Free Loving the Earl: A Loveswept Historical Romance by Sharon Cullen Page B

were doing down there. Of all the cheeky nerve of Nathan Ferguson to lock her in such a place. Why, if word got out, her reputation would be ruined.
    Then again, if word got out that she was traveling alone with him, her reputation would be ruined. Oh, bloody hell, sneaking off to Paris alone likely ruined her reputation.
    She looked around the room, at the enormous bed covered in gold brocade with matching bed curtains and pillows. At the heavy white furniture trimmed in gold leaf. Quickly she made her way to a desk and yanked open the drawers. Quills and paper and pencils fell out but no key. Of course. She really hadn’t expected it to be that easy.
    She hurried to the window and threw up the sash to see Nathan walk out of the house.
    “Nathan Ferguson!” She didn’t care if she sounded like a fishmonger’s wife, or that the two men making their way up the front steps stopped and stared at her openmouthed.
    Nathan looked up as well.
    “You unlock that door this minute. This is unacceptable and … and … and …”
    The two men snickered and leaned on their walking sticks as if they were watching an exhibition.
    “Stay put, Claire.” Nathan hoisted himself into the coach and shut the door behind him.
    Fuming, Claire could only watch helplessly as the coach rattled off, her lone piece of luggage still tied to the top of it.
    One of the men whistled at her, the other offered several suggestions of what he could do to help her pass the time. Mortified, she ducked back into the room and slammed the window shut with enough force to rattle the panes, praying that the man didn’t follow through with hissuggestions.
    She set to pacing until her legs grew tired and she collapsed into a chair so plush that she sank another few inches and feared she’d never get out without help.
    “Of all the …” Words failed her and she put her head in her hands, that all-too-familiar feeling of despair overtaking her. “How do you get yourself into these situations, Claire?” She spoke the words but they may as well have been spoken by Sebastian, who’d said them enough times that they seemed to be engraved on her brain.
    She always started out with the best of intentions but things always fell to pieces. Tonight was just another disappointment in a long line of them. All she wanted was to see Paris on her way to Venice. Was that so difficult to accomplish?

    Nathan stared at the dirty piece of paper in his hand.
    He looked around the dark, dank alley. Instead of finding his contact and finally getting some answers to his questions, he found the piece of paper. Had this been the plan all along or had something gone awry to spook his contact? Other than the business with Claire, which was completely unrelated, Nathan could think of nothing that would have scared his source away.
    Nevertheless he inspected the alley one more time. The heels of his boots clicked an even staccato, the noise bouncing off the filthy buildings. Rats scurried out of his way, some nearly across his boots, but he paid them no mind.
    He wanted to throw back his head and howl his frustration at the half moon that shed its meager light on the cobbled stones. He wanted to search the area looking for …
    He didn’t know what the bloody hell he was looking for.
    All he had was a missive sent to his home in London. A cryptic message that promised he would learn the truth about his father’s death if he traveled to the most dangerous part of Paris to a forgotten alley that boasted nothing but rotting vegetation and disgusting odors.
    He turned on his heels and headed back to the coach. He’d had to bribe the driver to wait for him and now he prayed that the man was true to his word. Nathan emerged from the shadows and to his relief noted the coach still there, the driver looking anxiously around. Even the horses shifted uneasily.
    The hair on the back of Nathan’s neck prickled and he quickly looked behind him. There was nothing there save the light fog