Chapter Fourteen #3
She had no thought of how to escape this subject, only all the wrong things. “That was Luc who helped as well.” She had to give credit to her brother for his part. But now that the subject had been broached, she must explain it to Evan—and do it before he asked. She owed him that.
“Someday,” Amber said with solemn brown eyes, “we will thank Luc, too, and in person for what he did for Ram and me. Never doubt.”
“We’ll find a way”—Ram leaned close to them—“to get him out.”
Inès flowed backward to the safe bulwark of her husband’s shoulder. No, no, that was more than Evan should take on. He would worry. He would plan.
Then he tightened his grip on her waist. “We will make it so.”
No, you cannot. Only I can free Luc. Tears burned her eyes and she began to turn her face into the haven of his chest.
“Oh, sweetheart.” Evan tipped up her face to him and dashed her tears from her cheeks. “No tears. Not today. Not any day, and I will make it so.”
Then he scooped her up and strode away with her to the laughter and applause of their family and guests.
#
Halsey took her to the hall, to privacy, and saw the door open to the smaller room on that floor.
The tall windows let in the morning light, the snowfall of yesterday refracting the rays into sparkling sunshine. He took her toward the only settee that sat bathed in the glow.
He paused just a moment as he spied in one corner the cello that Inès had purchased a few weeks ago. Shiny and clean, still lacking a string, it stood next to the Ashleys’ fortepiano.
That was a beautiful object with bold black keys, white atop, the frame in flat green, the color of old grass.
The lid was propped open, and upon it was a mural scene he would say was of a small, colorful medieval German village.
He had traveled to Baden, Hanover, and Prussia years ago on his grand tour.
He loved the country, the music, and the composers, too.
He had not seen a fortepiano so fine since he was in Boulogne and the lady pianist there had enchanted him with her skills and, dare he say, her looks.
Ignoring that far-off memory, he recalled that he had heard from his mother and sisters that Inès was talented at the keyboard. They had heard her play at Gus’s reception days ago.
He took her to the settee and placed her in his lap. He drew her to him, then caressed her soft cheek. “I need to kiss my bride.”
She shook back her hair, escaping as it was a few of her pins. The glorious gold strands fell over her slim shoulders as she laughed and taunted him, “You must hurry.”
“Why?” He pulled back, faking shock. “Are you leaving me?”
Soberly now, she put her lips to his. “Never. I just took vows for that.”
“So you did.” He could not resist putting his thumb to her lower lip.
The fortepiano had surprised him and caused him to realize that these past few weeks in his bride’s presence, he had forgotten the lady from Boulogne.
That, he chastised himself, was no reason at all to be pensive on his wedding day.
“What’s wrong?” She curled a brow, a tinge of fear in her eyes.
If it was what the Ramseys had revealed about her.
Well, he would have a sound discussion with her about all that.
He had gotten the impression that what services she had rendered had been minimal.
For that, he was relieved. But she had stilled at their words and he had noticed.
Even now, she feared something, perhaps even his loss. “Am I not the one you wished to mar—”
He took her to him in such a crush, he could have sworn her body became his. He seized her lips, his wife, his all, his love.
He pulled away at that last thought and peered into her fathomless brown eyes. “You are the one I wish to do everything with.”
She slowly widened her eyes. She seemed thrilled, despite her fears. “That sounds scandalous.”
He pulled her near and nipped her earlobe. “It is. So do tell me. Is your luggage ready?”
“I packed it myself, dear sir.” She suddenly acted as his teasing, tempting lover.
He laughed. “Organized, are you?”
“I want to be away from here with you. We can go, can’t we? Now?”
She was younger than he. But not a girl.
Twenty-four, she had once told him. To his thirty-four, they were a good match.
Seasoned by years in the ton, he liked his friends, his peers, his colleagues, and, yes, many women in Society.
She, too, seemed adroit with others. Today she’d met the prime minister with an aplomb that had not surprised him.
He took it as her quality to meet all types of people.
He had seen that at other Society gatherings and simply accepted her skills.
He cupped her cheeks. “Listen to me. Promise me something, will you?”
She pressed her lips to his. She felt soft and warm and mellow as heaven, and he was such a callow boy to ask her this. But what the Ramseys had said bothered him as much as they had her. The damn piano here clouded his judgment, too.
“If ever I am wrong, if I come to false conclusions, do the worst thing, ignore the facts of a matter, you will call me out.”
She touched her fingertips to his cheeks, and he knew by the angelic look on her face that she touched his dimples. “I will always tell you when you are wrong. But you must tell me,” she said earnestly, knitting her blonde brows tightly together, “will that be often?”
He hugged her close. “No!”
“I didn’t think so. Now!” She scrambled to her feet, pointing toward the door. “Can we please leave here?”