Chapter Eight
Rousing from his comfortable bed in the Mayfair townhouse that served as his residence on those rare nights he spent in London, Benedict moved with cautious stealth from one room to the next. After the night before, he was taking no chances. He’d little doubt his butler would sound the alarm if an intruder dared enter, but Roderick was not as young as he used to be. If anyone lay in wait, the rotter would soon become acquainted with the business end of Benedict’s revolver.
With the plush carpet muffling his footfalls, he stepped into the library. Odd, how this room out of all of those in the residence felt the most like home. As a boy, he’d spent long hours devouring every book he could find, gleaning knowledge of the ancient world while avoiding the stony silence that surrounded his parents’ marriage. After years of unhappiness, his mother and father had simply come to a near-wordless truce. From time to time, his father would encounter Benedict there in the library of the family’s manor home. How his thin lips would curl in disdain. Damnable shame his parents had not managed to sire another son. Perhaps that lad would have proven a more fitting heir to the man among men his father had pretended to be.
Glancing about the place, he noted the gleaming woodwork and shelves that had been freshly dusted. Roderick did a fine job overseeing the household staff, ensuring the care and upkeep of the townhouse in Benedict’s absence. Truth be told, he had considered taking up residence in some fine hotel or another on those occasions when he had reason to be in London. But the house had been Roderick’s home for more than two decades. His conscience would not allow him to displace the elderly man. Since the death of his wife, a rosy-cheeked imp of a woman who’d served as Benedict’s housekeeper, Roderick had viewed Benedict as the closest thing to family he possessed.
On Benedict’s part, the feeling had been mutual. Roderick had seemed a surrogate father, a man whose own children had died in an outbreak of fever a year before Benedict had taken his first breath. While Benedict’s father had whiled away the hours in gambling hells, convinced he was one turn of the cards away from restoring the fortune he’d lost, Roderick had provided a listening ear and common-sense advice for a lad torn between his passions and his family’s expectations. Now, Benedict would see to it that Roderick could call the townhouse his home as long as the old gentleman saw fit.
Moving to a Chippendale wing chair that had seen better days, he sat down and stretched out his long legs. The elegant furnishings and expensive rugs beneath his feet seemed altogether foreign after the long months he’d spent in the desert. Still, there was something to be said for the place. Pity he wouldn’t be able to indulge himself with a creature comfort or two for more than another night. He had to return to Egypt. The legendary riches in the tomb Stockwell had spent years trying to locate would not lay undisturbed for long. Though the young daughter of an obscure ruler had made no mark on history, the princess’s burial place was reputed to house a fortune in relics. Benedict was not the only one on the hunt for the long-hidden crypt. But damned if he wouldn’t be the one to get there first.
Once he had Stockwell’s map, he would find the treasure. And in the process, he’d unmask the bastard who’d ordered those men killed. He would see the cur responsible for the professor’s death brought to justice. Whether at the end of a rope or with a well-placed bullet, he didn’t care. He would see Stockwell avenged, if it was the last thing he did.
The last thing he did. The words played in his thoughts like a warning.
Devil take it, he was allowing the professor’s fear and his own exhaustion to get the better of him. He was smart—smart enough to avoid Stockwell’s fate and protect Alexandra from the malicious threat. Somehow, he had to convince her to come with him. He could protect her. He was sure of that. Together, they would be a formidable team. Alexandra’s keen knowledge of hieroglyphics and her ability to decipher the most baffling symbols would prove invaluable to his quest.
Still, he had to convince her to hand over the map before they departed London. Without it, he had little chance of uncovering the treasure before Gavin Stanwyck and his team located the priceless cache. Alexandra might well have the document and not even realize what she possessed. Enticing her to help him find the map would be a challenge, but the prospect was not daunting.
If he played his cards right, it might even prove enjoyable. Kissing her had been indulgence he’d denied himself for far too long.
Damn it, he could not allow his instincts to get the better of him again. He’d done no harm in kissing her, but it could go no further. He’d no intention of seducing her to win her trust. She deserved better than that. God knew he’d hurt her before. He didn’t want to wound her again. With any luck, she’d keep her head about her, and he would rein in the traitorous hunger that had faded but had never been truly extinguished.
The impulsive kiss had offered insight into her feelings. Deep inside, she still harbored desire for him. She’d responded to the caress without shyness. Without reservation. With the delicious passion that had drawn him in all those years before and made it so damned hard to walk away from her the first time.
She’d welcomed his touch.
Until her good sense had taken hold and she’d remembered he was a cad.
Thank God she had better sense than he did.
“Good God, you look as if you retired to the gutter last night.” Roderick’s gruff voice was a welcome diversion from his thoughts.
The butler’s appraisal was not surprising. Benedict had slept in his clothes the night before. Now, he needed a bath and a meal before he set out again to convince Alexandra to join him in his quest.
He gave a shrug in reply. “I found him—the bounder I pursued from Egypt.”
“Did you now?” Roderick cocked a bushy brow. “I trust you took care of the problem.”
“In a manner of speaking. The bloke is in custody.”
“And Miss Quinn—she is safe?”
“Yes. No one will threaten her with Colton Agency guards watching over her residence.”
“The Colton Agency is involved? Well, it’s quite a serious matter then, isn’t it?” The deep lines on Roderick’s face drew tight with concern. “If the villain has been apprehended and Miss Quinn is safe, why do you look as if you’re headed to your own funeral? What in bloody hell is going on?”
Benedict shot him a wry glance. “You know, Roderick, few members of the peerage are privileged to employ a man such as yourself. I can well imagine Lord Partridge’s butler speaking to him in such…deferential tones.”
“Lord Partridge doesn’t spend his life roaming deserts and the stinking alleys of London trying to get himself killed.”
“And I am to infer that my conduct concerns you?”
Roderick’s expression was appropriately somber. “Of course it does. If something were to happen to you, I am not likely to find an employer who pays as well and doesn’t live under his own roof for fifty weeks out of the year.”
“A touching sentiment, indeed.” Benedict bit back a grin. “I sense you will not leave me in peace until I disclose what is on my mind.”
“It has something to do with Miss Quinn, doesn’t it?”
Resting his elbows on his knees, Benedict stared up at the butler. “What in blazes would give you that idea?”
“Call it a hunch.”
Benedict shrugged. He damned well wasn’t going to reveal to his impertinent butler that he’d kissed his former fiancée, and he certainly had no intention of mentioning how much he’d enjoyed it.
“Roderick, tell me this—how did you manage to stay in my father’s good graces all those years? He had little patience for…directness.”
“I found it far easier to hold my tongue. Truth be told, I did not give a farthing if that man lived or died,” Roderick said, ever blunt. “I cannot say the same of you.”
Benedict pondered the butler’s words. “If I were a better man, I would take offense at an affront to my father’s memory.”
Roderick hiked a brow. “Consider yourself lucky you’ve got an honest man working for you.”
“Honesty, eh? Is that what they call it now?”
“You’re not going to tell me what’s troubling you, are you?”
“No.” Benedict slowly shook his head. “Not yet, at least. A butler worth his salt would see to it that I had some food in my belly before launching into an interrogation.”
“I’ve already thought of that, Lord Marlsbrook.” Was it Benedict’s imagination, or did the man sound even more insolent when he addressed him by his title than when he responded in far cruder terms?
“Have you now?” Benedict asked.
“Mrs. Hannaford is in the kitchen. I’ve asked her to prepare your breakfast.”
Benedict flashed a grin. “What would I ever do without you?”
“I shudder at the very notion,” the man said as he strolled from the room, abandoning Benedict to his thoughts.
…
The office on the Strand that served as the headquarters of the Colton Agency was for all intents and purposes exceedingly ordinary, a plain brick structure, like so many other buildings that housed London’s businesses. As Alex and her sister approached the agency’s headquarters, Alex was struck by the utter drabness of the building. How very ironic that the sophisticated detective service helmed by her brother-in-law was housed in such a bland location. Indeed, it seemed a form of camouflage for the agency. Those who passed by the office’s dull exterior every day had no way of knowing the very unique—and dangerous—nature of the Colton Agency’s investigations.
As the carriage slowed to a stop, Alex marveled at the chain of events that had led Jennie to this place in life. Had it been only two years since Jennie’s daring undercover investigation of a crime lord had led her to fall for the kingpin’s top lieutenant? The former Yardman had been dubbed The Sinister Inspector by the Herald. But Jennie had seen through the facade Matthew Colton had erected to the good, courageous man he was. At the time, Alex had been in Cairo, assisting Professor Stockwell with the cataloging of relics from the Valley of the Kings, but she’d returned in the nick of time to witness Jennie and Matthew speak their vows. Shortly after their marriage, Matthew and Jennie established the exclusive detective service at the behest of the Home Secretary. While they handled select cases of a more typical nature, if only to keep up the illusion that they were an ordinary detective service, the majority of their investigations explored matters of particular interest to the Crown.
Currently, the death of Sir Clayton Finch fit that description. A decorated military officer and explorer of the subcontinent, Sir Clayton had been counted among the queen’s favorite acquaintances. His untimely demise had stirred the interest of leaders at the highest levels of government. The Colton Agency had been tasked with determining the true circumstances of his death and ensuring that justice was done.
Earlier that morning, Matthew Colton and another top figure in the organization, MacAlister Campbell, had requested a meeting. Jennie had not gone into detail, but her sister had warned Alex that the men wanted to enlist her services as an agent of the organization.
“Do not allow them to intimidate you,” her sister had warned as they rode in the Colton’s sleek brougham carriage. “You’ve never been in the midst of an investigation. If you wish to decline their proposal, you will have my full support.”
Surprised at the concern in Jennie’s tone, Alex shot her sister a glance beneath her lashes. Did Jennie regard her as a dull bluestocking, content to live a life filled with papyruses and hieroglyphics? Alex had assisted on certain cases in the past. Did Jennie believe Alex would not prove up to this particular task?
She hiked a brow as she lowered her voice. “Am I to understand you do not feel I am capable of going into the field?”
“Of course I believe you are capable,” Jennie answered, perhaps a bit too quickly. “But ability is not the only factor here. I am not entirely comfortable exposing you to a situation that could prove quite dangerous. I couldn’t bear it if something happened to you.”
“Given the risks you’ve taken going undercover for the Herald, I am surprised you would experience such misgivings. I’ve no doubt the dangers I might encounter in an investigation would pale in comparison to the menaces you’ve faced.”
“I suppose it’s different when you’re the observer, worrying over a loved one who might be putting herself in harm’s way,” Jennie explained.
“Indeed,” Alex agreed. “I cannot tell you how many nights Mother lost sleep over your exploits.”
At that, Jennie merely smiled and dismissed their mother’s concerns, but Alex knew better. Her sister had stared down a variety of threats through the course of her inquiries. When she’d first met Matthew, she had been immersed in an investigation fraught with danger. But they’d come through the ordeal, finding an enduring love in the process.
“Rest assured, I shall carefully evaluate whatever proposal Matthew offers.” Even as she spoke, Alex grew more eager to take on whatever challenge he might have in mind. She was not a stuffy academic. She was a Quinn, after all.
Upon entering the offices, they were greeted by the agency’s secretary, Miss Ada Everett. While new to the position, Miss Everett had quickly become a valued member of the organization.
Matthew Colton greeted her with considerably more warmth than he’d demonstrated in Benedict’s presence. Of course, his simmering hostility to Benedict was not surprising. She’d no doubt Jennie had shared the details of Alex’s youthful heartbreak.
MacAlister Campbell stood beside an elaborately carved desk. Tall and broad shouldered, his dark hair sprinkled with gray, Campbell was an attractive man, despite the sadness in his eyes that lent a perpetually somber appearance.
“I am sure that by now, Jennie has explained that we’d like to bring you aboard as an operative of this agency. Do you have any thoughts on the prospect of entering Her Majesty’s service?” Matthew was direct.
“I’d never considered such an endeavor, but I am willing to do my part.”
He gave a thoughtful nod as Campbell placed a valise on the desk. “We were hoping you’d say that. We believe your unique knowledge will prove to be useful to an investigation of great importance to Her Majesty.”
“Miss Quinn, we understand that Lord Marlsbrook intervened when Rooney attacked you in your residence. What else do you know of Marlsbrook’s recent return to London?” Campbell asked.
“Very little, really. He explained his presence in the city last night—Marlsbrook left Egypt because he had reason to believe Rooney would come after me.”
“Did he explain how he came upon that information?” Campbell pressed.
“Our mentor, Professor Stockwell, confided his concerns to Benedict…to Lord Marlsbrook.”
Matthew Colton paced the room restlessly. “Do you believe him?”
Something in his tone she couldn’t quite define triggered an internal alarm. “I have no reason not to.”
“We suspect he has not told you the full truth,” Colton said. “You are in danger, Alexandra, and we must find out why. Marlsbrook’s inquiries since he’s returned to London indicate he’s come back for a reason other than watching over you. He’s after something.”
“He was trailing that vile man named Rooney,” Alex said.
“There is more to this story. Of that, I have no doubt,” Colton went on. “I take it you are aware of the deaths connected with him—and with Professor Stockwell.”
“Yes, I have been informed. Quite tragic.”
“At this time, we suspect Marlsbrook is a target. But we cannot rule him out as a conspirator in the crimes.”
“That cannot be,” Alex said with a gasp. “You cannot possibly believe he has played a role in these deaths.”
Colton’s expression was grim. “Marlsbrook is after something. The man came to your defense. That much cannot be disputed. But there is a complication you should be aware of—I tell you this in the strictest confidence…this can go no further than this room. One of the men who died, an Egyptian with Stockwell’s expedition, was working for the Crown.”
“Good heavens—the professor’s guide.”
Jennie’s forehead creased in confusion. “You know of him?”
Alex nodded slowly, composing her thoughts. “Marlsbrook spoke of him—of his death.”
“The agent was gathering intelligence on a cadre of smugglers operating out of Cairo,” Colton explained. “If Marlsbrook was involved with the criminals, he would have had motive to silence him.”
She dragged in a steadying breath. “Benedict is not a murderer.”
Colton’s dark eyes narrowed. “What did Marlsbrook tell you about the dead man?”
“There were symbols left behind…as the Egyptian lay dying. Marlsbrook gave me a photograph that depicts the glyphs. He’s asked me to interpret them.”
Jennie frowned. “Why didn’t you share this with us?”
“I’d no idea if the image was genuine. Given the circumstances, I needed time to make sense of it all.”
“I trust you will provide the photograph to our agents,” Jennie said, her mouth taut as a seam.
Alex cocked her chin. Her sister’s slightly imperious tone chafed like a too-tight collar. “In due time. After I’ve completed my analysis.”
“I’ve little doubt it’s real,” Colton said. “One of our agents in Egypt obtained a rendering of the symbols. We will need to compare it with the photograph in your possession.”
“That goes without saying,” Alex replied.
“It is unlikely that Marlsbrook played a part in the killing, but his behavior is out of character and, frankly, suspicious,” Campbell said. “He plans to involve you in his scheme, whatever it might be. I presume you are aware he has secured passage for you.”
“He asked me to come to Egypt with him. It goes without saying that I did not agree,” Alex said, folding her arms in indignation.
“By involving you, he widened the net of suspicion,” Colton said. “There are some who might speculate that you are a part of his scheme”
“Come now, Matthew.” Her sister’s voice took on a crisp edge. “You know that is not the case.”
“Of course,” Colton agreed. “But the fact remains that you are in danger, Alexandra. At this point, there’s no way to know if the person who engineered these killings is in Egypt. Rooney’s taunts lead me to believe the murderer may now be in England. If Marlsbrook is not involved in the crimes, his safety is at risk whether he is in Cairo or London. If the man leaves the country, we will not be able to protect him.”
“What is it you wish me to do? Convince him to stay in London…with me?”
“Precisely.” Matthew Colton set his jaw in a hard line. “It is imperative that we learn what Marlsbrook is after and what he knows of the deaths. And who better to glean that information from the man than you?”