Page 74 of Lord Ramsey's Red-Headed Ruin
She stared out the window of her boudoir in his house and scoffed. Did the world cry with her because she was here?
God knew she was nauseated with the thought of the life before her. For days, she had loathed the very idea of being so near to her nemesis.
How she would hold herself up for today—for all the days to come—she knew not.
Chapter Twenty-Two
May 3, 1803
10 rue Saint-Martin
Paris
By lunch, Amberquestioned why she had moved in with him this morning. She could not bear his presence. Oh, he was more than gallant. He practically oozed ardent attendance on her. His pandering disgusted her. She had the impulse to gather up her skirts and avoid the contamination of his touch. What a struggle it was to tolerate him.
But he persisted. Escorting her into the luncheon room with a kiss to her hand, seating her too close by his side, dropping a kiss to her shoulder, he was the perfect gentleman. “I am so delighted you are here,ma chérie. For us to be together leading Society is what I have wanted for so very long. I promise to make you deliriously happy.”
You will never be capable.
She smiled, the actress in her in full bloom.“Merci, Rene.”
But as the luncheon progressed, she noted he was preoccupied. He was a good actor, but not superb. At odd moments, he seemed to seethe.
What niggled at him? The quality of the entree? The sputtering candles? The service? Indeed, he watched the head footman serve the portions of soup and fish and dessert with aneagle’s critical focus. Meanwhile, he did lead their conversation to tonight’s dinner party, who would attend, how he was delighted she would be his hostess.
“At last, you are mine,” he cooed in a tone that to most ears would have seduced a dedicated nun. His lips as he blessed the back of her hand between courses were a chilling horror.
She had all she could do to force her body to absolute stillness. She feigned a corpse. Dear heaven, she could not even dine next to him. How was she to tolerate this man all over her body, inside her, filling her with his venom?
She swallowed hard. The fish gurgled in her stomach. Or was it the mushroom soup?
The dessert came. Agalette de roi, a pastry filled with crème and almond flour, a tasty concoction that resembled a light cheesecake. She usually loved it and asked for a decent portion.
Vaillancourt had none. “Not to my taste. Too rich,” he explained.
Her enjoyment of the pastry was the highlight of the meal. She took her time, partly to relish it and partly to see if she could outlast him in the luncheon room—and give her time alone.
But Vaillancourt remained.
Stubborn but suppressing her frustration, she said, “I will have a cup of tea, then withdraw to see how the maid does with my belongings. I assume there is no need for me to discuss with yourmajordomthe service for this evening’s dinner party?”
“None, ma chérie.However, he has requested to meet with you.”
“Oh, very well. I will ring for him when I am ready.”
“No need. Your maid Marie is his daughter. Simply tell her when you wish him to appear. He is at your service.”
“I will.Merci beaucoup.”
Then an odd thing occurred. The footman who stood by a sideboard dallied so long pouring her tea that she turned towardhim. He stood with his side near her and stirred the poured brew. Had he put something in there that needed to be blended? She’d not seen that occur but…still.
As he served her, she noted her tea seemed a natural color. She turned to Vaillancourt, who waved the footman away. “You do not like tea?”
“Too British for my taste,” he said with a sly smile.
She’d seen him drink it before…but rarely. She lifted her cup and sipped. It tasted fine, and she finished it.
Minutes after Vaillancourt excused himself, Amber went to her rooms to survey the area.
