Chapter Twenty-One
A blanket of gray clouds darkened the sky as Benedict guided his phaeton to Alexandra’s brick townhouse. The residence had once served as the Quinns’ London home, though the family preferred to spend the majority of their time at their expansive country home. In the last several years, Alex’s sister and brother had gone their own way. Jennie had entered into marriage with Colton while Jeremy pursued his research at Oxford. But Alexandra had nurtured her roots in the city she loved. London suited her, with its museums and libraries and sense of history, its magnificent architecture and culture.
Through the years, she’d ventured to Egypt on several occasions. He’d gotten wind of her presence in Cairo at times, but she’d taken pains to avoid him. Or so it seemed. Not that he’d attempted to meet with her. Still enveloped in his self-disgust at the way he’d treated her, he’d acted the coward. He’d been a fool to cast her aside as though she’d meant little to him. Nothing could have been further from the truth.
He’d adored her.
Blasted shame he was unworthy of her.
Even now, he had not told her the reasons that had compelled him to leave. With little more to offer her than passion and a blasted title that did not even impress her, carving out a future with Alexandra by his side was well out of reach. She deserved better than the likes of him, better than the life he could offer her. The sooner he left, the more promising her prospects for finding a suitable match would be.
Within days of bidding her farewell, he’d set off for Egypt. And now, his work there was nearly finished. He’d made his fortune. He’d done what he’d set out to do.
Just one more tomb—one more cache of antiquities, and he would be done.
Lightning crackled overhead, a fitting punctuation for his mood. It wouldn’t be long before rain would drench the city. The threatening charcoal sky fit his somber state of mind. By all rights, he should be elated by the news Alex had conveyed with one simple word. If the map did indeed lead to the tomb of the lost princess, the treasure would provide ample funds to complete the restoration of his estate. He would never have to pillage another tomb. At that point, he could join the ranks of Stanwyck and Alexandra’s father, Sir Peter Quinn, exploring tombs for the satisfaction of the hunt, ensuring the artifacts were preserved for the sake of history and culture, rather than trading them to fill his coffers.
As he approached Alex’s red-enameled door, her housekeeper peeped out and let him in without fanfare. “Lord Marlsbrook, please, do come in.”
Was it his imagination, or had Mrs. Thomas managed to infuse his name with a faint undercurrent of contempt? The matron eyed him with a look that could best be deemed suspicious. She had not warmed to him, not in the least. Not that he blamed her. Anyone close to Alex would not find it in their heart to approve of a rogue like him.
God only knew he did not want to hurt Alexandra. Hadn’t he already scarred her tender soul? She was not like him, hardened to the core. How unfortunate that he would inflict the pain of a broken heart on her not once, but twice.
By hellfire, he hadn’t wanted it to go this way. If only the professor had not viewed Alexandra as a suitable guardian for the map. The man should’ve trusted him. After all, he’d relied on him to save Alex from the danger that Stockwell had somehow triggered.
But he’d known better than to provide Benedict with the means to getting his hands on an ancient treasure.
Some temptations were simply too inviting to resist.
Few would turn away from a fortune in gold and relics.
If only he’d been stronger…he shouldn’t have kissed Alexandra’s sweet mouth.
He shouldn’t have touched her.
And God help him, he shouldn’t have taken her to bed.
He should not have fallen in love with her.
If only his desire for her had been simple lust. To his very core, he craved her scent and her kiss and her touch. He would never willingly hurt her.
If he were a man of greater integrity, he would take the map and turn it over to Stanwyck.
Or better yet, toss it into the fire.
But he was weak.
Too weak to deserve a woman like Alexandra.
He needed to locate that treasure.
Only a fool would forgo such a rare opportunity. He would be a wealthy man. He’d never have to worry about money again.
What a damnable shame he couldn’t go through with it.
He would reclaim the map. After doing so, he would honor Stockwell’s legacy. He would search out the tomb. He would unveil its riches. And then, he would see to it that the artifacts were entrusted to the Cairo Museum.
For once, he would not betray Alexandra’s faith in him.
He had to be the better man. Even though he could only have her for a few stolen nights—sweet, tender rendezvous that could not lead to a life together.
It isn’t meant to be. She deserves far, far better than the likes of me.
“Hullo, Benedict,” she said. She came toward him, flashing a tempting little smile. With a flick of her wrist, she motioned him into her study.
He paused before the settee. As long as he lived, the image of that plush, comfortable settee and the sound and feel of the love they’d made on it would linger in his memory.
Blast it, a fresh rush of desire careened through his veins, nearly enough to break down his resolve to treat her with patience. Would she believe him an utter heathen if he closed the door behind them and claimed her again and again, right there on that velveteen-covered sofa? Or would she savor every passionate kiss, responding in kind with that delicious mouth?
“Hullo, Alexandra.” Was it a trick of the light, or was she even lovelier than she’d been the night before? Something had changed in her demeanor—something he couldn’t entirely define.
She closed the door behind them. Meeting his questioning gaze, she squared her shoulders. She might not have appeared more stiff and uneasy if she’d trespassed in the queen’s own study.
“I presume you understand why I’ve summoned you,” she said.
“I believe I interpreted your message correctly.”
“Most likely.” The faintest of smiles touched her mouth.
What in blazes is she up to?
“You’ve found the map?”
Her smile broadened. “The professor intended the markings to be invisible to the naked eye. I performed a bit of an experiment…the ink responds to heat.”
“Clever,” he said. “Have you informed Colton?”
“Yes.” She nibbled her lower lip with her top teeth, betraying her nerves. “But I thought you deserved to know.”
“Given that Stockwell explicitly instructed me to take the map into my possession, that is perhaps an understatement. You have it here?”
She nodded, a wariness infusing the small movement. Her beautiful mouth stretched into a seam, tight with tension. “If only I could be certain you will not put this map to use for your own purposes—if I could be confident you would undertake an expedition that was motivated by the pursuit of history and not simply to enrich yourself, I would entrust it to you.”
He cocked his head, studying her. “You don’t trust me, Alexandra?”
She hesitated. Her silence confirmed what he’d known all along. Her gaze flickered away, a tiny fleeting gesture. But one that spoke as loudly as a lioness’s roar.
“In most matters, I trust you implicitly.” She held her chin high, but her voice trembled slightly. “However, you and I both know that where the pursuit of rare treasures is concerned, your objectives are far different than mine. Whenever I think of the Amulet of Bastet, the pain in my heart is very real. You know as well as I do that artifact belongs in Egypt, not in some rich man’s vault. That piece dates to the eighteenth dynasty. It is a treasure of the Egyptian people, not a bauble to be sold to the highest bidder.”
If she’d lifted her hand and struck him hard against the face, he might have been less stunned. He’d decided against profiting from the map and whatever treasure the tomb held. But she had not given him the benefit of the doubt. Alexandra had not asked for promises, nor even inquired as to his intent.
She’d simply assumed the worst.
Of course, he could not blame her. Her conclusion was reasonable enough. She had ample evidence to back her feelings. But after the night they’d shared, she still addressed him in a tone reeking with disdain.
Your objectives are far different than mine.
The words sliced through him, a dull dagger to the belly.
Damnation, he’d been ready to walk away from the treasure. And for what? To face a woman who viewed him with implicit criticism and disgust.
A vein throbbed at his temple. “Do not judge me. I’ve made no secret of my ambitions. Unlike Stanwyck, I did not inherit a fortune. I have never enjoyed the luxury of not having to care about funds.”
“I do understand, Benedict. But the end does not always justify the means.”
“Is that so?” He let out a low breath, as if that might dispel the sudden tension in his gut. “Obviously, I have not earned your regard.”
“Benedict, please—I did not mean to cast aspersions on your character.”
He forced a shrug, even as her attitude tasted like the most bitter of pills. “You are not the first to look down your nose at me. For one who has never lacked for funds, the pursuit of tin to pay one’s obligations must seem very coarse. Rather crude and ugly.”
Her complexion paled. “Truly, I did not mean any harm. You know I hold you in high regard.”
“And yet, you do not trust me with the very document Professor Stockwell sent me to reclaim. High regard, indeed.”
“You know my feelings about the treasures you recover. I’ve made no secret of my position,” she said, reaching for him. “This matter should not divide us. After what we’ve shared—”
“After what we’ve shared, I thought you might show some trust in me. I can see now that I’ve been a fool.”
“Benedict, don’t be unfair. You know what you’ve done—how you’ve profited from every find, no matter how significant the artifact.” Her voice quaked, ever so slightly. “Surely I do not need to remind you.”
“I have never lied to you. And I do not intend to begin now.” He kept his tone flat, refusing to betray the emotion that coursed through him. “I gather Colton is on his way as we speak.”
She nodded. “He has requested that Stanwyck examine the document to determine the proper course of action.”
“Good enough, then. At least that much is settled. Stanwyck is certainly competent.” He turned from her. “It is high time I take my leave. You know how to contact me.”
She reached out to him, curving her hand over his forearm. “Please, do not be angry. I did not see an alternative.”
“You’ve proceeded in a manner you believed was correct. I cannot fault you for that. But by the same token, I see no reason to stay.”
“You are not being reasonable. I did not—”
“I understand your position. No matter how unpleasant the truth, I have been honest with you.” He walked to the door. “Before I leave, there’s just one more thing…”
With that, he drew her close. His arms wrapped around her as if with a will of their own. Melting against him, she offered the most precious of surrenders. Her soft, perfect curves pressed to his hardness. Blast it, he should not want her with this blinding intensity. He should not crave her touch with the fierce hunger of a starving man.
But he did. There wasn’t a damned thing he could do about it. Bringing his mouth down, he savored her kiss and indulged his taste for her. If Colton interrupted them, he would not give a damn.
A little moan escaped her. Alex arched her back, molding her body to his. Warm and pliant and giving. So damned delectable.
He would never get enough of her.
How the bloody hell could he leave her—again?
He loved her.
Such a damnable shame he could never be the man she wanted—the man she deserved.
If he’d held any doubts as to that fact, she’d dispelled them with her lack of trust. He had earned her dagger-sharp skepticism. God knew he had regrets. But he’d not lied to her. In that regard, his conscience was clear. He’d hurt her with his honesty. And in her eyes, perhaps that was the most unforgiveable sin of all.
Dropping his arms to his sides, he released her. Slowly, he headed to the door. “Goodbye, Alexandra.”
“Please, Benedict—don’t go.”
The heavy panel closed behind him with a soft snick of the latch. Bugger it, he had no place in London. No place in Alexandra’s life. Colton and his underlings would see to her safety. With any luck, he would draw the evil away from her. Whoever wanted him dead could bloody well pursue him to the Valley of the Kings. He didn’t give a damn what happened after he left. But he knew this much—in the morning, he would board a steamer bound for Rome, and from there, he’d head to Cairo. Stockwell had left behind ample documentation of his research. Map or no map, he would track down that tomb. He would find the lost treasure Stockwell had identified. And he would cast Alexandra’s high-and-mighty ideals where they belonged—straight into the rubbish.
…
“I’ll be runnin’ off to the market now. Is there anything you’d like me to pick up?”
Mrs. Thomas had entered the study quietly, with a sense of hesitation. Her question had been direct enough, but the concern in her tone hinted her suspicions as to what had happened before Benedict walked away.
Again.
The word echoed in Alex’s mind, but she shoved the thought aside. Sitting upright behind her desk, she met the housekeeper’s concerned eyes.
“No, thank you,” she replied. “There’s nothing I can think of to add to your usual order.”
“Very well,” Mrs. Thomas said. “Miss Alexandra, are you…well? You appear a bit tired.”
“I think the word you’re looking for is distressed,” Alex corrected gently. She saw no reason to deceive the housekeeper. Mrs. Thomas had known her for such a very long time, she seemed a part of the family.
“He’ll be back soon enough,” Mrs. Thomas said, her voice taking on a tone of sage wisdom. “I’ve seen the way Lord Marlsbrook looks at you. That man won’t be gone for long.”
“I’m not entirely sure it matters. Whether he returns or not, the damage has been done,” Alex said. “In any case, I’ve a task I must complete. Mr. Colton will be here shortly.”
The housekeeper gave a little frown. “Would you like me to stay, then, dear? You’ll be needing someone to let him in.”
“No, thank you, that won’t be necessary.” Alex managed a wan smile. Mrs. Thomas had always clucked over her like a nervous mother hen, but that wasn’t what she needed now.
“Very well,” the housekeeper said. “I should not expect to be gone more than an hour and a half, perhaps two. I’d like to attend my errands before the storms return.”
“It was indeed quite dismal earlier this morning. The rain and wind were unforgiving.” The low rumble of a carriage slowing to a stop outside the townhouse caught her attention. “It would appear that your escort to the market has arrived.”
“Quite so. Mr. Bertram is ever prompt.” A little smile brightened the matron’s face. “David is quite a gentleman. Really, he is.”
David? In the time she’d known Matthew Colton and his skirt-chasing scarecrow of a driver, Alex had never even considered that Bertram had a given name, or that he might be described as a gentleman—much less by a woman as prim and proper as Mrs. Thomas. Had the sly old devil caught the modest widow’s eye?
“Do take care, Mrs. Thomas,” Alex said. “And be sure not to forget your umbrella.”
“Thank you, dear.” Humming a cheerful little tune, the housekeeper headed outside to the carriage and Bertram’s welcoming grin.
Letting out a sigh, Alex collected her thoughts and set about her task. When Rooney had invaded her study, she’d been engrossed in her examination of the Pharaoh’s Sun. While she awaited the arrival of Matthew Colton and his associates, she took a seat in a comfortable wing chair, propped up her feet on a plump paisley ottoman, and focused her attention on Professor Stockwell’s field journal.
A pair of initials caught her eye. Odd, that the notation had escaped her notice earlier. But now, her interest was drawn to it.
H.S.
Harold Stockwell, perhaps?
Had Stockwell’s son become a partner in his father’s work? How odd that the professor had never mentioned Harold’s involvement. Professor Stockwell had typically been forthcoming about his research. Had he deliberately omitted that information from their discussions? Or had it been a mere oversight?
She stared down at the initials. Of course, she could not be sure that the letters referred to the professor’s son. The notation might have referred to any number of persons who’d joined his expeditions.
Still, the possibility that Harold Stockwell had played a role in his father’s expeditions puzzled her. When had the man been in Egypt? Harold had spoken in detail about his experiences in western Africa. How peculiar that he would fail to mention his work in the Valley of the Kings.
Without so much as a meow of warning, Nefritiri popped out from behind a curtain and leapt onto a Chippendale chair. Startled, Alex gasped. Her pulse racing as the small shock coursed through her, she pulled in a breath to calm herself. From its new perch, the cat regarded her with an expression of dour amusement. Why, it appeared Nefritiri actually did know how to smirk at her. Insufferably arrogant, the calico plopped down upon the carpet and strutted up to her. Rubbing against Alex’s leg in a beseeching manner, it let out a plaintive meow.
“Ah, do you want a treat, you naughty girl?” Bending down to pet the cat behind its ears, she considered whether a spot of cream might be in order for the feline.
A quiet squeak made its way through the hallway to Alex’s ears. Her hearing had always been keen, and she honed in on the noise. Were those door hinges? Or was that a floorboard making a resounding creak of protest against the damp, dreary weather?
Her spine went rigid. She was not alone. Had Mrs. Thomas returned? Perhaps she’d forgotten something and had come back to fetch it.
Still, Alex could afford to take no chances. As usual, she’d stashed her Sharps pistol in the top drawer of her desk. She rushed to retrieve it.
“If you want to survive this day, you will do whatever I tell you to do.”
Mrs. Thomas had left the door to her study ajar. The sturdy wood panel swung open, and a man entered. Edward Nelson. Raymond Stockwell’s financier. Sturdily built and muscular, the man was no taller than herself. But he cut a threatening figure. Especially given the revolver in his left hand.
“Move away from the desk, Miss Quinn,” he went on in a low, emotionless voice. “If you don’t, I will have no choice but to pull this trigger.”
Careful to hold her hands in plain sight, she followed his command. Her knees trembled beneath her skirts, but she pulled in a breath and squared her shoulders. She would not allow this cur to see her fear.
“Why are you here?” Her voice held steady. A miracle, that. “What is it you want from me?”
“Very little, really. If you cooperate, you will not be harmed.”
She swallowed against a lump in her throat. “I will ask you again… Why have you come here?”
“You have an artifact, an item Professor Stockwell placed in your care. I’ve come for the Pharaoh’s Sun. Get it. Now.”
“I must say, I’d feel more comfortable if you would put down that blasted gun. I am trembling so much, I can scarcely do as you’ve asked,” she said, moving to her desk.
“You’re a clever girl,” he said. “Give me the bloody amulet. Don’t stall.”
“I have no reason to delay the inevitable,” she said. “I must unlock my desk if I am to retrieve the artifact.”
He nodded stiffly. “Go ahead. But if you try anything, it will not end well for you.”
Concealing her reluctance, she unfastened the latch securing the bottom drawer. She stared down at the gold amulet Gavin Stanwyck had recovered on his last expedition. While extremely valuable, the piece did not possess the historical significance of the supposedly cursed pendant Stockwell had trusted her to protect. With any luck, this artifact would placate the rotter’s greed.
“I have it,” she said. “I will place it in your hand.”
He shook his head. “Set it there,” he said, motioning to the mahogany sideboard.
She complied with the instruction,
He stared down at the amulet. His eyes narrowed as his jaw hardened. Her heart raced as her pulse roared in her ears. Fear gripped her insides. Did he know she’d attempted to deceive him? Had she made a foolish and dangerous error?
“Do not try my patience, Miss Quinn.” Cupping the icon in his stubby-fingered hand, he stowed the piece in an interior pocket of his jacket. “I know what the bloody amulet looks like. Do you believe me a fool?”
Vicious anger gleamed in his eyes. He had no qualms about hurting her. She’d have to play along with his demands and buy time until Matthew and his men arrived. “Of course not. As I tried to tell you, that foul weapon of yours, pointed at me, no less, has left me shaken. I made a mistake. There’s nothing more to it than that. I have no intention of deceiving you.”
“Get the bloody thing. Now.” He ground out the words between his teeth.
“Of course.” She opened the bottom drawer and retrieved the amulet from a hidden compartment. “Here. Take it.”
He scooped up the pendant and stashed it in his pocket. Unscrupulous cur.
He pinned her with his gaze. A chill rippled along her spine. She clutched the back of a chair to keep from shivering.
“You have what you came for,” she said, steadying her voice. “That should end this unpleasant business.”
He slowly shook his head. “That’s not everything, and you know it.”
“Tell me what you’re after.”
“I believe you already know the answer to that question.” His voice dropped low, his words raw and menacing. “Now, Miss Quinn, I need the map.”
“I do not have it. In fact, I do not even believe it exists.” Steeling herself, she hiked her chin. “You’ve all been deceived.”
Silently, she prayed he could not detect the lie. It was imperative that he did not get his hands on the map. Without it, the amulet would be worth scarcely more than a trinket to most collectors.
“Marlsbrook has claimed it?” Raw anger shaded his tone.
“There is no map. I am afraid the professor enjoyed speaking of the finds he expected to make. He developed a tendency to exaggerate in his later years.”
“You’re lying,” he said between nearly clenched teeth. The bull of a man brandished the gun in his hand.
She pulled in a low breath, desperate to calm herself. She had to keep her head about her. She could not allow fear to grip her. She could not fall to pieces.
“In that case, we are both in a fix,” she managed in a quaking voice. “You have demanded something from me that I do not possess, while I expect you to leave me in peace, an admittedly unlikely scenario.” She deliberately glanced toward the professor’s leather-bound journal. A distraction might be just the thing. Stockwell’s rambling observations would be of scarce value to a treasure hunter or a thief. There’d be little harm in surrendering them if it meant she’d be free of this odious man.
“Oh, dear,” she said, as if she was horrified to discover she’d left the professor’s notes in plain sight.
“What is that?” the man demanded.
“Professor Stockwell’s field journal.”
“Give it to me,” he ordered.
If she surrendered them too readily, he would suspect they carried little worth. “I do not believe that would be wise. There’s nothing in there that would interest you. Only dry accounts of the best methods for excavation and such.”
He stared down at her, cold brutality in his gaze. “Get me the damned book.”
“Very well,” she said. Adding a sigh for effect, she took the journal in her hands.
“You had better pray this book has some use. It might just keep you alive.” Lunging for her, he caught her wrist in one powerful hand and dragged her to him. The sour smell of liquor tainted his words. “You’re coming with me.”