She gave a little whuff of exhausted laughter before lifting her head to peer down at him curiously. “I understand now why people pay such lofty prices if sex is like that.”
Ramsay was so struck by her tousled beauty, he had trouble processing her words for a good half a minute. “It’s rarely ever like that,” he said with a pleasured sigh.
Her lashes fanned down over her cheeks as she traced an invisible design on his shoulder with her fingertip. “So … you consider me a satisfactory lover, then?”
“Satisfactory?” He snorted, letting his head land on the ground with a thump. “If ye were any better, ye’d have killed me.”
“You’re having me on,” she accused.
“Do ye not see what ye’ve done to me, woman?” He swatted at her backside, a motion that turned into a grope. “How can ye question my word?”
“Because I did little better than lie there and enjoy your skill, all told.”
“Skilled, am I?” He flashed her a grin full of masculine arrogance.
It had the opposite effect than he’d imagined. Her own features froze, and then fell, as she stared at him in astonished silence.
“Did something trouble ye?” he asked with concern.
“I do believe that’s the first time I’ve ever witnessed a smile on your face,” she said in a hushed tone. “It’s quite … brilliant.” Her fingers reached out and traced his mouth before she settled her soft lips against his.
At this, Ramsay made a silent vow to smile more.
“Artifice has never come easy to me,” he said, trying to ease his sober statement with a wry sort of half smile. “I think most people smile when they doona feel it. And I’ve mastered many skills and etiquette, but that is not one of them.”
“I like that about you,” she said brightly. “Then your smiles are genuine. Rare. Something to be treasured. Like diamonds.”
“The things ye say,” he murmured, wondering if the blush creeping up his skin was visible in the moonlight.
She nuzzled him, and the affectionate gesture touched him deeply.
“Can I ask you something?”
He chuckled. “Ye could ask me to skewer the moon with my bow and arrow at this moment and I’d give it my best effort.”
Her eyes crinkled at him with pleasure. “Cassius isn’t exactly a Scottish name, is it? It’s unique enough I’ve often wondered why your parents might have given it to you.”
His smile died a slow death on his face as some of the warmth leached from him. She’d poked at a wound she couldn’t have known he had. He measured his words carefully, unwilling to break the perfection of the aftermath with meaningless trifles.
“I doona ken if they taught ye Latin at yer school.”
“Et non est, sed in ea didici mea,” she answered. They did not, but I learned it on my own.
Of course she did. God, she would never cease to impress him.
“Then”—he hesitated—“ye ken the history of the word?”
She looked up as though to retrieve a memory. “Well, it was the name of the man who killed Caesar. One of them, anyway.”
“Not the name, lass. The word.”
Her forehead wrinkled as it was wont to do while she puzzled something out. “Cassius could be a derivative of the word cassus but … that cannot be right.”
Her eyes brimmed with confusion, then concern.
Ramsay turned his head away, unwilling to see the pity that would follow.
“Surely your mother didn’t name you…” She stalled, no doubt searching for a synonym.
“Empty. Or nothing. Whichever ye prefer.” He finished the sentence she could not. “My mother was also a clever woman, and she had ways of being hateful that were just such as this. Almost deniable, but certainly on purpose.”
Cecelia scooted up his body, which responded despite the ache in his soul. She laid her cheek against his and held him. “I just can’t imagine a mother doing that to an infant. You’d done nothing wrong.”
Ramsay let out a long sigh, knowing he’d puzzled over it his own self more than a few times. “Emptiness is what she felt in this place, I think. Her marriage was empty, as was her life here. Her heart, certainly. I was a product of all that emptiness. She hated me before I even arrived here, I suspect.”
“Do you think that is why she left you here for so long?” She pulled away to face him again, and couldn’t seem to stop herself from pressing butterfly light kisses over his cheek and jaw.
He nodded, thinking her kisses were like a balm to him that he’d never had as a child. Or ever, really. “It would have been easier for her if I’d died. She had her duke to marry, and Piers, her heir, along with a bevy of lovers and secrets. What need did she have of me? I reminded her she was common. That she was an imposter in their world.”
“She was wrong about you.” Cecelia’s vehement words were spoken in a voice harder than he’d imagined she could conjure, and he studied her features intently as she continued. “You became a credit not only to her, but to the entire empire. Despite her malicious name, and everything that came after. I’m glad she lived long enough to watch you rise. To prove her wrong. You should be proud of that.”
He smoothed his fingers across her face, hoping to wipe away the wrath that didn’t set well on features as lovely as hers. That she felt such an emotion on his behalf was both wonderful and humbling. “I was proud when we met, but I’m not certain I should be now.”
“And why not?” she asked anxiously. “Because of me? Because of what we’ve just done?”
“Nay,” he soothed. “Because of the Lord Chancellor.”
“But you had nothing to do with his crimes,” she said, and her defense of him caused his shard of a heart to double in size.
“I’ve been shaken, to be honest. I rose to where I am because I had a keen instinct about the nature of people. If they were lying to me, or not. Which they most often are,” he added wryly. “I’d be able to tell what they wanted from me. What precipitated their actions, and how far they were willing to go to get what they wanted.”
He studied her for a long time, wondering why he was about to reveal this. “I thought ye were among the first people I’d ever met who’d truly muddled that instinct. Who’d been able to distract me long enough to fool me.”
“I didn’t set out to fool you,” she said. “I hope you believe that.”
He shaped his hand to her jaw. “I ken, lass, I ken. But to suspect I might have been working for the worst kind of criminal for so long. That I’ve been aspiring to become like him. Allowing him to influence my prejudices … It makes me question everything I ever believed about which side is good and which is not.”
“Your heart has always been good, that’s what matters.” She quirked a smile down at him, this one full of sadness and softness, but no true sense of pity. “I am sorry for what you have suffered,” she said. And he knew she meant it. “But I am also glad you’ve questioned your instincts about me.”
“Ye’re not the only one,” he muttered.
“How so?”