Page 29 of Lord Ashley's Beautiful Alibi
At the far end of the hall, where the grand marble stairs could lead one down into the gardens that bloomed in a thousand colors of the rainbow, he opened a door, led her inside, and shut the damn thing.
Then she fell into his open arms, her fingertips to her lips, her body shaking, her gasps small, guttural sounds that tiny animals and children made when monsters came to call.
His fingers splayed up her throat into her coiffure. He held her as if she were porcelain, rare and delicate. His lips were nestled in her hair, and she felt kisses, small and dear, imparted there.
She clutched him closer, though she shouldn’t, and made to stand apart from him.
“You’ve no need to push me away,” he murmured. “When one wishes comfort, why deny yourself when it is given without need for repayment?”
She leaned back against the wall, her view of him amid the shadows of the unlit room a realization of the sculpted power of his face. He was a big man with large features. But each was in proportion with the others. The broad forehead and the black shock that fell over it when he was earnest. The strong, straight nose, nostrils that flared in his exertions. The eyes, large, brilliant as lightning. Cheeks that arched, high and wide, giving him the look of constant curiosity. She had lain awake, drawing him in her reverie. Never attempting in daylight.
Her skills were sharp and honed. She did not sketch those irrelevant to her. Only those whom she must. Only when they were in question.
“I thank you for that rescue.”
“No need,” he assured her. He caught strands of hair at her cheek as he pulled on the curl. His fingers teased her skin. She rolled her lips together to avoid the impulse to close her eyes and drift in the euphoria he created. “Does he do that often? Come to you and press his attentions?”
“No. Only since one of my friends is missing.”
He flinched. “Was he enamored of her?”
“He was. She did not return the affection.”
“Smart of her, I would say. And from what I saw in there, you do not care for him.”
She shivered. “But there are consequences to deny him.”
“Oh?” He cupped her chin and raised her face. His gaze grew fierce and frosty. “What are they?’
She gulped and considered the intricate fold of his cravat.
“Tell me, Augustine. I will help if I can.”
“No, you cannot. Though I thank you for the offer.”
“What does he do for these consequences?” he persisted.
“He orders his team of guards to call upon a lady who refuses.”
Ashley balked, his eyes hard, bright fury. “How? What do they do?”
“He inspects the house. Looks for…anything he might use as example of a crime.”
“Who has he done this to?”
“Two friends of mine.” She feared Vaillancourt. She did. Badly. He was as insane as Robespierre had been. Many said it. Many who knew him better than she.
Ashley caressed her cheeks with his thumbs. “Can your aunt not keep him at bay?”
“Cecily is careful what to ask as favors of those in power. Even Madame Bonaparte has her limits.”
Her eyes closed again. He was all comfort and safety, and she had never had that from a man. Not her father. Not her aunt’s lover, the Duc d’Orleans.
Gus twined her arms around his waist and leaned against him. He was solid, hard muscle, a wall of certitude. But she had no right to hold him, and she looked up. “We must return. He could make life difficult for you, too.”
“He cannot touch me,” he breathed.
She shook her head. “He dares much. I would hate to be responsible for him harassing you.”
