“I’m sorry,” he whispered to Marie. “Continue, please.”
Up the steps they raced. At the second turn, Marie stopped and, with a finger to her lips, slowly opened the servants’ door to the hall. She stepped out and surveyed it, and with another tilt of her head, Ram followed.
Down the hall they went with careful footfalls.
Ram noted that Marie led him past the landing of the center stairs. Rising from below were the sounds of many voices, mostly male, conversing and laughing. Good. They were well occupied.
At the second door, Marie stopped. Again with a finger to her lips, she opened the door and stepped inside a moment, only to turn back and urge him to enter.
Rushing around her, Ram came to a pause when he realized that this was a sitting room and sat at the rear of the building. He whirled. At either side was a doorway. This meant the rooms were builtenfilade—one after another. He raised his arms in question.
“This way,” she said, and spun toward her left.
At the threshold, he had to stop. The sight of Amber on the bed weakened his knees.
She lay on her side facing him, her mouth open, her eyes closed, one hand tucked under her chin. Her child’s pose was one of pain and abandonment.
But you are no longer alone.
He charged forward. Bent down. Went to his knees beside her. Alarmed at how slowly her eyes opened, he groaned.
She looked drugged, hazy, dreamy. “Godfrey DuClare.” She did not so much speak his name as mouth it. Then she gave him a smile. Weak. Tortured.
He put his palm to her cheek. He felt the bone beneath. She was thin, cold.
“A blanket,” he said to Marie.
He lifted her bed covers back from Amber’s torso. She huddled into the mattress.
“I’ll keep you warm,” he told her, and shook out the folded blanket. “Come away with me now, my darling. Put your arms around me. Can you?”
Amber gazed at him. “I dreamed you here.” She smiled to herself.
“Here, sweetheart.” He tugged her toward him. She was a dead weight. But she was lighter than she’d ever been.
She shook her head. “Hurts.”
“I’m sorry.” He pulled her toward him more securely.
“He’s bad, Ram.”
“I know.”
She clutched his cravat. “He poisons my tea.”
Ram stared at her.No, no.“He will no longer, sweetheart.” Then he lifted her and stood. “The door, Marie.”
The maid hurried around him.
“Ramsey,” Amber whispered, her voice rough. “Are you here?”
“I am, darling. I am.”
Into the hall, he trod slowly with her, Marie in the lead.
Below, men debated some issue.
There was nothing for it. He’d have to walk down the main stairs and out the front door.
