Through the handful of people that separated them, she saw the colonel reach into his coat.He pulled out a slender wooden box, richly carved and accented with mother-of-pearl.It lookedold.
Constance grasped Neil’s arm, nodding to the box.“Could you fit a manuscript in there?”
“I… yes?”he answered uncertainly—and then caught her as she started to push forward.“Where are you going?”
Constance pulled her elbow free of his grasp.“He has the Ramacharitamanas with him!I’m going to get it!”
She turned for Borthwick.Neil’s voice called at her back, low and urgent.“We’re only meant to follow him, Connie!”
The carved box drew Constance like a lure, glowing in her mind.They could win their prize right here and now, before Borthwick even knew they were coming.How impressed would Vijay be then?
See, Uncle?I told you we could manage it…
“If I can just get a little closer…” Constance squeezed up to the final line of people that separated her from the prize.
A firm band snagged around her waist, hauling her back against a wall of tweed and saffron silk.
“Stuffy…” Constance seethed in warning.
Her hands dropped to his arm.She could break his grip if she wanted.She had practiced against just such a hold in her jiu jitsu classes—though admittedly Neil was broader and firmer than the Irish shopgirl who had tried to restrain her then.
His arm was stronger too, hard and immovable against the curve of her abdomen.
Neil’s voice was a desperate rasp at her ear.“He is surrounded by police.”
At Neil’s words, the proliferation of khaki uniforms cracked through Constance’s singular focus on the box.There had to be nearly a dozen men around the colonel, waiting to receive their orders.
As though sensing her attention, Borthwick turned toward her with a frown.
Neil swung them both around to face the dancers, the distant beat of the drum throbbing through the air.
“It isn’t safe,” Neil pleaded as the crowd shifted, forcing them even closer together.“Please,Connie.”
The words were taut with worry—for her.Because she’d been about to try to pickpocket a ruthless spy chief in front of a full detachment of constables.
When one stopped to think about it, that did seem perhaps a bit over-risky.
“Fine,” Constance conceded with a huff.
The pressure of his chest against her back shifted with his sigh of relief.His arm fell away from her waist.
“Follow me,” he muttered.
He led her around Borthwick’s coterie instead.Their pace was slow, Neil’s body threaded with careful tension.
They stopped by a handful of worshipers conducting a fire puja by a roadside shrine.With a deliberate touch at Constance’s waist, Neil steered her to look as though she were watching the ceremony—and an English voice drifted to her ears in a no-nonsense baritone touched with gravel and accustomed to command.
“And see this back to my safe at the club.”
Constance risked a slight turn of her head—just enough to see Borthwick pass the antique box to an officer mounted on a black horse.
“Which club, sir?”the man returned in clipped tones.
“Which do you think?”Borthwick snapped impatiently in return.“Puri Beach.”
The colonel dismissed the man with a wave, turning to another officer waiting nearby.“I want a dozen more men in front of Gundicha Temple.”
The mounted constable jerked his head to two other men on horseback, and the three rode away.The crowd scattered to avoid their hooves.
