness. I had a prior commitment that I could not decline. I came to see you—” He cleared his throat and tried again. “It is your birthday. I-I brought you something.”

  Curious and touched that he had brought her a small gift, Meredith quietly watched as he retrieved something that he had tucked into one of the small pockets of his waistcoat.

  He opened his hand, revealing a small conical shell.

  “This is for me? It is lovely.” Meredith was not merely being kind. The delicate dark and light brown lines and dots created a pleasing symmetrical pattern.

  He carefully placed the shell on her palm. “Voluta musica Linnaeus.”

  Meredith giggled. The words reminded her of a love spell she had once read in a romantic tale. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Its scientific name,” he said, amused. “I have an extensive collection of seashells from all over the world. This particular one was found in Tobago.”

  “Really?” She cradled the shell with both hands, admiring it. “I have never been to Tobago.”

  “Neither have I,” he confessed, his expression rueful. “A friend sent me this specimen for my collection. I have been collecting specimens since I was a boy.”

  “Oh no.” She offered the shell back to him. “This was meant for your collection. I could not take it.”

  Tenderly, he closed her fingers over the seashell. “If I want another, I will sail to Tobago and pluck it from the water. This one is clearly meant for you.”

  Meredith had never seen a more exquisite shell. She stared at her precious gift and then into the brown eyes of the gentleman who had been thoughtful enough to bring it to her. “Thank you, Lord Halthorn.”

  Smiling brilliantly up at him, she forgot about her anger over Angeline Grassi.

  “Are you enjoying your first London ball, Miss Winlow?” Lord Everod courteously inquired as they strolled away from the other dancers.

  The viscount had been an excellent dance partner, but he had not been the first. The second son of a baron had approached her while she had been chatting with Lady Fayre and her husband. Once the first dance had ended, several other gentlemen had approached Patience. Lord Everod was her fourth dance partner for the evening.

  “Indeed, my lord.” Patience searched the crowded ballroom until she saw Meredith. She was sitting on one of the sofas positioned against the wall, conversing with Lord Halthorn.

  “Am I a boring companion, M
iss Winlow?” the viscount asked, grinning at her when she realized how rude her behavior might seem.

  Sensing he was merely teasing her, she said, “You are a tolerable companion, Lord Everod. I was just looking for Lady Meredith. I would not be a proper … friend if I thought only of myself.”

  “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.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  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.