Read Online Barbara Pierce by Naughty by Nature - Free Book Online
Authors: Naughty by Nature
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overstepping yourself.” He would bloody well deal with his own sister.
“Aye, m’lord,” Miss Winlow replied, using a dialect one might hear on the streets of London but one he had never attributed to her. She did not even hold his gaze.
Meredith smirked at him. “Hear, hear, for the master of Swancott!”
Perfect. He had ruffled Miss Winlow’s lovely plumage, too, with his temper. Ram pressed his fingers to his eyelids. His sister was determined to bait him until he reversed his demand that she join him in London. How had he been drawn into such a damnable awkward predicament? Ram scowled at both ladies. He had had enough.
He pointed his finger at his sister. “You are traveling to London, even if I have to bind you and stick you in a trunk.” His heated gaze sought out the subdued Miss Winlow. She was not fooling him with that pathetic display of servile humility. “And you … you will remain and carry out your duties as my sister’s companion. We have an agreement, you
and I. I will not have you running back to your troupe just because you have belatedly realized that you are employed in a madhouse. There will be no talk of quitting!” he thundered. Without waiting for a reply, Ram stomped out of his sister’s sitting room and slammed the door.
Patience pursed her lips in quiet contemplation. The earl had guessed correctly. Her first thought when she heard them arguing was to slip out of the house and return to the inn. Something had stopped her. Perhaps it was the fear and pain in Lady Meredith’s voice that kept Patience from carrying out her plan. Instead of leaving, she had climbed the stairs to meet her new mistress.
“A troupe?” Lady Meredith asked curiously.
Patience had forgotten she was not alone. Reluctantly, she slowly turned around, prepared to face the woman’s disdain.
Lady Meredith expelled a soft laugh. “So you are an actress? How marvelous. Ram gives me a stage strumpet for a companion. I must look more hideous than I thought if you are the best my brother could find.”
Lord Ramscar shoved open the door to the library with his butler at his heels. What he needed was something strong to drink to wash away the bitter
taste in his mouth. He despised fighting with his sister.
Comprehending his lord’s needs, the butler seized the decanter of brandy and filled Ramscar’s glass. Scrimm had been in the family’s employ long before Ram’s birth. He did not even know if Scrimm was the man’s first or last name. He was simply Scrimm to the family and as ageless as Swancott. His carefully groomed hair had been white even when Ram had been a young boy. Of medium height, Scrimm’s robust figure could be glimpsed bustling about the household. The smallest detail was not beneath the man’s notice. His quiet efficiency and wry sense of humor had made him invaluable to Ram. Scrimm was always part of Ram’s personal staff, regardless of his residence. From Scrimm’s pained expression it was simple to deduce the man was troubled by what he perceived as a dereliction of duty.
His expression woefully apologetic, the butler handed Ram the glass. “My lord, I was not aware Miss Winlow had gone upstairs until the damage had been done. I distinctly told the young woman to remain in the front hall until she was summoned.”
Ram sipped his brandy. Staring into the glass, he swirled the fragrant dark liquid as he contemplated the exchange that had taken place upstairs. “No apology is necessary, Scrimm. I should have let Meredith have her tantrum before Miss Winlow’s
arrival. My sister is usually a docile creature. Damn me, the lady has a set of sharp teeth, and she tested them on my arse. Would you like to see the marks she left behind?”
“If it is all the same to you, my lord, I shall deprive myself of that distinct honor,” Scrimm said in his usual droll manner.
Ram laughed for the first time all day. There was little cause for laughter in this house, and that was
“Aye, m’lord,” Miss Winlow replied, using a dialect one might hear on the streets of London but one he had never attributed to her. She did not even hold his gaze.
Meredith smirked at him. “Hear, hear, for the master of Swancott!”
Perfect. He had ruffled Miss Winlow’s lovely plumage, too, with his temper. Ram pressed his fingers to his eyelids. His sister was determined to bait him until he reversed his demand that she join him in London. How had he been drawn into such a damnable awkward predicament? Ram scowled at both ladies. He had had enough.
He pointed his finger at his sister. “You are traveling to London, even if I have to bind you and stick you in a trunk.” His heated gaze sought out the subdued Miss Winlow. She was not fooling him with that pathetic display of servile humility. “And you … you will remain and carry out your duties as my sister’s companion. We have an agreement, you
and I. I will not have you running back to your troupe just because you have belatedly realized that you are employed in a madhouse. There will be no talk of quitting!” he thundered. Without waiting for a reply, Ram stomped out of his sister’s sitting room and slammed the door.
Patience pursed her lips in quiet contemplation. The earl had guessed correctly. Her first thought when she heard them arguing was to slip out of the house and return to the inn. Something had stopped her. Perhaps it was the fear and pain in Lady Meredith’s voice that kept Patience from carrying out her plan. Instead of leaving, she had climbed the stairs to meet her new mistress.
“A troupe?” Lady Meredith asked curiously.
Patience had forgotten she was not alone. Reluctantly, she slowly turned around, prepared to face the woman’s disdain.
Lady Meredith expelled a soft laugh. “So you are an actress? How marvelous. Ram gives me a stage strumpet for a companion. I must look more hideous than I thought if you are the best my brother could find.”
Lord Ramscar shoved open the door to the library with his butler at his heels. What he needed was something strong to drink to wash away the bitter
taste in his mouth. He despised fighting with his sister.
Comprehending his lord’s needs, the butler seized the decanter of brandy and filled Ramscar’s glass. Scrimm had been in the family’s employ long before Ram’s birth. He did not even know if Scrimm was the man’s first or last name. He was simply Scrimm to the family and as ageless as Swancott. His carefully groomed hair had been white even when Ram had been a young boy. Of medium height, Scrimm’s robust figure could be glimpsed bustling about the household. The smallest detail was not beneath the man’s notice. His quiet efficiency and wry sense of humor had made him invaluable to Ram. Scrimm was always part of Ram’s personal staff, regardless of his residence. From Scrimm’s pained expression it was simple to deduce the man was troubled by what he perceived as a dereliction of duty.
His expression woefully apologetic, the butler handed Ram the glass. “My lord, I was not aware Miss Winlow had gone upstairs until the damage had been done. I distinctly told the young woman to remain in the front hall until she was summoned.”
Ram sipped his brandy. Staring into the glass, he swirled the fragrant dark liquid as he contemplated the exchange that had taken place upstairs. “No apology is necessary, Scrimm. I should have let Meredith have her tantrum before Miss Winlow’s
arrival. My sister is usually a docile creature. Damn me, the lady has a set of sharp teeth, and she tested them on my arse. Would you like to see the marks she left behind?”
“If it is all the same to you, my lord, I shall deprive myself of that distinct honor,” Scrimm said in his usual droll manner.
Ram laughed for the first time all day. There was little cause for laughter in this house, and that was