Page 28 of All Scot and Bothered
And so he’d do what he’d always done. Work his mind to exhaustion, and then when that work was finished, he’d punish his body with exertion until he was too fatigued to stand.
As he mounted the stairs to the very top, something told Ramsay that even when he collapsed into his bed after this punishing day, a pair of crimson lips would haunt his dreams.
CHAPTERFIVE
“I cannot believe you invitedhimto dinner!” Cecelia’s whisper would have been a scream were her throat less constricted by panic.
She’d been in the middle of catching up the Red Rogues on the harrowing events of the day when the butler announced Lord Ramsay’s arrival. She’d yanked both the Rogues into Alexandra’s private parlor at the Redmayne Belgravia terrace just in time to slam the door as Ramsay’s wide shoulders rounded the corner.
Even the soft sages and calming earth tones of the sophisticated solarium had little effect on her as she held Alexandra in her clutches. Her fingers curled like talons on her friend’s puffed sleeves as her trembles shook them both.
“Cecil, what’s gotten into you? I’ve never seen you like this!” Alexandra regarded her with a horrified astonishment one would save for someone who’d suddenly begun to leak blood from her eyes.
Francesca stood vigil by the door, cracking it openslightly to spy upon the men gathering in the great hall. “Have you forgotten the part where your brutish brother-in-law is endeavoring to hang poor Cecil in the public square? I imagine that has something to do with her current overwrought state.”
Alexandra gently attempted to pry Cecelia’s fingers from the meat of her arms. “Well… in my defense, I posted this dinner invitation weeks ago.”
“You could have warned me he would be here!” Cecelia released the Duchess of Redmayne, putting her hand to her own forehead, then to her cheeks, not finding the fever she was certain to fall plague to at any moment.
“Until five minutes ago, I wasn’t aware of the need,” Alexandra reasoned. “As you said, heismy brother-in-law. Besides, it might have raised his suspicions were I to retract the invitation… don’t you think?”
“I’m too distraught to think.” Cecelia wrapped her arms around her own middle as she whirled to pace the room. She realized she was being hysterical, but the day’s events had rattled her composure so greatly, she’d been aching for the safety of the Rogues’ company. She’d used up her allotment of composure for the day, and she’d been relying on their collective wisdom and encouragement, expecting to take the evening to discuss her rather pressing problem and to make some decisions.
Now, it seemed, the wolf was at the door once again, and if he discovered her real identity, there was no telling what he would do.
“What are they doing out there?” Cecelia asked Francesca anxiously.
“Oh, the usual sort of masculine greeting rituals,” Francesca scoffed, her scarlet skirts nearly catching in the door as she closed it behind her. “Shaking hands, slapping backs, and comparing the standards and pedigreesof their horseflesh, no doubt.” She tossed her carefully arranged crimson ringlets in the fashion of one more used to a stable than a salon. “I’ve a mind to join them.”
“We should, I suppose,” Alexandra urged. She straightened the cameo on her high-necked gown of shimmering peach silk, which contrasted most strikingly with her neat auburn hair and warm chocolate eyes.
“I cannot face him,” Cecelia squeaked, her knees giving out. She collapsed onto a velvet chair in a puddle of overwrought curves and shimmering sky-blue skirts. “If he recognizes me, you might as well start weaving my noose.”
Alexandra placed a hand on her shoulder. “Perhaps it’s better that you see him first here at Redmayne Place. If he does recognize you, you’ll have all of us to protect you.” She stepped to the cabinet, removing a crystal decanter, three glasses, and a bottle of their most potent Ravencroft scotch. Once it was poured, Alexandra took a seat at Cecelia’s side and offered a glass.
“I don’t even think Redmaynecanprotect me from his elder brother,” she said glumly.
“He would if I asked him.” Alexandra’s lips twisted wryly. “But perhaps we should think of how else we might extract you from your predicament.”
“Let’s,” Francesca agreed, pushing the chocolates toward Cecelia. “First have a few of these. They go splendidly with scotch and will help you think.”
Cecelia plucked one from the dish and sank her teeth into the decadent truffle, allowing it to melt into her mouth and spill a blissful velvet sweetness over her tongue. “I love you,” she sighed, trying not to think of the night she’d consumed the same truffles in front of Ramsay.
“I love you, too, darling.”
“I was speaking to the chocolate.”
Francesca’s balled-up glove hit her in the shoulder, evoking a much-needed laugh.
Gratitude suffused her as she observed her friends. The fiercest and most fantastic relationships she’d cultivated over the years. They were her family, and she did, indeed, love them dearly.
Francesca had become Frank, the vibrant-hued, fearless outdoorswoman with a lithe, boyish figure set apart by pert, elven features and emerald-green eyes.
Alexandra was Alexander or Alex, the studious idealist with a rebellious streak and more excellent ideas than she had freckles, which were numerous. With a bounty of mahogany hair and a perfect formula of physical proportions, she was the beauty of their roguish threesome.
Cecelia, or Cecil, was their treasurer, their confidante, and their mediator, good with… good with numbers and hopeless at just about everything else.
This was the company in which she felt the most secure.
