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“Is that what I am? An entanglement?” He traced the small freckle at the corner of her mouth, the one she had always detested and tried to hide with powder. She turned her face away.
“What would you call it?”
“Long overdue.” He bent to kiss her, but she skirted away, knowing if she allowed him to touch her again they would never make it out of the room and to the cemetery ball.
“I have to leave for the ball,” she said, moving to the other side of the bed—out of his reach.
“Surely it won’t start this early.” He didn’t chase her, merely stood at the door with his arms crossed. “We have plenty of time.”
“You’re not coming.”
“Do you think the Scarlet Pimpernel would have an objection?”
“I don’t know what he—“Heat flooded her cheeks and indignation filled her chest. “I don’t believe in the Scarlet Pimpernel!”
He endeavored to look shocked. “He’s not the reason you are in Paris?”
“No. I have my own reasons, and I know nothing about the Scarlet Pimpernel.”
“Neither do I. We can know nothing together.”
Was he implying he was in the employ of the Pimpernel? She could not risk trusting him. “What are you really doing in Paris? Why are you following me?” She stomped around the bed and faced him.
He frowned, and she wondered if she hadn’t hit close to the mark. “I have business here. I told you. And I am not following you. I’m protecting you.”
“You’re protecting me? You said yourself I couldn’t trust you, and now you’ve tried to trick me and more than illustrated the point.”
“That’s true, but I can promise to keep you safe. That task would be much easier if you would tell me more about your mission for the Pimpernel. Don’t tell me he wants you to smuggle aristocrats out. You could barely manage to get yourselfin.”
Of course he would bring that up. “Exactly. I hardly think a mythical man who is nothing more than fodder for dinner party conversation would trust me with such a mission. If he even existed.”
He studied her for a moment, and she could all but read the uncertainty in his eyes. “There’s no cousin Josette. That much I know. You must be in Paris to steal something.”
“No…” But why deny it? It would divert his attention from the Scarlet Pimpernel.
“What is it?”
“I don’t think I should tell you.”
He caught her hand. She tried to snatch it away, but he held tight, caressing her fingers in a most distracting manner. “How can I help you if you don’t confide in me?”
“I don’t want your help.”
“I’m one of the best thieves in London—present company excluded.” He winked at her, the rogue. “You want my help.”
She took a deep breath. He was right, of course, and she could use his assistance. He need never know about the Pimpernel or the comtesse. “Le Saphir Blanc,” she murmured.
Sedgwick’s fingers paused and his mouth opened slightly in disbelief. “Oh dear God. I know you are in dire straits, but has debt made you completely daft?”
Chapter 9
If Gabrielle was completely daft, then Ramsey admitted he must be as well. There was no other explanation for why he’d agreed to accompany her to Sainte Marguerite cemetery. For a ball. Such an event was the height of macabre, but then everything about Paris these days seemed ghoulish.
The streets after dark were quiet, as was to be expected, as they made their way to the cemetery. In London the streets were packed with hansom cabs, carriages, and men and women making their way to the theater, the pleasure gardens, or the last of the Season’s routs. The scattering of people out in Paris hurried and kept their heads down.
He and Gabrielle did the same.
He might have flagged one of the conveyances for hire, but he thought it better if they walked and didn’t appear to possess any extra assignats. If everything was suspect here, he didn’t want to be marked as having excessive funds. It took longer to walk to the cemetery, but he didn’t mind, not when Gabrielle continually clutched his arm with her warm hand. She was obviously jumpy, and considering what they’d seen earlier in the day, he didn’t blame her.
