To Sketch a Sphinx - Rebecca Connolly Page 0,53

until all was in readiness.”

Jean’s almost reverent intake of breath was comical. “Signore Romano… you have our sincere thanks. Such gracious care, monsieur.”

“It is nothing,” Romano replied, raising a protesting hand. “Please, return to the party. She is well looked after.”

Jean looked back at Hal with a smile, a knowing light entering his eyes. “If you are unwell from dancing, Henrietta, perhaps you may have something to announce soon…?”

Hal blushed instantly, realizing to what he referred, and he took her blushes for another reason entirely.

“I shall await such blessed tidings.” He leaned in to kiss her cheek and left the parlor, clasping his son on the shoulder as he lingered just outside.

Once their steps had faded, Hal dropped her hand, shaking her head. “That was mortifying.”

Romano laughed once. “Only because they are real relations who may actually want to hear such things. Perhaps Sphinx can be persuaded?”

Hal glared at him despite the sudden burst of warmth hitting her stomach at the suggestion.

Romano’s chuckles continued, and he nodded. “Fair enough. Let us away now before questions are asked.”

She rose with a sigh and looked up at him. “Won’t more questions be asked because we are leaving?”

“Shouldn’t be,” he grunted. “We have witnesses that you left the dance in distress, were seen recovering in the parlor, and later were seen leaving with assistance.”

“And my husband?” Her voice hitched in distress, hating that she hadn’t seen him, didn’t know where he was, how he was, or if he knew…

Romano sighed. “I don’t know, pet. I can only trust Ruse to make it convincing.”

“Don’t call me pet,” Hal snarled as they neared the foyer. “It’s so patronizing.”

Servants sprang forward once they neared the front, eager to serve.

“Monsieur Pratt,” Romano announced her husband’s name to the nearest servant in perfect English. “I ordered my carriage readied?”

“Oui, Monsieur Pratt,” a footman confirmed with a sharp bow and click of heels. He gestured the way while other servants grabbed their outerwear.

“How did you…?” Hal hissed, letting the question hang.

Romano made a show of assisting her with her cloak. “I look enough like your husband to pass for him when someone doesn’t know better.” He smiled quickly, dark eyes sparkling. “Servants relegated to the entrance at these things never know better.”

Hal smirked at him as he offered an arm and led her out. “Taking quite a chance.”

“Odds are with us.” He shrugged and loaded her into the carriage, following quickly.

The carriage pulled away at once, and Hal breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you.”

“Not at all,” he replied easily. “Did you get what you needed?”

She nodded, staring at him with some fascination. “I think so.” She shook her head. “I know you somehow. I remember your face.”

He grinned slowly. “You should. I was at your parents’ home often enough when you were naught but a chick.”

A hint of Irish brogue started to seep into his voice, and Hal knew at once this was his natural accent. It fit her blurry memories and felt right within them.

“Were you?” Hal bit her lip, brow furrowing in thought. “But… my father…”

“A good mate,” he told her, nodding. “A good operative. Most of my meetings, however, were with your mother.”

Hal stilled, the rocking of the coach doing nothing to shift her one way or the other. “Mama?”

Again, he nodded. “I may be the only one who can tell you this, Sketch, but she was the best damned operative I have ever known, especially considering she was never at the Convent.”

“I knew she was skilled.” Hal swallowed with some difficulty, choosing her words with care. “But… for whom? That was never made clear, and considering the events of her death…”

“She was for England, Sketch.” Romano reached out for her hand and squeezed gently. “She loved France, would always love France, which was why she was willing to risk so much to aid the country of her birth. But her loyalty was to us. She was the only one at the time who could successfully infiltrate both sides, and she did so flawlessly. Up until the end.”

Hal’s eyes swam in tears. “How can you be sure?”

She received an almost fatherly smile in return. “Because I took over for her in the aftermath. My role now is the one she created. I know everything she knew, every contact she made, every missive she wrote. England owes her a great debt, and we can never repay.”

“I always wondered…” Hal murmured. “I hoped…”

“You’re very much like her, you know. Coloring aside.” He tilted his head just a