Daughter of the God-King by Anne Cleeland

chin down to behold Monsieur Berry, standing respectfully at a small distance. Rather than gape at him, she pulled herself together and warily waited, the realization that he was one step ahead of her and two steps ahead of the British making her heart sink. I hope I have not been an idiot, she thought; but I suppose if he wished to do me in, he has already had plenty of opportunity to do so. On the other hand, the fact that he was here unannounced could not be described as anything other than ominous, and it was past time she brushed the stardust from her eyes.
    He had not approached, as though aware that she needed time to process this unlooked-for development. “Please do not be angry; you will come to no harm at my hands—my promise on it.”
    “Why are you here?”
    “Why do you travel to Cairo?” he countered.
    But she would win this round. “My parents are missing, if you will recall.”
    He took a tentative step closer, watching for her reaction. “You do not understand many things, mademoiselle; and you take a very foolish risk.”
    But this was the wrong thing to say to Hattie, who retorted hotly, “A greater risk than staying in Paris, where I am besieged by men who seek to beguile my supposed secrets?”
    He slowly shook his head in denial. “I cannot speak for Monsieur Tremaine, but I do not attempt to beguile you, mademoiselle.”
    This was so patently untrue that she replied with a full measure of scorn, “I beg to disagree; Robbie has never arranged to meet me in my chamber after midnight.”
    But apparently he disliked being chided every bit as much as she. “Come now; you nurse a grudge because I would not kiss you.”
    Her face flooding with color, Hattie was so shocked she could not even make a furious rejoinder. “You should go,” she managed, holding on to her temper only with an effort.
    “No, I will not.” He stepped close and put a hand on her arm, bending to look into her face. “Look—I am sorry. I shouldn’t have said it.”
    “You are no gentleman,” she bit out, wholly embarrassed, which made her all the angrier.
    “Forgive me; I was unkind.”
    Placing her palms over her eyes, she took a deep breath. You need to calm down, she thought, or you are going to cry, and that will not go well at all.
    His voice continued next to her ear, the timbre quiet and sincere. “Hattie, these are dangerous people—allow me to keep you safe.” His use of her name did get her attention—his accent resulted in an emphasis on the second syllable that she found very pleasing, despite everything. She lifted her gaze to his, and saw that he was very serious, his eyes searching hers.
    “Please don’t be angry—it is for the best, believe me.” He did not retreat behind his usual formality; for once his manner seemed genuine, and she found it more disarming than if he had made a dozen pretty speeches. “Allow me to help you.”
    Hattie fixed her gaze on his cravat, and even as she was aware that she shouldn’t trust him an inch, she couldn’t seem to help herself, and so complained in a tone that unfortunately sounded rather childish, “I would ask that you were more honest with me; I am heartily sick of mysteries.”
    “I cannot be honest with you. But I can protect you.”
    Surprised, she lifted her gaze to his and digested his comment, both parts equally alarming. “I thought you said I was not in danger.”
    “That was before I knew you were leaving for Cairo on your own.”
    “No longer—we have been commandeered,” she riposted with some heat.
    “What was I to do? You would not tell me of your plans.”
    There was a hint of accusation in his voice that told her he was rather hurt by this, and hearing it, she took pity on him. “It is nothing personal, you understand; I don’t know who to trust.”
    “You can trust me,” he assured her without hesitation.
    She arched a dark brow in skepticism. “Can I? Who is it you work for, truly?”
    There was the barest pause. “I