Chapter Two
Alexandra allowed herself a few moments to study the man she’d once loved. Benedict had always known how to make an entrance, hadn’t he? Taking in the nuances of his expression, the flicker of response in his eyes, she searched for the truth he knew all too well how to hide.
If Benedict believed the solemn set of his features would make his rather melodramatic words more palatable—or more believable—he was sorely mistaken. She’d trusted him once. But whatever his reasons for coming here, she knew better than to put blind faith in this man, no matter how very right the touch of his warm skin felt against hers.
His just-in-the-nick-of-time arrival like some noble hero seemed far too convenient. Did he know she possessed the amulet? Had he come to secure the piece for a collector who’d further fill his coffers?
For years, she’d imagined their reunion in her mind. So many nights, she’d lain alone in her bed, visualizing the moment when his green-flecked hazel eyes once again met hers.
But this wasn’t as she’d pictured it. Not at all.
What in blazes was the scoundrel doing creeping into her study, charging to her rescue like some knight-errant in tarnished armor?
If you want to live, you’ll listen to me.
His words played in her thoughts. She could not deny her relief that he’d disabled the foul-smelling attacker. But she knew better than to approach Benedict with anything resembling trust.
“If I want to live?” She slipped her hands from his light hold. “I don’t remember you having a flair for the dramatic. Or is that a newly acquired talent?”
His eyes narrowed, the flare of a retort simmering beneath his calm surface. He threw a glance to the intruder he’d left bound and gagged on her Aubusson carpet.
“Do you doubt the threat to your life? This bastard didn’t come here to invite you to tea with the queen.” An emotion she couldn’t quite read flashed in his gaze, contradicting the dry edge to his words.
“How did you know I was in…need of assistance?” Of all the questions swirling through her thoughts, this was the only one she could find the words to voice.
“I was informed you were in danger—an old friend insisted I come after you.”
His voice was low. Husky. And strangely foreign to her ears. Over the years, something had changed in him. Something undefinable. Yet impossible to deny.
He’d gone directly to the oil lamp on her desk. Amazing, how familiar he was with the chamber. Even now. Memories drifted to the surface of her thoughts. Some pleasant. Some devastatingly bitter.
“Who sent you?” she asked.
“Putting the pen to an unconventional use was clever.” A rare note of admiration colored his tone, even as he evaded her question. “Did you learn the tactic from that scoundrel your sister wed?”
“My choice of weapon was entirely improvised. Necessity is the mother of invention, as you well know.” Her attention flickered to the once-pristine implement. The enameled pen was now cast aside, covered in the intruder’s blood. Truth be told, her brother-in-law had made a point of educating the women in his family, and in his employ, on rudimentary methods of self-defense, emphasizing the usefulness of common objects as weapons. As the head of one of the premier investigative services in all of Britain, Matthew Colton knew full well the value of preparedness in the face of a crisis.
“Quite so.” Benedict tapped the edge of the cricket bat he’d placed by the desk. Gaslight glimmered against the sandy tones of the light brown hair that brushed his collar and swept over his brow. “I’ve been on Rooney’s trail since he left Cairo, but when he arrived in London, the cur managed to evade me. Until tonight.”
“How did you know he would come after me?”
“It was a matter of time. I didn’t know where he was hiding, waiting to strike. He ran his mouth tonight in a pub not far from here. An associate alerted me to his presence. I only regret I did not arrive here first.”
“I don’t understand… Why would you pursue this man all the way from Egypt?”
Benedict stood silent, as if he was considering his next words very carefully.
He plowed long fingers through his hair. Peculiar, how familiar and endearing the gesture seemed, even in this unusual circumstance.
“Stockwell set me on his trail—he knew the danger you faced.”
“Professor Stockwell?” The name unleashed a fresh tingle of warning. “Why would he send you…of all people…after me?”
“He was out of options.”
The bluntness of his words rattled her fragile composure. What was the meaning of this?
“I thought… I was told the two of you no longer…collaborated.”
Benedict’s broad shoulders lifted and fell. “That’s one way of putting it. He cut ties with me after the incident in the Valley of the Kings.”
“The incident?” She made a little scoffing sound. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”
“The professor’s motives were different than mine. We both acknowledged that. He was well aware of my objectives. And my abilities.”
“Be that as it may, he must have been desperate to seek you out.” Speaking the words twisted her stomach into a knot.
“I don’t doubt he was—he understood the threat.” The husky notes of Benedict’s voice were stripped of emotion.
Gently, he cupped a hand to her cheek. Pride demanded she pull away from his touch, but the regret in his eyes stilled her. The feather-light touch of his fingertips felt so right against her skin.
“You shouldn’t do that,” she whispered.
His eyes narrowed, but he didn’t pull away. “Did he hurt you? Tell me the truth.”
She shook her head. “I was holding him at bay…until you showed up.”
Until you showed up. How very unexpected it was to speak those words. A sadness she’d thought long dead welled within her.
Benedict swept his thumb over her bottom lip, a tender caress, far too sensuous. Her mouth went dry with a dangerous longing.
Taking a single step back, she edged away from his touch. Reading her so very easily and so clearly, his mouth quirked into something she might’ve called a smile.
“I can recall a time when you would not have not demonstrated such…self-control,” he murmured. “Alex, you’ve changed.”
His words seemed a small dagger to the heart. She squared her shoulders. “I might say the same of you.”
His eyes flashed at her words, an emotion she could not read. His gaze wandered, settling over her shoulder. At more than six feet in height, the action did not pose a challenge. His attention appeared to light on her mahogany desk.
A shiver of warning danced over Alex’s nape. What was it he sought? Had he come for the amulet?
Startled as she’d been, she’d still possessed the presence of mind to put the pendant out of sight. Professor Stockwell’s letter had provided a somber warning of the dangers faced by any who possessed the ingot. Her mentor had been blunt—the intricately carved Egyptian piece had escaped grave robbers for millennia—now it remained a target of thieves and unscrupulous collectors.
And now, Benedict—he would never be Marlsbrook to her—was here. Had his greed for antiquities driven him to acquire it? Did he believe he might convince her to profit from the artifact Stockwell had requested she examine? Or did he think to simply take it from her?
A lump materialized in her throat. She swallowed against the raw emotion that filled her. Not that she felt any fright. Benedict would never hurt her…well, other than that nasty business when he’d crushed her heart beneath the heels of his polished boots.
His dark gaze met hers. Held it for a fleeting moment. His mouth hardened into a line. If he were a stranger, she might have found the gleam in his eyes a trifle menacing. But the man she’d known would never raise a hand to her.
He had changed in those long days since he’d left London. Once, he’d promised to love her until he took his last breath. Now, he stood before her, a cold-eyed stranger. His skin bore a golden-tanned hue from years of exposure to the desert sun, and his face had grown leaner, the contours more well-defined and sharply carved. If anything, the chiseled hardness of his features and bronzed hue of his complexion brought out the browns and greens of his intriguing, intelligent eyes. He’d always been lean, without an ounce of spare flesh on his middle, but now, he’d gained sleek layers of muscle on his upper arms and chest, exuding a sense of power he had not demonstrated before he’d left to seek his fortune. His expression radiated a raw confidence, brash and arrogant to the core. The sense of barely leashed power triggered an innate response within her, intensifying her body’s response to him.
But Benedict was not the same man she’d loved. The path he’d chosen had stripped his soul bare.
Was he now a man she had cause to fear?
Pity she did not know the answer.
Turning from her, he rubbed his jaw, as if to relieve a dull ache. A part of her longed to reach out to him, as if she might confirm through the sense of touch that he had not truly changed. An old craving surged through her. Such a shame there was nothing to be done about it. She knew better than to entertain any notions where he was concerned. She’d learned a bitter lesson, one she did not intend to repeat.
“In life, the choices we are forced to make shape our destiny,” he said, his voice low and edged with flint. “Some are bitter as bile. But in the end, the outcome justifies the means.”
“Or so you say. In your case, your choices destroyed your bond with Professor Stockwell. You were his most accomplished student. You were like a son to him. Until—”
“Until I cast it all aside for my ill-gotten gains.” Derision colored his tone. As he faced her again, his eyes darkened to a deep mossy green. “I’ve heard it all before. Spare me the lecture.”
Pain she refused to acknowledge scalded her throat. How had the man she’d once loved changed so very much? Once, humor and a love of life had flashed in his smile. Now, the hard-edge of his mouth revealed a well-cultivated cynicism. If only she could understand… Then, perhaps the lingering scar of his betrayal would finally fade.
“You are the one who must live with what you’ve done. Fortunately, you spared me that burden.”
“I never wanted to expose you to the life I’d chosen. But now, fate has intervened.” He motioned her to the door. “I presume this can be secured from the outside.”
She slipped the key from the lock. “Of course.”
He cast her assailant a contemptuous glance. “What do you say we leave this fellow? It’s not as if he’s going anywhere,” Benedict said, leading her from the chamber. “He’ll be unconscious for a while, but if he revives, I’d rather not take the chance of revealing information he might be able to pass along to his employer.”
She watched as he tested the lock. “If he manages to work his way out of his bonds, I doubt that door will imprison him.”
“No sense making it easy for the rotter. At the least, this will provide fair warning.”
“Point taken. Shall we proceed to the parlor?”
He nodded his agreement, and they walked in silence to the small, darkened chamber. Before she could light the lamps, Benedict went to the windows to draw the curtains.
Alex paced the length of the room. Her slippered feet sank into the plush pile of the Oriental carpet. “Why did the professor send you here?”
He turned to her. “I’ve already told you.”
“There is more to this story than you’ve let on. You cannot expect me to settle for what little information you’ve offered.” Settling her attention on his features, she searched for some small hint of emotion that would provide a glimpse of his motives. “Tell me now before I conclude you’re no better than the criminal who attacked me.”
He walked to the sideboard and lifted a decanter into view. “I don’t know about you, but I could use a drink.”
“Go right ahead.” She kept her tone placid, even as she deliberately hardened the expression in her eyes. “But I will not allow you to evade the question. I deserve the truth. All of it.”
Benedict poured brandy into a crystal tumbler. “Have some, Alex. It might loosen you up.”
“I do not need to be loosened up. Tell me why Stockwell sent you.”
Glass in hand, Benedict leaned against the back of a settee and stretched out his long legs. His casual posture seemed wildly incongruous with the situation. “When you theorized Stockwell was desperate, you were correct. He was nearly mad with concern when he sent for me… Concern over you.”
His words unleashed a fresh chill along her spine.
“What would lead him to worry over me?”
“Stockwell feared he’d made you a target. At first, he did not realize the impact of what he’d done…until it was nearly too late. But that didn’t change the truth.”
“I don’t understand.” She marched over to him and pinned him with her gaze. “What is all this about?”
“Stockwell entrusted you with a map.” His jaw hardened. “You need to give it to me.”
“A map?” What was the infernal man talking about? All of this chaos could not possibly be attributed to a document she’d never laid eyes on. “Rooney also demanded a map. But there’s a rather significant problem—I do not have any such item in my possession.”
His brow furrowed as a muscle tensed in his cheek. “Stockwell was clear that he’d given you the document. He insisted that I retrieve it.”
“I cannot say why the professor would state such a thing. Are you positive he was in a clear state of mind?”
“He was frantic with concern, desperate that I find you…and the map. I could see the fear in his eyes.”
Alex struggled to make sense of the situation. Benedict had always displayed a skill for evasion, but he’d never shown an affinity for outright deception. “Assuming you are telling me the truth, kindly explain why the professor would be stricken with fear.”
He lifted the tumbler to his lips and took a drink. “The man was convinced his actions had marked you for death.”
“Marked me for death?” She scoffed. “Professor Stockwell does not believe in curses and superstitious nonsense.”
“The danger has nothing to do with a curse—it has everything to do with greed and a thirst for power.” Benedict reached out for her, his touch gentle on her shoulders, seeming to want to comfort her. “Stockwell knew this. He was desperate to protect you. But he couldn’t stop the killer. He couldn’t even save himself.”