Page 7 of Lord Ramsey's Red-Headed Ruin
“Not at all.” How unique, she dared not say.
“I disagree. No freckles. No blemishes. No girlish whimsy. No frailty of bone or eye or gumption.” He grinned, broad and nigh unto evil in his praise of her.
Praise.She would have no more of this. She spun to one side and strode toward his sideboard. “Have you whisky in that decanter?”
“I’m surprised you did not pour yourself a draught.”
She flashed him a withering gaze. “That would have been poor manners. Besides, I was not here long enough to sample it. I do gather you clocked how long I’ve been here.”
“Upstairs?” He fished his watch from his waistcoat pocket and noted the time. “Eight minutes. Perhaps not long enough for your particular taste.”
She availed herself of the decanter and one earthen cup. A strong dose of spirits would be just what she needed to endure this inquisition. She downed it, and the warmth sank through her limbs. With her cup empty but still in hand, she sat upon the edge of his firm, wide bed. The sumptuous feel of it had her spine easing. She smiled in relief but killed the expression, for this man would not need to know how she desired the comfort of his bed. “Now that you have me, what do you propose to do with me?”
“I hoped you would readily see the value of my company.” He offered her a brilliant sample of his most pleasant bow.
“Fit for the Tuileries, you certainly are.” She lifted her cup in fake homage.
“I’m thrilled you see it that way,” he said with sarcasm. “But we both know you do not wish to return. Frankly, I don’t blame you. I have been there, and I did not find the court’s questionable charms amusing.”
She snorted. “Touché. So then, regale me with your solution.”
“We travel together.” He said it with such finality that it left little room for her objections.
“You are presumptuous.”
With a theatrical sigh, he turned on his heel and claimed the only good chair in the room. “I am prudent.”
Whatever she might think, he would argue against. From his commanding position near the door, he watched her like a king on his throne. At his leisure, so easy in his skin, he ran his largeblue eyes over her as if she were a diamond to regard, measure, and seize. She was no man’s. But she tipped her head and said, “Do enlighten me.”
“You are in a precarious situation. A woman alone. Fleeing not merely one man, albeit one who is the second most capable of detaining anyone in the country, but eluding his entire cadre of underlings. You have limited resources. Money goes only so far for so long, then you must return home to Reims or to Paris to get more. Under disguise and in the dead of night, too. That carries dangers of discovery. Alternately, you could try to leave France and go to the coast, Britain, or south to Spain or one of the Italian states. But they are far and require a long journey, perilous and hot. Going to one of the German duchies on the Rhine is not a good idea, either. They, after all, are beholden to Vienna.”
“Not for long, from what I hear.”
“Right you are. For once they are officially aligned with France, you cannot find succor there. Plus, one thing more.” He lifted a finger. “You do not speak any German.”
She sat taller. “You have done quite a bit of research about my background.”
He smiled. It was perfunctory. “I have.”
“So then you offer me your presence, your protection, and your funds. I am shocked, sir. Do you not offer me, as well, your prayers?”
“If you wish.” Humor warmed the cool self-confidence in his gaze.
“I have no need of them.”
“Because you are on the right side of your quest?”
She nodded.
He gave her the sharp regard of a predator about to attack prey. “Never in this country, or in any other on this green earth, did being right assure one of victory. Give over, Amber.”
At his use of her given name, she stilled and gazed down into her empty glass. He had a point.
“You need me.”
Do I? How can I avoid it?“It is safer for you if you simply leave me.”
He gave little nod. “But I won’t.”
