Page 76 of The Boxing Baroness

“Will you be visiting family while you are in France?”

An evasive expression flickered across her handsome face so fast that he thought he might have imagined it.

“I am the last of my family.” She shrugged. “But I have a new family now.” She glanced at something over Sin’s shoulder and her mouth tightened. “Ah, here is one I think of as my own daughter.”

Sin stood and turned, his gaze landing first on Cecile Tremblay and then, standing behind her, Marianne.

His mouth opened in surprise.

“Is there room for us?” Cecile asked.

Sin yanked his startled gaze off Marianne. “Yes, of course.” He pulled out two chairs beside him.

Cecile said, “Here, you take this chair beside Sin, Marianne.”

Marianne didn’t turn toward him, but he saw that her pale cheeks were flushed.

“You almost resemble a young woman tonight, Marianne,” Sonia said, not looking especially pleased about the fact.

Marianne smiled faintly, unperturbed by the dig. “Thank you, Sonia. You look very nice, too.” She turned a sideways glance at Sin. “Thank you for seeing to Reggie for me.”

He’d all but needed to wrench the reins from her frozen fingers before she had allowed him to help her.

“It was my pleasure,” he said, unable to stop staring.

She lowered her eyes.

“Some wine?” he offered, unsettled by this new, almost demure version of a woman who was usually so fierce and direct.

“Please.”

Sin raised his hand and summoned the waiter.

Sonia and Cecile discussed what was probably going to happen in Lille, the two women speaking rapid French, and leaving him with Marianne.

“You look very nice.”

Well, that sounded tepid.

“Er, quite pretty,” he amended, and then wanted to chew out his own tongue when she raised her startled hazel eyes, giving him a disbelieving look.

“What?” she retorted, her cheeks flaming. “Did you think I wasn’t a female, Your Grace?”

Rather than be offended, Sin grinned at her hostility, pleased and relieved that she was still her acerbic self, no matter what clothing she wore.

Her eyes widened as they flickered over his face.

“What?” he mocked. “Did you think I was incapable of smiling?”

“As a matter of fact, I did. Merci,” she said to the waiter.

Sin saw her wearing dresses often—she fought in a dress and showed up for her training sessions in the gray woolen gowns she favored. The only real difference in her person tonight was the color and cut of the gown—the navy flattering to her skin tone—and some dainty pearl earbobs. She’d also done something to her hair—although he couldn’t tell what.

She did look pretty, but mostly—he realized with some surprise—she looked different, certainly no prettier than she did when garbed in breeches and a cutaway coat. In fact, that might be his favorite-outfit on her—although for reasons that were not exactly honorable.

“What do you think of France?” she asked after taking a sip of wine.

“I’ve been here before.”