Marianne lifted her head. "Lugo?"
The African paused. Turned. "Yes, my lady?"
"I wanted to say… thank you." She smiled at him. "For your wisdom, dear friend. For making the right choice when I was too blind and stubborn to do so."
"You have my gratitude as well, sir, for keeping your mistress safe." Ambrose gave the other man a wry grin. "'Tis a monumental task not many would have been up to."
Lugo scratched his head. Shifted his boots. Then, with a quick nod, he continued on his way.
"It felt like weeks being apart from you, Ambrose," Marianne said, tipping her head back to look at him. "There's so much I have to tell you. Where is your family?"
"They wanted to wait up for you, but they could scarcely keep their eyelids open so I sent them to bed." Ambrose pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Lugo provided a summary of the last three days, but I'd like to hear it from you."
"Let's talk upstairs." The husky timbre of her voice heated his insides.
He cleared his throat. "My room or yours?"
"I'll have my bath and come to you," she murmured. "Wait for me?"
Wait? Only forever.
Silently, he held out his hand, and fingers linked, they mounted the steps.
* * *
A little while later, Marianne entered the adjoining suite where Lugo had conveniently placed Ambrose. Wryly, she reflected that for the African, this gesture was tantamount to giving Ambrose a hearty male slap on the back. Lugo approved of Ambrose—and the manservant did not approve of many. Men of a taciturn feather, she supposed.
Her humor evaporated at the sight of Ambrose sprawled on the divan before the fire. Despite his injured arm, he'd managed to get his clothes off and donned the black silk dressing robe she'd left out for him. His hair was damp and curling from the bath he'd taken as well.
At her approach, he rose immediately, and her heart fluttered as readily as a debutante's. Dash it all, he was sofine. She adored his lean toughness and his long, loose-limbed stride as he came toward her. She couldn't help but allow her gaze to linger at the V of his robe, which offered a tantalizing view of his chest. Beneath her peach dressing gown, her nipples budded at the memory of the exquisite scrape of that hair-roughened skin.
He cupped her jaw, and she rubbed her cheek against his callused palm, feeling the strength of his touch. The honesty and gentleness.
"You look tired," he murmured.
Honest to a fault, her policeman. Smiling, she said, "We haven't seen each other for days, and that's the best compliment you could come up with?"
"It was meant to be an observation, not a compliment." His eyes crinkled at the corners in the way she loved. "Vanity, thy name is woman. But if you must,"—with a swiftness that stole her breath, he yanked her against him—"hereis your compliment."
"Oh," she sighed. His unmistakable tribute pressed against her belly like an iron bar; her thighs trembled. "I do believe that is thelargestcompliment I have ever received."
"I plan to flatter you all night long." His gaze reflected the intimate warmth of the candlelight, and his mouth crooked up at the edges. "But first we should talk."
She blew out a breath, her blood humming. "Yes, we should."
They went to the divan. He settled her on his lap, and in a precise manner, she reviewed the events of their time apart, including what she'd discovered in Coyner's secret antechamber. She told Ambrose that his contact, Willy Trout, had provided a list of Coyner's holdings: three of the properties were within two to three days' travel from London. Runners and River Police had been sent to investigate each estate, and Marianne expected to hear from the scouts on the morrow.
"You're certain that Coyner left London?" Ambrose said.
Marianne nodded. "If he were here in town, Gavin Hunt's men would have found him. Hunt runs half the stews, and Percy volunteered his services to us."
Ambrose's lips twitched. "The bigger they are, the harder they fall," he said. His arms tightened around her. "It seems we must wait to make our next move. How are you holding up, sweetheart?"
"Seeing those portraits of Primrose…" Marianne's throat clogged. Every night since, she'd dreamed of her daughter. Saw herself following the sound of Primrose's sweet laughter down a shadowy corridor, knives of panic twisting in her chest as the laughter turned to screams and all she could do was shout,I'm coming. Wait for me…
She blinked away the despair. "I can't fail her again, Ambrose. I can't."
"We're getting close to Coyner. We'll find him." With his thumbs, Ambrose wiped away her tears. "I won't stop until we do."
