Daughter of the God-King(7)

Easily outpacing Bing, Hattie reached the vine’s trunk and determined there were no more branches upon which to gain a foothold. There was nothing for it—she would have to leap down for the remainder. As she steeled herself to jump, a voice floated up: “Allow me to be of assistance, mademoiselle.”

Hattie knew who it was without looking, even though he had never spoken to her. “If you would,” she replied calmly. She felt a hand beneath her foot, and then leapt outward, her slipper in his hands as though he was helping her down from a very tall horse.

Mid-leap, he caught her at the waist and then placed her carefully on the ground. She looked up into the face so close to her own and noted that his neutral expression was belied by the lurking gleam in the brown eyes. His face was rather appealing—the nose slightly curved and the brows darker than his hair.

“I thank you.” She stepped away from the hands that lingered on her waist.

“A lovely evening,” he commented, as though the situation was the merest commonplace. He spoke English but his accent was French.

“Hathor?” Bing’s voice floated down. “Is someone there?”

“Not to worry,” Hattie called to her. “It is merely—”

“Monsieur Berry,” he supplied.

“—Monsieur Berry,” she concluded. They stood in silence for a moment and watched Bing’s careful descent. “You mustn’t peek up her skirts as you did with me.”

“I was unable to resist,” he replied, unrepentant. “Such an opportunity cannot be passed by.”

She could not restrain a chuckle, but shook her head. “I am in no mood to banter with you, my friend.”

“I am aware—I was afraid for a moment it would come to blows, upstairs.”

Hattie glanced up at him, chagrined. “I had to retreat—she outweighed me by a stone.”

But the gentleman met her eye and rallied her, “Never—I would wager my last penny on you; you have not her weight but you have guile—always the advantage.”

Laughing, she felt immeasurably better, and raised her face to his. For a second he stilled, an arrested expression in his eyes. Ah, she thought. The mask slips a bit—and he thinks me charming, despite himself. There was little time before Bing landed, so she asked a direct question. “Who are you that you follow me about?”

He did not miss a beat. “I must speak with you.”

“No need to skulk, then,” she chided him. “I so dislike skulkers.”

“I must speak with you unobserved,” he amended.

Arching a brow, she shot him a look. “Unobserved by whom?”

“Ah, your companion formidable alights.” He moved to assist Bing, who was understandably a bit flustered by his attentions.

Hattie bent to brush the leaves off Bing’s skirt while Berry stood at a discreet distance. “Don’t ask,” Hattie said under her breath.

“I wouldn’t think of it,” replied Bing in the same tone.

“May I call for a haquenee?” asked Berry, making a gesture toward the street.

“If you would,” Hattie agreed, thinking the situation a farce and very much in keeping with the tenor of this miserable, miserable evening.

Hailing a horse-drawn transport, he recited her address to the driver without asking her for it, which put him on the receiving end of another assessing glance. As he handed Bing into the conveyance he turned to Hattie. “I will call on you tomorrow, if you will permit.”

“To what purpose?”

“It is important you do not leave before I have spoken to you.”

Hattie shook her head slightly in bemusement. “Why on earth would I retreat? I cannot allow Robbie to think I am crushed; I am not such a sap-skull.”

He ducked his chin at her, his eyes gleaming in amusement. “You are forthright.”

“And you are a master at avoiding questions you’d rather not answer—it appears I am no match for you in guile.”

He teased her with a charming smile, his teeth flashing white in the darkness. “Come, come—such modesty; you are the god-king’s daughter, after all.”

Surprised, she met his eyes to find his gaze suddenly sharp upon hers. The gentleman did not appear crazed—he must have misconstrued a chance comment. “You misunderstand—the new tomb contains the remains of the god-king’s daughter.”

“Your pardon,” he said, and bowed.





Chapter 3





On the carriage ride home, Hattie frowned out the window, thinking over the odd and convergent events of the evening. “I will need to purchase some new clothes.” Unspoken was the desire to have something rather low in the décolleté, as she had an impressive figure for one so petite and had noted that she’d best look lively—the Frenchwomen she had met thus far were very well turned out, and he seemed like the kind of man who would take notice of such things.