Page 76 of Lord Ramsey's Red-Headed Ruin
“You have caught a chill.”
“I have. I have.”From you. Always from you.She squeezed shut her eyes and squirmed in misery. “I hate a dank, dark place.”
Visions of the weeks, alone and freezing, when she had hidden in the tunnels of Compiègne floated back to her. Endless hours without the sun or the wind in her hair before she emerged into the light and found the brilliant refreshment and comfort of the man she loved.
Tears filled her eyes.Ram, Ram. I need you.But she bit her lip. She must not utter his name to this man.
“S’il vous plaît. Marie,” she beseeched Vaillancourt.
Off he went.
She was alone in her misery. “Ramsey, darling,” she whispered to the shadows closing round her. “He knows I took the names from him. He knows.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
The first afternoonAmber had not appeared at St. Pierre had Ram waiting for two hours, then walking the rough, tangled terrain of the old cemetery. He passed elaborate crosses and majestic sculptures of those gone, those loved, those mourned. A few stones bore faded inscriptions, others whose names were obscured with flowers brought by grieving friends or relatives. Always he kept Amber and his bench in view.
Her absence that first day, he argued with himself, was nothing to alarm him. She had not been able to excuse herself from Vaillancourt. Or the deputy had required her at some surprise social chance meeting by an official. Kane kept Ram informed of any little thing he learned about the deputy. The latest news was that he had a new mistress who lived in his house.
Ram could do naught but accept what he could not change. He went home, poured himself a stiff brandy, and decided to attend a dinner party to which he’d been invited.
Later that night, he learned that the Americans had arrived to sign the treaty for the sale of land to the French. The territory along the Gulf of Mexico west to Spanish territory was to belong to the new United States government for the price of fifteen million American dollars. That money, beamed the gossips, would pay for Napoleon’s ambitions. Ram knew those desiresincluded funding French armies and building up supplies along the northern and eastern borders.
One week later, Amber again did not appear on their appointed day at the cemetery. Ram remained in place for only an hour past their usual time. Hiring a shabby public fiacre, he ordered the coachman twice around Vaillancourt’s avenue. Ram got out to walk far down the street, but in the next four hours, he did not see Amber go or come.
Beside himself, he walked to a nearby florist’s shop, bought an armful of roses, and hired the boy who worked there to knock on Vaillancourt’s kitchen door and ask if the lady of the house would like any. He wished to sell them, the boy explained, or his master would be furious, he told the maid. But the boy returned to Ram, his arms full of the roses Ram had bought, and word that the lady of the house was indisposed.
For the next few days, Society in Paris convulsed with the schism of Bonaparte and the British ambassador. Kane and Gus left the city for London and home. Ram attended a few social gatherings only to get gossip.
Bonaparte was getting ready to officially end the peace with Britain, and those who had any sense in their heads were packing their trunks to head for the coast. The streets crawled with those frantic to leave Paris. Carriages stood before countless front doors. Horses whinnied and cried, wearied with the wait. Stray dogs wandered among the chaos, begging for scraps, searching for anything that looked like a treasure.
In the melee, servants lifted trunks into the rear hatches of coaches. Carts filled with odd goods, pots and pans, furniture, and cages with cats and dogs. All clogged the streets. Fearful women dabbed at their cheeks. Men shouted at their coachmen like lunatics. French creditors banged on doors, waving long sheets of invoices for goods and services rendered.
This morning at dawn, wild from a sleepless night, needing to escape the house and think how best to get Amber out of Vaillancourt’s house, Ram had his horse saddled and went for a long ride along the Champs-Élysées and back.
When she did not appear again that afternoon in the cemetery, it was the third time. Ram considered everything, from barging into Vaillancourt’s house demanding to see Amber to bribing the man’s servants to let him in.
After a long breakfast and two stiff whiskies, he was determined that bribery of Vaillancourt’smajordomwas his answer. First, he had to call upon a few people to help him in his next quest.
Then he would go appeal to Amber one last time.
*
Amber struggled upon an elbow and bent to the side of her bed. She shrank back at the foul odor of her own vomit in the pot on the floor. She had been ill all night. Often. Too often.
Get up. Get to the bellpull.
She pushed up and the room spun. In a whirl, she clamped shut her eyes and felt for her pillows. The urge to vomit hit her again.
Why did she do this? Why? The footman. He’s the cause because he…
“Madame?” Marie called to her from so very far away. “Let me…”
Amber gazed at the pretty girl in the shadows of the morning. Whatever she said made no sense. “Marie…” She licked her lips. And her gorge rose again.
“Oh, Madame. Madame…” And on the girl chattered.
What’s wrong with me?
