Page 30 of Lord Ramsey's Red-Headed Ruin
Stunned, she stared at him. It was true. She could want him as her own, if she dared to give up all.
But have you not already done that?
No. No, I have not.
The truth rubbed her raw, and she twirled away to find wine and distraction.
*
Mayor Charles Dejeanwas no dancer. His sense of rhythm and timing had deserted him long ago, and Amber’s toes bore the brunt of those years. He surrendered her to Edouard Boyer, who had more grace as a youth than many a man could everacquire. Amber loved dancing with the boy. The two Boyer girls applauded, and when they took to the dance boards, it was clear they too were able dancers.
Throughout it all, Amber would find her eyes on Ram. She kept comparing him to Maurice.
Never were two men more unlike each other. Maurice, soft-spoken, mild, deliberative. A stylish man who tenderly cared for his library, his old chateau, and the rolling hills of his Champagne vineyards. More than twice her age, Maurice had been tempered by the loss of his first wife and viewed his love for Amber through the prism of welcome accidents and complex ironies of life. He had urged her to temper her work—“whatever its necessities”—through the perspective “of the long years you will live.”
She’d tried. Ever since she left Paris, she had tried. Now that she had the assistance of this very unique Englishman, she could allow herself a glimpse of what else her long years might offer her. In his world, dancing in a gilded ballroom. In his care, embracing with abandon the safety he provided. In his arms, taking and giving what pleasures they could give each other.
Of all her visions, that last was one that was most possible. Most appealing. In its power to mesmerize her, the promised ecstasy of making love to Ram played in her head like a rhapsody that repeated over and over again. Yet an affair with him implied she would never go back to Paris. In her heart, she hated to let that hope die.
She should not have him. Not now. Not even once. It would be unfair to him. Even though he wanted her, sleeping on the floor, suffering frustrations, avoiding touching her in their bed. He did not make a habit of taking women to his bed. There was no good reason why he should take her.
She sighed as she watched him take another lady to the floor for a country dance. With her every breath she yearned to be that woman at that moment.
He was suave, educated, and oh so manly. Why had he not found anyone to love? In Britain, he had estates and money. He had told her details of his holdings and his family treasures. They included a storied collection of English, Delft, and even Chinese Ming porcelain. She was a connoisseur of fine china, searching in her free time for valuable pieces from Sèvres and the old, small factory up in Montmartre. What was it like, she often wondered, to have time to sit and ponder the origins of such beautiful pieces? She had no idea. Her life had been taken up with the need to save others…and to avenge their torture and loss.
Intriguing that Ram had that time, that possibility of money and leisure, and found time to treasure such things. Yet he was here, doing the same job she was. Saving others.
Saving me.
“Madame.” The young friend of Edouard sat down beside her on the bench. “May I get you a wine or cider?”
“Oui, merci,Allard. Cider,s’il vous plaît.” She’d enjoyed three mugs of the local white tonight. She needed no more. Her turn of mind to the fancy of china, Ram’s English possessions, and his allure was enough to warn her off another serving.
When the boy returned, she sipped her apple cider and asked him about his future plans. “Do you go with Edouard to Paris to the university?”
“I wish to go, but my mother is ill. She was the village teacher and cannot work any longer. I must go to work at the factory.”
“Have you applied, Allard? I understand they need more laborers.”
“Oui, madame. I was to start last week, but the new director said I must wait for five new men from Mauberge to come.”
“Oh?” She was keen to hear that news. “Why are they so important?”
“They understand a way to shorten the time to perform some method during production of the stock.” He winced and glanced away, a frown on his young face, unhappy with his lot. “Those five from Mauberge will teach all the new workers their methods. Speed, the director told me, is what they need most to fulfill the orders for new muskets.”
“I see.”
“I don’t want to work there.”
Amber stared down into her earthen cup. Sorrow for his lot swept through her.
“But it’s better than the army,” he added.
“I would say so, Allard,oui.”
“New conscripts are being called up.”
“Here in town?”
