“WHY, MR. ARMSTRONG, what are you doing?” Sidney said behind the mask that had been passed out to all the passengers for masquerade night. A night that was every bit as bothersome as it sounded although it did seem to be the sort of thing first-class passengers required. It was their first dance of the evening, much to Harry’s annoyance.
“I believe we are dancing,” he said smoothly, steering her out of the saloon door and into the corridor. He cast a quick glance over his shoulder but no one seemed to note their exit. This was the first chance he’d had to be alone with her since their shared sunrise and it had taken a bit of creative manipulation on his part to manage it.
“I believe we were dancing and now you have somehow guided me out of the saloon and—”
He opened the door to the deck. “And onto the deck.”
“Dare I ask why?” She stepped out onto the deck, a note of amusement in her voice. Obviously, she was not annoyed by this clever maneuver of his.
He smiled down at her. “It’s a beautiful night, Mrs. Gordon.” He pulled off his mask with a sense of relief. He hated having the blasted thing pressed against his face. “I thought it a shame not to share it.”
“It is a lovely night, Mr. Armstrong.” She untied her mask and removed it. “But I assume we are not here simply to gaze at the stars.”
“Oh, but they are magnificent stars.”
“They are at that.” She glanced out at the darkness, the brilliant stars reflecting on an endless sea. “There are any number of ways I can think of to describe this but you would not appreciate them.”
He chuckled. “Probably not.”
“I’ve never seen the stars so brilliant or a sky so black.” She gazed at the sky for a long moment and it struck Harry that there were indeed any number of ways he could describe her face silhouetted against the stars. Most of them extremely sentimental and even, possibly, given the circumstances, romantic.
He ignored the absurd idea. “Except, of course, when you’ve been on a ship at sea.”
“Yes, of course.” She paused then heaved a slightly dramatic sigh. “It’s been so long I had nearly forgotten...”
He didn’t believe her but thought it best to ignore yet another example of her deception. “I simply thought you would look lovely under the stars. And I was right.”
She arched a skeptical brow and then snorted in a most unladylike manner. “Good Lord, Harry. Did you expect that to work?”
“Yes.” He grinned.
“There’s that arrogance of yours again.”
“I prefer to think of it as confidence.”
“You may think of it as you wish. You will anyway, I suspect.” She rested her hands on the railing and gazed out at the night. “Why are we really here?”
“Aside from the stars and the balmy night?”
She laughed and it caught at something deep inside him. It was not the first time. “Yes, Harry, aside from all the accoutrements of a blatantly romantic interlude, why are we here?”
“I simply wished to talk to you.” He paused. “Alone.”
“That explains it, then.”
He’d been right from the beginning. Try as he might, in the week and a half they’d been on board ship there had been no opportunity to be alone with Sidney. Her trio of guardians made certain of that. They weren’t the least bit subtle about it either. There was at least one of them by Sidney’s side or within sight every minute. It would have been most annoying except that it also served to prevent Corbin from being alone with her. Harry’s initial impression of Corbin’s untrustworthiness when it came to women was proving correct. Why, the reporter practically fawned over Sidney, showering her with compliments about her writing and her ability to tell a story at every opportunity. One did wonder what else the man was saying when he leaned in close to her and spoke low into her ear. Although the blush that washed up her face at such moments was certainly a clue as to the sorts of things Corbin whispered. Corbin was the one the ladies should keep their eyes on—not Harry. It was obvious that the man was interested in more than a mere newspaper story. Of course, the reporter was nearly as attentive to the chaperones as he was to Sidney, no doubt in an effort to earn their trust and thereby convince them to look kindly upon him.
Two could play at Corbin’s game. Certainly it had been some time but Harry used to play it quite well. When he inherited his title, he had made a concerted effort to behave more in the manner expected of a gentleman in his position. It hadn’t been especially difficult. Harry attributed that both to the demands of his new circumstances as well as age. There was nothing that emphasized a man’s passing years and the reality of mortality so much as the death of a friend. It now struck him that he had been somewhat melancholy in nature in the two years since Walter died as well. Certainly the most interesting thing he’d done since his return to England was dare Mrs. Gordon to prove her legitimacy.
She’d called him stuffy. Stuffy? Hardly. Admittedly, the Earl of Brenton might be stuffy and even perhaps—God help him—dull. But Harry Armstrong was daring and adventurous and far from dead. And hadn’t he felt a bit more like his old self since he’d started this endeavor? There was nothing Harry Armstrong couldn’t do if he set his mind to it. And earning the friendship—if not the affections—of Sidney and her band of vigilant widows was just the sort of challenge he had always relished. The ladies were pleasant enough and he had become rather fond of them with the exception of Mrs. Higginbotham, who continued to treat him with utter disdain which only made him try harder. After all, with friendship came confidences and, hopefully, the truth about the Queen of the Desert.
From that moment forward, Harry made it his business to be by Sidney’s side every possible minute. He never missed an opportunity to sit next to her at dinner. Certainly there were moments when he had to outmaneuver Corbin—as well as the captain who quite liked having the Queen of the Desert on board his ship. As it happened, the blasted man had read her silly book. But then apparently—who hadn’t?
Harry was doing all he could to follow his father’s and Ben’s advice. Really, could he be more charming? Every evening he joined Sidney and the other ladies in the saloon for whatever entertainment was scheduled and there was something scheduled every night. He had never been much for organized activities but it seemed they were an essential part of a passenger ship and could not be avoided. Amusements ranged from dancing to absurd games that struck him as little better than children’s pastimes, to musical evenings employing the questionable talents of the other passengers, to hours of enthusiastic and distinctly cutthroat card playing. Such evenings were admittedly rather fun.
Harry had always enjoyed cards and considered himself quite accomplished. On board ship, they played for pennies, and higher wagers were frowned upon even though he suspected the older ladies would have agreed to increased stakes. All three of them played with a wicked intensity that was as surprising as it was successful. The only interesting wager to be found was the daily sweepstakes wherein passengers placed a miniscule amount—because it was all in the spirit of fun, although he would dispute that—on their guess of the distance the ship had traveled the day before. They were halfway to Alexandria before Harry discovered most of the gentlemen on board had substantial, private wagers of their own as well as serious card games in the gentlemen’s lounge. One of the true satisfactions of the endless voyage was liberating Corbin from a tidy sum.
Still, while he scarcely had any opportunity to speak with Sidney alone, he did have the chance to observe her. She was an enigma, a puzzle with flashing blue eyes, unbridled enthusiasm for nearly everything and a challenging attitude. The more he studied her, the more confusing she became. She was well versed on ancient Egypt, as well as current archeological endeavors and was practically a walking, talking guidebook. Try as he might, he’d been unable to catch her in a single mistake. It was absurd. Even he made mistakes on occasion. She was either the best liar in history—and he had met more than one woman who was skilled in the art of deception—or she was completely legitimate—and his opinion on that had not changed—or she was fighting for her life. He was fairly certain the last option was the correct one. It was the only answer that made sense. Harry had long prided himself on being an excellent judge of character and, in spite of the deception she had pulled on her readers, Mrs. Sidney Gordon struck him as a genuinely good person.
Which made his objective all the more awkward. Thanks to an innate sense of fairness and an inconvenient conscience, Harry found himself feeling rather bad about his determination to prove her a fraud. Through no fault of his own, he had everything a man could want: a father who loved him, wealth, property and even a place in society should he want it. And, as far as he could ascertain, all Sidney had was a makeshift family comprised of three elderly ladies and her work. What kind of selfish, arrogant man would take that away from her?
“I am prepared to offer you a bargain of sorts,” Harry said in what he intended to be a pleasant, friendly manner. “A compromise, if you will.”
“A compromise? How very intriguing. What kind of compromise?”
“Before we met in person I was convinced by a well-meaning friend that Mrs. Gordon was an elderly widow.”
“Which is why you immediately assumed Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore was Mrs. Gordon and then, even worse, made the same assumption with Mrs. Higginbotham.” She bit back a grin.
He shuddered. “She does not like me.”
“That’s not entirely accurate.” Sidney slanted him an amused glance. “She detests you.” She shrugged. “It’s a matter of degree really. Although I must say, you have made every effort to win her friendship as well as that of Lady Blodgett’s and Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore’s. Successfully, I might add. They merely dislike you.”
“We still have three days until we reach Alexandria. They could become quite fond of me in that time.”
“I wouldn’t wager even a penny on that.” She scoffed. “So tell me, Harry, what is this bargain of yours?”
“As I said, I was led to believe that Mrs. Gordon was an older lady which led me to reexamine my, oh, conscience if you will. I discussed this with my uncle and neither of us had any desire to destroy the livelihood of an old woman who had no other means of making a living.”
“Decent of you.”
“We decided then that if she would simply change the name of her stories in the Messenger and any subsequent books to include the word fictitious...” He paused.
Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Go on.”
“Then there would be no need to expose her publicly as a fraud,” he said with a flourish. “She could continue to write her stories and make her living.”
“And?”
“And that is the very same bargain I am now prepared to offer you.” It really was a brilliant idea.
“Are you?”
Sidney didn’t look nearly as pleased as he would have expected. In fact, she didn’t look at all pleased. Still, that could be due to the minimal light on the deck. “I am indeed.”
She studied him thoughtfully.
“Aren’t you going to say anything?”
“I’m trying to find the right words,” she said slowly.
“To be expected, of course.” He smirked. “It’s an excellent offer.”
“Do tell me, Mr. Armstrong—”
Odd, he was Harry a minute ago.
“Why are you willing to agree to such an offer? I am not, as you had previously assumed, an old woman.”
“You most certainly are not.” He chuckled.
“Then why?”
“To save you from ultimate embarrassment and humiliation and scandal of course.” There was a distinctly pompous note in his voice. He ignored it.
Her brows drew together. “I don’t understand. We have not yet set foot in Egypt. Why now?”
“It’s quite simple. In our time on board ship, I’ve had the opportunity to study you.”
“Oh?”
“Come now, Sidney—”
“Mrs. Gordon.”
“Mrs. Gordon, then. It’s obvious that you are not an experienced traveler. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if this was your first sea voyage. Which means you have never been to Egypt.” He smiled in what might have been an altogether too smug manner.
“On what do you base this conclusion?”
“Why, I’ve never seen anyone so delighted with even the most mundane aspects of the voyage. It’s apparent, at least to me, that it’s all new for you.” Without thinking, he took her hand. “Your enthusiasm about very nearly everything is not only engaging but almost contagious.”
“And that leads you to believe this is my first voyage?” She jerked her hand from his and the oddest sense of loss shot through him.
“It’s hard to feign that sort of excitement,” he said in a chastising tone.
“What utter nonsense.” Disdain rang in her voice. “You pride yourself on being a man of facts, Mr. Armstrong, but thus far, you have made an assessment based on nothing more than impression and speculation. Surely you have facts to go along with your assumption.”
He stared in disbelief. She should be thanking him at this point for an offer that would save her reputation and her livelihood. And would put an end to this farce. Instead, the blasted woman was asking for proof that he had determined without question that she was indeed a fake.
“Very well.” His tone hardened. “Every aspect of this voyage delights you. You spend endless hours in obvious enjoyment of the coast passing by, be it Spain or Africa or Italy.”
“Should I sit in my room and tap my fingers impatiently waiting for the voyage to end?”
He ignored her. “When we stopped at Gibraltar, you were enthralled when you used field glasses and spotted one of the apes on the rock. Furthermore, you were not at all knowledgeable as to the working of the glasses.”
“The apes on the Rock of Gibraltar are a thrilling sight, regardless of how many times one sees it. And they were not my glasses so unfamiliarity is to be expected.” She shrugged. “What else?”
“When we docked in Brindisi, and we took the opportunity for a brief stroll, you and your friends were fascinated but it is one of the more unpleasant and disreputable places I have ever been.”
“Which makes it no less interesting regardless of how many times one has seen it.” She paused. “Usually, one changes steamers in Brindisi. I found it most interesting that we did not.”
“That’s because we are headed to Alexandria and not Port Said. And anyone with a decent guidebook would know that,” he added. She was filled with all sorts of minor details which proved absolutely nothing except that she was well-read about travel to Egypt. “You are awed by everything from the view of Tunis and the harbor of ancient Carthage—”
“Edmund Burke said those who do not know history are doomed to repeat it,” she said primly.
“—to the workings of the ship and the schools of dolphins who trail in our wake.”
“And you don’t find those remarkable creatures fascinating?” She shook her head in a sympathetic manner. “How very sad.”
“It’s not the least bit sad.” Indignation sounded in his voice. She pitied him? “I was just as fascinated as you the first time I saw any of this. Now however—”
“Now it has all become terribly familiar.” She sighed. “I do find it sad and I am sorry for you.”
“I do not need your pity,” he said sharply. The blasted woman had turned the entire conversation on its head. He drew a calming breath. “Somehow, you have appropriated the discussion at hand and turned it in an entirely different direction altogether.”
“Have I?” She smiled pleasantly. “How very clever of me.”
“Clever or not you cannot continue this ruse throughout this entire trip.”
“Unless, of course, it’s not a ruse.” She paused. “Is there more?”
“Your enthusiasm is boundless and very nearly contagious.”
“You already said that.”
“It bears repeating as obviously you did not take it to heart the first time!” Was the woman even listening to what he said?
“Very well. I suppose I should confess at this point.”
Finally!
She leaned closer and lowered her voice. “My friends are not the seasoned travelers one might imagine and I have felt it important to share my observations—as boundlessly enthusiastic as they may be—with them as they have uprooted their lives to accompany us.”
“Observations are one thing. Excitement is something else entirely.” It was an explanation even if he did not consider it a good one. “I could go on and on but everything I’ve seen points to a naiveté and distinct lack of experience on your part.”
“Does it, Mr. Armstrong? It seems to me your most gracious offer of this bargain to save my reputation and my livelihood is nothing more than a ploy on your part to save yourself.”
“Save myself?” He fairly sputtered with indignation. He never sputtered and certainly not with indignation. What had this woman done to him? “From what?”
“From the absolute certainty that once in Egypt I will indeed be able to prove that I do know what I write about and you and your uncle will be forced to admit that you were wrong.”
“Never!”
She leaned close. “Absolute certainty. Mr. Armstrong.”
He stared down at her. God she was stubborn. And lovely in the starlight. And annoying. And shockingly appealing. And a fraud. And...
“I have the most absurd desire to kiss you, Mrs. Gordon,” he said without thinking.
“And I have the not-at-all-absurd desire to smack you, Mr. Armstrong. Hard.”
“Do I take that to mean you would not welcome my kiss.”
“How very perceptive of you.”
“Might I say that’s a great pity?”
She stared at him for a long moment. “Yes, I believe you may.” She nodded and turned to leave.
“Was that overly forward of me?” he called after her.
“Yes,” she said over her shoulder.
“And yet I do not regret it.”
She paused at the door. “Good.”
“What do you mean good?” he called after her but the door was already closing behind her.
What on earth had come over him? He turned back to the railing, braced his hands on the cool metal and stared out into the night. He asked to kiss her! He’d never asked a woman if he could kiss her before. It had never been necessary to ask permission. And Sidney Gordon was not at all the type of woman that usually attracted him. Perhaps this was the kind of thing that happened when one spent all one’s time in the company of a woman who was intelligent and amusing and far more attractive than she realized. It might be attributable to all that boundless enthusiasm. There was something about her that was appealing. Most appealing. But still—
“How did you manage to get her alone?” Corbin joined him at the railing. “I’ve been trying for days.”
“Have you?” Harry had no desire to discuss Sidney with the reporter.
“Indeed I have.” Corbin chuckled. “She’s quite fetching, don’t you think?”
Harry shrugged. “I hadn’t noticed.”
“Come now. I daresay every man on this ship has noticed,” Corbin said. “The woman is a breath of fresh spring air. And a talented writer as well. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone quite like her.”
“Yes, well, she is unique.”
“As are her companions.” Corbin shuddered. “How did you manage to evade them?”
Obviously Corbin was not going to leave without an answer. “They’re on the committee for tonight’s masked ball. They were called away to deal with an unexpected problem. Something to do with a box of missing masks.”
“They were talking about that earlier,” Corbin said thoughtfully. “Lady Blodgett and the other ladies agreed they could not recall signing up for the committee.”
“They are getting on in years. A certain amount of forgetfulness is to be expected.”
Corbin stared. “This is your doing, isn’t it? You signed them up and misplaced the masks.”
Harry was not about to admit to anything but he couldn’t hide a small, satisfied smile.
Corbin laughed. “Excellent, Armstrong. I wish I’d thought of it myself.” He adopted a casual note. “So was your conversation successful? Did Mrs. Gordon make a complete confession?”
“Why do you ask?” He straightened and glanced at the reporter. “I thought your purpose was to write about the return of the Queen of the Desert to Egypt.”
“It is and I disagree with your theory about her legitimacy entirely. I find her work most credible.”
Harry snorted.
“But, I admit, I could be wrong. If I am, I want to know.”
“I can’t imagine your editor would be pleased with your attitude.”
“The truth, Armstrong, is not always what we want to hear.” Corbin paused. “If you’re right about her, well, that’s what I shall report. It’s a far more interesting story, really. One that could well change a career.”
“Oh?”
“Proving your assertion that Mrs. Gordon is a fraud is the kind of story that would be wasted on the Messenger. The kind of story that might get an enterprising reporter a position at a more impressive publication. The Times perhaps.”
“But it would ruin her.”
“As I said—the truth is often unpleasant but it is the truth nonetheless.” Corbin shrugged. “I must admit I’m surprised by your concern. After all, you and your uncle started this.”
“Yes, I suppose we did.” And regretting it more and more.
“Are you reconsidering your position?”
“Not at all,” he said curtly. “We shall be in Egypt in three days. Then we will know the validity of Mrs. Gordon’s writing and you shall have your story. One way or the other.”
“I have to admit—I do hope she’s legitimate.” Corbin gazed out at the star-filled sky. “She’s witty and amusing and quite attractive in a subtle sort of way. Frankly, I find her enchanting. A successful writer would be an excellent match for a man like me.”
“An ambitious man like you, you mean.”
“I have always been fond of widows.” Corbin grinned. “Her disproving your suspicions wouldn’t be the best story—as stories go—but it wouldn’t be a bad start toward working my way into her affections.”
“You would use your story to curry favor with her?”
“I don’t see why not, especially if it was the truth.”
Harry stared at him for a long moment. He wasn’t sure what to say or rather what he wanted to say. But the distinct need to protect Sidney from this man washed through him.
“I believe I shall return to the saloon now,” he said and started toward the door.
“Excellent suggestion, Armstrong.” Corbin followed behind. “Perhaps I can have another dance with the delightful Mrs. Gordon.”
“Perhaps,” Harry muttered. Not if I reach her first. Regardless of how they had left things, Harry was damned if he’d leave Sidney in Corbin’s grasp. But the reporter was right—Sidney was delightful. Bloody hell, he’d grown to like her. Although his request for a kiss had shocked him nearly as much as it had her. What had she done to him?
The oddest battle waged within him. On one hand, Harry knew he was right about Sidney’s stories and he was determined to prove it. On the other—his success would destroy her life. He’d be proved right but...
The real question now was whether or not it was worth it.