To Sketch a Sphinx - Rebecca Connolly Page 0,52

my husband. He accompanied me to the parlor when I needed to recover myself, then he abandoned me there. When he did not return, I feared he might have chosen cards over his wife.”

Voclain rose, chuckling with what appeared to be good nature. “Alas, madame, we have not seen him, but I will be sure to scold him soundly for his neglect when he next appears.”

Hal beamed and curtseyed. “Many thanks, monsieur. I am quite delighted, as it happens. My husband is dreadful at cards, and the lot of you would wind up pocketing his fortune.”

A round of relatively stiff laughter sounded.

Voclain maintained his smile, though the strain was showing now. “Jacque, if you wouldn’t mind showing Madame Pratt her way back to the ballroom? She will be missed by our guests.” He nodded at Hal in a clear sign of dismissal. “We will send your husband to you the moment we see him.”

“I thank you.” She curtseyed again and glanced up at the very tall, very burly footman in livery that did not suit his stature.

It would appear she was leaving now.

“Madame,” he grunted, blocking her progression any further into the room and gesturing for the door behind them.

Hal dipped her chin and turned, moving back into the corridor. “I am quite sure I know the way,” she assured the footman that was clearly not a footman.

He shook his head. “I will see you back,” he replied, his accent so thick the words were barely intelligible.

Well, there went reuniting with John, for the moment. How attentive would Jacque be with her once she was returned? What if she was not able to leave the ballroom again? How would she explain John’s absence? Would they raise any suspicions?

All too soon, they had arrived at the ballroom, and she was very nearly shoved inside.

“Merci,” she mumbled, though the footman had already turned away.

Not too observant, it seems.

But then Jacque stood against the wall nearby, and Hal rolled her eyes to herself. “Now what?”

“Now, Madame Pratt,” a new voice uttered just beside her, “we will take you back to the parlor so you will be seen to be recovering. Move. Now.”

Firm hands settled in polite positions on her arms, though the grip was too tight for politeness. Hal swallowed a gasp and moved with the man out of the ballroom, the scent of aged spirits and cigar wafting through her nostrils. Yet he was no slovenly drunkard; on the contrary, he was clean-shaven and crisply dressed.

And his English was impeccable.

“Why?” Hal asked, not bothering to pretend politeness, though she did pretend at swooning airs once more.

“Because you were seen,” came his cutting voice. “The pair of you were seen entering the servants’ corridor. Certain attendees are now seeking those individuals, and we must establish that it was not you who was seen. Hurry. They’re coming.”

Hal’s eyes widened, and her throat dried. She immediately strained towards the corridor, though her captor would not let her move much at all.

“Steady,” the man soothed, surprisingly well. “He’s safe. Come with me for just a moment, and we’ll away soon.”

Dozens of scenarios flashed through her mind, none particularly comfortable, and her parched throat ached. “What are you going to do with me?”

He snorted softly. “No need to fear me, Sketch. I do believe you were notified I may attend?”

Hal’s eyes widened, and she nodded once. “Yes.”

“Excellent. Then relax, but hurry, and go along with me.”

She did so, letting him half carry her to the parlor, ignoring his jabbered explanation to any inquiring minds about her state and barked orders to find her husband.

The parlor was soon there, and Hal was deposited in a chair by a window. She immediately put a hand to her brow and set her fan to work, her pulse racing with the anxieties of her plight.

Footsteps hurried along the corridor, paused, then continued on without entering.

She exhaled roughly with overwhelming relief.

“Don’t relax yet,” her companion hissed.

More footsteps thundered nearby.

“Ma chère cousine,” Jean blustered, barging into the room and falling to his knees beside her. “Are you well? What is wrong?”

Hal bit back a curse and gave her cousin a tired smile. “Nothing, cousin. A trifle weak, a little dizzy. I became quite overcome, but I shall be well presently.”

Jean didn’t seem convinced and looked around the room. “Where is your husband?” he demanded. “He should be here!”

“Signore Pratt has gone to fetch the coach for the signora,” her ally informed her cousin in a pristine Italian accent. “I offered to mind her