HARRY SWORE IF he were ever to meet a poet who waxed euphoric about the joys of love, he’d thrash him thoroughly. Love, thus far, was not birds singing under blue skies or joyous hearts all atwitter. No. It was annoying and frustrating and, yes, frightening. Especially when one was in love with a woman who absolutely refused to understand that the realities of life were a far cry from stories she made up. Beyond that—he had no idea if she shared his feelings.
Harry paced the floor in his room and considered his options. That, in itself, was irritating. He’d never been one to pace, at least not before his life had become entangled with Sidney Gordon. He’d always considered himself more a man of action than someone who simply paced. Of course, he’d never found himself in the mess he had to deal with now. How on earth was he supposed to keep Sidney and her friends from harm if they insisted on doing exactly what they wished?
Sidney had absolutely no sense whatsoever. Nor did her friends. The fact that their little adventures had not ended in disaster was due to nothing more than luck. None of them seemed to realize that. No doubt because they were not visiting Egypt—the real Egypt—with its dangers and secrets and intrigue. No, they were all visiting the fairy-tale land Sidney had created in her ridiculous stories.
He could continue his efforts to protect Sidney from exposure by Corbin but, as much as he disliked the man, he recognized the reporter was not a complete idiot. If he had been doing his job as an observer instead of trying to charm every female in sight, and had watched Sidney closely, he would have realized by now she had never stepped foot in Egypt. It was only a matter of time until he did. In addition, Corbin was obviously taken with Sidney although not so much that he wouldn’t sacrifice her to get what he wanted. Harry didn’t like that one bit.
He paused in midstep. There really was only one way to shield Sidney from Corbin, one way to keep Sidney, and the old ladies, safe from themselves. It would mean a change in his plans but it couldn’t be helped. He would find some other way to do what he wanted to do.
Harry sat down at the desk and pulled a telegraph form from the rack of stationery supplied by the hotel. He hesitated for no more than a minute. No, this was the right thing to do. He selected his words carefully so there could be no mistaking his message. The moment he finished he sat back and blew a long breath. For the first time in what seemed like a very long time, Harry Armstrong had taken matters back into his own hands. Satisfaction washed through him. He reread the telegraph and decided to send it first thing in the morning even though the bellman had said the telegraph office was open all night. Past experience had taught him sending a telegram—anonymously informing the authorities as to a misdeed or announcing a possible new discovery—without thorough consideration did not always work out well.
He’d read it again tomorrow and then he’d send it. The only way to keep Sidney protected from exposure, as well as keep her and her friends safe from their own misguided escapades, was to get them out of Egypt. With luck, they would be heading back to England no later than the day after tomorrow. Not soon enough but it couldn’t be helped. In the meantime, even though he didn’t think Sidney’s possession of the medallion put her in any real danger, he was not going to take any chances. Harry grabbed a pillow from his bed, left his room and strode down the corridor to Sidney’s door then knocked sharply. A few moments later, he heard movement on the other side of the door.
“Who is it?” Sidney asked quietly.
“It’s me.”
“Harry?”
“Yes, were you expecting someone else?”
“No, but I wasn’t expecting you either.”
“May I come in?”
“What do you want?”
“Do you want to discuss this through the door or will you let me in?”
“I suppose.” She pulled open the door and he stepped inside.
Sidney had on the most absurdly proper nightwear, an unseen gown covered by a heavy robe. There was barely an inch of her exposed. She reminded him of a well-wrapped present on Christmas morning. He’d always been fond of Christmas morning. “Why are you here? And why do you have a pillow?”
“Because I am going to sleep here.” He stepped around her and tossed his pillow on the sofa.
“You most certainly are not.”
“I most certainly am.” He sat on the sofa, bounced twice and nodded. “This will do.”
“If you don’t leave at once, I’ll ring for help.”
He winced. “That would be awkward.” He stretched out on the sofa, his feet dangling over the end, folded his hands behind his head and grinned. “I’d probably have to sing. And while I can carry a tune I have always been more lauded for my volume than my quality.” He paused. “Of course, you could give me the object and I would gladly leave.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I said I wanted a closer look.”
“And I said I intended to protect you.”
She frowned. “Do you really think there’s any kind of danger? Mr. Wallace is gone after all.”
“I don’t know, which is precisely why I’m here. All we do know is that the object has been stolen at least twice and may well have come from the tomb of a queen.”
“That’s quite a bit though, don’t you think?”
He studied her curiously. “Do you?”
“Perhaps,” she said slowly.
“It has been entirely too long a day to play games, Sidney.” He’d had no sleep last night and he wasn’t sure tonight would be any better. “Either tell me what you’re thinking or go to bed.”
“What I’m thinking is that you’re being ridiculous.” She waved her hand at the sofa. “You can’t sleep here.”
“Oh, but I can.” He closed his eyes.
“I assure you I don’t need protection. I can take care of myself.”
“Because you’re the Queen of the Desert?”
“Well...yes.” She paused. “That sofa is extremely uncomfortable.”
“I’ve slept on worse.”
“This is terribly improper.” Irritation rang in her voice. Good. “How do I know your intentions are honorable?”
“You said you trusted me.”
“I do. About most things. But this is different.”
“I assure you, you are quite safe with me.”
For a long moment she didn’t say anything. “Are you sure you’re safe with me?”
Harry opened his eyes and grinned.
“Good Lord, Harry. Apparently arguing with you about this is pointless.” She heaved a frustrated sigh. “Very well, then.” She turned and went through an arched, curtained opening to the bed beyond. “Sleep well. If you can,” she added and jerked the curtains closed.
Harry chuckled. There was something truly enjoyable about annoying Sidney. He sat up, pulled off his coat and tie and slipped off his shoes. Then he turned off the lamp and tried to get comfortable. She was right—the sofa was hard, unforgiving and entirely too short. It had been nearly a year since he’d slept in anything other than utter comfort. Odd how quickly one gets used to something.
The curtains between the sitting area and the bed chamber were shockingly sheer with the light on and Sidney’s figure was perfectly, teasingly, delightfully silhouetted. Harry knew the proper thing—the gentlemanly thing—to do would be not to look. Apparently, he was not that much of a gentleman.
How convenient that the woman he had fallen head over heels for had such an enticing form. The curve of her hips, the swell of her breasts... Good God. He’d have no sleep again tonight at this rate. He rolled over to face the back of the sofa and willed himself not to think of what was just behind the curtain.
The springs creaked when she got into bed and he assumed it was safe to turn over. The sofa was not exceptionally wide. Even as tired as he was, sleep evaded him. It didn’t help that Sidney’s bed creaked every time she moved and she moved endlessly. The creaking punctuated with frustrated sighs indicated she was getting no more sleep than he.
“Are you asleep?” Sidney asked softly.
He toyed with the idea of pretending to be asleep.
“Harry?” She was a bit louder now. “Are you asleep?”
He bit back a smile. “If I was I wouldn’t be now.”
“Oh. Sorry. Good night, then.”
“Did you want something?”
“I can’t sleep.” She shifted on the bed. “I thought perhaps we could talk. Unless, of course, I did wake you up in which case I should probably—”
“I was awake. I can’t sleep either. You were right about the sofa.”
“I did warn you.” She paused. “I’m afraid I wasn’t very gracious about your insistence on staying in my room. I do understand that you think it’s a matter of safety and I appreciate your concern.”
“And?”
“And I shall try to consider my actions before taking them in the future.”
“Good.” It wasn’t much of a promise but it was better than nothing. He propped his head up on his elbow and gazed at the archway to her room. Not that he could see anything. “That’s a hard lesson to learn—giving due consideration to anything before leaping into it.”
“I’ve never really been rash. I’ve always thought too much about anything I’ve ever done.” She sighed. “But, then, I’ve never done much.”
“What about the adventures you base your lady adventurer stories on?”
“Oh yes, of course. They were simply so long ago. I haven’t done anything, except study and research, that wasn’t a product of my own mind in longer than I can remember.” Regret sounded in her voice. “Sometimes those adventures feel like they belong to someone else entirely.”
Was she about to confess? Not that it mattered anymore. Although it was one of those things one couldn’t quite move past. After all, if he was going to have a wife—and apparently he had made that decision—shouldn’t she trust him with her secrets? He had known women who weren’t particularly good in character and Sidney was not one of them. No doubt she had an excellent reason for deceiving the world.
And shouldn’t he trust her with his secrets as well? Of course he should and really his secrets were so much more insignificant than hers. Yes, he was an earl and, yes, he was the one who had criticized her work and, no, he hadn’t mentioned either of those points. But the latter could be forgiven and he was already taking steps toward that and the former surely wouldn’t be a problem. After all—what woman didn’t want a titled husband?
“Tell me about your husband.”
“My husband?” Caution sounded in her voice. “Why?”
“I was just curious. You never mention him.”
“I don’t, do I?” She paused. “It sounds dreadful to admit but, to be honest, I can barely remember him. We weren’t together very long. We were just married when we came to Egypt and then he died—drowned,” she added quickly. “In the Nile.”
“My condolences.”
“He was not eaten by crocodiles.”
“Well, that’s something at any rate.”
If Sidney had never been to Egypt, how could her husband have drowned in the Nile? Were some elements of her stories true? One did wonder if she even had a husband. Surely a woman wouldn’t prevaricate about something like that. But one never knew. In his experience, women lied about far less.
Well, if she wasn’t a widow but had had unfortunate experiences, he could overlook that. In truth, it meant she was no better than he. He’d had any number of experiences although he wouldn’t recall any that had been unfortunate. But the world judged women differently than they did men. He’d never really thought about what he wanted in a wife—had really never considered a wife at all until he’d inherited his title—and it was too late now. Sidney was the only woman in the world for him, the only one he wanted now and for the rest of his life. He was more than willing to ignore anything in her past and hoped she would be willing to do the same. Nothing mattered before they met.
Still, he did want her to admit that he was right.
“As I said it was a long time ago.” She paused. “I am sorry about your friend.”
“My friend?”
“The one who died here? Mr. Pickering.”
“Walter.” He blew a resigned breath. “How did you hear about Walter?”
“Mr. Nazzal told me. I asked him about you.”
“I see.” If Nazzal had said anything about Harry’s title, Sidney would have mentioned it by now. If she knew he wasn’t the nephew of the man determined to destroy her career but the man himself, without question she would have confronted him. Even so, he held his breath. “And did you learn anything interesting?”
“Nothing, apparently, that isn’t common knowledge. I learned your father is a scholar and an expert on Egypt. I discovered you were more familiar with Egypt than I had been led to believe and you and your friends spent nearly twenty years here.”
“He was right.” Harry chuckled. “All common knowledge.”
“He said some very nice things as well.”
“I wouldn’t believe them if I were you.”
“I would tell you but they’d go straight to your head.” She chuckled softly.
Nothing else was said for some time. He thought she was asleep and was just on the verge of slumber himself. “I understand why you don’t want to talk about your friend.”
Yet another secret. He drew a deep breath. “Walter Pickering, Benjamin Deane and I left Cambridge to conquer Egypt and make our fortunes nearly twenty years ago now. And we were fairly successful although our purpose, oh, evolved I would say, through the years. Monetary reward became less important than saving the past. Preserving it, I suppose, from people very much like we were. It was how we intended to leave our mark.
“Two years ago, we were searching for a tomb reputed to be in the Western Desert. Walter contracted a fever. It came on quickly.” Even now, he could clearly recall the details as if it were yesterday: the merciless heat, the relentless sand, the never-ending battle against biting insects. The flush of Walter’s face and the look of resignation in the eyes of the locals they had hired, as if they knew efforts to save Walter would fail. “We were some distance from Cairo, from anywhere of significance really. Walter was delirious. We tried whatever we could to bring down his fever and thought we had succeeded. At last he had fallen asleep and it seemed the worst had passed. We were all exhausted.” Aside from his father, Harry had never told this to anyone. He wasn’t sure why he was talking about it now. He and Ben never really spoke of it. What was there to say? “When we woke up he was gone. Apparently in his delirium he wandered out into the desert.”
A soft gasp sounded from Sidney’s bed.
It was hard even now to forgive that failure. Harry knew Ben had never forgiven himself either. “We searched for months and never found his body. The nature of the desert really. But Egypt wasn’t the same for us after losing Walter. We decided to return to England permanently not long after that. I didn’t think I’d ever come back to Egypt.”
“In spite of the circumstances, I’m glad you did.”
“In spite of the circumstances, so am I.” He hadn’t realized it before now, but returning to Egypt was probably a good thing. It was time to put the past behind him. Time to lay Walter to rest.
“Why are you really here tonight, Harry?” Sidney asked quietly.
“Because I’m not sure I could forgive myself if anything happened to you.” He held his breath. He’d never made such a declaration before.
She was silent for so long he wasn’t sure what to think. Surely she hadn’t fallen asleep. Or perhaps she didn’t think a response was called for. Because he had overstepped? Or revealed too much?
“Good night, Harry,” she said at last, a distinct smile in her voice.
“Good night, Sidney.”
Something inside him warmed to hear Sidney’s voice knowing it was the last thing he would hear at night. With any luck—it would soon be the last thing he heard every night for the rest of his life.
* * *
“HARRY,” SIDNEY’S VOICE sounded softly beside his ear. “You need to get up now. We’re to meet the others in less than an hour.”
He reluctantly opened his eyes. She was already dressed for the day.
He wasn’t sure when he’d had a worse night’s sleep. He’d barely had any rest at all between the discomfort of the sofa, the creaking of her bed and endless dreams of her. Sidney as a Queen of the Desert, in a terribly proper robe she discarded to reveal something vaguely resembling traditional Egyptian garments, only far more erotic and tempting. There was another dream where she was attired as a dancing girl performing a native dance that he would be hard-pressed to forget and wasn’t sure he wanted to. He dreamed he had awakened during the night to see her sitting at the writing desk, holding the medallion and reading from an old book. He’d immediately abandoned this dream for those far more interesting—Sidney on a chaise dressed as Cleopatra and beckoning him closer. It was a wonder he’d survived the night. He glanced at the desk. There was no evidence of any nocturnal activity. It was probably nothing more than her insistence on studying the medallion lingering in his head.
“You do need to leave now,” Sidney said briskly. “I would prefer no one knew you spent the night here.”
“Quite right,” he muttered and slowly unfolded himself from the cramped position forced on him by the sofa. He’d slept in tents, on the floors of caves and the antechambers of tombs—all of which seemed mild compared to the instrument of torture that was her sofa.
“What’s on the schedule for today?” he asked, hopping from one foot to the other in an attempt to put on his shoes.
“Today, we’re taking a steamer for a daylong excursion up the Nile.” She handed him his coat and he got to his feet.
“More sightseeing?” He pulled on his coat and tie.
“Well, we don’t have time to sail to Luxor or the Valley of the Kings or Karnak. I do regret that I won’t be able to visit once again all those places that are so dear to my heart.” She shook her head in a mournful manner. “The ladies did so want to sail on the Nile and I’m afraid this will have to do. Surely you wouldn’t deprive them of that?”
“No, of course not.” This was absurd. Corbin was right—this was nothing more than a tourist excursion. It certainly did not prove the veracity of Sidney’s writing. “Sidney.” He took her hands and gazed into her eyes. “Don’t you think it’s time we ended this farce?”
“Why, Harry.” Her eye widened in feigned innocence. “I have no idea what you mean.”
He would wager every penny he had she knew exactly what he meant. Still, if she wanted to continue this charade, why not?
“Very well, then.” He nodded and released her hands. “Today, we shall sail the Nile.”
“Excellent.” She cast him a satisfied smile. “Try not to be late. I’m told the steamer always leaves promptly on time.”
“Oh, and I would hate to miss it.” He was still chuckling when he left her room. One thing he could say about the love of his life: she did not admit defeat easily. He rather liked that. And admittedly, he was enjoying this game of theirs even though he intended to end it.
He changed his clothes, stopped by the telegraph office and then joined the rest of their party in front of the hotel.
Daniel was assisting the ladies into a carriage and did not look especially happy.
Harry glanced around. “Where’s Mrs. Gordon?”
“Poor dear girl.” Mrs. Higginbotham shook her head. “She woke up with a blinding headache this morning and sent word that she would be staying in bed today.”
“Did she?” Odd, she looked the picture of health less than an hour ago. What was Sidney up to now?
“Such a pity.” Lady Blodgett sighed. “We know how much Sidney was looking forward to a sail on the Nile. It’s been such a long time since she last did so.”
“She has always spoken of those days so fondly.” Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore smiled pleasantly.
“Well, if Mrs. Gordon isn’t coming,” Corbin began, “perhaps someone should stay here in case she needs anything.”
“Nonsense, Daniel.” Lady Blodgett waved him into the carriage and he climbed in with barely concealed reluctance. “Women, in general, do not want men around them when they are not feeling quite up to snuff.”
“Are you sure she isn’t feeling well?” Harry climbed into the carriage.
“Without question,” Mrs. Higginbotham said firmly. “Why she wasn’t looking at all well when I stopped in her room before coming down.”
“I thought you said she sent word that she wasn’t feeling well?”
“She did,” Mrs. Higginbotham said with a smug smile. “Through me.” She met his gaze directly as if daring him to challenge her statement.
“Hopefully, she’ll feel better by the time we return,” Harry said slowly.
“I have no doubt of it.” The tiniest gleam of something that might well have been triumph shone in Mrs. Higginbotham’s eyes.
Whatever Sidney was planning, Mrs. Higginbotham—and the other ladies he assumed—was in on it. A familiar queasy feeling settled in the pit of his stomach. By the time they reached the landing at Boulak, where the Nile steamers departed, Harry had realized, while his vison of Sidney in suggestive harem dress had certainly been a dream, her studying the medallion had not. Whatever she was up to no doubt had to do with the artifact. He was not about to allow her to do whatever it was she had planned alone. Not if he had anything to say about it.
They boarded the steamer and he waited until the deckhands were just about to remove the gangplank.
“Damnation.” He gasped and patted his waistcoat pockets. “I don’t have my watch.”
“You probably left it in your room.” Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore smiled in sympathy. “I forget things all the time.”
“You don’t understand.” He adopted a note of panic. “That watch is a talisman of sorts, a good luck charm if you will. I never go anywhere without it. I have to have it. You understand.” He hurried toward the gangplank.
“You’ll miss the boat, Harry,” one of the ladies called after him.
The gangplank had just been pulled onto the deck. Damn! He had cut it entirely too close. Still there was nothing to be done about it. He had no choice. He took a running start and jumped for the dock across the rapidly widening water, not entirely confident as to the outcome. His feet thudded on the wooden planks with a good inch to spare and he grinned with relief. And a certain amount of pride. It had been some time after all.
On the steamer, the ladies stared in disbelief. He took off his hat and swept an exaggerated bow, in the best manner of any stage performer. The ladies waved back at him although he thought their efforts rather halfhearted. No doubt their mission for today was to keep him and Corbin out of Sidney’s way. He grinned and headed for the cabs.
Sidney had underestimated him. He said he intended to protect her, and protect her he would.
Whether she wanted him to or not.