Chapter Fourteen

T he next morning, Ram rose early from their bed. Careful not to disturb Amber, he wrapped his banyan around him and headed for the small library downstairs.

Sleep had eluded him—and he knew why. Though he and Amber had begun the night with kisses that satisfied and fulfilled, afterward Ram had Luc Bechard on his mind. Or rather, what Luc had told Amber in the streets danced in his memory.

Ram had seen her become distracted at that news. Only during the hours when they lay together in their bed did she not think of the other man and his words. Ram feared she took Bechard's information as evidence she must return to Society. He could not let her do that. Vaillancourt was devious, and his ploy to compel her into Society again was so obvious—and terrifying. The man would imprison her and kill her.

In the cozy, wood-paneled library, Ram strode to the bellpull and summoned Gaspard, the man-of-all-work, who lived here. The fellow acted as majordom and all else. The man who rented the house to Ram had assured him of the fellow's utmost discretion. "After all, we have had refugees of all kinds renting this house for more than a decade," he'd said. "Gaspard will not betray you in any way. He can, in fact, aid you in almost any endeavor."

Gaspard appeared quickly, pulling his own robe around him. He still wore the stocking cap that he'd slept in. His wiry gray hair stood out at odd angles. A funny-looking fellow with a long nose and bulging eyes, Gaspard was quick to laugh, quick to nod, quick to suggest a better alternative. " Bonjour , Monsieur Algernon." Gaspard had accepted without question the name Ram gave him. Ram and Amber were to the majordom and anyone who asked, including the man from whom Ram rented the house, known as Monsieur et Madame Algernon . "You wish breakfast?"

Ram requested a pot of coffee and an omelet. "I will take it here. Ah, Gaspard. One moment, s'il vous plait. Do you know of anyone who knows their way through the tunnels of Paris?"

" Oui , monsieur. Would you wish to meet her here?"

A woman! Ram snorted. "No, in the place. By the clock, shall we say? At ten?"

"This morning, monsieur?"

" Oui . Have her wear a green scarf around her neck."

Gaspard bowed. "It will be done, monsieur."

Newly arrived in Paris, the couple known as Monsieur and Madame Algernon were from Arles and visiting Paris for the first time. The mascarade worked for him and Amber. No one would call upon them. No one would be invited to their rented house. They were safe from discovery. Save for Luc and Inès Bechard, who had recognized Amber at once in the street.

That incident flooded Ram's mind with the fear they'd be discovered by someone else. Anyone else who came to the left bank for…what? To see a friend. To buy a pamphlet or book from one of the many publishing houses. The chances were few, but Ram felt the odds had just worked against him with the appearance of the Bechards.

There was no hope for it. He was left with the conviction that he and Amber had to leave Paris soon. He would begin the intricate preparations—choose a convoluted route, multiple carriages sent out at the same time as couples to act as decoys. A day or two and they could be gone from Paris.

If Amber would go.

He knew how her mind worked. What Luc had told her ate at her. He heard it in her voice, saw it in her stance. Her sense of responsibility was strong. He and she would be back to the old argument in which he pressed Amber to go to England—and she refused to leave France.

Yet now, with Luc Bechard's words of warning, it was clear that Vaillancourt would not give up. He wanted Amber. Lie, cheat, kill, the man cared not. He would have her.

*

Amber reached across the bed to tug at Ram. When she came up with only the sheets, she opened her eyes.

Early and gone again. She smiled. Although she preferred when he slept late with her and took her in his arms, she knew him well enough now to know he was disturbed by Luc and Inès discovering her yesterday.

At once, her delight in the day died to her own worry about Vaillancourt. The man was her nemesis. How could one man not give up his obsession with a woman who had been married to another and who clearly did not care for him?

She flung back the covers and marched off to the alcove to do her ablutions. She scrubbed her face and her hands, lost in the labyrinth of her poor choices to deal with Vaillancourt. She had to get hold of her reason. It was the only way to foil the man.

She had questions she must answer. Had Vaillancourt told Aunt Cecily that he planned to find her? Did he truly have a list of people to harass to find her whereabouts? Who was on that so-called list? Her friends, innocent and not? Her allies? Complicit or casual? Her supervisor?

No, that last he could not have. That person was too good, too secretive. Nor did anyone know the one who had reported to Amber. No one knew Gus reported to her. Or had done.

That was one reason Gus had induced Lord Ashley to go away with her. Their friendship was the other. But under the guise of having an affair, Gus had searched for her. Otherwise, she'd had no reason to go to Reims.

Did Amber's superior know that Gus and Ashley had searched for her? She shut her eyes. Of course he would. He knew so much, seemingly everything and everyone of any importance.

"And what of my superior? Are you still active? What has happened to you, dear sir, since I've been gone? How have your operated? With such a hole in the reporting system, is the whole team disabled, or worse, defeated?"

Amber ran two hands through her hair. Gazing at herself in the full cheval mirror, she took in the woman in the sheer muslin negligee.

"It's time to tell the man you adore your plan. He won't agree."

But she would do it anyway—and he knew her well enough to know that was a certainty.

He would not like her plan, but he would let her go.

He loved her that much and more.

*

"Good morning." Amber sailed into the library. Ram sat at the desk, his blue-velvet banyan gaping open to his naked waist. "Are you studying here so early in the morning?"

"I am." He stood and opened his arms to her. In a pale pink morning gown with a matching robe, her long red hair billowing around her shoulders, she came to him, fresh-faced and kissing him. "You smell wonderful."

"You feel wonderful," she whispered, and squeezed his torso. "I missed you this morning in bed. You have spoiled me by awakening me with kisses."

"Can I make up for the lack now?" He teased her lips with little touches of his own. He never tired of kissing her.

"Always," she cooed, and stood breathless, her eyes closed, as he spread little kisses across her cheeks and nose.

"Mmm. If we continue with this, we'll have to scandalize Gaspard and return to bed."

"Why not?" she teased him with a wicked smile. "Let's."

"I wish I could, darling." He brushed tendrils of her hair from her plump cheeks. "You are ripe temptation. But no, I have a few things to do."

She nestled closer to him. His banyan opened wider, and she, in her thin gown and robe, was nearly naked against him. "I want to do again what we did last night."

"Oh?" He looked at the ceiling, innocent and dumb. "What was that?"

"You know very well."

"I do." He outlined her lips with the tip of his forefinger. "I like how you cry my name when I have made you come."

Her cheeks blushed bright pink, and he gave a chuckle. "You had me, sir, body and soul."

With my tongue on your most sensitive spot and my fingers inside you, you came with a force that shook me. "I loved it."

"I loved it," she said too with a broad smile, wrapping one of her legs around his, placing her most intimate part to his rigid cock. "You are such an inventive lover, my darling, that I wonder how some lady has not made you her own before now."

"Never," he said as he plunged his hand into the wealth of her hair. "Never has anyone enchanted me as you do. There was no one before you. There will be none other ever after." He knew he danced on the edge of his admission that he loved her. But God in heaven, she had to know the truth by now anyway. He adored her.

She sank one hand between them and cupped him.

Sweet woman, he'd have her on the desk. He moved them toward it.

But then Gaspard knocked at the door.

She dropped her head to his chest and moaned her displeasure at the interruption. Still, she stepped backward and turned away from the door.

"Monsieur." The man sounded apologetic, as if he realized he had interrupted them in a tender moment. "I regret to report that your meeting with the person you wished will have to be an hour later."

"That's fine, Gaspard." Ram turned to Amber. "Would you like to have your breakfast, darling?"

"Please. But I am in no rush."

"There you have it, Gaspard. Thank you. I appreciate your promptness in that scheduling matter."

"Pas de probleme , monsieur. I shall pass on your agreement."

She strolled away from Ram and finally took a chair facing him.

"What bothers you this morning?" he asked her.

"My contact."

He sat back down in his chair and tipped his head, not understanding.

She licked her lips. "The person to whom I used to report all my information."

Ram grew wary. "What about him?"

She met his eyes. "I used to meet him at the abbey."

"Is that so?" He would be careful. A sixth sense told him where she wished to take this conversation. "Is he a priest?"

"I don't know."

Ram put two hands to the desk and calmly folded them. "What is he? Who is he?"

"I don't know."

He stared at her. "What is it you are telling me?"

"I would usually meet him at the abbey on a Monday."

Hmmm. Today is a Monday. "And?"

She swallowed and leaned forward. "I want to go today to see if he will be there, looking for me, expecting me."

"Why would he?"

"Because he valued my work."

"I see. And after no word from you since March, he would still arrive to hope you might appear?"

She sat back. "I know it sounds illogical."

He leaned forward. "My darling, it is worse. You said it was not the rule."

"I must try. I am here. By accident, yes, but so close, and I must try. He could still be looking for me."

Ram did not blink an eye.

"Oh, I can see you think me foolish."

"No, my darling. Too hopeful."

"What if… What if he sends someone else to see if I appear?" She ran a hand through her hair. "Well. No. I take that back. He wouldn't. That would mean his report would have to know it is me he sought. And the rules do not allow others to know, save those in the line."

Ram hated to do it, but he knew what her work meant to her. And he knew that she would regret every moment that she had not gone to check if her man appeared. "We will go."

She jumped up. "Ram!"

"We will," he confirmed. This small thing he could do to make her happy. One of his three guards would follow them.

"At two."

"Two o'clock. That's when you would meet?"

"On Mondays. This is the perfect! And you will come with me."

"I will." He smiled. He'd not let her out of his sight.

She ran toward Ram and flung her arms around him.

He held her to him, this woman he loved beyond anyone or anything he'd ever known, and prayed that what he did today did not mean the end of his affair with her.

For if this contact of hers appeared, Ram knew deep in his guts she would leave him for this man, this phantom, this agent who had recruited her, kept her, and used her for years before Ram ever set eyes on her.

But he had to agree to this. It was indeed the last thing she could do. It was also futile.

But to love someone completely meant one had to let them fly free.

He buried his face in her shoulder and feared she would fly away from him today at two. If she did, his world would shrivel, become small and foul, done in grays and blacks without her.

And so before they did this frivolous thing, they would have the one true thing that existed—their desire for each other, a living, daring ecstasy that he would give her as long as he had breath.

*

That afternoon, Amber and Ram set out for the abbey. Their walk was brief. The weather fine. Pedestrians few.

Ram walked with her toward one door of the ancient church.

"At that bench," she told him with a nod toward the stone garden seat, "we would meet."

"I will remain here." He stood by the corner of two old buildings damaged, most likely, by the same mobs that had attacked the abbey during the Terror.

Amber nodded and left him. They would remain no more than fifteen minutes. She had promised Ram that. Her hopes were high, even if her chances of success were few.

She sat on the old bench in the shade of linden trees. She inhaled the fragrance of the last blossoms mixed with the allure of flowering jasmines. She waited. The minutes ticked past. But no one came. No one stepped from behind the large evergreen. No one wore a face veil incognito or a sweeping hunter-green cape edged in red braid. No one walked with a limp of the left leg.

Her contact was not here. He would not appear.

She stood with a sigh and approached Ram. Without a word, he put his arm around her waist and drew her toward their house.

Her time as an informant was over.

Her remaining challenge was how to get word to her superior that Vaillancourt kept a list of those whom he wished to kill.

*

The next morning, Ram left Amber after breakfast to do a few things to prepare for their journey out of Paris. First, he'd go to his own rented house on the right bank, then he'd seek out the woman Gaspard had sent to help him the other day. Today, he did not need to learn from her about Paris tunnels. This morning, he needed her to help him with another detail of his flight from Paris. He needed a coach.

As he caught a fiacre for the ride across the Seine, he sketched out in his mind an escape plan. He was taking Amber to Amboise, to the Loire River. If she refused to go to London, that was fine—he would suggest the south. Provence. Arles. Nice. A ship in the Mediterranean to any place she wished to go. Constantinople. Jaffa. Anywhere in the world out of reach of the deputy chief of police.

Minutes later, Ram left his own house in rue d'Orleans, smiling. He had enough money, thanks to Ashley, who had sent thousands to his majordom . He'd need every bit of it for their journey.

Back on the left bank near their rented house, Ram ordered a coffee and bread at a bustling café. He sat waiting for Gaspard's friend. Down the street came three urchins selling today's gossip rags. He dug coins from his pocket and bought one of each. Gaspard bought a copy of all he could get each morning. Amber and Ram read them to each other for amusement. She knew the people whose names appeared in the sheets and would tell Ram about them, their characteristics and their escapades. He had not read this morning's so-called news. He'd had better things to do than waste time on frivolities.

Drinking his coffee, he enjoyed the momentary peace. He raised his face to the July sun and breathed in.

He raised his cup once more, and his gaze fell upon the stack of printed sheets. His cup midair, he paused…and reread the first sheet.

Then the next.

And the third.

Heart pounding, he stood, paid, and grabbed the sheets in one hand. He told himself not to run home, forcing himself to walk at a normal pace.

However, in Bonaparte's France, under Fouché and Vaillancourt, nothing was normal.

Nothing.

His only hope was that he might persuade the woman he loved to accept the news he gave her—and finally, finally , leave France for England.