Page 90 of The Boxing Baroness

Sin watched as Marianne’s eyelids got heavier and heavier, even though she was hardly halfway through the meal Yvette had brought for them.

“Tired?” he asked, setting his fork and knife down on his mostly empty plate.

“I’m tired, but my mind won’t stop racing.” She yawned and then cut him a quick look, her pale cheeks flushing. “I’m sorry, that was rude.”

“I’ll forgive you this time.”

Her mouth pulled up into a charming, lopsided grin. “What you really are thinking is that you’re accustomed to my rudeness by now.”

Sin’s lips twitched at her accurate assessment. He was relieved to see her talking and smiling—even if she looked worn and ragged. After Barnabas had left her that morning, Sin had returned to find a woman who’d aged five years. Not only that, but she’d appeared ill—not from a knock on her head, but from despair.

He had not asked what had happened, and she’d not offered to tell him. Instead, she’d crawled back into bed even though she’d earlier complained about sleeping too much the day before. She’d slept all day and into the evening, once again missing dinner.

Sin hadn’t eaten, waiting for her to wake and hoping he’d have a chance to talk to her before morning, when she would no longer be under doctor’s orders and he would no longer have an excuse to be parked in her room.

For the second night in a row, he paid the innkeeper an exorbitant amount to keep the kitchen open. Finally, just before eleven, she’d woken.

“This is lovely,” she said, pushing away her half-eaten plate. “But I can’t eat another bite.”

Sin stood and rang for a servant to come and clear the remains away.

“I’m ready to hear what happened today while I was sleeping,” she said. “And I want to know what our plan is.”

He lifted the bottle of port he’d ordered sent to her room, but she shook her head, so he poured a glass for himself. “Almost everyone left today,” he said. “The only ones remaining are you, me, Guy, Elliot, Cecile—”

“Cecile? Why is she here?”

“She says she is staying with you.”

“Did you tell her that was foolish and dangerous?”

He gave her a wry look. “Yes, I told her that and more. She obeys as well as you do.”

For once, Sin was relieved when Marianne’s tired expression shifted into more familiar, mulish lines. “She’ll change her mind tomorrow, once I’ve had a chance to talk sense into her.”

Sin doubted that.

“If she comes along you’ll have a caravan, so at least you won’t be forced to share ours,” he pointed out.

“Perhaps Blade will want it? Or has she already left?”

“Elliot said she rode out before first light this morning. Just her and the bird.” Sin snorted. “Well, and likely a few dozen knives.”

“What about the rest of her belongings?”

“Cecile said she left her baggage in the caravan.”

“That is odd.”

Odd, indeed.

Sin didn’t tell her that Elliot had followed the woman—before she’d managed to lose him about ten miles down the road—and that she had not been headed back to Calais with all the others.

“So, just our two caravans, then?”

“And your uncle’s—he is driving it because he sent his coachman back with his carriage.”

She scowled, suddenly looking wide-awake. “Barnabas is not coming with us.”