Page 8 of All Scot and Bothered
Aye, he should be working, exerting his will upon those he required to attain his various political and legal objectives.
And yet… he couldn’t stand until he’d brought his unruly cock under control, which would be easier to do were he not in Miss Teague’s voluptuous vicinity.
“How very lamentable.” The true pity in her voice returned his gaze to her vibrant beauty.
“I’m sorry?” Unnerved at her propensity to address his innermost thoughts, he shifted once more and consideredthe merits of agricultural property law, just to see if that would cool his physical distress.
“We were discussing your lack of indulgences.” She slid him a mischievous half smile that produced the most diverting dimple in her cheek. “My lord Chief Justice, if you’re half as distracted when hearing cases, I fear for those presenting evidence to you.”
To his utter surprise, amusement spiked rather than his ire. It was a rare individual who ever dared tease him.
Rarer still that he enjoyed it.
“Ye’ll have to pardon me, Miss Teague, it’s been a trying day. My manners were peeled away by interactions with the odious dregs of our society, leaving my thoughts unduly burdensome.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” She seemed to smother a curious anxiety with an over-bright but sympathetic smile as she spread her hands over her skirts. “Would you care to discuss it? Often, I find if I unburden myself, I go away feeling much lighter.”
“I wouldnot.” He hadn’t meant for the words to escape in such a terse manner, but the subject of his current worries was not fit for the fairer sex. Indeed, it concerned the disappearances of young ladies. Young girls, rather. Which was not a rare thing in such a metropolis as London, but the investigators of the case had found evidence of an insidious ring of smugglers, traffickers, and profiteers. Ones who might be trading in the flesh market, turning the poor and immigrants into slaves, pricing them per pound of flesh.
A few of the captured criminals pointed their fingers in astonishing directions when interrogated regarding their suppliers and customers. The aristocracy, the government, the military, and even the church.
He was surrounded by corrupt and debased men, andthese smugglers often mentioned one word out of fear:rubricata. One of the many Latin words for “red.”
Troubled and absorbed by these affairs of state, Ramsay had little to offer a soiree, but couldn’t send his condolences with such illustrious guests so near to election. And so, after making his obligatory compliments to the guests at dinner, he’d found a quiet corner near the fireplace unoccupied by those who needed to see and be seen at one of the Duke of Redmayne’s marvelously celebrated fetes. He’d ruminated for a moment, working his way toward a perfectly splendid brood before Miss Teague had plopped down in a pile of skirts to pick at a dish of chocolates and stir him into a pique.
She scooted forward in her seat, making as though to stand. “If you do not wish to speak, I’ll leave you to your contemplations, my lord,” she said, seeming not only unoffended, but unaffected.
“Nay,” he snapped without thought.
Her eyes widened at his visceral objection, but it shocked none more than himself. Perplexed, Ramsay watched her intently. What was it about this woman that evoked such a powerful response? No one ever caught him so thoroughly off his guard.
As much as he wanted to be free of her, he apparently desired her close, and the force of that desire discomfited him.
Which meant he should encourage her to flee his vicinity immediately.
“Doona abandon yer chocolates on my account,” he found himself saying before he ground his teeth even harder, lest he do something untenably ridiculous, such as ask her to sit in his lap. Hadn’t he just been hoping she’d leave?
Her eyes glimmered with pleasure, and then softenedwith understanding. “May I fetch you a drink to help soften the woes of the day?”
He shook his head, acutely aware of how important it was to keep his wits about him in her presence. “I generally abstain from drink. I’ve consumed the one glass of wine I allow myself at dinner.”
“A life without chocolate and wine.” She cocked her head, pity once again dimming the sparkle in her eyes. “How dreary. What do you do for pleasure, my lord?”
Pleasure. When was the last time he’d allowed himself any?
“I work.”
Ramsay’s hand fisted at his side so he wouldn’t slide it over the expensive aubergine chair beneath him. He still did that sometimes, tested a texture as if he couldn’t believe it was real.
Even after all these years.
As a boy, he’d never have imagined something so soft existed. The bed he’d slept on had been hard. His home cold and empty in every imaginable way, along with his belly, and eventually his heart.
All of this because his family was prone to indulging in selfish pleasures, and it had brought them nothing but shame, misery, and devastation.
His mother had preyed upon the weak and base natures of men until she ruined them. His father, once thusly ruined, had become a slave to every form of pleasure, and it had eventually killed him.
Redmayne’s father, their mother’s second husband, had made her a duchess. She’d repaid his affection and devotion by cuckolding him so often, he’d finally hanged himself in a fit of drunken despair.
