Chapter Twenty-Six
London, Late November 1892
As Alex descended from her carriage, the chilly autumn wind blowing off the Thames cut through the meager defense offered by her wool cape. Perched on the driver’s bench, Bertram clamped a hand on his head, pinning his flat-brimmed cap in place. Giving consideration to security as well as her privacy—most particularly her desire to avoid wagging tongues when at all possible—she’d requested the cagey agent’s services this day. Typically, she would have hailed a hack and thought nothing of it.
But this was not a typical day. Far from it.
Clutching her valise, her fingers trembled ever so slightly. Goodness, she was being a goose. It wasn’t as if years had gone by since she’d last seen Benedict. Why, she and Jennie had visited his home just three days prior. Then again, perhaps, that was the very reason her hands quivered with nervous anticipation.
His recovery was nearly complete. Thankfully, the wound had been clean, missing his internal organs. With the care of a skilled physician and nurse, he’d avoided infection, and now, he’d regained a great deal of his vigor.
If only he had reclaimed the spark of vitality that had lit his eyes, that sense of challenge that had drawn her to him like a force of nature.
In the days since the incident, that dreadful night when he’d been forced to take a life, the light in his eyes had dimmed. Not quite extinguished. But only a tiny flicker of what it had been. Stockwell had given him no choice, but Benedict seemed a changed man. Distant. Withdrawn from pleasure, joy, and even sadness. He’d shown so little emotion since that night. What torment was going on deep within the recesses of his conscience?
He loved her. She had no doubt of that. Not now, since he’d willingly put his neck on the block to protect her. He’d spoken the words. She’d heard his confession of love, a whisper that would be forever imprinted in her thoughts. Now, he said little beyond ordinary pleasantries. She might as well have been a stranger. He’d gone cold.
Even though he’d lived and healed and would soon be as strong as ever, she’d lost him.
Again.
Her heart ached at the thought. The pain was very real, far more bitter than anything Stockwell had inflicted upon her. She loved Benedict. Surely, he knew that.
Yet, his indifference was a brutal blow.
Well, she was not about to sit quietly in her townhouse while he built a shell around himself, pushing her away. More than likely, he thought to shield her from whatever it was that weighed heavy on his mind. Whatever the problem he faced, they would work through it. She’d break through the barrier that was growing between them.
He needed something to draw him out of his self-imposed isolation. She’d come up with a plan, just the thing to provoke his interest. The very idea of a journey excited her. She’d been in London for months without a sojourn to Egypt. It was high time she once more embarked into the field.
“I’ll wait for ye, Miss Quinn.” Bertram smiled down at her. A kindhearted soul, he sensed her nervousness. She could see it in his eyes.
“Thank you. I will alert you if it appears my visit will last beyond a half an hour or so.”
The spry old man tipped his hat. Flashing a craggy grin, he threw a wink for luck.
Gathering her resolve, she marched up to the door of Benedict’s townhouse and rang the bell.
Roderick greeted her with a forced smile. “Good afternoon, Miss Quinn. I cannot say with any certainty that Marlsbrook—”
“Let her in,” Benedict said, his voice gruff as he approached behind the butler’s back.
Roderick’s throat constricted with tension. What in blazes was going on? The man was usually a pleasant fellow. But on this afternoon, tension pulled at his creased features.
“This way, Miss Quinn.”
“As you are well aware, I know the way,” she said, sweeping past him with a saucy grin. Benedict’s foul mood would not deter her. He should know by now that it would take more than a surly lack of greeting to keep her away.
She met Benedict’s gaze. Something that might have been a smile touched his lips. So, he was not unhappy to see her after all. He stood outside his study, attired in dark charcoal gray trousers, a crisp white shirt with the shirtsleeves rolled to the elbows, and leather braces. A slight growth of whiskers on his cheeks and jaw emphasized his features and added an unrefined air that appealed to her far more than logic would have dictated.
Ah, he was a fine specimen of a man. Perhaps it was his slightly crooked grin that had captured her heart. Or was it the way his eyes darkened to a mossy green when passion infused his kiss?
Did he know how much she’d come to care for him? They had exchanged words of love as Stockwell had brought his ugly plan to its final act. But since that brutal night, they had not spoken of their feelings. She’d wanted to speak the words again, to tell him how deeply she cared for him, but somehow, the time had never been right. There’d been a parade of visitors, all eager to speak with London’s newest hero as he convalesced from his wound.
She might have stood there and drank him in for a moment or two longer, but she’d come on a quest. If she did not act, she might well lose her nerve. And then where would she be?
“Hullo, Benedict,” she said.
“It’s good to see you, Alexandra.” He escorted her into the pleasantly cluttered room. “What brings you here today?”
“Might I suggest we close the door? I require a spot of privacy.”
He cocked a brow, but obliged her request. “I must say, this is an unexpected pleasure. What’s this about? Has something come up that I should know about?”
“I’ve come here today to discuss you. And me.”
His brow furrowed. “I must confess I don’t take your meaning. What is there to discuss?”
I love you, you dolt. The words perched on the tip of her tongue, but she held them back.
The blandness of his expression seemed calculated. Deliberate. Why was he shutting her out? Moving to one of the bookshelves that filled the walls of the small chamber, she avoided his assessing gaze. Focusing on the first book she spotted, an undoubtedly dull treatise on the reign of Oliver Cromwell, she pondered the most favorable approach. How should she best meet his frustratingly obtuse response?
“You and I…we share mutual interests,” she began cautiously. Too cautious. Where was her courage? Good heavens, she’d faced villains of the worst sort. Speaking her heart to Benedict should not prove so very difficult.
But it was. Her pulse throbbed against her ears. She watched him, studying his eyes, his mouth, for any sign of emotion. But he remained a blank canvas.
“Of course. What is on your mind?” His response was polite. Civil.
And so very cold.
“I propose a joint venture. The two of us…working together, side by side, to find the tomb. Stockwell would have wanted us to pursue it. He would’ve—”
“No.” The single syllable was bluntly spoken.
“If the professor was right…if the tomb does indeed exist, he would want you to go after it. Why else would he trust us with the amulet? And the map?”
“He trusted you—not me.” Benedict raked a hand through his hair. “I want no part of it. If the treasure does exist, it should not be entrusted to the likes of me.”
“We would make a wonderful team. Imagine the adventure,” she persisted.
“God above, Alexandra. You did not even show faith in me to examine the blasted map. Now, you want me to find the tomb.” He laughed, an ugly, raw chuckle beneath his breath. “I’m the same man I was six weeks ago.”
“Don’t be silly. You are eminently qualified to lead the expedition. Think of the sense of achievement.”
“Not a bloody chance.”
“Please say you’ll consider it. I’ve brought the map with me. I’m eager to begin the planning of an exploration.”
Slowly, he shook his head. “I’m not the man you want.”
“Come now, Benedict. I’m shocked you’re dismissing the notion out of hand. We’ve never worked together, side by side. The experience would be…mutually beneficial.”
“Mutually beneficial, eh?” His hazel eyes darkened, nearly as green as the forest. “Have you convinced yourself that I am a changed man? Do you think to reform me?”
“I do not believe in reforming a man. Besides, I’m quite well content with you. Just as you are.”
“Just as I am?” He seemed to ponder the words. “Would you continue to hold that belief if I told you I was embarking on another expedition—a venture that promises to be extremely lucrative?”
Her heartbeat thudded in her ears. Something in his expression set her off-kilter. It seemed he’d donned a mask, one that she could not see through to the truth.
“Benedict, whatever do you mean?”
“Tomorrow morning, I am leaving on a steamer. After a stop in Rome, my ultimate destination will be Cairo.”
“My, this is so very sudden. And so soon after your injury?” She strived for composure, even as she struggled to understand the implication of his calmly spoken revelation. “I was not aware you were fully healed.”
He gave a shrug. “My physician might well disagree with my decision, but it’s not as if I’ll be jarring the wound on horseback. An Italian count dispatched a representative to inquire about my services. I have agreed to his terms and will set out within the next fortnight to acquire an artifact of interest.”
“Say you’ll reconsider—say you’ll come with me.” Emotion seared her throat, and she choked it back. “Everything has changed.”
He prowled toward her. His arms caged her with her back to the shelves. “God above, Alexandra, I wish I could agree with you. The idea of staying in London—of staying with you—is a powerful temptation. But I cannot lie to you, darling. Nothing has changed.”
“Of course it has,” she said, searching his face for some clue to what was in his heart. “You…and I—we’re not the same people we were only a few weeks ago.”
“You’re a beautiful woman. Any man would be honored to have you at his side. But I cannot delude myself that I am the man for you.”
Ducking his head, he brushed a kiss over her lips. His breath warmed her skin as he lowered his mouth to her throat, the gentlest of caresses.
“And if I do not want another man—if I want you, Benedict?”
A muscle in his jaw tensed and released as he appeared to fight an inner battle. “I won’t lead you on. It would be unfair to the both of us.”
“Lead me on?” She pulled in a breath. “It’s nothing like that. It never has been.”
“This won’t work—you and I are not meant to be.”
“How can you kiss me like you do?” she whispered against his lips. “How can you love me like you do…and say we are not meant to be together?”
“Darling, I’ve always wanted you.” He kissed her again, a tender caress that spoke of passion and dreams unfulfilled. “But I am not a man in any position to take a wife. Not now. Perhaps not ever. And I refuse to treat you a like a mistress. It’s best that we go our separate ways.”
“You know I share your desire,” she whispered. “I want you now. And always.”
Claiming her mouth, his arms captured her in a passionate embrace. He drew her to his long, lean body. The heat of his skin permeated his linen shirt, infused her with a delicious warmth. His tongue parted her lips, and she drank in every sensation. Tasting him. Relishing the flavor of his mouth. Immersing herself in the delicious warmth of his muscle and flesh.
“I want you, Alexandra. I would never deny that.” His arms fell to his sides, and he stepped away. “But that changes nothing. Not a damned thing.”
Her heart stuttered. She stared up at him, making no effort to hide the shock and pain that coursed through her.
“You are not making sense. How can you say you want me, but push me away? How can you believe that all will go on as before? Do you think that we can truly separate our lives after what we’ve experienced?”
He took her hands in his. The slightly coarse texture of his skin against hers was oddly pleasant, even as his words cut deep as a dagger’s blade.
“I’m no good for you, darling. Have you forgotten that I am the man who claimed the amulet of the cat goddess—the man who’s raided tombs for the better part of the last decade, all to enrich his own coffers?”
“You don’t have to be that man.” She was not about to plead with him. But she’d tell him what was in her heart. She did not want to live with the regret of what she might have done if not for her pride and fear. “I’m not asking for promises, Benedict. But I do not want to live my life without you in it. Without sharing joy. And heartache. I know you care for me. Don’t shut me out.”
“I do care for you, Alexandra. You cannot doubt that.” He wove his fingers through her unbound hair, his expression contemplative. “I always have. And I always will.”
“Then say you will join me. It’s been so very long since we’ve worked together in the field. We were so young then. And foolish.”
His mouth hitched at the corner. “You were never foolish. But you must understand. I am not a changed man. I fully intend to honor the agreement I made with the Italian. Not that it matters whether I am here or in Cairo—you deserve better than me.”
“I don’t understand,” she said. “That night…you said you loved me.”
He caressed her cheek, seeming to study her beneath hooded lids. “I care for you very deeply. But the prospect of imminent death heightens emotional response. I am sure you can understand that.”
She jerked away, suddenly unable to bear his touch. Had his words of love meant so little?
“Of course,” she said, drawing on every bit of strength to compose herself. “You’ve made yourself quite clear.”
He reached out for her, covering her hand with his, bringing her closer. Without force. Without violence. His fingers swept her curls back from her face, and he watched her for a heartbeat, perhaps two or three. “Do not misunderstand me, Alexandra. I do love you. I always have. I always will. But I cannot be the man you want me to be…the man you need me to be.”
His words crashed over her like waves on the moors, threatening to sweep her off her feet and out to sea. “Benedict, please tell me you will reconsider.”
His arms enfolded her. She pressed her head to his chest, hearing the steady beat of his heart, feeling the strength of his male body and the warmth of his touch. He kissed her then, saying all the things that words could not convey.
His lips claimed hers, passion infusing the contact. “I will be on that ship at dawn. You have to believe it is for the best.”
“I refuse to believe any such thing. Perhaps you are right. But I still haven’t learned that lesson now, have I?” She pressed a kiss to his mouth, then stepped away. “I love you, Benedict. But I will not plead with you. I will not beg you to stay. In life, we demonstrate what we value most. I cherish you. And the memories we’ve created. I have faith in you—I know that we could create many more over a lifetime. But I cannot compete with rubies and gems. I cannot offer you a treasure. Only my heart.”
“Alexandra, you don’t understand. It’s not that simple.”
Slowly, she shook her head. Tears she desperately held back scalded her throat and the backs of her eyes. “Actually, it is. I love you. I’d give you my heart if you desired it.” She brushed away a tear that coursed down her cheek, hot against her skin. “I’ll leave you now to prepare for your journey. I sense you have indeed made your choice. Goodbye, Benedict.”