To Sketch a Sphinx

by Rebecca Connolly

  “Ange…” he breathed, unable to voice her name any louder, reverence of expression seeming poignantly accurate.

  She lifted a trim brow at him. “Merci beaucoup, monsieur.”

  “Non, madame.” He shook his head and closed the distance between them, lifting a gloved hand to his lips. “C’est moi qui dois vous remercier. Merci mille fois.”

  He felt her breath catch as much as he heard it, and the desire to smile became irresistible.

  “Shall we?” he inquired, his mouth barely lifting from the surface of her glove.

  He watched Hal’s throat work for a swallow. “I think we must,” she whispered, her fingers fluttering in his hold.

  He nodded and led her towards the door, hardly a word spoken between them as they ventured down to the entrance to retrieve their outerwear.

  De Rouvroy met them there, all smiles. “I do hope you have a pleasant evening. Enjoy the opera. I am pleased someone will make use of the box other than René.”

  Hal smiled for her cousin as she was helped into her cloak. “Are you sure you won’t accompany us?”

  John gave her an exasperated look over her cousin’s shoulder, making her giggle.

  “I think not,” de Rouvroy answered without concern. “It is not an opera I am fond of. I do not share my son’s appreciation for every opera, I fear. But perhaps you will find it to your tastes.”

  “I do hope so.” Hal smiled again and pulled her cloak around her further. “John?”

  His knees were suddenly jolted with a sharp sensation, though he wouldn’t call it unpleasant. Weak yet strong, numb yet filled with energy, frozen in place yet aching to move. All because of his name from her lips.

  “Yes,” he replied, not entirely sure what question he was answering, or if he gave the right response. Taking a risk, he extended his arm to her. He exhaled silently when she took it, then escorted her to the waiting coach.

  They didn’t exchange words on the short drive to the theatre, the air between them thick with unspoken tension. Silently John helped her from the coach, silently they entered the building, and silently they made their way to the box reserved regularly for members of the de Rouvroy family. John had always been comfortable with silence, never seeing the need to fill it unnecessarily, and the intensity of this silence was no different. There was a divinely comfortable feeling to it, though he had never felt a more uncomfortable comfort in his life.

  The contradiction in such a thing was not lost on him.

  “So many of our new friends are here,” Hal murmured aloud as she sat and glanced about the theatre.

  “Are they?” he asked, not wishing to look anywhere else.

  She nodded, indicating with her head. “Leclerc, Savatiers, Marchands, Bouchers, Degarmo... The gentleman whose name I have never seen written so I can never remember…”

  “Roussell,” John reminded her. “And I don’t particularly care, Ange.”

  Hal glanced at him then, her breathing seeming a trifle faster than normal. “No?”

  He slowly shook his head. “As far as I’m concerned, I’m here alone. With you.”

  Her full lips quirked into a dazzling smile, and she returned her attention to the stage, the grand overture striking up.

  John watched her for a long moment, torn between taking her hand and simply fiddling with her skirt like a child. The fabric was close enough to do so, and the hand just out of reach in her lap. Yet he had to be connected to her somehow, had to cross the barrier between them that taunted him so.

  Smiling to himself, he pulled his glove off and laid it in his lap, then reached out two fingers to gently, almost absently, stroke the skin of her upper arm from just above her elbow to just beneath her precarious sleeve.

  He watched her take in a sharp breath, never slowing or stilling in the deliberately grazing action, waiting for her to shift away. But his clever wife settled more fully into her seat, even shifted a hair closer to him, and continued to watch the stage.

  A wave of bumps began to appear on the skin of her arm, her neck, her shoulders, and John found himself wearing a more satisfied, secret smile for the remainder of the opera. The friction of his fingers against her arm was the most delicious sensation he had ever known.

  Chapter Ten

  Hal walked silently beside John, arms folded tightly about her, his hand almost protectively at her back, each of them shaking their heads. It was madness to be meeting him so close to their current residence, and with their evening being so carefully scheduled? It would be fortunate indeed if Leys and Collette did not hang them both from their bedposts by the ankles in joint mutiny.

  “Utterly ridiculous,” Hal muttered under her breath. “I’ll have you know I am already in my stays, and they chafe with the utmost discomfort to move at this speed.”

  “I could have gone my entire life without knowing that,” John replied, his tone completely unconcerned and mild.

  Hal bit back a snarl and opted not to jab her elbow into his side at the present, but only because it would slow their progress, and they had no time for that. “This had better be crucial to our evening.”

  “Oh, it is, Sketch.”

  She gasped and stumbled into John as Ruse stepped out from between buildings just to her left. “Bloody hellfire and brimstone…” she managed, though her heart was still pounding in her throat, John’s hands protectively at her upper arms.

  Ruse grinned in a manner completely unapologetic. “Not quite, but close.” He tipped his cap at them both, choosing to linger in the shadowy interval between buildings. “Message from home.”

  Hal stepped closer to him, John just behind. “Yes?”

  “There will be a fellow operative in attendance tonight,” Ruse informed them, leaning against the wall rather like Hal had seen Gent do a time or two. “You won’t know him by sight, and he will give no indication he recognizes or knows either of you.”

  “Then why tell us at all?” John inquired in the same steady voice he had used before. “Surely, the less we know…”

  Ruse nodded once, very firmly. “You won’t know. Not unless it is utterly necessary. But he will be of use if he sees an opportunity.”

  “Why haven’t we met with him?” Hal asked, a shiver racing through her with the chill of the breeze. “If he knows something that could aid us, why keep us apart?”

  “Truth be told, we were not entirely sure when he would be in Paris next.” Ruse shrugged and nudged his cap up, rubbing a dirty thumb across his brow. “His assignment has been going on for years, and our contact with him is minimal at best. He was in London long enough to report, was told about your assignment, and is here just for tonight, just for this ball.”

  Hal looked at John in horror, apprehension weaving its way through her. She saw the same emotions reflected in his eyes. Slowly, they looked at Ruse again.

  “Why?” John’s question was slow and filled with a weight that had Hal inching closer to him.

  Ruse exhaled once. “Because his contacts tell him that certain Faction members will be meeting tonight at the ball. I don’t know who, and I don’t know where,” he insisted before they could ask the question.

  Hal bit her lip to keep from asking it anyway.

  “He only said he would feel himself best used to join in the evening with you, step in if he must, but observe if that was all that was required.” Ruse readjusted his cap and looked between them both. “I don’t know what else to tell you. But tonight could be important.”

  “Marvelous,” Hal replied. “Is that all?”

  Ruse grinned at her, then looked at John. “Is she always like that?”

  “Yes,” John grunted, the hand at Hal’s back pressing more fully against her in a gesture of comfort. “This is her polite side.”

  Hal forced a cheeky smile for effect.

  That made Ruse snort softly. “Right. Enjoy the evening. We’ll be around if you need us.” He nodded at them, then slipped away without another word.

  Hal watched him g
o, then looked up at John. “What is the point of him? Honestly. We didn’t need to know any of that, and we got no information out of anything he said.”

  John rolled his eyes heavenward and turned them both back the way they had come. “I haven’t the faintest idea. We’re not alone?”

  “But we are,” Hal pointed out. “This operative might not even make himself known to us.”

  “To let us know we have work to do tonight?” he offered.

  “Because that makes this different from any other night we are out in company.”

  “Perhaps he simply wanted to see you.”

  Hal paused a step and gave him a derisive look. “Really?”

  John chuckled and seemed to consider the idea. “I don’t know, it’s not such a foregone conclusion. You are quite unique, you know, and undeniably pretty.”

  “Stop that.” She scowled through her blush, instinctively folding her arms once more.

  “It’s true,” her husband insisted in a maddeningly calm voice. “A vision of beauty. Why wouldn’t a man invent a reason to see you?”

  Hal’s cheeks would likely never return to their natural shade again. John wasn’t normally so flattering or flirtatious, and she wouldn’t have even called this charming were he any other man. But he wasn’t any other man, and that made his words all the more difficult to hear.

  Everything John ever said had a vein of truth, even when teasing.

  She couldn’t dwell on what significance that had, considering what had been said.

  “Well,” she grumbled as she averted her eyes, “he’d do well to remember that I’m a married woman and have neither the time nor the inclination to indulge his fancies.”

  “Too right,” came the firm, almost relieved reply.

  She wasn’t about to interpret that either.

  Hurrying back to the de Rouvroy home, they parted ways in the parlor to be trussed up for the evening, and barely had a look at each other before they were nearly racing down to the entrance hall to meet the others and load into carriages.

  As the coach rambled on, Hal was fussing with her entire ensemble. “I just know I’ve forgotten something. Colette was literally stabbing my scalp with pearl pins as I was walking out to meet you.”

  “I think I’m slowly being strangled to death,” John shot back, tugging at the tight space between his cravat and his neck. “And it’s pinned. It’s an emerald, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, and it’s lovely.” Hal scoffed softly and turned to him. “Here, just a moment.” She carefully unpinned it and assisted him in loosening the linen just enough to give him some comfort while not disrupting Leys’ intricate design. Fixing the pin again, she nodded and patted the linen, smoothing it down just a little. “There. Better?”

  John heaved a deep exhale. “Much.” He grinned and his eyes drifted up to her hair. “You’ve a pin that’s sitting rather precariously. May I?”

  She nodded quickly. “Please. These likely cost more than my dowry. I dare not lose one.”

  “My more pressing concern was that you would appear unbalanced in your accoutrements,” he laughed, carefully working the pin in question out. “What judgment would come upon you!” He smoothed down a bit of her hair, then gingerly replaced the pin with more security into the folds of her hair. “And done.”

  “It’s not too towering, is it?” Hal winced even as she asked the question. “I caught a glimpse, and it does seem rather perilous in its dimension.”

  John shook his head as his eyes traced over the entire coiffure. “Not at all, it suits you very well. Elegant and refined, and perhaps more than one might see in a London ballroom, but no one will stare in awe or amazement. At your hair, at any rate.” He winked, his smile turning crooked.

  Hal slapped his chest playfully. “Wretch.”

  “It was a compliment!” he protested. “You look beautiful, Ange.”

  She ignored the twinge of delight that spread heat into her fingertips. “And you look both handsome and smart,” she informed him with a sniff. “Only a little bit peacock, so you will go practically unnoticed among the over-trimmed and over-inflated.”

  “Thank you.” He sat back and sighed, closing his eyes and seeming truly fatigued for the first time that day. “What I wouldn’t give to claim to feel unwell tonight, Ange, and spend the quiet evening at home with you.”

  She’d have matched his pose had her restrictive stays and coiled hair not prevented her. “Did you forget the children are at the house? Surely, not so quiet.”

  He made a face of indifference. “They’d have gone to bed soon enough. And one doesn’t have to pretend with children, so perhaps that would be preferable.”

  “Perhaps.” She watched him for a long moment, wondering if he might truly sleep on the drive over. Then she felt her lips curve in an impish manner. “Will you dance with me tonight?”

  He opened his eyes and rolled his head along the carriage seat to look at her. “Don’t I always?”

  Hal laughed once. “We’ve only been to small gatherings with small dances since we’ve been in Paris. This is our first grand affair, and I want to know if I might expect a dance with my husband.”

  He smiled at her, the sort of smile that curled the edges of her stomach into coils and set off explosions in the tips of each toe. “You may expect at least two, Ange. If I can get to you through the admiring throng.”

  “Just charge in,” she suggested, returning his smile with all the warmth she currently felt. “Push them aside. Carry me off in front of the lot and claim me for all to see.”

  John quirked his brows in an almost suggestive manner. “Rather savage of me, wouldn’t you say? Almost uncouth, certainly unrefined.”

  “Oh, I don’t think so,” Hal murmured, reaching out to unnecessarily adjust a bit of hair at his temple. “Perhaps just a little untamed, but I shouldn’t mind that every now and again.”

  “No?”

  She shook her head. “A girl likes to see a glimpse of the rugged hero within.”

  His eyes turned a shade more serious. “I’m a scholar, Hal.”

  “All the more reason to do so. The effect will be all the greater for the shock of it.” She continued to smile, her fingers still moving over and over that hair at his temple, her husband going almost completely still at her touch. “Just come to me,” she pleaded in a lower tone. “Wherever I am, however you ask, I’ll come.”

  “Why do you sound afraid?” John asked, matching her volume and her mood. He reached up and brushed a thumb along her cheek, and she followed the touch, almost nuzzling into it. “What is it?”

  Hal inhaled a shuddering breath, her hand falling to John’s shoulder.

  “I don’t know,” she whispered. “Everything. Anything. Suddenly, all I am is afraid.”

  “Don’t be.” John sat up and cupped her face in both hands, his eyes steady on hers. “Ange, don’t be. We’re here together, remember? Partners, not only spouses. There may be danger, yes, but we’ve got protection. Ruse and his fellows, this new operative… And we have each other.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of,” she admitted before she could stop herself.

  A deep furrow appeared between John’s brows. “What do you…?”

  His words faded as the carriage stopped, signaling their arrival at the ball.

  The pause was just long enough for Hal to recollect her senses and shake herself free from the breathless respite her husband’s hands provided.

  “Right,” she said brusquely, tugging at her gloves. “Armor in place, weapons ready?”

  “I hope you don’t mean my pin,” he replied in an almost convincingly light tone, blessedly allowing the previous conversation to die. “If that’s all I’ve got, we’re doomed.”

  Hal pretended to be put out by that. “Why is it always down to the women to do the saving?” she asked aloud.

  John stepped out of the carriage, nodding at the footman, then gave her a look as he extended a hand. “Because the men are hopeless without
the women.”

  Hal’s mouth popped open, then she tilted her head and gave her husband a rather smug smile as she took his hand. “I always knew you were a brilliant man.”

  “Glad to hear it,” he grunted, tugging her cloak around the front of one shoulder. “I’ve been waiting for you to say that for years.”

  There was nothing to say or do but roll her eyes and lamely take the arm of the impertinent man beside her, letting him lead them both into the home of their host for the evening, Baron Voclain. Apparently, he was a close friend of the de Rouvroy family, had wealth to match theirs, and had the same appreciation for finery.

  One could only hope that he had more restraint than her relations in the decor of his home.

  But then, this was the social elite of Paris. Nothing was certain.

  Their usual procession moved as one into the house, Agathe and René bickering as they usually did, which seemed ridiculous as René was a grown man and Agathe nearly an adult woman, but siblings know no maturity with each other. A line of footmen waited within to take cloaks, capes, and wraps from arriving guests, and Hal found herself touching the back of her hair to check its security.

  “You look si belle,” Agathe told her quickly, smiling in a way Hal had never seen. “I’m quite envious.”

  “Are you really?” Hal looked down at her cream gown, embroidered across the bodice and hemline with elegant rosettes in pale pink. She glanced up at Agathe sheepishly. “I forgot entirely what I was wearing, so in haste was I to prepare.”

  Agathe giggled and took her hand, squeezing. “One would never know.”

  Hal smiled back, marveling at the change such a smile wrought upon the young woman’s already lovely features. “Well, I cannot compare to you this evening, cousine. You will have a suitor for every day of the week once the night is out.”

  “One worthy suitor would do,” Agathe confessed with a dark glare towards her brother, who was too busy greeting their hostess to notice.

  Was René somehow preventing his sister from finding a suitor? Intervening between Agathe and a particular would-be suitor? Hal opened her mouth to ask when their group moved on.