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Constance forced out an airy laugh as she slid out from beneath him, escaping the confines of the settee.

Julian’s expression had gone dark and angry, leading Constance to wonder if she had just set a trap for herself. If she refused to allow her nose to be tickled by Julian’s mustache—and who knew what else beyond that—he might think better of all the beans he had just spilled to her, which could put her in a tight spot indeed.

She had no interest at all in making Julian Foster-Mowbray her lover, even for the purpose of espionage. She scrambled for a way out.

The only one that presented itself to her was admittedly a bit of a stretch—but if one must bluff, one might as well do it wildly.

“Julian!” she exclaimed. “You know I don’t believe in doing such things until one is properly and legally wed!”

Julian stared at her with shock. “You… what?”

“Reverend Spencer has been quite clear about it,” Constance lied authoritatively. “A woman’s lips are for prayer alone until she is in a state of legal and holy matrimony.”

Julian opened his mouth to reply but was clearly at a loss. “I… had no idea that you were so… er, spiritual,” he offered awkwardly.

“Oh yes.” Constance widened her eyes in a manner she hoped looked suitably devout. “I really am.”

Julian’s gaze had turned distinctly skeptical, and Constance began to feel just a little bit nervous.

She was saved by the sound of a voice from the stairwell.

“Amir?”

“What is it?” Julian shot back irritably at the thin crewman who hovered at the edge of the salon.

“Reis Hassan wished me to inform you that we will stop for the evening in one hour, after the bridge at Nagga Hammadi,” he replied.

“What do we need to stop for?” Julian complained. “I told you that we needed to reach ourdestinationas quickly as possible.”

He cast an awkward look over at Constance, who tried to appear as though she was contemplating something holy.

“But it is not safe to run the ship in the dark, Amir,” the crewman returned a little desperately.

“Why not?” Julian retorted petulantly. “The river’s enormous and we’re just going along with the current. Surely we can keep that up by moonlight. Put some lamps in the bow.”

The crewman cast a nervous look down the stairwell. Constance suspected that the reis himself likely hovered there, having wisely preferred not to subject himself directly to Julian’s whining.

“We would certainly need to slow beyond the bridge for the cliffs at Gebel Tukh,” the crewman pressed. “The river narrows there and it would be foolish to attempt the passage in the dark at full speed.”

“Fine,” Julian said with an impatient wave of his hand.

The crewman made a hurried bow, obviously eager to get away. Constance more or less agreed. She had best extricate herself from the situation before Julian questioned her spiritual awakening. She really would prefer not to have to stab him.

“Goodness, would you look at the time?” She put on a yawn. “All of thistravelingis so very exhausting! I’m off to bed. Brunch al fresco in the morning?”

Julian stared at her, not quite managing to keep up. “Brunch? I mean—certainly, darling. Whatever you like.”

“Aren’t you a dear?” Constance assured him—and bolted for the stairs.

She had come dangerously close to endangering her virtue—which, to be fair, she had been eager to throw to the wind regardless. But not to Julian Forster-Mowbray!

Her lips-are-for-prayer excuse wouldn’t stand for long—but it didn’t have to.

Constance had no intention of sticking around for brunch.

??

Twenty-Five