Chapter Twenty-One

May 2, 1803

380 rue Saint-Honoré

Paris

A mber had no callers. Ever. She never invited anyone, either—and she preferred it that way. With what she contemplated doing, becoming closer to Vaillancourt, she figured she was not fit company for anyone. Not these past few days, certainly. She would go to Vaillancourt to live in his house, be in his bed, rummage through his life, upset his order. She had to. She'd found nothing lately. Nothing.

Now she longed only for the company of Ram. Only for his embrace, his smile, his acceptance. She felt ill with the longing for him and her fright of Vaillancourt.

So it was a shock when she heard Gus at her front door, raising a ruckus and running past her majordom and up into her salon.

"What in hell are you doing here?" Amber shot to her feet. Dizzy at her rise, she was shocked to see her friend after so many months so heavily pregnant, and angry too. Had Ram perceived she was moving into Vaillancourt's house? Had he told Gus and Ashley? No, please no. "And in your condition, too?"

Gus blew out a breath. "Allow me your chaise longue, will you, and do be quiet." She lumbered over to the large pink couch and plunked down with great relief.

She was very great with this child. Amber feared for her health. "Water? Tea?"

"Nothing, Amber." Gus was curt, feral almost. "I come to tell you we are leaving Paris."

Amber smiled. She had expected it. "I am thrilled. Good for you."

Gus peered at her, her lips thin with determination. "Come away with us."

Amber stiffened. She had not expected this. "You are heavy with child, and I see the stress has affected your mind, too."

Gus frowned. "Don't be flippant with me, my friend! To the matter. Come away."

"You know my answer."

"Why? What can you do now?"

"Continue."

"You will be arrested. Vaillancourt will not allow your operation to continue if France and Britain are at war. Be sensible."

"He does not know." Nor do you. Thank heavens.

Gus scoffed. "And I am ignorant? A troll beneath a bridge? Are you? What is wrong with you? Come away."

"Aunt Cecily does not go."

"Aunt Cecily never goes!" Gus spat. "Not under any threat. Why will you not go?"

"I do better work here."

"Unto your death."

Amber nodded. "So be it."

They stared at each other.

Gus struggled to her feet.

Amber swallowed back her regret, but did not rush to help her friend rise.

Gus took one last look at her. "You have a chance of love and laughter. A long and happy life."

Amber fought tears. I see Ram now when I can, and I must be content with that. "I do."

"You will not take it?"

"No."

"Oh, Amber. You did once. You loved Maurice and valued every day with him. Ramsey loves you, and I know you love him."

Gus was correct. But loving Ram did not protect him or anyone else Amber loved. I know what I am about. "I must do this alone. I must."

"You think you are invincible," Gus accused her.

"Like you?" Amber taunted her. "Did you not once tell me that? You were an island. A creature alone. No, Gus, I am not a creature alone. But I do what I can. Go. Leave me in peace."

Gus stood for a long minute, incredulous. Then, with her hands fisted, she gave a cry and fled the room and Amber's house.

Blinded with regret, Amber fumbled with the arm of her chair and sat down with a cry. Gus, gone, was one more tie to her past broken. Tomorrow morning she would move to Rene Vaillancourt's house in rue Saint-Martin. By that act, she would show the town she was now his creature. Not Aunt Cecily's niece. Not Maurice's widow. Not Society's leader. Nor the one who'd fled Paris. Or the one who'd had a scandalous affair with the British envoy Lord Ramsey.

But now Rene Vaillancourt's mistress.

She put a hand to her mouth, sick unto death at the prospect.

*

The rain was hideous the next day. Amber's move to Vaillancourt's house went well. Yet she was pleased that the rain had posed a problem. She could avoid too much time with Vaillancourt by proclaiming that she needed to sort her clothes and effects after such a deluge.

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.