To Sketch a Sphinx - Rebecca Connolly Page 0,47
“Wherever I am, however you ask, I’ll come.”
“Why do you sound afraid?” John asked, matching her volume and her mood. He reached up and brushed a thumb along her cheek, and she followed the touch, almost nuzzling into it. “What is it?”
Hal inhaled a shuddering breath, her hand falling to John’s shoulder.
“I don’t know,” she whispered. “Everything. Anything. Suddenly, all I am is afraid.”
“Don’t be.” John sat up and cupped her face in both hands, his eyes steady on hers. “Ange, don’t be. We’re here together, remember? Partners, not only spouses. There may be danger, yes, but we’ve got protection. Ruse and his fellows, this new operative… And we have each other.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” she admitted before she could stop herself.
A deep furrow appeared between John’s brows. “What do you…?”
His words faded as the carriage stopped, signaling their arrival at the ball.
The pause was just long enough for Hal to recollect her senses and shake herself free from the breathless respite her husband’s hands provided.
“Right,” she said brusquely, tugging at her gloves. “Armor in place, weapons ready?”
“I hope you don’t mean my pin,” he replied in an almost convincingly light tone, blessedly allowing the previous conversation to die. “If that’s all I’ve got, we’re doomed.”
Hal pretended to be put out by that. “Why is it always down to the women to do the saving?” she asked aloud.
John stepped out of the carriage, nodding at the footman, then gave her a look as he extended a hand. “Because the men are hopeless without the women.”
Hal’s mouth popped open, then she tilted her head and gave her husband a rather smug smile as she took his hand. “I always knew you were a brilliant man.”
“Glad to hear it,” he grunted, tugging her cloak around the front of one shoulder. “I’ve been waiting for you to say that for years.”
There was nothing to say or do but roll her eyes and lamely take the arm of the impertinent man beside her, letting him lead them both into the home of their host for the evening, Baron Voclain. Apparently, he was a close friend of the de Rouvroy family, had wealth to match theirs, and had the same appreciation for finery.
One could only hope that he had more restraint than her relations in the decor of his home.
But then, this was the social elite of Paris. Nothing was certain.
Their usual procession moved as one into the house, Agathe and René bickering as they usually did, which seemed ridiculous as René was a grown man and Agathe nearly an adult woman, but siblings know no maturity with each other. A line of footmen waited within to take cloaks, capes, and wraps from arriving guests, and Hal found herself touching the back of her hair to check its security.
“You look si belle,” Agathe told her quickly, smiling in a way Hal had never seen. “I’m quite envious.”
“Are you really?” Hal looked down at her cream gown, embroidered across the bodice and hemline with elegant rosettes in pale pink. She glanced up at Agathe sheepishly. “I forgot entirely what I was wearing, so in haste was I to prepare.”
Agathe giggled and took her hand, squeezing. “One would never know.”
Hal smiled back, marveling at the change such a smile wrought upon the young woman’s already lovely features. “Well, I cannot compare to you this evening, cousine. You will have a suitor for every day of the week once the night is out.”
“One worthy suitor would do,” Agathe confessed with a dark glare towards her brother, who was too busy greeting their hostess to notice.
Was René somehow preventing his sister from finding a suitor? Intervening between Agathe and a particular would-be suitor? Hal opened her mouth to ask when their group moved on.
“What in the name of heaven was that?” John murmured, eyeing Agathe ahead of them.
“I haven’t the faintest idea.” Hal shook her head, a curious smile crossing her lips. “I think perhaps Agathe is not the spoiled chit I took her for, and she is only unhappy.”
John made a noncommittal sound of acknowledgment. “Fancy that. She’s right, you know.”
Hal glanced up at him, frowning. “About what?”
His eyes darkened, his lips barely curving into a hint of a smile. “Si belle, Ange.”
She blinked at the rough, low words, and a stuttering exhale made its way from her.
“I can’t think,” she admitted in a raw tone.
His hint of a smile deepened.
“Welcome to the last two weeks of my life, Ange. And it’s only getting worse the more