To Sketch a Sphinx - Rebecca Connolly Page 0,64

shifted sleepily on the divan.

He moved there and gently scooped her up into his arms, pressing his lips gently to her brow as she nuzzled into him. “Come on, Ange,” he murmured. “Time for bed.”

“Come with me,” she mumbled as she nestled more comfortably into his chest. “Sleep, too.”

He chuckled and carried her towards her bedchamber. “I will, love. In a bit.”

“Now,” she insisted, though there was no force to her words.

“I will, but in my bed tonight. We both need sleep.” He entered her darkened room and paused, letting his eyes adjust.

Hal harrumphed and adjusted her head on his shoulder. “I will sleep. I don’t know what you were thinking.”

“Of course,” he chuckled, kissing her brow once more. “Neither do I.”

His wife hummed almost dreamily in his arms. “I didn’t think you were strong enough to carry me anywhere. No offense intended.”

Now John hefted her more securely in his arms, just to prove his strength. “Well, remember what Ruse said? Nothing in Paris is as it appears…” He trailed off, stiffening, lost in thought.

Nothing was as it appeared… An opera favored by Napoleon. Many members in attendance, not for enjoyment but for solidarity. Reminders. Rejuvenation. To hear the words they so valued.

The song had the key to unlock the code. The words hadn’t been, but the song.

Which left words.

Words…

Faction words.

Words.

J’ai vécu.

John blinked at the realization, his breath vanishing from his lungs. That was it.

That was it.

Hal shifted, looking up at him. He looked back at her, beyond speaking at this moment, the significance too great. He saw understanding reflected in her eyes, though she wouldn’t have known the reason.

She glanced down at the proximity between their position and the bed, pursing her lips. It was right there, just a half step away.

Slowly, she looked back up at him, expression wary. “You wouldn’t dare…”

John grinned a rather wolfish grin at his wife. “Oh no?”

“John…”

Without a second thought, John tossed her onto the bed, the downy depths nearly swallowing her whole, and he dashed back out of the room into the parlor, his epiphany all-consuming.

Hal’s near-hysterical laughter echoed behind him, filling his ears with the joyous sound.

He nearly joined in the laughter, though his would have been from sheer exhilaration.

J’ai vécu.

The statement of allegiance, loyalty, or sympathies used by the Faction for the past couple of years should have been the obvious choice for a cipher. Should have occurred to him long ago. He’d even tried that as a key when he’d first worked the letters, though the first layer hadn’t allowed him any revelations from it.

It would seem that the members of the Faction were sentimental as well as idealists. Nothing was as it appeared, but everything was significant.

He yanked all the letters to him, eyes darting over each page and every letter. It could work. It had to work.

“Paper, paper, paper…” he muttered, tossing aside the music and pages of random scratches he had made trying to decipher things earlier.

“Here, love.” Hal brought a stack of pages from her belongings and set them before him. She wrapped her arms about his neck and leaned in, kissing his cheek. “You’re the most brilliant mind in England and France,” she whispered against his skin, “and bloody likely everywhere else, too.”

Heat burst into showers of sparks in his stomach, the combination of her endearment, her lips, and her claim rendering him speechless. He turned his head and kissed her hard, one of his hands reaching for the back of her head.

It was a kiss for the ages, for centuries to come, for eons of breathless moments between them. He poured everything of himself into it, exhilaration, energy, excitement, and hope, until he was vulnerable and raw in her arms, nothing hidden from the goddess who held his heart. And she gave him everything and more, sighing into his mouth, her lips molding with his, her fingers toying with his hair.

Was there anything God had ever made that was more perfect than this?

Hal broke off, humming and breathless, cupping his cheek with one hand while the other stayed playfully in his hair. She smiled, keeping her brow and nose against his. “A marked improvement in those priorities of yours, Mr. Pratt.” She sighed unsteadily, which nearly undid him. “I do believe, however, there is something quite pressing to attend to.” She tilted her head playfully. “Other than your wife, I mean.”

“More’s the pity,” he whispered, brushing his lips against hers in the barest hint of a graze that sent them both shivering. “Care