Page 60 of The Hood and his Thief

Rhosyn turned towards the bundle at her side, containing the remainder of the accessories for her ensemble. She already wore a deep purple dress with sleeves more flowy than were strictly fashionable, but that gave her the appearance of drifting through water when she walked.

A muffled jingle came from the bag as she opened it, and she raised her eyebrows.

Ansel shrugged. “It’s not like I haven’t hidden somebody in plain sight by dressing them up as a circus performer before. When people are used to seeing you in a Royal Police uniform, they will barely notice you at all bedecked as an eccentric fortune teller.”

“Hopefully, most of the people at this gathering will only ever have seen me in passing, on one of the few occasions Contessa and Nate took me to a party.” Rhosyn pulled out a long navy scarf embroidered with silver moons and stars.

“For your hair,” Ansel explained. “It’s…rather distinctive. I thought it would be best to cover it up.”

Rhosyn sighed, but he was right. She piled her curls on top of her head and began winding the fabric around it. The reason she and Ansel had decided on a fortune teller for her disguise was so she could mingle easily through the party, giving her better chances to eavesdrop on any important conversations Mr. Gower might have. It wouldn’t do for him to spot her from across the room based on the top of her head.

She fumbled as she reached the end of the length of fabric, fingers struggling to tie the short ends into a knot at the base of her skull.

“Here, let me.” Ansel shifted across the carriage, sliding onto the same bench as Rhosyn.

She turned her back to him, to give him a better angle to help. His warm hands came up to cover hers and she let them fall back into her own lap. His nimble fingers made quick work of the knot, but his touch lingered. The pad of one callused finger ran down the nape of her neck, so lightly she questioned if it was intentional.

A shudder washed over her. Ansel snatched his hand away, as if Rhosyn’s response shocked him out of a trance.

“Sorry, rough hands.” He cleared his throat.

Rhosyn turned on the seat, so her back was no longer to him, busying herself with the bag once more. “Between the trapeze bars and the knives, I’m surprised your skin hasn’t turned to stone.”

“I’d think the calluses are more from the knives at this point,” Ansel admitted. “I almost completely stopped doing acrobatics for many years, when I was afraid my Talent would be too obvious. Not to mention, I’m not actually Talented with knives, so building that skill required a lot more practice…and a lot more accidentally slicing myself. I count myself lucky I still have all my fingers.”

As Ansel spoke, Rhosyn fished a handful of silvery bangles out of the bag, explaining the earlier jangling. She slid them on and let them settle on her wrists, where they threw sparkling lights all over the carriage every time she moved her hands.

The bracelets jingled like tiny bells as she dug around in the bottom of the sack for the last few items. As she fished out a pencil of kohl and a small pot of rouge, she raised her brows curiously at Ansel.

“It’ll make your face less familiar,” he explained.

“It will just make it clear how much I don’t know what I’m doing with this.” Rhosyn frowned at the objects in her hand. The only times she had ever gone anywhere where her appearance might matter, Julia had helped her with her hair, only applying the most minimal amount of powder to her nose. Otherwise, whenever Rhosyn looked in the mirror, the lack of freckles made her feel like a ghost.

“I can help you.” Ansel gestured for her to hand him the makeup.

Rhosyn’s brows rose even higher. “You’re going to help me with my makeup?”

“I run a circus. You don’t live with this many clowns and not know how to paint up your face.” Leaning in close, Ansel motioned for her to close her eyes.

When she did, he began smudging the kohl sticks on her eyelids, fingers sure despite the jostling of the carriage. With her vision gone, Rhosyn’s ears pricked, zeroing in on the sound of Ansel’s breath so close to her own.

A finger pressed into her top lip and her eyes snapped open, to find Ansel’s gaze fixed on her mouth. He pushed at it again, smearing the rouge on it. As he moved towards the bottom lip, the pressure forced Rhosyn’s mouth open slightly. Her breath caught, and Ansel’s gaze flicked up to her eyes.

The glimmer she saw there made her bold. Quickly, she flicked her tongue against the tip of his finger where it rested against her lip. His gaze darkened.

“Be good,” he purred.

Something in Rhosyn’s core melted at the words. Where so often she rose to every challenge presented to her with bared teeth and flying fists, something about the way Ansel said it made her pliant. She ached for more, and the way Ansel looked at her told her he did too.

Rhosyn sat perfectly still as he finished applying the tint to her lips before pulling back to admire his work. “Dramatic and eccentric. Nobody will suspect a straight-laced police officer under that get up.”

“I’m not sure I ever would have called myself straight-laced, even when I wasn’t running with a gang of thieves,” Rhosyn countered, her voice only slightly hoarse from Ansel’s recent touch. She cleared her throat and shook herself free of his spell as he retreated to the far side of the carriage.

“Good, because you’re going to have to be creative and have a little fun with your fortune teller ruse,” Ansel said. “In fact, why don’t you do a little bit of a practice run on me.”

He dug in his coat pocket and produced a small packet, which he held out to Rhosyn. Seeing what it was, she stared at him quizzically.

“Playing cards? Shouldn’t I be reading tarot cards or something a little more…mystical?”