To Sketch a Sphinx

by Rebecca Connolly

  “What in the name of heaven was that?” John murmured, eyeing Agathe ahead of them.

  “I haven’t the faintest idea.” Hal shook her head, a curious smile crossing her lips. “I think perhaps Agathe is not the spoiled chit I took her for, and she is only unhappy.”

  John made a noncommittal sound of acknowledgment. “Fancy that. She’s right, you know.”

  Hal glanced up at him, frowning. “About what?”

  His eyes darkened, his lips barely curving into a hint of a smile. “Si belle, Ange.”

  She blinked at the rough, low words, and a stuttering exhale made its way from her.

  “I can’t think,” she admitted in a raw tone.

  His hint of a smile deepened.

  “Welcome to the last two weeks of my life, Ange. And it’s only getting worse the more time I spend with you.”

  Good heavens, she would burst into flames on the spot. Just incinerate in the center of the guests like some pagan bonfire for them to dance around. It would be a most memorable end, but an end all the same.

  “I must claim the first dance, Cousine Henrietta,” Jean exclaimed as they entered the ballroom, the strains of music already in full force.

  Hal stared at him wide-eyed, still feeling rather singed in places. “Oh, but…”

  “Go,” John urged gently. “I’ll find you later. I’ll partner Agathe, if she’ll have me.”

  One glance at Agathe told them both the heavens had just opened, and she nodded with such enthusiasm the entire family laughed, René aside.

  “Very well,” Hal conceded, smiling for all. “Onward, Cousin Jean.”

  He bowed grandly, winked at his wife, and whisked Hal to the center of the ballroom. She glanced over her shoulder briefly for just a glimpse of John, catching a secret, proud smile that she would have danced all night for.

  A warm tingle raced down her spine, and she grinned in anticipation of the dance with him to come.

  He’d put it off for as long as he could, and now he was two hairs short of madness.

  He needed to find Hal, and he needed to dance with her.

  Now.

  And he had never felt such a drive and desperation to do anything so lively as dance in his entire life.

  At the moment, John couldn’t be entirely sure where she was. They’d been near each other several times over the course of the night, but he could honestly say he hadn’t spent more than a few minutes in her company. Hadn’t exchanged more than a handful of words with her. Hadn’t touched her since they’d parted for the first dance.

  He felt shockingly bereft as a result.

  Logically, none of this made any sense to him, but somehow, he knew that dancing with his wife would set him to rights.

  His wife.

  How did such a simple description make him smile so easily? Hal had been his wife for some time now, for the entirety of this mission, and yet…

  Yet…

  Something had changed of late, and everything between them felt new, exciting, and important.

  Painfully so, if pain could be a pleasant thing.

  It made absolutely no sense. They had both been mingling with the other guests, prodding carefully for any information that might help them discover what might transpire that night. He’d been more congenial than he had ever managed in his life, laughed without any genuine amusement, and pretended to have interest in the most ludicrous things, all for the sake of their assignment. And his thoughts somehow still turned to the person of his wife?

  Unfathomable, under the pressures of the night.

  He scanned the guests around him, smiling at the few who had greeted him at some point in the evening. Then, he felt warmth envelop his body when he caught sight of Hal, looking angelic as usual, in conversation with Madame Savatier. Though each of the women would be considered lovely in appearance by their own rights, there could be no comparison in John's eyes.

  Far and away, Hal was the fairer of the two, the one who would draw all eyes upon her, the one who could have lit the room simply by smiling, the one whom any man in the room should have coveted and any woman envied.

  His feet were moving before he knew they had done so, and he had reached her before he’d found the words to speak.

  Hal smiled at him, the sweet curve of her lips seeming to know exactly what torment he felt. “You’ve come to me,” she murmured, her fair eyes dancing.

  “Yes,” he rasped in response, finding no more polite way to express himself. He extended a hand to her, a sudden fear of rejection striking him with agonizing depth.

  The sensation of her hand being placed in his was heaven on earth, and the fact that he had strength in his legs to walk with her was nothing short of miraculous.

  “At last,” Hal said on a sigh.

  Words and thoughts spun in John’s mind, and he chanced a glance at her. “Have you been waiting to dance?”

  Surely, she couldn’t… Surely, she didn’t…

  She grinned rather slyly and quirked a brow. “Yes and no. I’ve wanted to dance with you all night, but I was desperate to break from conversation with Madame Savatier. She’s a dear woman, but why in the world does anyone care about pickups at the hemline and whether they will become the popular fashion?”

  John laughed at her exasperated expression, louder and harder than he would ever have done in public before, but unable to do anything less. Sometimes he just loved Hal, and her surprisingly direct, unusual view of life. Sometimes he just loved her sense of humor.

  Sometimes he just loved her.

  He loved her.

  Laughter began to fade, but the warmth of it only grew, centering itself somewhere between his heart and his stomach. It expanded as he looked upon her from the line in which he stood, swirled about as she smiled at his amusement, spun itself around his head as he bowed towards her. The moment his hand touched hers in the dance, another wave of the sensation enveloped him, streaking its way into every vein in his body, every fiber of his being.

  He was in love with Hal.

  And he couldn’t take his eyes off her.

  He watched as she circled the man to his left, catching every change in her smile, every movement of her eyes, which flicked towards him more than once. When it was his turn, he circled the woman to her right, giving all due deference to his present partner, as was polite, but always looking back to Hal, anticipation building. The color in Hal’s cheeks began to grow, adding to the rosy hue that seemed to pervade her from the moment she walked into the building this evening.

  They met in the center, taking each other’s hands, and there seemed to be a joint catching of breath, though nothing audible was emitted. Slowly, in time with the music and the other couple, they began to promenade, eyes solely on each other.

  How could a heartbeat change so much as to march in exact time with the music about them? John could honestly say he was no skilled dancer, but he’d never needed to keep count in his head to be sure of his steps. Yet the cadence of his pulse allowed him to keep his focus where he wished it and not where the dance required him to.

  They parted for the dance movement, took the hands of the dancers on either side of them and progressed backwards a slow three steps, each one seeming painful as they took him away from her.

  The lead couple progressed down the line, and John felt his fingers buzzing by his sides, the waiting agonizing. Couple after couple followed, and at long last it was their turn, again taking hands and proceeding down the line. Hal wasn’t smiling now, not exactly, but there was a slight curve to her lips that made him wild to kiss them.

  Kiss Hal? In the middle of this ballroom in Paris?

  It didn’t seem like such a bad idea, which was clearly an indication of the madness of love if he’d ever heard one.

  His eyes rose to hers, and the shade of blue there was darker than he recalled from only moments before. It nearly undid him.

  The movement of the dance parted them once more, a groan seeming to rise from his entire frame at d
oing so. He circled around with the other men to move the line back to the front of the ballroom, staring at Hal without any shame or hesitation. She bit down on her lip just a bit, the gesture surely a sign of inner conflict or nerves, but it attracted him enough that his stomach clenched at the sight.

  One more motion before the cycle started again… The partners met in the center of the line, standing close, hands pressing together, palm to palm, and turned slowly towards the right.

  It might as well have been happening twice as slow as reality for him. He knew every breath she took, could have countered it with one of his own, felt her pulse as much as he felt his own, and the room faded from all existence but for the two of them. There were no other dancers, no guests, no hosts, and no mission.

  There was only Hal.

  Only his Ange.

  The name for her had never before seemed so entirely apt.

  “Ange,” he breathed as their hands began to peel away from each other, his fingers running the length of her gloved forearm before parting completely.

  Her lashes fluttered briefly, one breath exhaling in a rough near gasp that weakened his knees.

  Then they were backing up into their lines once more, the distance between them suddenly an insurmountable obstacle that caused him physical pain.

  Did it do the same for her?

  He’d never been a praying man, but suddenly, the most devout petitions were sent to the heavens that she would feel as he did. That she could feel so.

  That he was not alone.

  A sound behind the line of ladies shook his concentration just long enough to wrench his attention from his wife to some motion behind her. There was nothing he could see that should have disturbed the dance at all, and yet his eyes shifted along the line of guests to discover Leclerc meandering his way through the group. Not unusual, Leclerc was a bit of a social puppy.

  But then, as he moved to again turn with the lady on Hal’s right, he saw Fontaine heading in the same direction. As well as Savatier, their host Voclain, and two other gentlemen, none of them acknowledging the other or seeming to have any coordination to the exodus at all.

  Yet why would a host ever leave the ballroom?

  John frowned as he approached Hal for the dance. “Something’s happening,” he murmured.

  “I know,” she replied, her attention behind the men. Then she looked up at him. “We have to follow.”

  As much as he hated to admit it, that had been his conclusion, as well. The dance had to end so their mission could continue.

  He nodded, fighting back a resigned sigh. “I’ll follow your lead.”

  Hal exhaled shortly, a crease appearing in her brow, then she stumbled just a little, swaying into him. “Oh…”

  John swept her out of the dance at once, both of their feet moving quickly. “Come along, dear, let’s find you some air.”

  “Air,” she wheezed, a fairly passable impression of weakness taking over her. “Please…”

  Madame Voclain was to them in a moment. “My dear, what is it?”

  “Just a bit overcome,” John assured her with a smile. “The excitement and splendor along with such lively dancing, it’s quite done her in. Might there be a small parlor or some such where I might take her to recover herself?”

  “Oui, just out of the doors and to the right.” She looked at Hal pityingly. “Oh, my dear. Let me come with you, let me help you.”

  Hal shook her head, lolling it against John. “No, madame, please. Your guests… I’ll be well presently…”

  “I will tend to her, madame,” John assured her. “Please, see to your guests. We insist.”

  The woman did not look convinced but nodded all the same and gestured toward the ballroom door.

  John inclined his head in thanks and moved Hal as quickly as a husband might have moved a swooning wife out of the public eye. “Nicely done, Ange,” he told her, fighting a smile.

  “I’ve been preparing my entire life for this act,” she retorted as one of her hands clutched at his coat. They exited the ballroom and turned to the right, as directed, at which time Hal was recovered and giving John a firm look. “Let’s find ourselves a meeting, shall we?”

  Chapter Eleven

  “They wouldn’t be that obvious, would they?”

  “Sometimes the obvious is the least expected.”

  “But the card room?” Hal shook her head, exhaling in a strange sort of disappointment. “They cannot control all of the men in there.”

  John gave her an exasperated look. “They’ll be controlling us in a moment if you don’t lower your voice.”

  Hal made a face and stuck her tongue out. Then she began eyeing the corridor carefully. “How to hear without being seen? How to…?” She suddenly grinned and nodded to herself before glancing up at John. “Sometimes I adore large houses with lots of servants.”

  His brow creased in confusion. “Why?”

  For a brilliant man, he could be rather thick at times.

  “Honestly, John,” she groaned in a whisper. “Didn’t you ever sneak about in the servants’ corridors? Their nooks and crannies that aren’t visible to the naked eye?”

  “No,” he replied with the clearest, most innocent expression known to man. “Jeremy did, though.”

  That was not surprising in the least. Hal sighed and extended a hand to him.

  “Then you are long overdue.”

  He took her hand with a quizzical smile, the pressure of his firm grip making her smile almost dreamily as she had in the dance they’d shared.

  Well, started to share.

  She scowled mentally at the recollection, and turned, tugging her husband behind her as she pushed open a servant’s door and headed down the dark, narrow corridor.

  The only light available at present came from the faint outline of another doorway, and Hal moved there leaning against the wall alongside, John joining her.

  Conversations in rapid French could be heard, the voices were low but not inaudible.

  “It’s unrealistic to expect more from that quarter,” a voice said, his French not quite native sounding. “Until we get more pieces in place, we must wait.”

  “What about Castleton?” another, much lower voice asked.

  “His plan was idiotic and selfish,” the first voice answered. “There will be no assistance for him. British justice can have their way with him. He is of no use to us now.”

  A murmur of voices reacted to that, though no clear answers.

  “What about our key?” a new voice asked. “Has our hand received what is needed there?”

  Hal looked at John in confusion. “Key?” she breathed. “Hand?”

  “Codes?” His voice was softer than a whisper, and she could hear his head shake.

  “Our key was no longer secure. They have been removed from their post for the sake of the cause and will soon find themselves at work in another way.”

  “How?”

  “If you needed to know, you would.”

  “Sorry for my tardiness,” a new voice interjected. “J’ai vecu.”

  “Vous ne me verrez pas mourir,” the room replied in a strange unison.

  What in the world was this? Hal had never heard the familiar Faction phrase used as a greeting and come with a response. Where had that come from?

  “You shall not see me die,” John recited in the same barely audible voice as before.

  “I know what they said,” Hal hissed as her mind spun on it. “I do know French, thank you.”

  John breathed a laugh. “I was simply reciting.”

  “Well, don’t!” Hal tried to relax against the wall, her head leaning back against it.

  “What news from Calais?” inquired someone. “Are we ready for the next wave?”

  Hal shook her head. They were never going to get anywhere just listening; they would likely only know what was already known.

  They needed something new.

  “We have to find out who is in there.”

  “H
ow?” John shifted closer, the side of his body nearly flush with hers. “We can’t wait outside the room for them to come out.”

  Hal shook her head, the motion brushing her face along his shoulder. “No, and we can’t distinguish voices.” She exhaled and laid her head against him. “I have to go in there.”

  “What?” John hissed, his voice nearly too loud for their secrecy. “No!”

  Hal shifted to face him, reaching up to cover his mouth, her eyes on his, barely discernible in the dark, but there all the same. “Yes, John!”

  He shook his head emphatically beneath her palm.

  She gripped his coat in one hand, arching closer. “Yes! I have an excellent memory, it is true, but only if I see things! I have to see them, John, so I can draw them.”

  His hands flew to her upper arms, his grip tight. Beneath her palm, his mouth was still, and he didn’t struggle, which she took as a surrender of sorts. She slid her hand to his jaw, wishing there was more light, just enough to see him better.

  “Ange…” John pressed his lips to her brow, lingering and resting his mouth at her hairline, breathing unsteadily against her skin. “I can’t…”

  Hal stroked his jaw softly, her eyes fluttering shut. “I have to. You have your gifts, and I have mine. I need this to be of use. You know that.”

  “I know,” he whispered, his lips pressing against her in a warm, lingering kiss. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

  She smiled at that and nuzzled close, inhaling his scent. “Well, no. And I have no doubt they’ll send me away quickly.”

  “I hope they do.” John sighed and broke from her skin. He cupped her cheek with one hand and gently rubbed his thumb there. “Be careful.”

  She nodded in his hold, turning her face and kissing the palm quickly. “You, too.” She smiled, hoping he could feel it in his palm, then stepped aside and strode by him, desperately trying to ignore the last lingering feeling of his fingers on her arm.

  Exhaling, she exited the corridor, squaring her shoulders. She would only have a moment or two, and she would need to make it count.