Page 10 of All Scot and Bothered

He’d be less miserable if it were still a practice to display severed heads on the London Bridge. What an appropriate ornament Armediano would make.

“Not at all.” Ramsay uncrossed his legs, the new arrivalto their conversation beginning to redirect the blood from his nethers. “I have constructed a comfortable and successful life through will, focus, labor, and discipline. One need not seek sin and scandal to find contentment.”

“No man is without sin,” Armediano chuckled, flicking his gaze toward Cecelia. “Nor woman.”

Cecelia made a soft noise in the back of her throat, examining Ramsay as if he were an equation she couldn’t solve. “One must wonder if contentment is enough. Are you not lonely, my lord Ramsay? Or bored?”

Ramsay wanted to explain to her that most people didn’t understand loneliness—not until they’d experienced true isolation. One could be lonely in a room full of people. Or in the arms of a lover. There were many forms of loneliness. He wondered if she’d experienced them at all.

Instead he hedged. “I’m a busy man. I havena time for boredom or loneliness.”

“How fortunate for you,” she murmured. Blinking away the wrinkle that had worked its way into her troubled expression, she drank deeply before announcing, “I confess I sometimes overindulge in chocolate and champagne, as there are few other pleasures afforded a spinster bluestocking.”

“Bravo.” The count lifted his glass.

She and Armediano tapped rims with a grating chime. Ramsay felt his very veins tightening around his blood as he struggled to maintain his composure.

“I am told you studied at the Sorbonne, Miss Teague.” The count’s eyes gleamed from beneath his dark brows.

“You are well informed,” she replied.

“With your charming friends, the Countess of Mont Claire and the Duchess of Redmayne?”

Ramsay noted that the Italian’s expression was entirelytoo keen for such a casual question, and his eyes narrowed. A man unused to criminals and liars might not have noticed.

“Alex was not a duchess at the time, but yes, we attended the Sorbonne together, and the Ecole de Chardonne institute for girls on Lake Geneva before that.”

“Where you formed a society, I understand, Rastrello Rosso.”

“Not rakes, dear Count,” she corrected with a pleased smile that rivaled that of the flames. “Rogues, we were the Red Rogues.”

“She speaks Italian!” the count marveled.

“Only terribly,” she demurred. “And where did you learn of the Red Rogues, sir? We were a trio of little renown.”

“On the contrary.” The count slid closer, until his knee touched hers. “University-educated women are still a rarity, even in France. And a trio of suchbelle donneas you do not go unnoticed, especially ones with a penchant for pastimes only allowed to men.”

To her credit, Miss Teague gracefully tugged her knee away and tucked a forelock of hair back from her brow in a self-conscious gesture. “We are determined to live extraordinary lives, my lord.”

Ramsay couldn’t help himself. “And make extraordinary marriages?” He nodded toward the duchess.

Her expression dimmed, a crease appearing between her brows. “We actually vowed never to marry, though Alexandra’s circumstances changed.”

“You’re saying your friend the Countess of Mont Claire does not plan to wed?” the count inquired. “Does she not need an heir to her fortune and title?”

“That is not her primary concern at the moment,” she answered vaguely.

“And what about you?”

Cecelia adjusted her spectacles, nearly squirming with discomfort. “What about me?”

“Forgive my crass foreign manners, are you not in need of an advantageous marriage? It is not common for a mathematician to make a fortune.”

Cecelia shook her head, her skin whitening from cream to a ghostly shade. “I—I don’t…”

Ramsay found a man of his size rarely needed to raise his voice. When he offered a rebuke, he spoke low and even, but he leaned forward to emphasize the breadth of his shoulders. “If ye ken it isna appropriate to discuss finances in our society, Count, then it is not an ignorance of manners that prompts ye to ask, but a breach of them.”

To his credit, the count didn’t retreat, but he certainly changed tactics. “You must forgive me, of course. No offense was meant.”