Page 27 of The Avenging Angel and the Spy
“All the same, I would never turn my back on him for long, especially on board the packet. I don’t want you anywhere near him on that open deck.”
“No fear of that. I will spend the entire crossing below in one of the cabins.” Although it hurt her pride to admit to what she considered a foolish weakness, Belle said, “I am frequently prey to seasickness.”
Sinclair’s grim expression softened. “So is Admiral Lord Nelson,” he told her with a grin.
“Truly, is he?” Belle asked eagerly, then eyed him with suspicion. “Sinclair, you made that up.”
“No, upon my honor, I did not.”
Whether Sinclair had or hadn’t, it didn’t matter. Once again he had lightened her mood and charmed a smile from her. She became aware that he was yet grasping her hands. Rather reluctantly she disengaged herself.
They strolled some little ways along the dock together in companionable silence. Having resisted accepting Sinclair as a partner, it occurred to Belle that she had learned to be comfortable with him in a short space of time. He was so easy to talk to?—
Too easy, she thought, frowning. What other man had ever induced her to reveal painful episodes of her past or to expose her weaknesses? Especially a man who was a virtual stranger to her. What did she truly know of Sinclair Carrington? Belle cast a sharp glance at him. He gazed out across the rough channel waters, making no effort to shield his already sun-bronzed features from the elements, seeming to take a keen enjoyment in the wind that tousled his hair and snapped the ends of his coat. His face indicated nothing to her except the countenance of a handsome rakehell, too damnably attractive from the lazy arrogance of his smile to the heat that radiated from his eyes when he looked at her.
Perhaps it was time she posed a few questions of her own. Belle halted so abruptly that Sinclair outstripped her by several steps, his boots ringing against the weather-beaten boards of the dock. When he realized she was no longer with him, he turned back, his thick brows arching an inquiry.
“Sinclair, I have been thinking—” she began.
“That sounds rather alarming, Angel.”
She refused to be put off by his teasing. “You have learned some things about me these past ten days. Yet I still know next to nothing about you.”
A certain wariness crept into his eyes. “What did you want to know?”
“To start with, you know my motive for working for Victor Merchant, but what about yours? And don’t try to tell me you are a devoted royalist, because I don’t think I will believe it.”
“I wouldn’t dream of trying to humbug you, Angel. Quite simply, I work for the money. I am a soldier of fortune, an adventurer, the same as you. Didn’t I tell you at the outset that you and I have a great deal in common?”
His voice had dropped to an intimate pitch that she found as warm as a caress. Belle tried to ignore the way her pulse quickened in response.
“But despite how much money Merchant was offering,” she said, “you seemed most reluctant to accept this assignment, traveling to France?—”
“Speaking of traveling—” Sinclair reached inside the flap of his coat. “I have our passport right here.”
Was he trying to distract her? It was not going to work. He would soon discover she could be as persistent with her questions as he. When Sinclair offered the traveling papers to her, Belle snatched them and subjected them to the most cursory inspection, intending to thrust them right back at him.
She hesitated as one line of the scrawled print leaped out at her. Issued to Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair Carrington, accompanied by one maidservant, Paulette Beauvais.
“Mrs. Carrington?” She subjected Sinclair to an icy glare. “I wasn’t aware that you were bringing your mother along.”
“You know full well that refers to you, Angel. I decided it would be best if you pretended to be my wife.”
“You decided! It is my habit to select my own roles, Mr. Carrington.” She slapped the passport back into his hand so hard that he winced. “And if you think for one moment I will?—”
“Hold a moment, Belle, and reason it through clearly. If we hope to get near Napoleon, we will have to invade the upper reaches of French society. To do that we have to appear respectable.”
“I could pretend to be your sister.”
Sinclair’s eyes drifted over her in one of those lingering appraisals that never failed to set her nerve endings a-tingle. “I would never be able to make anyone believe you were my sister. We look nothing alike. Besides, as a married woman, you will have greater freedom of movement.”
She hated to admit it, but Sinclair’s arguments made sense, although she still distrusted his motives. Exactly how far would he try to take this pretense?
While Sinclair returned the offending document to his pocket, she grumbled, “Do you truly think you can carry it off? Frankly, you strike me as too much of a rake to convince anyone that you are a married man.”
A mischievous glint appeared in Sinclair’s eyes. “You can always give me the opportunity to practice.”
Belle stiffened. That was exactly the sort of attitude upon Sinclair’s part that she feared. Before she could prevent it, he had slipped both arms about her waist and was drawing her closer. Belle splayed her fingers defensively against his chest.Even through the layers of fabric, she could feel how tautly honed were the muscles beneath.
