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Honoria’s heart soared. She and Montagne could not help but succeed if the League was behind them. “I knew you would help!” She embraced Alex, but the woman pushed her back.
“I haven’t agreed yet.”
“But...” Honoria said hopefully.
“But I will speak with Sir Andrew.”
“Thank you.” Honoria tried to embrace Alex again, but Alex rose and stepped away.
“I have still not agreed to anything.”
“But you will.”
“We will see what Ffoulkes says.” She hadn’t yet donned her night rail, so she crossed to the door, presumably to speak to Ffoulkes right away. She paused at the latch. “Are you certain nothing happened? Not even a kiss?”
Honoria’s gaze flicked down before she could stop it.
“I knew it! I knew you could not be that unmoved by a man that beautiful. And the way he looks at you—”
“It was one kiss, and it’s not the reason I want to help him. This mission has nothing to do with him whatsoever. It’s the children I care about.”
“Of course, it is.” Alex smiled and opened the door.
The next morning dawned cloudy and rainy. The rain was light, which meant the League went out to complete their various tasks. Honoria still had no answer as to whether or not the League would assist her and the marquis, but Sir Andrew hadn’t reiterated his objections this morning.
Instead he’d said, “We shall speak later” before leaving with Alex, Hastings, and Mackenzie through the secret passage.
Lord Anthony had stayed behind, a fact he bemoaned at every opportunity. “I don’t know why the devil I was chosen to play nursemaid,” he grumbled as he paced the dining room.
Honoria attempted to ignore him. Ffoulkes had given her several documents to prepare, and she needed to concentrate in order to do her best. Montagne lounged in one of the chairs, a cup of coffee before him.
“Of all the days to be trapped inside,” Lord Antony mumbled.
Honoria thought he seemed more like a caged animal than the son of the powerful Duke of Exeter. Surely he had spent many, many days inside when at school or at home. Sons of dukes, even younger sons, were not allowed to run wild.
She wondered where the duke thought his offspring was at present. She had no one in England who would worry over her or wonder where she was. She had taken a leave of absence from the British Museum, claiming she had to nurse a sick aunt, and no one had questioned her. Her parents were dead and she had but cursory contact with the rest of her family in Brussels. She supposed that was one reason the Pimpernel had requested her services.
That and she was the best forger in the country.
She leaned closer to her document, studying the signature she’d forged. It was good, but would it pass for Robespierre? She drew out a paper with his real signature to compare the two.
“Everyone else is out and I must mollycoddle a frog-eater.”
“I do speak English, you know,” Montagne said, startling Honoria. He hadn’t spoken in more than an hour, and his deep resonant voice warmed her through.
“Good,” Lord Anthony said with a dark look at the marquis. “Then you know I’d like to throttle you right about now.”
“It’s hardly my fault your friends went on without you. I assure you, I do not need a nursemaid.”
“If you wanted anyone to trust you, you shouldn’t have abducted Miss Blake.”
He shrugged. “We do what we must.”
“I know what I must do.” He took a menacing step toward the marquis. Honoria, who was rather tired of all the theatrics, cleared her throat.
“If you want to beat each other senseless, by all means do so, but take it out of this room. I cannot concentrate with the two of you bickering like old women.”
“Old women!” the men said in unison. Lord Anthony immediately scowled at the marquis.
