To Sketch a Sphinx

by Rebecca Connolly

  So, in the morning hours, before his wife had woken from the limited sleep they would both receive after yet another late night of work, he’d set about on a completely separate project. One that now awaited them and could dictate the whole course of his future.

  Clearly, nothing to be concerned about.

  She had to love him; she had to. She could not have gone from nearly despising him to kissing him with such ardor and not have it be love. No one was so convincing an actress, especially not Henrietta Mortimer.

  Pratt, he reminded himself, a wave of panic hitting him. She was Henrietta Pratt, and he prayed she always would be.

  Oh, heavens, what if she didn’t want to be?

  He swallowed with some difficulty as they reentered the de Rouvroy home and found the place completely silent.

  Odd.

  “Ze family ‘ave all gone to Madame Moreau,” the butler explained as he approached, seeing their confused expressions. “All but Monsieur René, who ‘as gone to ze club with his friends.”

  “Merci,” Hal murmured, stripping off her gloves and handing them over with a smile.

  John said nothing and simply let the man take his hat.

  “A quiet house,” Hal mused when they were alone again, smiling in that impish way he loved so well. “Shall we sneak about the house and find all of the places we have yet to see? Perhaps unearth a secret inheritance I have been owed. You could actually receive something of a dowry for marrying me!” She laughed and nearly skipped down the corridor as though she were going to do just that.

  He’d die where he stood if he had to endure aimless wandering about the house just to pass the time.

  “No,” he said brusquely, wincing in his mind at the tone the simple word adopted.

  Hal turned and gave him a surprised look. “I was only teasing.”

  “I know.” He tried for a smile but failed miserably. “Forgive me, I am tired, and the rest I received did not make up for the night I passed.”

  She smiled with some sympathy and came back to him. “I can understand that. Why not go upstairs and rest? At least get rid of this.” She flicked the ends of his cravat out from his waistcoat, quirking a brow. “I like you better without it anyway.”

  John almost groaned and took her waist in hand. “Come with me? You must be fatigued, too.”

  “Oh, I am.” On cue, she yawned, covering her mouth with the back of her hand. “Pardon me. I am, to be sure. But I am also famished. So, you go on up, and I’ll fetch us a tray of something, then follow presently.”

  Heaven and angels, this was surely some test of his will and patience.

  But he smiled, nodded, and moved for the stairs to do just that, remembering belatedly that he hadn’t kissed her then.

  Damnation, she might read something into that.

  There was nothing to do but continue up to their rooms, remove his cravat, and lay on his bed and wait.

  Once there, and all that accomplished, he settled in to wait, though rest was far from his mind. His heart pounded with the fury of a thousand thunderstorms, and every sense was attuned to the door of the parlor. Conveniently, that door happened to be in view from his present position, if he kept his adjoining door open wide.

  Which it presently was.

  At long last, the parlor door opened, and Hal entered, kicking the door shut behind her.

  He’d have laughed at such antics if he didn’t feel so frantic at the moment.

  “I find the kitchen staff most accommodating,” Hal called as she set the tray down on the table. “I daresay if I asked for a three-tiered cake, one would be produced from a storeroom somewhere. You would not believe what I have… What’s this?”

  The rustle of paper on the table sent a sharp pang of anticipation to John’s heart, and strangely jolting something into the sole of his left foot.

  “John, what is this?” she asked, her steps coming closer.

  He pried open one eye, though in truth they had not been fully closed at any point. “That? Oh, I thought you might wish for more practice with your deciphering skills. Given all the experience you now have, it seemed prudent to at least continue to see you trained. I worked that up for you while you slept.”

  “Did you?” she mused, smiling at the note, then up at him, her fair eyes dancing. “It’s complete gibberish.”

  “It is not,” he insisted with a smile of his own. “It is coded. Very much not gibberish, if you will work it out.”

  Hal rocked from her toes to her heels and back again, a child-like enthusiasm emanating from her. “All right, I will. And we shall see how brilliant your wife is, Mr. Sphinx.” She turned on her heel and scampered to the table, pulling out one of the blank sheets nearby and setting to work.

  “Right,” he heard her say, both eyes fully open now as he watched her hunch over her work. “What have we here?”

  He fought a smile, wishing he could see her face better, but content enough if she would keep speaking her thoughts aloud.

  “A replacement cipher?” she mused to no one in particular. “Or whatever one calls it. That seems most logical… Which means… Hmm…”

  John quietly sat up, watching her with interest, unable to keep from smiling.

  “No…” Hal suddenly shook her head and crossed something out. “Not simple replacement. Close, though. I need a word, and then it should be clear…”

  There she was, and he was proud to see her process working through it.

  He foresaw a great deal of amusement in various puzzles in their future if all went well.

  “Oh,” he heard her half-gasp. “Oh, that’s… Yes, that’s…”

  His heart stopped for a beat. The key.

  He’d hoped she’d have got that first rather than guess a word in the body of the note itself. The key would unlock everything, after all.

  Ange.

  There was nothing else it could have been.

  Nothing else she could have been.

  Slowly, silently, he swung his legs from the bed and pushed up, rising and walking very carefully to the doorway, leaning against it while she worked.

  “Ange,” she recited, her pen scratching out the letters. “I…” Her lips moved, but no sound came from them.

  John held his breath, watching, waiting…

  Hal blinked, the pen clattering from her fingers onto the table, then looked up at him, her lips parted.

  He managed a small smile but said nothing.

  She blinked again, then shoved her chair back and bolted to him in a matter of three strides, her hands flying to his face. She kissed him hard, deeply and emphatically, and it was all he could do to fix his arms around her to keep them both upright and steady.

  “I love you, too,” she whispered when she took a breath, tears tracing down her cheeks to her lips. “Oh, I love you.”

  John kissed her again, more tenderly but no less thoroughly, holding her close. “Ange, I love you, I adore you, I need you…” He shook his head, kissing her once more.

  Hal whimpered against his mouth, pressing herself closer to him. “I wanted this. I wanted you. John…” She exhaled and dropped her head, resting it against his chin. “I love you.”

  Chuckling with relief, John tilted his face to kiss her brow. “And the rest?”

  “The rest?” she repeated, pulling back to look at him in confusion.

  “Did you leave the message incomplete?” He laughed again, this time in disbelief. “Ange!”

  “I thought I’d gotten far enough,” she protested as she looped her arms about his neck.

  He raised a brow at that. “What if I followed that with the word but?”

  Hal was completely nonplussed by the threat. “Did you?”

  “No.”

  She shrugged. “Then I don’t see a problem.”

  Blast, but he loved this woman, and there was no doubt she would test him for the rest of their days.

  “There was more,” he told her, dipping his voice low, leaning close.

  H
al arched up and pressed her brow to his, stroking the nape of his neck with one hand. “Tell me what it says.”

  John hesitated, not out of apprehension, but out of painful hope. He closed his eyes, his hold on her tightening.

  “Stay my wife?”

  He heard her rough exhale, could feel the breath of it against his lips. Then, she tilted her face and brought her lips to his in the softest, most breathless caress he could have imagined, robbing him of strength, sense, and stamina.

  “Yes,” she breathed, nuzzling her lips against his. “Yes.”

  He took her lips more firmly, more securely, sealing their promise as though this day, this moment, were their wedding, not the formality of weeks before.

  This was their birth and beginning.

  Here and now, choosing one another.

  Loving one another.

  “Thank you,” he managed when they parted, grazing his lips along her cheek in absent adoration.

  Hal laughed softly, the sound almost dreamy. “You’re quite welcome. After all, a lifetime with you is a right sight better than the chance of damnation.”

  John paused in his shower of kisses and dropped his face to her shoulder as he snorted a laugh. “Well,” he told her as he straightened, cupping her cheek, “at least I know that about myself. Better than damnation. I’ve always wanted to be described as such.”

  His brilliant, beautiful wife beamed up at him. “I’ve already given you several compliments of late, Mr. Pratt. One would like to keep one’s husband from growing too proud or too arrogant.”

  “Keep me however you like, Mrs. Pratt,” he said with a smile in return, “so long as I stay in your keeping.”

  “You will. I’m quite a possessive woman.”

  “Poor me.”

  “Indeed, yes. Poor you.”

  And then he kissed her again, and for quite a long time, too.

  Epilogue

  Her fingers trailed along the spines of books, lazily looking at the titles, not really searching for anything in particular but observing all the same.

  It was simply a way of passing the time.

  What little there was of it remaining.

  Word had come to them a week ago that they were needed back in England, and to return there at their earliest convenience.

  Hal hadn’t been entirely pleased by the return command, not after the blessed time she’d been having with her husband once they’d sent the information back. Everything was wonderful, magical, and utterly beautiful in this time and space, and returning to the drudgery of their lives would end it all.

  Well, not all of it. She would keep her husband, after all.

  There was something to be said for that.

  Still, she’d put up a decent fight over remaining.

  “But there’s more we could do!” she’d protested when John had brought back word from Ruse that they were being sent home. “There’s so much we don’t know! So much we could still uncover for them!”

  “I know that,” John had told her, his voice soothing, as always. “Ruse knows that, too. No doubt the Shopkeepers are aware, as well. Our task was to open the door here. Now it is open.”

  Hal scowled up at him. “Can we close it again? Just for a bit longer?”

  Her husband had cupped her cheek, stroking her skin softly. “This isn’t our country, Ange. We have no authority, so there is nothing else we can do. As operatives, we must obey orders.”

  She hadn’t liked that answer, but it wasn’t her husband’s fault that it was the truth.

  “Besides,” he’d added, “when we return to London, we may actually continue that dance we never finished.”

  Her cheeks flamed in response, and she’d put up no further protests.

  Then, he had surprised her in the sweetest way by showing her the response he’d sent to Weaver.

  Will return to England once my wife and I have enjoyed our wedded bliss a few days more. We look forward to the debriefing upon our return.

  She’d taken great pains to thank him appropriately for that, and he’d made it clear he appreciated the gesture.

  But now, all of that had passed, and they could not in good conscience remain in Paris longer. Her relations were sorry to lose them, and the children were distraught to lose their favorite imaginary chien. They were all invited to visit them as soon as they were situated in their new house in London, which had cheered many of them.

  There had been a lengthy discussion before bed that evening about the aforementioned new house in London, and nothing was quite settled yet. But if Hal knew her godfather, and she flattered herself that she did, he would already have a house in mind for them. One endowed with all the protections he would see fit to impose upon his goddaughter and the man he had entrusted her to.

  And then there would be Thad to contend with.

  He would remain with them, of course, as he had sworn to do, but there was some debate as to what capacity he might serve in.

  That, too, had not been settled yet.

  But in time, it would be. It all would be.

  “Saying farewell?”

  Hal smiled and turned to face the door, placing her back against the shelves of books. “In a way. I never did spend much time in here, and it seems a shame.”

  John smiled at her, the affection plain for anyone to see. “You said you were not much of a reader.”

  “If I found something that I might enjoy reading, I could be a reader,” she informed him with a sniff. “You never know.”

  “No, I suppose I don’t.” He sighed and looked around the ostentatious library, shaking his head. “I don’t know how, but I think I may actually miss this finery.”

  Hal giggled, though she understood all the same. “It does grow on you. Perhaps we may have some fine things in our home in London.”

  His smile deepened, as it usually did when she referred to anything regarding their marriage. “Perhaps we might.”

  She clasped her hands before her, tilting her head back to look up at the painting above them. “Is it time to leave, then?”

  “Shortly,” John replied, coming further into the room. “They’re loading up the coach now, and Jean is sending us home with a good stock of French brandy. Says he’ll give us a letter for the examiners that will ensure that we have no trouble getting it home.”

  Hal barked a loud laugh. “Why do I have no doubt of that?” She lowered her eyes to her husband, now more directly before her. “He told me to come in here and find a book or two to take with me. He doesn’t know what they have here, as he rarely comes in anymore. Apparently, René is the reader, not Jean.”

  “Well, René is a romantic,” John reminded her. “He’s the reader, he’s the opera lover, he’s the poet… Bit of a popinjay, really.”

  Coughing in surprise, Hal flicked her hand to smack her husband in the chest. “He is not!”

  John’s expression turned so sardonic Hal began to laugh uproariously. “The man is a puppy, Ange, and a sycophant. I daresay if we had more wealth, he would have introduced us to everyone of his acquaintance, flattered us endlessly, and never let us walk or breathe unless he was there to see to our every need.”

  “You’re ridiculous.” Hal shook her head, returning her attention to the books. “I presume all of your extended relations are perfectly rational and well-behaved?”

  “So, what books do you think you’ll be taking with us?” he asked at once, suddenly quite interested in the books at hand. “Anything striking your fancy?”

  Hal snorted and turned around to kiss her husband once. “Excellent transition, my love. So subtle.”

  “Your attentions to my improvement are much appreciated,” he replied cheekily, “as always.”

  Rolling her eyes, she turned back around and wandered along the row of books. “To answer your question, I’m not sure. He mentioned a book or two my mother might have had that are still here somewhere, but he couldn’t think which ones.”

  “That would be a treasure, to be s
ure.” John took her hand and began to search the books with her, sharing her newfound appreciation for her mother, now that she had told him of Skean’s revelations regarding her. “Any thoughts?”

  “Not really,” Hal sighed. “She wasn’t much of a reader when I was a child. At least, not that I saw.”

  Hand in hand, they scanned the shelves, fingers occasionally stroking against each other’s in a warm familiarity that was becoming so natural.

  Marriage was a funny business, and loving whom one married was even more peculiar.

  “Oh my,” John suddenly said, amusement rife in his tone. “That’s something I didn’t expect to see on these shelves.”

  “What is it?” Hal came to him, looking where he pointed. She laughed once. “Mary Wollstonecraft?”

  “A Vindication for the Rights of Women,” John read. “And they have A Vindication for the Rights of Men, as well. In fact, they have several Mary Wollstonecraft works. Impressive.”

  Hal eyed the works surrounding them and pointed one shelf lower. “Look here. The Rights of Man by Paine. Oof.” She shook her head. “I couldn’t make it through that one. Too scholarly.”

  “See here,” John murmured as though he hadn’t heard. “Du contrat social; ou Principes du droit politique.” He gave her a strange look. “Rousseau.”

  That wasn’t a standard work to be kept in one’s residential library, to be sure. Hal looked again. “And another Rousseau. Discours sur l’origine et les fondements de l’inégalité parmi les hommes.”

  “Ange.”

  Hal’s eyes flicked to John’s hands, holding a pamphlet he’d pulled from the shelf. “Qu’est-ce que le tiers-état?” she read. Then her heart leapt to her throat, and she met her husband’s eyes. “Sieyès.”

  They shared horrified looks, not that Sieyès’s work ought to horrify, only his significance to the Faction. Combined with the other works sitting in this library at the moment, the coincidence was too great.

  “Could it be?” Hal breathed, her hands beginning to tremble. “René?”

  John shook his head in disbelief, though not, she noticed, in denial. He scanned the shelves around them, then pulled one book out.

  A history of the revolution of France.