It took all of his self-control not to react like some affection-starved madman.

He went toward her. “How long does it take to post a letter? I was just about to come looking for you.”

“I’m glad you didn’t.”

He took in her pale face and trembling hands in one comprehensive glance. His muscles tensed. “What is it? What’s happened?”

“You’ll never credit it. Mr. Finchley is staying here. At this very hotel.”

Alex stopped where he stood. Had she pulled out a pistol and shot him between the eyes he couldn’t have been more stunned. “Tom Finchley?”

She nodded. “He was in the lobby with his wife. He’s lately married. They’ve come to France on honeymoon, just as we have. Isn’t that a coincidence?”

Alex didn’t believe in coincidences. If Tom was here, he had a reason. “Does he know who you are?”

Laura gave another tense nod. She lifted her left hand, her thumb twisting her ruby betrothal ring on her finger. “He recognized my ring.”

His breath stopped in his chest. “Did he.”

“He asked if he had the pleasure of speaking to Mrs. Alex Archer. I told him that he did. I didn’t think—”

“You’ve done nothing wrong.” Alex closed the distance between them, but Laura seemed intent on preserving it. She moved away before he could reach her, walking to the hotel window, her arms folded at her waist.

“Where did this ring come from?” she asked.

He didn’t follow her. If she needed space from him, she could have it—within reason. So long as she didn’t leave him. “What did he tell you?”

“About the ring? Nothing. But it must be significant for him to have recognized it the way he did. I fear it has some sinister history you haven’t shared with me.” She twisted it again on her finger. “I suppose I should take it off.”

“Don’t,” he said sharply. Her eyes flicked to his, startled. He made an effort to soften his voice. “Please.”

She left the ring where it was. “You said Mr. Finchley was in the orphanage with you. That he was a former friend of yours.”

“He was.”

“And that’s all? Just a friend?”

Alex briefly looked away from her. The truth of his betrayal was an ever-present weight. It seemed to double now, in light of Laura’s question. To bear him down with the guilt and shame of it. “He was more than a friend,” he admitted. “We were as close as brothers. Finchley, me, and two other orphan boys. Justin Thornhill and Neville Cross. They were the only family I ever knew.”

“Which was the boy you saved? I assume it was one of them.”

“Cross. He was the boy who fell.”

“And you’ve never seen any of them since?”

“Nor do I wish to.”

“He wants to see you.”