Following her eyes, Ram said, “You can sit, recline or lie down in comfort.”
“I see,” she said, and damn him, she did see–or, at least, imagine.
Their eyes met and Ram felt himself color slightly. He reached for a justification less damning than the truth. “The Romans reclined when they dined.”
The study of Roman history was one of Rose’s passions, so she spoke without considering the wisdom of her comment. “There were other reasons for that posture, laird. They also –“
Ram stepped close, grasped her chin and tilted her pink face until her gold-dusted eyes met his. “Are you a student of erotic history or the Roman variety? Come on, sweets,” Ram said, brushing her lips with his index finger, inserting it gently into the corner of her mouth to meet clenched teeth. “I fear ‘tis too late for the cat’s perfidious discretion.”
He put both arms around her but the pull of the force that sparked between them kept her eyes locked with his. At that, Ram managed a tight smile despite the urgent beat of his heart and the pounding press of his loins. “They also had certain after-dinner entertainment of a sort that made a reclining posture more convenient.”
“Yes, ahm, well,” Rose muttered, stepping out of his arms to back up a step, but holding his eyes, unable to look away. “I also see-“
Ram’s eyes flared brighter than the torches as he stalked close and then closer, daring her to retreat, knowing she wouldn’t. He tilted his head and opened his arms.
She said, “Damn you,” as she stepped into them, knowing she shouldn’t.
He lowered his face as she raised hers, speaking in the air she exhaled. “The Romans’ reclining after-dinner entertainment frequently involved orgies where partners were multiple and interchangeable. Fellow dinner guests wagered on the most intimate matters as the sex became a spectacle.”
Rose gasped and Ram slid his open mouth across hers, lightly, barely, briefly. “Whatever passes between us here, I’ve gone to great pains to secure our privacy.”
She moaned and panted, feeding him her breath along with her desire. He hardly had need for the latter, because his own threatened to break the bonds of his control. When he felt his right hand grab her skirt and commence tugging it up, she made a noise that could have meant anything from yes to I’m leaving. Passing through his head, ever so briefly, came the thought that if he kept his mouth sealed over hers she couldn’t say no.
It shocked him so thoroughly that he stepped back immediately. No, he hadn’t entertained the thought–he hadn’t even invited it in–but the bloody notion should never, ever have occurred to him. In the Highlands respect for women was as ingrained in the men as love for their mountain home. As a Highland laird, that respect had been drummed into him by his Grandfather and his Father since the first day he noticed that little girls were different. ‘Twas as much a part of him as his skin but Rose got him in a place that wasn’t Scot or laird. She got to him where the raw male animal lurked, wild and untamed.
“Shall we?” Ram gestured towards the domed silver platters lined along one side of the nest. “After what I put the Cook through we’d best not ignore the food. I fear we’d be dining on burned meat and gruel for days did we not do this repast some justice.”
“Of course,” Rose replied, allowing him to lead her towards the nest with a guiding hand upon her waist. She sat and reclined against the mound of pillows lining the wall of the cavern. She watched Ram pick up a small silver platter and fill it with slices of ham, cheese, small roasted potatoes and warm, yeasty bread. He picked up a second and piled on fruit and small bowls filled with cream, honey and melted chocolate of a couple of varieties.
When Ram started to pick up the platters to fetch them over, Rose held up a hand to halt him. “I’ve a confession of sorts,” Rose said, pausing to tug on a dancing strand of blonde hair and chewing her lower lip. It called to Ram so deeply that it took an act of will to keep from charging across the space, tossing up her gown and plunging within–now, right now–without so much as a moment’s play to ready her.
“Yes?” He prompted, because if she didn’t get past her nerves enough to finish her thought soon he might act on his baser urgings.
“I’m a water person,” Rose said, in the same tone she might’ve used to confess a murder. “Back home I’d often sneak away to a small pond and frolic.”
“Frolic?” Ram asked in a husky tone he couldn’t help. Faith but he could hardly get out the question. “That doesn’t sound safe.”
She laughed at the memories. The time she’d managed to sneak in at the pond provided her only peace and solace after her father’s death. “Oh, la–‘twas perfectly safe, once I taught myself to swim. I nearly drowned in the process, though. And I never went when Will was home. He almost always brought Ja–ahm, friends with him and Will’s friends weren’t…”
Her voice died off and she stared at her hands, wringing them as seconds ticked by. At first Ram didn’t speak, partly because he wanted her truth as much as her body and partly because he wanted to scream and shake her for taking such a risk. But as the time stretched Ram took tight control of his temper and asked, in a nearly level–if far too quiet–voice, “Did your governess or maid not raise the alarm? Surely, your father or brother would have put a stop to such a dangerous pursuit.”
“Oh no,” Rose said, “I wasn’t that young. Papa passed before the water became my refuge. He would have taught me to swim himself, had he the time or I the interest. This started during my fifteenth year. By then there were no…”
Her voice trailed off and her eyes fell back to her clasped hands. No time passed before Ram stroked her cheek and asked, “There were no what?”
Her eyes flew to his with the answer and, as he hoped, the light touch caused her to shudder slightly. Even with a lot of practice, ‘twas damned difficult to think enough to screen your words when you were aroused. She had no practice so she just answered.
“Servants. There were no servants. Well, almost none. There were three, including Ned. So there was no one to teach me to swim.” Rose looked away–down–off. She shrugged. “Mostly, I did for myself.”
She risked a look at him and got caught in the bottomless brown broth of concern in his eyes. How long since anyone looked at her with that caring? She didn’t even mind that she could see him struggling to control his temper. Wasn’t anger the active expression of concern? The fact that the laird’s strict control and “bloody marvelous discipline” she’d heard so much about hadn’t completely succeeded in vanquishing his temper showed in the crackling edges of his voice and the sparks in his eyes. It made her want to dance.
“Regardless of how dire your father’s finances may have been, ‘tis insupportable that he didn’t keep you in a suitable state,” Ram said, holding up a finger to halt her when she began to reply. “I’d bet a season’s harvest that a royal Duke dinna do for himself too often. Your Da must’ve spent most of his time in London and spared little time or gold for his country estate.”
She pulled her face away from his stroking fingers. Angry moisture dotted her eyes as she snapped a reply. “My father was a doting parent and a careful and compassionate estate manager. He was a country gentleman who dragged himself to the city as rarely as possible to attend his responsibilities at the House of Lords.”
Rose wagged a finger at the laird. “Father left his estate in fine order. ‘Twasn’t his fault that his heir became addicted to loose women, looser friends and the pursuit of loose odds at every gambling hell in England!”
Ram took her hand and cradled it between both of his so that his fingertips rested atop her wrist. He watched darkness fall in her eyes and felt its weight slowing her pulse. He willed his strength into her as he said, “And so much time tending to vice left your brother with little for tending to business. How about you? Did your brother have a care for you?”
Her pulse slowed yet again, until Ram brushed a finger across it, rhythmically.
“Will cares for nothin
g except the next card,” Rose said. “He lost every farthing of his inheritance. If it could be frittered away, Will made certain that it was. He’s lost everything of value. We kept the seat–Moorcroft Manor–because Will owns it in trust. All the other property, including the London house, is gone. As I said, everything of value is gone.”
Ram lifted her hand and pressed her wrist to his lips, compelled to taste the beat of her life, to blend with it somehow. “Not everything,” he said.
“What do you mean?” She asked, her voice shivering like her flesh as Ram’s tongue meandered across her wrist. “It’s all gone–down to the paintings, vases and silver service at the manor. Naught of value remains.”
“I fear that I must disagree,” Ram said. “Somehow, he missed the most valuable asset of all.” Ram ran his chin over her soft wrist, scraping it with the beard stubble he rarely vanquished for long. She made that rumbling purr that echoed in his loins. “And the most beautiful piece in all of England.”
“Ram,” she scolded, poking his arm with her free hand. “That’s not true.”
She was the color of her name and Ram caught his breath, captivated. “Yes, Rose,” he said, “’tis quite true.”
His admiration, his tenderness and the care he’d taken combined to press the weight of her guilt upon her until she knew she’d expire if she didn’t confess it now, when they were discussing her past. And she didn’t deserve the warmth of his support whilst she did it, so she tugged her hand from between his and scooted back a bit.
“Perfidy is not a’tall beautiful, Ram.” She met his eyes, refusing herself the ease of looking away. “And I have been dishonest with you–by omission, but dishonest none the less. Worse, I’ve been selfish, seeking to hold you to a betrothal neither of us knew of until very recently. I’ve done this because, poor asset that I might be, my brother did not forget me.”
“What are you saying?” Ram asked, instinctively discounting her confession, despite being a laird who survived by his suspicions.
“My brother’s bank is Jack Richards, an extremely wealthy bottom-dweller. Jack made his dishonest money on gambling hells and spent it to finance his shipping and mining ventures. He was a flamboyant wastrel at first, but at some point he realized that the wealthy members of the ton who gambled at his tables would always cut him when they met in any respectable setting.”
Ram’s heart pounded in his throat. As much as he needed her to finish, ‘twas the last thing he wanted.
“Jack thought that funneling his ill-gotten gains into businesses he could talk about in polite company would help his cause. It did, marginally, because the titled gentlemen who drank and cavorted with harlots at his tables would nod at Jack if they passed on the street. He needed more. He needed a wife who belonged. Then he met my brother. Will was a Satan-sent blessing, a path to Jack achieving his dream. Will was a Duke who had an insatiable weakness for vice and a younger sister.”
Ram’s stomach churned. He felt ill, physically ill.
“So, Jack became Will’s bank. Whatever Will wanted, Jack supplied. Jack accompanied Will home once–and he kept popping up unexpectedly, trying to ply me with compliments and puppy dog looks of devotion. Other than stalking me ceaselessly, he played the gentleman fairly well, but I always knew ‘twas but a role to him. His evil shined out through his eyes, especially the night I was returning from tending to Ned’s bout with ague and he caught me wearing but my bedrail in the hallway.”
“Christ,” Ram swore, pounding his fist against his thigh. “Don’t –“
“You must let me finish,” Rose said. “He grabbed me that night and kissed me, bending me over his arm in the hallway so that the candlelight made my worn nightgown translucent. He was bending his face down, towards me, when his idiot assistant, Georgie, yelled from down the hallway that the local constable had arrived to see him. Jack stalked away, and I ran off to hide and sleep in the woods, where I stayed that night and the next–until Will’s party left.”
“Sweetheart,” Ram said, reaching out for her but halting when she shook her head and extended her hand to stop him.
“I’d already gone to my room and dressed for bed the night Jack returned. He and his giant assistant overpowered the cook and the housekeeper to gain entry upstairs. They kicked down my bedroom door and Jack invaded to advise me that ‘twas now our bedchamber because he and Will had signed a betrothal agreement. The terms gave Jack full rights to my person as of the date of signing. By the time he showed up, Jack had ‘owned’ me for several days.”
Ram’s hand went to his side, seeking the weapon he always wore–except today. She saw the motion and understood. It warmed her even as she sighed, “In a moment you may wish you had your sword to skewer me.”
Frustrated rage tightened Ram’s voice as he replied, “I’m confident that the best use of my blade would be hacking and slicing your brother and would-be betrothed–for some considerable time–before I granted them the mercy of death, by skewering, impaling, or otherwise.”
“I’m not so certain,” Rose said. “Anyway, Jack intended to take me–to rape me–that very night. He struck me several times. He demeaned me, taunted me. Jack made me feel weak and helpless even though I know I’m very strong. I’ve had to be strong. But I wasn’t strong then. I was helpless and terrified, which he enjoyed. It encouraged him, excited him. He especially enjoyed my screams.”
Spasms of sympathy and wrath battled for supremacy in Ram’s expression.
“He pushed me onto the bed and choked me slowly, forcing me to the point where I feared death more than him and began to beg. I don’t know if I lost consciousness but when I next was aware, I was standing on my feet and he was bending me backwards over his arm while he stepped on the trailing end of my night gown. One step and I heard a seam rip and another, when he had me bent so far it hurt, and my threadbare gown fell apart. He slapped me, hard, and I fell backwards on the bed.”
Ram waved his hand in an almost feminine gesture that his friends and warriors alike would decry. The thirst for vengeance flooding his system felt as familiar as an old friend, but it entwined with another force that felt like a new-born bairn. ‘Twas one that passed far beyond sympathy or understanding, justifiable reactions to her tale. This force made him a part of her story, made him experience a taste of the helpless fear she described. “Sweetheart, don’t,” he said, because she’d ignored the hand signal and was preparing to speak again.
She shook her head, denying his plea, because it was honesty he needed and the truth was rarely merciful. “I cowered and tried to cover myself but he ordered me to tuck my hands under my head. Jack said he’d choke me again if I refused. I didn’t want to go through that again but I couldn’t do it, I couldn’t display myself for him like that. To punish me, he grabbed both my hands in one of his and held them over my head. He ground himself into me while he grabbed my right breast and twisted it until I broke and screamed. Jack loved that, he let go and cackled with glee and waited for the edge to wear off my pain before he grabbed the same breast and twisted it again –“
“Sweetheart,” Ram mumbled, feeling her pain and fear until he broke a little too and used words as foreign to a Highland laird as the emotions binding him to her. “Please. Stop. I can’t hear about this. I’m so sorry, but –“
“And suddenly, the pain stopped. I had my eyes closed so I didn’t see Ned enter the room until it didn’t hurt anymore. As I opened my eyes I realized that I didn’t feel Jack’s weight. Ned must’ve hit him over the head with something heavy or used some fighting trick or –“
“A special hold that our clan teaches its warriors,” Ram said, able to breathe once again.
“Neddie insisted we leave urgently. I had little to no time to pack and no say over our destination. He said he was taking me to my betrothed. Truthfully, ‘twas the first I’d heard of you. If Will had known of you he would have sought funds long ago. But Neddie explained that the reason he’d remained was to watch over me as he was charged
to do by your father.”
Ram didn’t speak. He just seized the hand she gestured with and gave it a squeeze, willing her to calm down. Her turmoil disturbed his innards. “Clearly, I owe Ned a great deal.”
“For what?” Rose asked, jerking her hand out of his. “And stop trying to comfort me. By now you see that I deserve nothing but your scorn.”
Ram wasn’t normally slow, but it had been a most trying afternoon. He kept a close account of those who had earned his scorn, enmity or malice. Ram couldn’t imagine how Rose fell into that rather large group. “Why do ye say that?”
“Because I fled to you as a refuge although neither of us knew of the other. I arrived to find you newly betrothed to Flora but I didn’t step aside. A new fiancée would bundle me back to England right quick. ‘Tis bad enough that I know Jack is looking for me, but when I’m sent away from here I’ll have nowhere to go except back to Will’s property. My brother gave Jack permission to rape me and he will be furious that I didn’t follow Jack’s commands. Will shall strip me naked and have me delivered to Jack at high noon as publicly as possible. But none of that is your worry and I’ve no excusable reason for making it so. I shoved myself and my problems upon your plate even knowing ‘twas full to bursting already.”
Ram’s eyes were a wee bit too moist when he said, “I’m thinking ye’re right. My plate is the wrong place for ye’re troubles, lass.” He plucked up her astonished form with ease. “My lap is a much more fitting spot.”
He cradled her in his arms, settling her in his lap with her face cushioned by his chest. She resisted for only a moment before she took a great, heaving breath and burrowed into him, wrapping her arms around his back as her shoulders shook with the fury of her sobs. Ram tightened his embrace and hid his face in her hair lest the cavern walls witness the laird’s answering tears.
Romancing the Rose Page 10
