Barbara Pierce Read Online Free Page B

torches.
    “Are they not remarkable, Ramscar?” Lord Powning said; the reverence in his tone reminded Ram of a boy given his first sword. “I encountered the troupe nearly four months ago while we were off visiting Lady Powning’s mother. They were performing at an obscure fair just outside Bath. A very depressing affair, mind you, but Miss Winlow and Miss McNiell stood out like fragile blooms in a conservatory.”
    “I noticed,” Ram said dryly, though, truthfully, he had barely noticed Miss McNiell. “I assume you approached the players after their performance.”
    “Naturally.” Lord Powning’s expression revealed there had been no other rational choice. “It was later that I learned that the troupe had no commitments to a playhouse and they were willing to lend their expertise to private endeavors.”
    Ram raised his brow in doubt. “And Lady Powning approved?” Perhaps Miss Winlow was the man’s mistress. It was an unpleasant thought.
    The marquess finally pulled his attention away from the jugglers and gave Ramscar a startled
look. Expelling a bark of laughter, Lord Powning slammed his fist down on the carved arm of the chair. “You savage rogue! Not those sorts of private endeavors. Are you serious? My lady would geld me for even contemplating such a fantasy.”
    The tension in Ram’s stomach abated with the man’s revelation.
    Lord Powning did not notice Ram’s discomfort. “The troupe is content to travel like the jongleurs of old. No audience, whether it is three or three hundred, is beneath them.” The marquess smiled as he noticed Miss Winlow wending her way through the rapt spectators into the open area where her male companions defied setting their garments aflame. “An antiquated and charming tradition, I grant you. However, I predict our Miss Winlow is fated for greater things.”
    “My lord and lady,” Miss Winlow greeted the Pownings, showing deference with a low and graceful curtsy. “The gentlemen behind me require a brave volunteer for their next feat. I leave it to you to name your fool—” She coughed delicately into her hand. “Uh, gentleman.”
    Everyone roared with laughter at her deliberate slight. She smiled sweetly at those around her while several names were shouted out in hopes of swaying the marquess. Ram sensed Miss Winlow was enjoying herself immensely.

    “What say you, my lord?” she shouted over the din of the audience.
    Lord Powning rose from his chair. “A brave man, you say?”
    “Aye, my lord,” she replied, willing to indulge her host. “The bravest. A man whose nerve will not falter when tested.”
    Lord Powning leaned down and whispered something to his wife. The marchioness nodded in agreement and smiled. Straightening, he said, “Well, my lady and I can think of no other man than the Earl of Ramscar!”
    An encouraging cheer momentarily deafened Ram as Miss Winlow offered to him her hand. Her cheeks were delightfully flushed from excitement. “Do you like to play with fire, Lord Ramscar?” With a dramatic flourish, she gestured toward the jugglers.
    Ram scowled at the flaming torches. “It depends,” he drawled in her ear. He was not exactly afraid of fire. Nevertheless, since he had carried Meredith from the conflagration that once had been the nursery, Ram had kept a respectful distance from any open flame. “I’m rather particular on what I ignite with my hands.”
    Miss Winlow reacted to his saucy remark as he had expected. Giving him an amused side glance, she said, “How interesting. It has been my experience that fire is rarely tamed for long.”

    The screams of his mother and sisters still rang in his ears when he thought of that night. “I agree, Miss Winlow,” he said grimly.
    His trepidation increased as he followed her closer to those flaming missiles that shot out between the two men. Why, of all things, did it have to be fire? What was wrong with juggling several razor-sharpened knives? Or battle-axes? Ram could feel his