Page 14 of Lord Ramsey's Red-Headed Ruin
She pouted at that news. “My servants are wonderful people. And here, too, the Verne family deserve only the best. Maurice benefited a thousand times over from Monsieur Verne’s expertise with the vines and the blends. The family fed and housed me here.”
“Their barn?” Ram chuckled, but was aghast.
“Of course.”
“Hideous.” He grinned, then frowned.
“Don’t wrinkle that marvelous brow of yours, sir. I did what I had to.”
He shook his head in exasperation. “You willnotbe the end of me.”
“Drat!” She had to tease him. “Why not?”
“Be good! Now go to sleep. We have much to do. You need your rest.”
She believed him.
This man would not lie to her. Would not make her do anything she refused. She looked into his cool blue eyes and saw there an honesty she had not glimpsed in many others. Not in any virile men. Not in anyone whom she should question with every breath she took.
Yet she believed him.
He sent her a solicitous smile. It did not reach his eyes. But she understood him.
He was hers to have, to command. He was here to protect her, and if he could not protect her from herself, he would do all in his power to make her see an alternative he favored.
So much was his own dedication.
So strong was her dedication to her own work.
She turned away from him and urged herself to sleep. But her mind churned with questions she would soon have to answer.
How long can I stay away from Paris? How long can I deny I yearn for my work? Even at risk of Vaillancourt and death?
Chapter Five
June 12, 1802
Charleville, Ardennes Forest
“When have youbeen here before?” Amber asked Ram as the coachman took his time opening the door to their carriage. She could not wait to climb down and put her feet to the earth. The two of them had traveled via public coaches the past week. This particular conveyance could not have been more rickety, the squabs more lumpy, and the horses any older. The journey from their last town of Buzancy had taken eight miserable hours, stopping for one very ill, retching coachman and one damaged wheel. All of it made her aching bones feel as if she were eighty.
She fidgeted, happy to be in a new place she’d never been, freer each day from most of her worries about her safety, serene at odd moments when she forgot her predicament—and that in itself was attributable to the jovial company of the man who had found her and vowed to aid her. Posing as his wife, she gradually threw off her care of discovery.
As she gazed at his amicable expression, she admitted that their journey now was more dedicated to him and his pursuits. She welcomed the change.
She needed it. After all the years when she had devoted herself to the ruin of corrupt officials who jailed her and herfriends, she hailed this reprieve.Even though you feel guilty that you’ve abandoned your mission.
Guilty? Yes. But at threat to my life.
“Don’t fret,” Ram said, as if he’d read her mind. He grinned in solace at her impatience and covered her hands in his. The embrace of his large, strong fingers was a comfort she’d learned to admire. To accept. To want. “Once, years ago, I visited here. My distant cousins live just near the edge of town.”
That explanation warmed her. They had good reason to be here, not simply Ram’s desire to learn about the production of muskets and nails and whatever else the townsfolk produced in their forges. She smiled at him, grateful for his ease, hissavoir-faire. She breathed more easily each day, each hour. Today, when she was farther from Reims and Varennes, she rejoiced that she was sheltered from those who wished to haul her back to Paris and death.
And this man made it possible.
“Come now.” He smiled and the world awaited, happier than she expected.
She squeezed his hand and scrambled out. Breathing the crisp air of the north, she was grateful for her new half coat, for her new clean clothes. Amber also appreciated the deep hem in her coat into which she had basted her remaining coins and her wedding ring from Maurice.
