Chapter Nine
Alex paced before the cheval mirror in her bedchamber, questioning her resolve and, to a lesser degree, her sanity. Why had she allowed herself to be brought into this scheme? Heaven knew she’d never counted deception as a talent. Of course, Colton’s plan would not call for her to lie. Not directly, at least, though the thought of leading Benedict on left a bitter taste in her mouth. But her reservations were of little consequence. She had to find out what he knew. She prayed she’d learn enough to clear him of the suspicion that hovered over him.
Pity the subtle deceit would put her in close proximity to her former fiancé. If only she were indifferent to him. But the truth of the matter was quite the opposite. She couldn’t deny how she’d responded to his touch. To his kiss. Her instincts had gotten the better of her. Longing for the most elemental contact with Benedict had overruled her good sense, traitor that her body was. She knew better than to give in to the hunger.
How could she hope to maintain an emotional distance while pretending to go along with his scheme?
She stopped her pacing long enough to re-pin a curl that had toppled loose from her coiffure. Such a bother. Ordinarily, she did not give a fig about her appearance. A rebellious tendril was the least of her worries, especially given the unsettling reality that another killer might be lurking about London with her in his sights.
She’d selected a skirt and jacket in a deep green hue, trimmed with black braid and a soft touch of lace at the collar. Perfectly prim. Perfectly proper. After all, it wasn’t as if she had any intention of launching an appeal to Benedict’s senses. He required her assistance. She’d provide him that.
And little else.
She’d keep her head about her this time. After all, she’d been unprepared the night before. From the brutish Rooney’s intrusion to Benedict’s arrival—playing the hero, no less—she’d been caught flat-footed.
But this was different.
Now, she knew what she was dealing with.
She knew Benedict.
Didn’t she?
Was he the same man he’d been eight years before—or had his time away from London left him quite thoroughly jaded? Had his pursuit of wealth by any means necessary left him indelibly hardened?
He was still utterly arrogant. That much had not changed. She smiled to herself. And his touch…ah, that had been the same, much to her chagrin. So very warm. Filled with a power he held tightly leashed. Heat simmered beneath the deliberate coolness of his demeanor. Once, she’d longed for him to cast aside that practiced reserve. Now, she sensed he was close to breaking free of the self-imposed restraints. The realization conjured a decidedly unwise anticipation deep within her.
Wanting Benedict was not a part of her task.
She’d be well-advised to keep her head about her, to keep him at arm’s length. If she became vulnerable to him—that could end in only one way.
And she would not have her heart shattered again.
Not by Benedict.
Not by any man.
She knew better than to even contemplate the thought.
Selecting an alabaster cameo from her jewelry chest, she pinned the piece she’d long cherished at her throat. Her grandmother had given her the small adornment upon her sixteenth birthday.
Be true to yourself, my darling girl. Her grandmother’s words whispered in her thoughts. As she entered the world of deception her sister and brother-in-law had become so well acquainted with through their service to the Crown, she’d do well to hold that wisdom close to her heart.
She had no intention of lying to Benedict. She’d disclose the facts that best served her purposes and induce him to reveal what he knew of the murderous path that wound its way back to him.
Shortly after her meeting with Colton and Jennie, she’d sent a courier to Benedict’s residence relaying a request for a meeting. He would soon arrive.
She cast another glance in the mirror, assessing her appearance one final time before she decided she was prepared. On some level, in a way she could not entirely describe, she felt as if she were heading off to battle.
Perhaps she was.
…
Benedict arrived at Alexandra’s townhouse within an hour of receiving her brief missive. At least he was entering through the front door this time. The night before, he’d slipped through a rear window. Not that doing so had proven to be a challenge. Come to think of it, he’d have to speak to her about locking the windows to keep out unsavory sorts—much like himself.
Standing at the entry, he stared curiously at the intricately wrought brass knocker. He would not have expected her to select such an elaborate adornment for her residence. She’d always been rather modest in her tastes. Rather surprising that the door boasted a gleaming replica of a panther’s head that seemed crafted to inspire conversation.
A grim-faced man whose craggy features bore the scars of hard living strolled along the pavement. If the bloke intended to appear to be a disinterested passerby, he’d failed miserably at his task. His pale eyes locked on Benedict, taking him in as if assessing a threat. One of Colton’s agents, no doubt. Did Matthew Colton recruit his organization’s operatives from the bare-knuckled brawlers sparring in London’s underbelly?
As the operative loitered by a lamppost, keeping Benedict in his sights, a willow-thin matron dressed in a crisp, dark dress and white apron came to the door. So, the Quinns’ housekeeper had now taken up residence in Alex’s home. Mrs. Thomas, if memory served.
The housekeeper’s forehead furrowed. Her eyes narrowed as she took him in with a quick sweep of her gaze, the frost in her expression betraying she remembered him, perhaps too well.
“You are Lord Marlsbrook now,” she said simply. “Am I correct?”
“That is what I’ve been told,” he said drily.
She gave a curt nod. “Miss Quinn is expecting you. Please, come in.”
She ushered him to the parlor. As Alexandra entered the room, rays of sunlight streamed through the window and danced over her dark brown hair. Traces of copper and red gleamed beneath the warm rays. A flash of very recent memory invaded his thoughts. His mind went back to when he’d kissed her. Tasted the sweetness of her mouth. Drank in the supple heat of her body.
It had only been mere hours since he’d held her. Yet, he ached with an unbidden hunger. He wanted to touch her again, to take her in his arms, and drive away the doubts in her eyes.
Hellfire and damnation, he was a fool.
When had he become so weak?
He knew better than to allow desire to cloud his judgment. He must keep his focus at all costs.
If he didn’t, she might well be the one to pay the price. The very thought took a dull knife to what was left of his heart.
“Shall I bring you both some tea?” Mrs. Thomas asked.
“No, thank you,” Alexandra said. She came directly to the place where he stood at the edge of the carpet, watching as the housekeeper moved out of earshot.
“Benedict, I have decided against going to Cairo at this time.”
“You might have sent that word with the messenger,” he said. “I doubt you summoned me here to tell me that.”
Her slender shoulders lifted and fell. Her expression was bland, purposefully so. “I have news I would not be so bold as to convey through a courier.”
“Do you intend to enlighten me?”
“Of course.” Her eyes flashed as she motioned him to an overstuffed blue chair.
Slowly, he shook his head. “I’ve no desire to sit here as if we are two old friends having a chat.”
“Very well.” She gave another little shrug. “I will be direct. Colton has informed me there is good reason to believe the person who is responsible for Professor Stockwell’s death is not in Egypt, but in England.”
Her eyes betrayed no trace of deception. How much had Matthew Colton and his operatives learned of the supposedly cursed expedition?
“Why would he say that?”
“You already know the answer to that question. Colton’s operatives are top-notch. They know about the deaths. And there’s more… There has been another death…one you may not be aware of.” Her expression betrayed the undercurrent of fear she seemed to be trying to hide. “In London.”
“By hellfire, I should not have let Rooney evade me. I might have stopped him from killing again.”
Her mouth pulled tight, and she appeared to pull in a breath. “Unfortunately, the evidence points to someone else. Rooney cannot be the killer.”
Her words plowed into him, a blow he had not been able to guard against. “Colton is sure of this?”
“His conclusions are preliminary. But Rooney was not in the country when Sir Clayton Finch was murdered.”
Sir Clayton. Dead. The revelation delivered another vicious blow. Finch had been a dedicated explorer, an eminent scholar with a brave heart and unquestioned integrity. Why would anyone want the man dead?
“Another so-called accident?” he asked, though he already knew the answer.
“It was made to appear so.”
He stalked away from her, unable to face her while he gathered his storming thoughts. “Colton is wrong. It has to be a coincidence. Nothing more.”
“Colton had good cause for arriving at the conclusion. Sir Clayton drowned…in his own bath, evidently without suffering a fall.”
Her words slammed into him. He turned back to her, seeing the concern and fear that had darkened her irises to a smoky amber.
“Good God.”
“Professor Stockwell is the common thread in all of these deaths,” she said, pain shading her tones. “Your suspicions were correct.”
“I must return to Egypt. Come with me, Alexandra. Stockwell possessed volumes of notes. He’d extensively studied the Pharaoh’s Sun. With the amulet and the map we will—”
“There is no curse. Tell me you have not succumbed to frightening lore.”
“You know me better than that,” he said. “The menace we are facing is not of a supernatural nature. But that will be of little comfort when we encounter the threat. I’ve no intention of biding my time, patiently waiting to be attacked by some unknown menace. I must determine what the cur is after.”
She cocked her head, studying him with those luminous brown eyes. “You believe the answer can only be found in Egypt?”
“Where else?”
“A return to Cairo at this time would be pointless.” She came to him, her steps slow and measured. Reaching out, she cupped her palm against his jaw. “Benedict, the evil has followed you to the city. We must acknowledge that fact. We must band together to confront it from a position of strength. While we are in London, we will have the backing of the Colton Agency.”
The evil has followed you.
Regret welled within his gut. Bugger it, she was right. Coming here…seeking out the map…had been a mistake. His intention to involve her with his scheme had been a miscalculation of the worst sort. By hellfire, he wanted to uncover the treasure Stockwell had located. If he had found the lost tomb, its riches would shine beyond his wildest dreams. With the funds the treasure would bring, he would never again be reduced to poaching artifacts to add to the collection of some gout-ridden old bounder with more money than sense.
But the cost of recovering the treasure had suddenly become too damned high. He could not risk Alexandra’s life. He should not have involved her. While he tracked down Rooney, he should have done everything in his power to remove her from the danger’s reach, even if that meant seeing her on a steamer bound across the Atlantic.
Once again, he’d been a fool. He could not allow Alexandra to pay the price for his error in judgment.
Reaching up, he kneaded his aching neck, as if that would ease the tension coiled deep within him.
“I want you to leave England,” he said finally.
Her mouth pulled tight. “That would not be advisable. I have made my reasoning clear. We have a far better chance of unmasking the scoundrel right here. In London.”
“Hunting a killer is not your responsibility. I want you far from here.”
“You want me to leave?” She eyed him as if he’d grown a tail. “I must admit, this is most unexpected. You charge back into my life with the audacity to tell me what you want. You now claim to have concern for me. How very touching.”
“Can you doubt that I care about you? I raced from one continent to another to head off the man who could have killed you.” The words escaped him before he had the good sense to rein them in.
She stood silent, seeming to ponder his words. Her eyes widened slightly, the only show of emotion. No unpleasant scenes for Alexandra Quinn. That would have been beneath her stiff-upper-lip school of dignity. She’d always been able to contain her feelings—other than when he’d managed to tap into the passion that rippled just beneath her cool surface.
She toyed with the lace at her sleeves. “Whether or not you care for me is not pertinent to this situation.”
“I cannot be certain that I will be able to keep you out of harm’s way, and Colton cannot guarantee your safety.”
“He is confident his agents will provide superior protection.”
“I do not share your faith in the man. It would be wise for you to go somewhere far from this place…far from the danger. Across the ocean.” He reached for her, taking her hand in his. “If you agree, I will arrange your passage.”
Her feathered brows shot up. “Last night, you were adamant that I should join you in your pursuits. And now, you’d see me travel to America?”
“Is it so incredible that I should have a change of heart?”
“You came here seeking a map to a treasure. Am I to believe you’d simply let your quest fall to the wayside?” Her mouth curled at the corners, not quite a smile. “Is it possible you have come to believe I will interfere with your pursuit of the riches?”
“You, of all people, should know I have no intention of abandoning the hunt for the map. I won’t simply walk away. I know what Stockwell told me. But that does not change one simple fact—he should not have involved you.”
“He did not intend to,” she said softly.
“Stockwell asked me to protect you. And I will to see to it that you are out of the killer’s reach.”
Meeting his gaze, she firmed her jaw. “As I see it, that horrible man was on my trail before I even knew you were back in London. You did not make me a target. You have no responsibility to protect me.”
God, how he loved the way her eyes flashed with challenge. The rich hue could draw a man in. Damned shame he could not indulge his hunger. Caring about her had already proven a complication he could ill afford.
“And if I do not see it that way?” He stripped the emotion from his voice.
“Have you forgotten I am an independent woman? You have no say over what I do or do not do.”
“You are in danger, Alexandra. You cannot deny that. Not after what happened last night.”
“Running from London will not keep either of us alive.”
His hand moved to his jaw, kneading the tense muscles. “You cannot be sure of that.”
She pinned him with her gaze. “I never thought you a coward.”
“Damn it, Alex, this has nothing to do with cowardice.”
“We must head off this menace.” She brushed back a curl that dangled over her cheek. “Working together, we can discover what links us. We will extinguish the threat.”
Her determination intrigued him. “What do you have in mind?”
“I will continue to analyze the photograph for clues. Rooney’s criminal associates may also have knowledge of Sir Clayton’s death. Colton’s operatives will comb the usual places where vermin congregate in search of some clue to the scoundrel behind the man’s accident.”
Perhaps she was right. In London, he knew the lay of the land. He had connections that would gain him information on the deaths.
“I suspect the perpetrator is familiar with the market for antiquities—a collector or a rival explorer.”
Spirit lit Alex’s beautiful eyes. “I propose we conduct our own investigation. Colton will offer the resources of his agency.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“A collector would possess wealth. They’d likely wish to flaunt their acquisitions in Society.”
“An explorer might well boast of his accomplishments in the field,” Benedict added.
“Precisely, Lord Marlsbrook. As I see it, it’s high time you began singing your own praises in the ballrooms and salons of London.” Alex’s confident smile lit her amber eyes. “A man like Rooney did not come after us on his own accord. Someone secured his vile services—someone who pays enough to make a man risk his neck on the gallows. We need to make a foray into Society—I propose we undertake a bit of a ruse, a small deception, just enough to throw off suspicion that we are up to anything besides hobnobbing with Society darlings and crowing about your latest discovery.”