To Sketch a Sphinx - Rebecca Connolly Page 0,16

shockingly thorough. One could only presume that their belongings had undergone an equally thorough looking over.

“Yes,” she managed, returning her attention to Pratt. “Not on my person, and not in my trunk.”

“And you managed that how?” he inquired with mild interest, either for his own benefit or for the sake of maintaining a steady stream of conversation to ease the cordiality he would shortly need.

She wasn’t quite sure how out of practice a man like Sphinx would be.

Pratt, she reminded herself with a mental kick. Pratt.

She had to think of him as such for the duration of the mission, or their objective would be completely compromised.

“There is a false bottom in my trunk,” Hal informed him with a quick smile. “My father had it installed when I was eleven or so. Told me it would be a marvelous place to keep my secrets when we travelled as a family. I rather think now that he might have kept his secrets in there, but it did well enough.” She shrugged and glanced out of the window at the passing buildings and inhabitants of Paris walking about.

Strange how a place could look so like another in some ways, and yet so very strange in others. They might have been on a neighborhood street in Mayfair for the appearance of their surroundings, only there was a sort of haunted feel to the streets of Paris. As though the buildings themselves could tell the tales the city had seen in the last fifty years.

If not longer.

“Are you nervous?” Pratt asked in a low voice she couldn’t interpret well.

Hal shook her head but swallowed so hard it surely betrayed her. “I’ve never been particularly good at pretense.”

“Nor I,” he confessed.

She laughed once without an ounce of humor in it. “Then what the devil are we doing here?”

Pratt exhaled without smiling, though there seemed to be amusement in the sound. “I’m sure we’ll find out by and by. So for now, let’s just be delighted to be out of the damned carriage and to see your family.”

“Family is an interesting choice of word,” she murmured as the carriage pulled to a stop before a house identical to the one beside it. “Relations are all I can claim of them.”

“Well, let us hope they see you as more than that,” Pratt grunted as he leaned forward to grab the handle of the door, only to find a prompt footman already opening it. “If they don’t, we will have a rather awkward time of it in Paris for the duration of our stay.” He quirked his brows knowingly, his expression almost derisive.

Hal made a face back, though Pratt had already disembarked and missed it. “Yes, thank you, husband,” she muttered. “So encouraging. Really.”

His hand was extended, as it was her turn to climb out, and she took it, remembering, belatedly, that she had removed her gloves at some point in the coach. The touch of his skin against hers was almost jarring in its intensity, though it was a simple matter of palm to palm, fingers around fingers. He was warmer than she expected, and the heat of him raced into her arm, drawing her closer to him as she stepped to the ground.

Not gracefully, given that she nearly swayed into him with that final step, which, when combined with the odd squawk that came from her mouth, gave the impression that she had stumbled worse than the reality.

Pratt gripped her other arm with a quick snatch. “Steady. Are you all right?”

An embarrassed heat raced into her cheeks, and she shook her arm free while her hand still held his. “Fine,” she snapped, fidgeting with her traveling gown in an attempt to recover some dignity. “The step was not sturdy.”

“Of course.”

There was no irony in his tone, and for some reason, that was worse.

“Thirty-six hours in a coach with you has left me in a vile temper,” Hal grumbled, glaring up at him. “Don’t provoke me before I’m forced to be pleasant for show.”

“In what way have I provoked you?” Pratt inquired in the same dry, mild tone he’d used all morning as he led her to the door of the house. “All I said was…”

“Not another word,” she ground out, gripping his hand. “I beg you.”

Incredibly, he listened and complied, giving her hand a gentle squeeze in return.

Hal exhaled slowly, the pressure in that squeeze grounding her as her anticipation rose. As in all else in this mission, she was playing a part, acting to accomplish the