The Rebellious Rake (The Notorious Nightingales #4)

Chapter 15

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

T his wasn’t like the last kiss, where the soft brush of lips was meant for reassurance. No, this was more than that. Possession, Ram thought. He wanted to possess Flora Thomas and mark her as his.

His mouth forced hers open and devoured. She took it all—the clash of teeth, the delve of his tongue. Ram knew she was innocent, knew he had no right to do this, but he had to. Something had changed inside him down in that tunnel with her. Something he feared he could never change back. Need for her consumed him in that moment. He wanted this woman with equal parts of lust and hope.

She made a small sound in her throat that had him pulling her closer. Had him wanting to lay her on a bed that there were surely many of in this household. It was that thought alone that had him easing back from her. That and the singing that started outside the window.

Flora’s eyes stayed closed as he looked down at her. Her breathing was ragged as she pressed a hand to her lips. To his shame, he noticed her fingers were trembling.

“Flora, I?— ”

“No.” Her eyes opened and looked heavy lidded. Sensual, he thought, his body reacting to her kiss-swollen lips. “Both of us did that,” she said in a soft, subdued voice. “I will not allow you to apologize. But we both know it should not have happened and never will again.”

“Why?” Ramsey attempted to assemble his wits into working order. That kiss had rocked him. When had a single kiss done that before?

“Because I also know men like you, and no man will take advantage of me again.” She walked out the room then, chin raised.

“I am not like your ex-fiancé!” he roared, following her as the singing grew louder. That fool had clearly hurt her, and when he got the man’s name, if ever he ran into him, there would be terse words and maybe a fist or two exchanged.

Damn the woman! Why did she get to him like she did? Why couldn’t a lady with a sweet, biddable nature arouse his interest and not a prickly one with far too many opinions?

Why did I kiss her? For all people thought he was a man with little control when it came to women, that was not true. He never dallied with innocents… until now. The problem was, Flora made him feel things—anger, lust, amusement, and frustration. He constantly ran through a gamut of emotions when she was near. Plus, there was the surge of hope he’d felt kissing her. Hope that he wasn’t a jaded man and could one day have a woman share his life—of course, not her, as they would likely kill each other.

He heard the thud of her feet as she ran down the stairs. Ram followed and nearly fell, as his feet were a great deal larger than hers, and the treads narrow. Close to tripping, he leaped off the fifth step from the bottom to avoid landing in a tangle of limbs on the floor.

“Flora, wait!” No response came as she sailed out the door, slamming it behind her, which was also in his face .

You are Ramsey Hellion, damn it. Respected and admired by many, especially women. Intelligent enough to hold a conversation with royalty or a chimney sweep. One woman should not be proving so difficult.

But Flora had been different from the first time he’d seen her. He’d felt something, and then she’d left after Leo’s wedding, and he’d breathed a sigh of relief. Now that she’d returned, his shoes suddenly felt too tight, and his neckties were choking him.

“It will not do,” he muttered, wrenching open the door and storming out into the frigid air. The singing came from six people who were all standing in the road outside the house he’d been viewing… and kissing Flora in.

“You all sound wonderful!” She was clapping now.

The singing stopped as Mavis Johns raised a hand. Ram saw Mr. Douglas, who had clearly just returned, like him, from the investment meeting. Miss Alvin and Mrs. Peeky made four of the six people present that he recognized. All were wrapped in layers to keep warm.

“Why are you singing outside this house?” Ram asked, perplexed as to why they were here, considering the place was vacant.

“We heard you were purchasing the property, Mr. Hellion, and thought to welcome you with a Christmas carol,” Mr. Douglas said, beaming. “We are very pleased you will be a neighbor, as we have a high standard set for those who live in Crabbett Close.”

“Your baking will need to be top-notch,” Mavis said, her face as serious as it always was. “I suggest you find something to specialize in, and seeing as it’s nearing Christmas, perhaps fruit mince pies?”

“Oh now, Mavis, you’re right there. No one in the street makes those,” Mr. Douglas said.

“Oh no?— ”

“Excellent,” Mavis added before Ram could get out a full sentence. “On to the next house now, carolers. We have only a few days to practice before we give our performance beyond Crabbett Close.”

They marched off, strides matching. Ram shook his head to clear it. He was always doing that in this street. He then looked at Flora, but she was moving away from him. She was crossing the road now and entering the park, where there appeared to be a lot more Crabbett Close inhabitants than there had been before.

“Stop, Flora!”

“No.” The word was thrown back at him, and he knew in seconds any chance of a conversation with her would be over, as she’d be surrounded by people. He increased his pace, but so did she, and they were suddenly both marching at a clip across the damp grass.

Something hit him hard from the side, and he staggered but managed to remain upright.

“Sorry! He saw you, and there was no stopping him,” Anna said.

The dog climbed onto his hind legs and placed his paws on Ram’s chest. They stared at each other.

“At least someone loves me.”

“We all love you, Ram,” Anna said.

“Thank you, darling, I love you too.” He gave the dog a scratch and then pushed him back down. “Now why are you all out here in the cold?” He bent to kiss the top of her head.

Like him, she’d come into this wonderful family recently. Unlike him, her life in the orphanage had been hell until the Nightingales had rescued her.

“It’s painting day.”

“Pardon?” He looked down into her sweet, pink-cheeked face surrounded by a velvet bonnet. She wore multiple layers and thick woolen gloves and sturdy black leather boots. Healthy, Ram thought. She was nothing like the thin, pale, and subdued child he’d first met.

“We are painting. Mr. Peeky is teaching us.”

“In these conditions?” He looked skyward.

“We move about a lot,” Anna said, as if it was entirely natural to be setting up easels in freezing temperatures in the middle of a street. But then he guessed it could be for Crabbett Close. “We are painting Christmas trees.”

Intrigued and because Flora had moved to where the others gathered, he followed, stopping beside her and Fred.

“This conversation is not over,” he leaned in to whisper in her ear.

“Oh, but it is,” she responded. “Wonderful, I have always wanted to learn to paint,” she added loudly. “Mr. Hellion, of course, cannot join us, as I doubt he would like to stain his expensive clothing, and there is the small matter of his tolerance for cold.”

Witch.

“You must be thinking of Alex, Miss Thomas, because I love the cold,” Ramsey said. “In fact, most mornings I step out my door, raise my hands to the sky, and ask for the temperatures to lower. I’m also an exceptionally talented painter, if you require another teacher, Mr. Peeky?”

“Well now, I won’t say no.” The man smiled and then walked away with not a single creaky joint. What was in the air in Crabbett Close? The older residents looked like they would blow over in the wind, and yet some of them got about the place more agilely than he did.

“You are talented?” Flora scoffed in his face. “I’m sure you have many talents, sir, but I just question if this is one of them.”

He knew she thought his talents lay in flirtatious behavior… which they did. In fact, he excelled at that, but there was a great deal more to him .

“Ramsey has a talent for many things,” Fred said loyally, mirroring his thoughts. “He is excellent at word games and has a wonderful singing voice. Plus, he is outstanding at charades.”

He didn’t smirk exactly, but it was a near thing. As Fred was now seated before an easel, he bent to kiss the top of her head too. “Thank you, Fred, that was very kind. Where is that hopeless brother of yours?”

“Which one?” Fred replied.

“Alex.”

“He has gone to eat, as he felt faint.”

“His belly never has a chance to feel hunger, surely?” Ram said.

Fred giggled at that.

“Now, about the painting, which I excel at….” Ram clapped his hands together in anticipation.

Flora made a harrumphing noise that any dowager would be proud of, then muttered something he was sure maligned his abilities before turning back to her easel. Ramsey smiled and only just refrained from clapping his hands together again. He was going to enjoy this very much. Any chance to torment the delightful Miss Thomas with her kissable mouth and caustic tongue was too good an opportunity to resist.

Ramsey stomped his feet a few times to ward off the numbness from the frigid conditions. He would stay out here, freezing his extremities off, because she’d said he wouldn’t. Which says what about you?

“Now, applying too much paint to your canvas can cause it to become thick and heavy and will take longer to dry,” he said in his most officious tone to annoy Flora.

“Like this?” Fred flicked her brush and a large glob of brown paint landed on her canvas. She’d clearly not washed it between applications, then swirled them all together. Subsequently, there was no discernible color left on her palette.

Over the next hour, Ram attempted to teach… and failed.

“I don’t want to paint that tree anymore,” Anna said. “I would like to paint Chester.”

“I can understand that, Miss Anna, but a dog is quite difficult. To learn, it is easier to get one thing right before moving on to the next,” Mr. Peeky said. “A tree is what we are painting today.”

The man was walking briskly back and forth down the line of artists, of which there were six. Fred, Matilda, Theo, Anna, Flora, and old Mrs. Douglas, who, as it turned out, was young Mrs. Douglas’s mother-in-law. Old Mrs. Douglas was visiting for Christmas and had ‘always been wantin’ to learn painting.’

“You need to have a lighter hand, Flora,” Ram said to annoy her. He then leaned in and tried to work out what she was creating, because it bore no resemblance to a tree. “Is that a mouse without a nose or tail? No wait,” he said, “it’s a grouping of rocks.”

“Painting has always eluded me,” she said, studying the small grouping of mud-like dog excrement clustered together. “I’ve tried many times.”

And that was another thing he loved about Flora Thomas. She rarely held grudges. That kiss would not be forgotten, but it would be pushed to the back of her head, and they would continue on in a civil way, as they always had. Nearly civil, he added silently. There had always been a tension simmering in the air around them, which had only heightened since that night in the sewer.

The carollers started up again, and Ram had to say they sounded good, even to his untrained ear.

“Your nose is turning red,” he said, looking down at her lovely face. No hard ridges in sight, Flora had a soft curve to her cheeks and chin. Her nose was small and neat, like her. Her blue-gray eyes were framed by a row of lashes that curved up, and the tips were paler than the rest. Ram had seen many beautiful women in his lifetime, but this one had something about her that reached out and smacked him hard in the face.

There was innocence and wisdom there, and so much beauty.

“Helloooo!”

He turned from studying Flora to find the owner of that voice. Ram saw Charles Thomas stumbling toward them over the damp grass and through the gray gloom of the day. Hatless, his coat was unbuttoned, and he appeared to be listing like a ship to the right.

“Oh, for pity’s sake,” Flora muttered, drawing his eyes back to her. She slapped down her paintbrush and rose. “Men are fools.”

“Surely not all,” Ram protested. “I assure you I have an intellect that rivals many.”

She glared at him. “Fools, one and all.” Flora then stomped away as her brother broke into a Christmas carol.