Page 38 of Traitor in Her Arms (The Scarlet Chronicle 2)

She knocked briskly on the door, then looked back at him over her shoulder. “I haven’t decided yet.”

“On what will you base your decision?”

“Whether or not you can be trusted.”

She heard footsteps from inside approaching the door and held her breath, uncertain who would answer and praying she had correctly followed the Scarlet Pimpernel’s directions. But before the door opened, Sedgwick whispered in her ear. “I’m not to be trusted. Don’t forget that.”

She turned to him, intending to ask what he meant by that statement, when the door opened and a pixie of a woman scowled at them. She was small, slim, and doll-like with her cropped blond hair and her large green eyes. She was also dressed in an Elizabethan costume complete with ruff and farthingale.

“May I help you?” she asked in perfect, lilting French.

“I…I don’t know,” Gabrielle said, suddenly realizing she didn’t know what she should tell this woman. Was she in league with the Scarlet Pimpernel or did she simply live at this address? Perhaps her husband was part of the League.

“We were told to come here and await further instructions,” Sedgwick said. “I fear Citoyenne Leboeuf thinks we may have stumbled back in time.”

The woman’s eyes lit, and she smiled, revealing dimples. “I’m off to the theater in a moment,” the woman explained. “I’m an actress at the People’s Theater.” She held the door open and stepped back. “Come in. I think I know who sent you.”

Gabrielle and Sedgwick entered, and the pixie shut the door behind them with a bang. Gabrielle jumped, but the woman was already rushing to an adjacent parlor and peering through the closed draperies. “Are you mad?” she said in English, her attitude changing rapidly from pleasure to annoyance. “Why on earth would you come to the front door? Do you want me to be arrested?”

“No,” Gabrielle glanced at Sedgwick, who shrugged. “My instructions didn’t specify a door—“

“Are you really that naïve?” the woman said, rushing back into the small vestibule and peering out of a curtained window at the house across the street. “Never mind. I can see you are. You have no idea the danger you are in.”

“I only want to help,” Gabrielle said.

The woman shook her head. “Then try not getting me killed.”

Sedgwick stepped smoothly between the two women. He extended his hand. “Ramsey, Earl of Sedgwick, and you are?”

The pixie shook her head. “Don’t tell me your real name!” But with a sigh of resignation, she held out her hand. “Alexandra Martin. My friends call me Alex.”

“You are English,” Gabrielle said.

“Yes, and I don’t have an alias. I’m an actress, working in Paris. Who are you?” Before Gabrielle could answer, Alex held up a finger. “Notyour real name.”

“Gabrielle Leboeuf, lace maker,” Gabrielle said. “And this is Ramsey Delpierre, soldier.”

Alex shook her head and mumbled something about poor casting. She started up the stairs. “Let me show you to your room. I have to be at the theater in a quarter of an hour.”

Gabrielle followed, glad to finally have a place to lie down and close her eyes for a moment. She was still plagued with the image of the marquis’s violent death. Alex opened a door and said, “Voilà!” indicating a small but cheery room with a bed and a table. “Here you are.”

She turned and made to descend the stairs again, but Gabrielle caught her arm. “Wait! We can’t possibly share a room.”

Alex blinked at her, clearly in a hurry. “This is the only spare room I have.”

“But—“

“You’re not sleeping with me,” Alex said. But she turned to Sedgwick. “I might be willing to make allowances for you, though I doubt Bruno would look upon another man in my bed favorably.”

“No need to anger Bruno,” Sedgwick said smoothly. “Citoyenne Leboeuf and I are grateful for the accommodations.”

The actress nodded. “I’ll be home sometime after midnight. Try not to get into trouble.”

“Wait!” Gabrielle called, and Alex frowned at her, clearly ready to be away. “I was told I’d be given further instructions.”

Alex sighed. “You really know nothing! Very well, there’s a ball in Sainte Marguerite tonight—that’s a cemetery.”

“A ball at a graveyard?” Gabrielle shivered.

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