Page 34 of Lord Ashley's Beautiful Alibi
She gazed up at him.He has me followed.
“Does he?”
She shook her head. “I have a friend whom he threatened.”
He sat quite still. “And?”
She pressed her lips together. “She left court. The city.” She turned to face him more fully on the bench. She could not help herself and kneaded her hands. “She is missing. I have not had any word from her. Not that she would send me letters. She was too afraid. I have looked for her for weeks.”
He frowned. “How?”
“I pretended to be ill and recovering in Compiègne in my aunt’s house. Then to be visiting friends. But those were ruses.” Tears burned her eyes. “I have looked for her in Compiègne and Chantilly and Meaux.”
He drew her against him, her face to the curve of his throat. This was where she’d longed to return since that time when they ran to the small salon and he took her in his embrace. This felt so wonderful, so peaceful.
“Why those towns?” he asked, sinking his fingers into her curls.
“It was as far as I could reasonably travel from Paris and not raise suspicion. Plus,” she said, wincing, “I was alone and feared who would tell others I had gone so far.”
“Augustine!” He pulled back, dark with concern. “You went alone?”
“My aunt’s two grooms went with me. They thought I arranged assignations. They are trustworthy. Aunt Cecily paysthem well not to divulge anything about our household to others.”
He cupped her cheeks. “My darling woman, you could be betrayed at any time!”
“I know,” she admitted with hateful resignation. “I know, and yet I had to trust. But I cannot continue to do it. That tempts the odds. Oh, don’t you see? I cannot continue, but I must! I must!”
He caught her close. His arms were the vises of security. The promise of safety. “Where else do you wish to go to find her?”
She shuddered in his embrace. If he knew anything at all about her actions, he would know more once she told him this. “Reims. I seek Amber St. Antoine.”
A spark of recognition had him blinking. “The widow of the vintner?”
“The same,” she blurted. “You know her?”
He shook his head. “No. I knew her husband, Maurice.”
“She is my dear friend. If I go there openly and Vaillancourt or his men learn of it or follow me, Amber is in danger. I cannot let that happen. Yet I must know where she’s gone. She is my very best friend, my sister in all but blood, and I am so angry that I cannot find her that I—”
He put a finger to her lips. “Darling, don’t. You upset yourself.”
She wrapped her arms around his torso. “I have tried to find her. I sent out pigeons. She…she did not answer.”
“Pigeons?”
“Five! To her home. They returned without word. I even sent out—” And she stopped, horrified. Her mouth dropped open. What she had been about to tell him would only make him vulnerable—and angry. He might even refuse her his help.
He caressed her cheek. His eyes were consoling, his expression sweet. “What did you send out?”
She scrambled to find a way to dissemble. To tell him the truth but cover her real actions. “A message through friends of mine that she was missing.”
“And? Did you receive responses?”
“All were negative.”
“I see.” He drew her to him again, her head against his warm, muscular chest. “Why go to her home, then?”
“Because she may have gone and left a message for me there.”
