To Sketch a Sphinx - Rebecca Connolly Page 0,67

stood for those portraits for hours and no one would know the difference.”

Hal inclined her head, accepting the compliment without actually acknowledging it. “Even so, there is a chance.” She made a face, her fingers absently rubbing against his arm. “What if what we sent wasn’t enough? What if we’ve missed something? What if…?”

“What if we’ve just delivered exactly what they were looking for?” he overrode with his unwavering calmness. “What if we’ve exceeded expectations? What if we become the new partnership to beat in the covert world?”

A startled laugh burst from Hal’s lips, and she covered her eyes to hide her mirth. “Oh, please…”

“I don’t see why it’s so far-fetched.” John covered her hand with his as they turned the corner. “There are a million things that could be decided now, and there is no point in overthinking it. I meant what I said back there to Ruse. We will continue to do what we can. For all we know, we could be here another four months working on the same thing, digging deeper and finding more to aid the rest.”

That was a sobering thought. Not a dismal one, by any stretch, but sobering all the same. She’d always thought this would be a short-term assignment, but if they proved especially useful, why wouldn’t they be retained?

“We’d have to take a house, if that was the case,” she murmured, smiling to herself. “I adore my relations, but one does wish for privacy.”

“Hell yes,” John grunted with a squeeze of her hand that made her giggle. Then he turned serious once more. “Or they could send us back to England tomorrow. We just don’t know, and I don’t think it serves either of us to worry about that.”

Hal made a noncommittal sound of consideration. “I suppose not.”

Back to England.

There wasn’t quite the same sense of relief and warmth in that statement as there might have been at the beginning of all this. Oh, she would love to return to a quieter life, to be sure, but returning meant a return to the way things had been. She and John need not be married. Would no longer be partners. Would have no reason to be.

The plan for the annulment could commence.

Perhaps it wouldn’t work, as had been suggested was possible. Perhaps it would not be as simple a matter as Tailor and Weaver had described. Perhaps something could go horribly wrong and the marriage license Priest had secured disappeared, thus preventing its destruction.

Once they returned to England, it was entirely possible she would no longer be Mrs. Pratt.

Suddenly, the mission and its fallout were not her most pressing concerns at all, had no place in her Hall of Worries, did not matter so much as a jot.

Her marriage to John and its longevity were now her most imperative concerns.

But what did he want? What could he be thinking there? Did he love her with the same fervor which she did him? If his kisses were anything to go by, he was not displeased with her. If the change in his manner towards her, the sweetness of his expression, the tenderness in his touch conveyed anything of what lay beneath the surface, she might have reason to hope.

Hope.

Such a thing had never really been part of her nature or her life, but suddenly hope was all she knew.

All she had.

And hope lived in every finger that clung to John’s arm as they walked slowly home.

Had the meeting with Ruse gone on any longer, John might have gone completely mad. There was too much at stake for him to have any interest in hypothesizing the plans of the Shopkeepers or the intentions of the Faction in their letters. All those details could be left to those who would have the authority and interest to act upon them, not to those individuals designated to bring the information to light.

All he wanted was to return home, return to their parlor, and wait for his curious wife to stumble upon the one thing that had occupied his mind from the moment he’d finished decrypting the letters. The moment he’d realized what his success, and hers, would mean.

The end of their mission could be at hand, and while he wouldn’t mind leaving the danger behind, there was one thing that he would absolutely refuse to abandon.

His wife.

His Ange.

His chest had been seized with an almost panic when it had occurred to him that this all could come to an end rather quickly. Neither of them had wanted