To Sketch a Sphinx - Rebecca Connolly Page 0,35

sighed heavily and shook his head. “We’re not field operatives, you and I. But we need not pretend too far out of our nature. The only real pretending would be our opinions on England, if we are able to express them, right?”

Was that all he thought they were pretending? All he thought she was talking about?

Intriguing.

“I suppose,” she said slowly, doing her best not to look up at him.

He nodded as though he hadn’t heard her response. “We would never be able to maintain the subterfuge of pretended characteristics of our natures with the same continuity regardless of the audience. So why not be ourselves?”

“Because we are not actually a married couple?” Hal quipped before she could help herself.

Pratt stopped her and gave her a serious look, one brow rising. “I beg your pardon, Ange. I think you will find that we are married, and certain individuals went to great pains to bring that about. The fact that neither you nor I were particularly thrilled by those pains is irrelevant now.”

Hal made a face, some of the tension leaving her spine as she looked down at the tips of her slippers.

“I suppose,” she replied again, this time with reluctant acceptance.

Pratt pressed two fingers beneath her chin and tipped her face up towards his. “Ange, we may not have gotten along in the past, but I’d like to think that, in the last few days, we’ve become friends, at least. If that’s true, we’re certainly among the rarity in British Society. Surely, we don’t have to pretend that there is, in part, some affection in our marriage.”

There was nothing to do but sigh very softly at that, and Hal allowed herself to smile up at him. “No, John,” she admitted, loving the smile she received at the use of his given name. “No, we don’t have to pretend that.”

His eyes searched hers for a moment, even in the fading light of evening, as though he were deciphering the code written there, and then he nodded, his smile still in place. “Then I suppose we need not pretend much at all.”

Hal grinned without reservation, her heart feeling lighter than it had since leaving London. “Apparently not.”

“Mes cousins, vous venez?” Jean called, waiting for them just outside the door to Monsieur Savatier’s home.

“Oui, oui, nous arrivons,” Pratt replied as he winked at Hal and dropped his hand from her chin, leaving the skin almost chilled in his absence.

They turned and hurried to follow, Hall pulling herself closer to her husband than she had done before.

“What did Ruse mean when he suggested you could do something with Leclerc’s potential role?” Pratt hissed while they were still out of earshot of the others.

Hal smiled slyly up at him. “One of the skills I did manage to acquire in my life that would have served me well is the ability to pick a pocket without detection. Very few people know that, including my dear, devoted godfather.”

Pratt barked a laugh and shook his head. “Of course you can. Well, well, Ange, perhaps tonight will be entirely devoted to you.”

“Perhaps it will.” She shrugged a shoulder as though it was possible, if not entirely plausible. “I’m sure you’ll find some useful occupation for the evening.”

“Impudent, wife.”

“Thank you, husband.”

Pratt nudged her side gently in response, and Hal could have beamed the entire night because of it.

But there was work to be done, and despite their teasing, they would both need to take part.

The home of Monsieur Savatier was an immaculate one and held none of the excesses that Jean and Victoire’s house did. Clean, elegant, simple, and, in a way, celebrating the natural features of the house rather than using them as avenues for decor.

Hal liked him already, or perhaps it was his wife that held such taste. Either way, she approved of their taste and style and felt far more comfortable here than she had at any point in her cousin’s grander residence. There would not be much pretending at all in her compliments for their host and hostess, and something about that, considering what they were about here, made her smile in complete irony.

“What’s the smile for?” Pratt asked softly as they made their way up the stairs to the entertaining rooms.

“I like this house,” she whispered back. “It’s lovely, isn’t it?”

Pratt seemed to exhale a laugh. “My thoughts, as well. It will be interesting to discover what Savatier’s fortune is, considering he doesn’t seem to live as though he has one.”

“Is it wrong to approve of