Page 77 of The Art of Theft
“I—I wasn’t ready for anyone to read it yet. And I’m still not. But since I promised you that you would be the first, here it is.” She pulled out the stack of three notebooks from her reticule. They were tied together with a dark blue ribbon, the bow now half-crushed. “I’ll need to leave for home very soon after the ball. You can read it after I leave.”
He accepted the notebooks with both hands and held them as if she had placed a flower in his palms. “Thank you. I have never read anyone’s manuscript.” He looked up, his gaze clear and sincere. “I will guard your manuscript with my life and make sure it returns safely to you.”
Her heart had never felt so... permeable, yet so spacious and all-encompassing. She laughed. “And now, after I have made my grand gesture, I will need to put these notebooks back in my reticule so that you won’t need to walk all around Paris with them.”
He pushed her hand away and gave her a brilliant smile.“Absolutely not. I insist on walking around with them, as the proudest man in Paris.”
?When Charlotte arrived in the ballroom, Lord Ingram and Lieutenant Atwood were still at theircanne de combatpractice.
She’d very much enjoyed it when Mrs. Watson and Miss Redmayne had demonstrated maneuvers for her—they moved with such lightness and dancerly grace. The men before her fought not with dancerly grace, but with an animal ferocity. She studied their footwork, the rapid steps and turns; she studied how their offense and defense seemed apiece, attacking and safeguarding in the same flowing motion.
She was no expert, but if anything, Lieutenant Atwood seemed the superior combatant. When the two stopped, it was because Lord Ingram asked him to demonstrate a particular stance. Lieutenant Atwood explained, then the two men reengaged, but at a much slower speed, for Lord Ingram to see how Lieutenant Atwood pulled off his maneuver.
She didn’t consider Lord Ingram a humble man, but he’d shed a good bit of unnecessary pride over the years. Ten years ago, he would not have had the confidence and humility to ask for instruction. Would probably have been displeased, even vexed, that he’d come across a greater opponent.
Everyone changed. But it was rare to meet anyone who could be relied upon to change for the better.
The men looked in her direction at almost the same time. Lieutenant Atwood inclined his head and left from a different door. Charlotte advanced toward Lord Ingram.
“That was an impressive display of prowess.”
“More so on Lieutenant Atwood’s part than mine,” he said.
“He is better, but you are also very good.”
He smiled.
She raised a brow. “Are you thinking that another woman would have assured you that you are at least his equal?”
“Where you are concerned, I am well past that. I am simply delighted that you think I am very good,” he said, patting at his forehead with a handkerchief. His shirt, open at the collar, displayed a few enticing inches of sternum, also covered with a faint sheen of perspiration.
She might prove a more regular practitioner ofcanne de combatif her practice partner always looked like this.
“Shall we start?” she asked.
They still had a great deal left to do, but with Livia and Mr. Marbleton at the Jardin des Tuileries, Mrs. Watson at the maharani’s hotel for the final fitting of the maharani’s ballgown, Charlotte thought a little exercise would be helpful for her well-being and her concentration, not to mention her figure.
He did not answer immediately.
“What’s the matter?” she asked.
He seemed to be debating with himself concerning his answer. The debate lasted several more seconds. “You asked me the same question a while ago.”
She had. They had been in a hansom cab, talking about the maharani and her possible interest in removing the British from the Subcontinent. Later that evening she’d set out with Livia, Mrs. Watson, and Mr. Marbleton across the English Channel, to begin their French adventure.
Or misadventure, as it could still become.
At the time she’d decreed that something was bothering him; he had made no response. “So somethingisbothering you?”
He tapped his fingertips against the head of his cane. “My children’s governess is thinking of emigrating to Australia—she has a cousin who has done very well there.”
Aha! She’d seen the governess once or twice over the years, trailing behind Lady Ingram and the children. It would seem that therather mousy Miss Yarmouth had grown bold in Lady Ingram’s absence.
But why was he telling her this? Did he mean to—no, he had no intention of applying any kind of pressure to Charlotte. He was simply asking a good friend for advice.
“Australia has better marital prospects, I’ve heard,” she said. “For women, that is.”
“A very important consideration for Miss Yarmouth. She is, however, willing to forego the trip if I would espouse her myself, after the official dissolution of my current marriage.”
