To Sketch a Sphinx - Rebecca Connolly Page 0,66

back. “How the devil…”

“Steady,” John hissed as he shifted towards them, somehow still keeping his casual pose. “Her memory, remember?”

“Right.” Ruse swallowed, clearly unnerved. “Sorry. But how?”

Hal smiled with as much gentleness as she could find within her. “I can see the similarity in features. On my last visit to the Convent, I met her. She doesn’t know what it is, of course, but she is well liked by the girls. Teaches French, I believe, and perhaps dance?”

“She would.” A quick, but genuine smile flashed across his face, making him seem years younger. “If I were to give you a note for her, would you see it reaches her when you return to England? I’d rather not use our channels for personal means.”

“I’d be delighted.” Hal smiled in return, finding a lump in her throat difficult to remove.

What if her brother had been sent out of England for an assignment? He would likely not be able to communicate with her as readily as he did now, and Hal would feel abandoned as well, though she had never been particularly cast out by Society. What did Miss Harlow endure in her heart if her closest relation did not maintain the connection between them, especially when she did not know the reason why?

It was painful even to imagine.

“Incoming,” John murmured into the silence that had stretched, his eyes on figures in the distance.

Hal looked, nodding as she resumed reading her book once more. “So, when do you anticipate a response, Ruse?”

“Quickly, I’d think.” He made a show of taking things from the basket and putting them in his pockets. “I can have this to Calais tonight, across the Channel and into necessary hands by luncheon tomorrow. I’d say a response should be due to you in three days, perhaps four.” He shrugged as the packet slipped into a pouch behind his back, hiding beneath the filthy tunic he wore over equally tattered additional layers. “A week at most, if they need to think on it.”

John grunted once. “A week in Paris.”

Something in his voice drew Hal’s attention and she looked up at him, heart skipping.

His eyes were on her, heat and adoration and promise swirling in them, the curve of his smile practically hypnotic. “Whatever shall we do?”

Heavens…

Hal managed a smile in return, her stomach clenching. “I’m sure we’ll think of something.”

“Right,” Ruse said slowly, looking between the two. “I’ll leave you to whatever unspoken message is taking place there and thank you both profusely for what you’ve done.”

John broke their heated gaze first, smiling with genuine cordiality at their contact, and in many ways, protector. “Our pleasure. Truly. And if we find any ways to help while we await further instructions, we will do so.”

“Might I suggest you and your companions practice playing faro?” Hal offered. “There was an actual card game taking place during the meeting, so it could prove useful.”

Ruse suddenly looked intrigued. “How did you know it was faro? By your own account, you were only in the room a minute or two.”

Hal gave him a sardonic look. “I do know the difference between faro, commerce, and vingt-et-un, thank you, and I cheat successfully in all three.”

Both John and Ruse chuckled at that.

“I have no doubt, Sketch.” Ruse tapped his cap with a finger and nodded at them both. “I’ll send word when I have it.” He turned and tottered away, his shuffling gait negating anything youthful one might have seen in his face.

Hal shook her head as she watched him go. “What a bewildering person.”

“I do believe you’ve just described every operative known to man,” John told her, coming to her side and offering a hand. “If you’ve had enough of reading in the sun, my dear, perhaps we might stroll homeward?”

“Oh, why not?” Hal snapped her book shut and slid it into the basket they’d brought as a show for Ruse, then placed her hand in John’s, letting him pull her up.

John smiled at her, rubbing his hands along her arms. “Well, we’ve just handed over the culmination of several weeks’ work to be delivered to our superiors. How do you feel?”

Hal exhaled slowly, letting the feelings of this entire venture wash over her. “Relieved. Tired. Worried.”

“Worried?” he repeated. “About what?”

“Nothing so serious,” she assured him, looping her hand through his arm and letting him walk them out of the park. “Little things. What if they already know of the men we identified? What if my drawings aren’t accurate enough?”

“Ange, really…” John scoffed. “They could have