Page 14 of Lord Ashley's Beautiful Alibi
She did her aunt’s bidding, spun, and faced none other than the man of the Malmaison road. She caught her breath. He lived! She had thought him captured, dead with the others who attempted to take Bonaparte that morning. But he’d survived. And my, my, he was captivating. Big. Huge. She had felt his power when he’d taken her in his arms. But she had not recalled the details, only the impression of his magnificence.
Now he stood before her and she could absorb all of his grandeur. Six feet six, at least, towering over her and looking like a giant animal about to eat her for breakfast. She swallowed hard on the pool of desire in her mouth. Her body remembered his lips, his kiss. As if…as if the rest of him were not a feast for a female’s fantasies.
His shoulders were a wall. His ice-gray eyes absorbed every tiny feature of her face. He remembered her, and she could donaught but give him a small wink to warn him against revealing all about her that he recalled of that morning.
So she smiled prettily. Why not? She would havehimfor breakfast. The rake.
Aunt Cecily did the honors, the lady’s green eyes flashing when she noticed Gus appreciating him. “Do allow me to introduce to you the gentleman who heads the trade negotiations for the British. The Earl of Ashley. Newly dubbed, is that not so, my lord?” Her aunt batted her long, painted lashes at the giant who had once held Gus—handled her, to be precise—and then kissed her. Twice. The scoundrel. Now he was here, his cologne a smooth blend of good soap and lime. The fragrance filled her nostrils and had her pressing her thighs together at his intoxicating proximity.
“How do you do, my Lord Ashley?” She did her demure bow, offering her hand, her expression as placid as her years of practice allowed.
The delicious giant bowed over her fingertips, not quite as elegantly as he had two years ago in the forest, but he would do. His height would certainly enthrall. He could protect a woman from heaven’s wrath. His hair would also do. Pure onyx. Gleaming in the golden candlelight, his mane was worthy of her caress. If he were lucky. Which he was not. Although to be honest, the frosty hue of his eyes enticed her to wager against herself how long it would take her to melt the ice she saw there.
“I am very well, Miss Bolton.”
“Refreshing to hear good English, sir.” She could compliment him on something so innocuous as his pronunciation of their mother tongue.
“Lord Ashley”—Aunt Cecily addressed him in English as well—“do tell us about your duties here.”
He went on about his charge and how he wished to sell many luxury French products to wealthy Britons. “I’d like to ship grain, if Citizen Bonaparte will ease the tariff.”
Gus listened with half an ear. Ashley was a devastatingly handsome puzzle. She’d need to learn everything about a creature who could negotiate the trade of French goods to the British shores and, in the next breath, plot to kill Bonaparte on public roads. Such boldness should be applauded—before, of course, being sent tola Forcefor attempted assassination.
“Don’t you agree, Miss Bolton?”
She’d been lost to his rich bass voice and the contradiction of his past to present. But she had to nod, didn’t she? And discuss…what? Wine? “I agree that wine is vital to any discussion. So much in diplomacy depends on fine wine, does it not? The world will destruct without a good vintage.”
Her aunt was focused on the business of trade. “Have you met withMonsieurLaGrange yet, Lord Ashley?”
LaGrange, LaGrange. Gus worked her brain. He was the lead financier in Paris for the vintners who sold wine in Paris.
“No,” Ashley said. “I have not yet had the pleasure of meeting him. I arrived a few weeks ago, but I have been setting up my household.”
“You are alone in Paris, my lord?” Aunt Cecily asked him with keen interest in her green eyes.
Gus covered her amusement. Her aunt was digging to learn if the Monsieur of the Malmaison Road had a wife. Or a mistress he’d brought with him for convenience.
“Yes, my lady. It is only I, my friends working as attachés to the embassy, and my servants.”
“It is difficult to find good help.”
“Mymajordomseems to have that in hand. Although my chef needs assistants worthy of the many engagements I will host.”
“Well, sir!” She tipped her head toward him with glee. “I should be happy to recommend to you two whom I know are available and worthy of your station.”
“Thank you, my lady. I should like to have your suggestions. You have been here, I understand, for quite a while.”
Oh, please.Gus bit the inside of her lip to keep from barking at him. He, like his entire assemblage, had dossiers on everyone long before they had set foot on French soil. He was no green lad in any way, shape, or form. One did not become an assassin in a foreign country without prior investigation of all whom they would meet.
“Come to our salon tomorrow, Lord Ashley.” Her aunt had intentions to cultivate the giant in their midst. Why? She liked his looks? Or did she speculate as to his potential as her lover?
Gus’s nerves prickled. Was that jealousy?Absurd!Her aunt would not want to bed one so young. Cecily Ann Struthers-Sumner had a long history of bedding only the most important men. The Prince of Wales. The old Duc d’Orleans. Paul Barras. Besides…
Ashley is not a man I want. Why would I? He offers me nothing I need.
“Thank you, madam. I happily accept your invitation.”
“Shall we say two o’clock?”
