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That had been too intimate, too approving.Back away now, Raven. Back to your jokes and your innuendoes.
“Good night, then,” he said hastily.
“Good night.”
They stood there staring into each other’s eyes, neither one of them moving.
“Good night,” he repeated foolishly.
A good night for more kissing. A fine evening for bedsport.
He left her chamber and walked the few short steps to his own room.
At least there was no connecting door between their chambers, because if there were one, and if she came to him in the night and told him more about her erotic dreams, he wouldn’t be able to turn her away.
He’d survived torture. He’d been shot at, knifed, hunted like a dog.
But Indy would make short work of his defenses.
That’s why he had to find the stone. It could even be in one of the warehouses Sir Charles had been so furtive about. More likely, it was already with Le Triton.
If he didn’t find the stone in Charles’s warehouses that night, he’d talk to his usual contacts. Surprise a few ruffianly types. And if no one told him what he wanted to know, he’d bloody them up until they started talking.
He’d find the stone. Indy would positively identify it as the real one. And this mission would end.
He’d be a hero for the Foreign Office, his reputation reinstated. He would continue his quest for definitive proof of his father’s innocence, with access to all of the resources of the Foreign Office.
Indy would leave on her next expedition. Alone. Without that lecherous Beauchamp.
And Raven would... well, he’d find some fresh trouble to get into.
Put his head down, and follow the dutiful path.
Chapter 13
Indy lifted her eyes. “I’ve always loved this view.” She shivered in the chilly air. October usually began sunny, but soon the temperature would drop precipitously.
She and Raven stood on the Pont Royal. To their left was the impressive colonnade of the Tuileries and the Louvre, hugging the banks of the Seine. In front of them the river branched into two channels bordered by bustling quays, with the spires of Notre Dame rising majestically in the distance.
“It’s a beautiful view,” agreed Raven, but he wasn’t looking at Notre Dame. His gaze was fixed on her face.
Excitement drew curlicues in her mind, embellishing her thoughts with hope. Today she and Raven could solve this mystery. In some ways this journey was the fulfillment of their childhood dreams; the adventurous partnership they’d envisioned.
Searching for treasures in foreign lands with Raven by her side.
Even though he’d been a royal pain in her arse all through breakfast, amusing himself by calling her ridiculous endearments for the benefit of the delighted young Lucy.
He’d called her his tough on the outside yet delectable on the inside pineapple, to which she’d responded by calling him her petite cabbage, in the odd manner of the French, who thought cabbages were adorable.
The endearment battle had only escalated from there, leaving Lucy and Lady Sterling gaping at them, not knowing whether to laugh or call for the French police.
His mask of joking reprehensibility was firmly back in place, which made it easier to maintain a safe emotional distance from him, but also gave her an odd feeling of loss. A hollow sensation in the pit of her stomach.
He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. “I’ve always thought Paris to be one of the most romantic cities on earth, my fine feathered swan of a fiancée.”
“Enough.” She removed her hand and pretended to realign the fingers of her gray gloves. “We don’t have to continue the act when we’re alone. And what do you know about romance? Your dalliances are more transactional in nature, I believe.”
“Ah, butchérie, I’m looking forward to driving Monsieur Beauchamp wild with jealousy. I’m practicing.” He caught her hand and brought it to his lips.
