Free The Lure of the Moonflower by Lauren Willig Page A

said the Pink Carnation briskly, “is hardly what I expect to hear from Rodrigo, the seller of lame horses.”
    “The horse wasn’t— Never mind.” Jack scrubbed his knife off on a fold of his shirt and stuck it back in his sleeve. It wasn’t his fault if certain Frenchmen had never learned to ride.
    “You’ve traveled safely the breadth of the country,” said the Carnation, managing somehow to sound entirely sensible. “How is this any different?”
    The woman had no idea what she was getting into. Yes, her performance tonight had been without par. She could masquerade convincingly as a courtesan or a French soldier—but could she saddle a mule? Scale the side of a gorge? She was an urban creature, a creature of the drawing room. Oh, all right, and the tavern. But she wasn’t accustomed to the type of terrain they would have to travel.
    “Do you plan to disguise yourself as a horse?” asked Jack caustically. “Because that’s what a horse seller tends to have with him. Horses.”
    If she had been a man, he would have added certain choice comments about the nether parts of the horse’s anatomy. But something about her straight back and direct gaze made the coarse comments shrivel on his tongue. You could put the lady into a French dragoon’s breeches, but she was still, unmistakably, a lady.
    “You could always go back to England and take ship for Porto,” suggested Jack, although without much hope.
    “And leave the Queen stranded in the midst of French patrols? No.” The Pink Carnation shook her head briskly, as though they were having a perfectly reasonable discussion and not an opium addict’s addled dream. “But you do have a point. We’ll travel faster by river.”
    True as far as it went, but she’d ignored a crucial point. “I hate to disillusion you, princess, but the French came to the same conclusion. The Tejo is crawling with French soldiers.”
    The Carnation smiled benevolently upon him. “Then we shall simply be French soldiers.”
    Jack spoke without thinking. “No.”
    “Why not?” The Pink Carnation began ticking off points on her fingers. “There should be no difficulty in acquiring a spare uniform. I’ve heard you speak the language. Your accent is convincing enough. And I,” she added blandly, “have already established my bona fides.”
    She had intended this all along.
    Jack’s eyes narrowed on the Carnation’s face as the pieces clicked into place. He was beginning to get a sense of how she operated. Like a stage magician, it was all a matter of misdirection.
    Had she known already that the Queen might be in the north? Possibly. The rest was a charade, designed to make Jack feel important, make him feel as though he were part of a decision-making process that had already been decided.
    Deliberately, Jack slouched back against the wall, his eyes traveling from her boots to her breeches and then, finally, to her face. “Is that what tonight’s exhibition was in aid of? Establishing your bona fides?”
    He saw the Carnation’s back stiffen. “Tonight’s exhibition, as you put it, saved you from a beating, Mr. Reid.”
    He would take that as a yes. Jack’s lips twisted in a crooked smile. “Only after you put me in the way of one.”
    The Pink Carnation raised her chin, looking like judge and jury all in one. “You put yourself in the way of one, Mr. Reid. Your way of life is hardly conducive to restful pursuits.”
    She paraded around a strange city in men’s trousers and she dared to accuse him of reckless behavior?
    Jack prowled forward. “Which way of life do you mean, princess? Horse trading? Or espionage? Because if it’s the latter, there’s an adage about pots and kettles that might apply.” He paused directly in front of her, looking into her serene, lying face. “I went into this life because I had no other choice. What’s your excuse?”
    The Pink Carnation stood very still, but he could feel the change in her, a tension beneath the surface.
    She