(It’s so rude to not even consider the idea that he might’ve been busy with someone like Lady Clothilde, actually—)
But, bemused, Stephen steps aside. “Ah, so you’ve been up to spy stuff,” he says mildly, although there’s a touch of admiration in his voice. “I thought that was more the purview of Scouting.”
Not for the first nor the last time, he’s reminded of the Black Widows, of lethal and competent women with knives, climbing rooftops. He holds the window like he’s holding a door open for her — the chilly wind’s cutting into the room, nipping at his open throat — and ushers Gwenaëlle in from the cold, bizarre as the whole thing feels.
He wonders if he should be offering hot tea; a nightcap.
no subject
But, bemused, Stephen steps aside. “Ah, so you’ve been up to spy stuff,” he says mildly, although there’s a touch of admiration in his voice. “I thought that was more the purview of Scouting.”
Not for the first nor the last time, he’s reminded of the Black Widows, of lethal and competent women with knives, climbing rooftops. He holds the window like he’s holding a door open for her — the chilly wind’s cutting into the room, nipping at his open throat — and ushers Gwenaëlle in from the cold, bizarre as the whole thing feels.
He wonders if he should be offering hot tea; a nightcap.