Page 70 of Lord Ramsey's Red-Headed Ruin
No more of him for her to have ever again.
*
They were done.Too fast. Too well. Too finally.
Ram eased himself up on his elbows and spread tiny kisses over her eyes and cheeks and chin. She regarded him with sweetness dwelling in her heart. This was all he had ever wanted in a woman.
He had known it soon after they met.
He angled away and took her to him. Memory had to serve him for years to come, and so he traced his fingers over her brows and the elegant contours of her pretty face. With his open palm, he caressed her throat and her torso, the rise of her hip and the sleek line of her thigh. With the encouragement of a smile from her, he lifted her leg at the knee and hooked it over his hip. He tickled the bottom of her foot and made her squirm. He loved her.
And he had to leave her.
*
Amber sat upand watched him dress. He took his time, a tribute, she took, to her. He did not want to go.
She tried to smile at him as he strode toward her and caught her around her shoulders, brought her up to him, and kissed her like a pagan.
She swallowed an objection as he made for the door.
“I will have more news soon of those shipments.” Not exactly true. But she had to see him as she perused these next leads. The lists. Her friends and his who might die. She would tell him her memorized lists.
His strength always infused her with the vigor to go on.
Concern darkened his brow. He narrowed his eyes on her. She could see that what she did to get more information was not anything he wished to know. It would drive him to distraction.
“Meet me.” She sat up. Naked in the faint rays of moon from the far windows, she held him in place. What she proposed could be her nightmare and his.
“When?”
She swallowed hard. “Once a week will be sufficient.”
He winced, but he did not thwart her. “Where?”
“The cemetery of St. Pierre in Montmartre.”
“At the butte of Montmartre? The church?”
“Yes.”
“I know of it.”
“It is secluded. The trees, the shrubs. Come at noon. Wait for me.”
“How will you cover your actions?”
“I will. Never fear.”
He nodded.
He did not need to tell her to be careful. She was an expert. He did not need to warn her not to meet him if she feared discovery. Nor did he need to tell her that none of this was worth losing her life over. She knew it all so well.
But that she would see him, meet him each week, meant he had more of her than he had had in the past miserable months.
A spark of hope lit, that he might yet wrest her from this life she’d created for herself.
He told himself he was a fool to allow the spark to turn to flame. Yet it did.
