by Lara Temple
There were benefits to living, however temporarily, in what more closely resembled a museum than a home, Cleo thought. It wasn’t merely Mr Soane’s wondrous collection of antiquities that filled every corner of his house, but the fascinating people it drew like moths about a scholarly flame. They were very different from the dubious characters in her father’s circles. Right now, for example, her employer Mrs Phillips was happily engaged in a heated discussion about the origins of the myth of Medea with two scholars and a few moments ago Cleo had a fascinating discussion regarding the latest news on the decipherment of the hieroglyphics.
Dash would undoubtedly enjoy himself in such a setting. Usually so would she, except she was...distracted. Her thoughts returned stubbornly again and again to the dark square and to Rafe. She could almost feel the blue ribbon burning a hole in her reticule.
A strange, gleeful, hopeful ball of warmth kept appearing somewhere deep in her chest, like a bubble struggling to rise.
He’d brought her a ribbon and would visit her tomorrow. A formal visit.
His tale of his father’s violence made sense of so many things about him and had even given her hope... She knew he liked her, was attracted to her. She’d seen it even in those brief moments in the square. She didn’t know if there was more than that, if he felt any of the harsh, deep-cut need that struck her every time she thought of him or saw him or woke to a day empty of his presence.
She knew so little of his history and he knew all of hers, yet she felt she knew him better than she’d ever known a person, perhaps even better than she knew herself, for she was discovering she was not at all as she had thought all her life. Not cold, not wholly self-sufficient, not accepting of her fate.
She was alive and bursting with a need to be with him. Not just for what he might give her, but because more than ever she felt she had so much to give him. She was right for him.
He’d brought her a ribbon and was coming tomorrow. All she had to do was make it through this evening and the night and...
The crowd before her parted, creating a temporary path between her and a tall, dark-haired man who stood speaking with Mr Soane. Her heart catapulted up into her throat and for one joyous moment she thought Rafe had decided to act sooner than anticipated on his promise to visit.
But then her heart fell to the floor, flapping like a landed fish. The resemblance was uncanny—the slightly aquiline slant of the nose and the determined chin, the sun-warmed skin and that slow curve of a smile... But this was not Rafe. It was the jaw, bare of scars, that which made her chest contract and her eyes burn as they had each time loneliness caught her these past weeks.
Mr Soane’s footman was just passing and Cleo rose quietly and stopped him before he entered the servants’ passageway. ‘Who is that tall man speaking with Mr Soane, Henry?’
The footman glanced over her shoulder.
‘That is Lord Edward Edgerton, miss. He is here with Lady Edward.’ His nod indicated a tall woman with laughing blue eyes and dark hair.
Cleo knew from his tone Henry had more to tell her so she motioned him towards the back stairs leading to the kitchens. It was no doubt not at all the thing to gossip with the servants, but she had to know.
‘What do you know of them, Henry?’
‘Well, miss, they are new back from Egypt and newly wed, too. She’s a Sinclair,’ he said and she nodded though it meant nothing to her. ‘Everyone’s talking about how it’s he and Lady Edward that wrote those Desert Boy novels.’ Henry allowed himself a gratified smile at her expression of shock. ‘It’s true, miss! They appeared tonight quite by surprise, too. Not that they would be turned away, not in a million years. Not the authors of Desert Boy books and brother to the Disappearing Duke, to boot. I don’t doubt Mr Soane is right pleased they’ve come.’
‘The Disappearing Duke?’ she whispered.
‘Yes, miss. Everyone knows the story. Lord Edward’s elder brother, heir to the Duke of Greybourne, he ran away to the army when he was a boy. He’s the new Duke a year now, but there’s been not a peep from him. There are even rumours he’s dead, which means Lord Edward will be the next Duke. Now if you’ll excuse me, miss. I must bring these downstairs.’
She nodded and stood aside, staring at nothing.
Was this what Rafe had wanted to tell her? Her mind had taken her fears quite a few places these past weeks—a wife, children, an engagement, an illness, a crime... She’d imagined them all.
Or at least she thought she had. She hadn’t imagined a duchy. It should be a relief compared with all the scenarios her mind had conjured, but it wasn’t. And just now in the square...
That was what he’d meant to tell her. Not her foolish dreams, just his conscience giving him no rest once more.
No wonder he’d tried so hard to keep her in her place all this time. He was no fool, he must have seen she’d begun to weave him into her dreams...her cottage and her pack of jackals... He done his best to gently dismantle the bridges she kept insisting on building between them.
He might not be a scoundrel like William, but she’d been as blind with him as she had been ten years before. And of the scenarios she imagined, this revelation set an ocean between them as solidly as if he were already married.
Perhaps this was what it would feel like to suddenly discover the secret of the hieroglyphs—signs that had been before her all along were blindingly suddenly clear. Discussions between Rafe and Birdie, Captain Chris’s taunts... Bears and Dukes and Viola and Greybeard...
Greybourne. Grey. Bourne.
She welcomed the anger, opened the door for it and dragged it in by the collar.
He and Captain Chris had talked over her head as though she was a child. All along he’d treated her a little like a child, hadn’t he? Stay here, Cleo. Eat. Sleep. Be good, Cleo.
Throwing plates was too good for him! She should drop a pyramid on him. Feed him to Kabir and toss the remains to the Nile crocodiles.
She shrank back into the shadows as a group came through the passage. It was Mr Soane and the woman Henry had pointed out as Lady Edward. They headed to the display room which was filled floor to ceiling with prints and paintings.
It was impulse that sent Cleo after them and made her wait until Lady Edwards remained alone in the room. When Cleo entered, the other woman was looking through framed drawings that filled a specially made cupboard that opened like pages of a book, each one hung with framed prints.
‘You are Lady Edward Edgerton, are you not?’
Lady Edward turned at Cleo’s overly brusque question, surprise and wariness evident on her attractive face.
‘Yes. I’m afraid you have the advantage of me, Miss...?’
‘Miss Osbourne.’ Something flickered in the other woman’s eyes and curiosity turned to intentness. Without a doubt her name meant something to Lady Edward. So Rafe had discussed her with his brother, perhaps even consulted on how best to deal with her. ‘Are you here because of me?’
‘I beg your pardon?’ The woman’s eyes widened.
‘I knew the moment I saw Lord Edward that he must be closely related to the man I knew as Mr Grey. He did mention a brother and, if that is the nature of their relationship, I can understand why he did not see fit to share his true name with me. But that is hardly the point. If you are here by coincidence, I apologise, but if you are here on my account, pray tell him I do not need to be watched like a newborn lamb. He has done enough already.’
Lady Edward hesitated before answering.
‘The Greybournes are a stubborn lot. They mean well, though.’
‘So I have noticed on both counts. Truly I am grateful for his help thus far, but there is nothing more to be done. And if he is indeed that... Disappearing Duke everyone is gossiping about, clearly he has his own affairs to see to.’
‘I find that Edge... Lord Edward has a fixation with seeing things through. Perhaps
his brother suffers from the same weakness?’
Cleo snorted.
‘That is putting it mildly. I am grateful for his help—I know I might not have succeeded in returning to England without him, but I could have secured a companion’s position without his interference. Mrs Phillips might have agreed to employ me as a favour, but she might yet decide to find someone who is not accosted at night by a giant with no manners and a dubious sense of humour.’
‘Are you quite certain there is nothing more to be done?’ Lady Edward enquired cautiously and Cleo turned to fiddle with the latch on the cupboard, breathing carefully.
Nothing more to be done. Those simple words ripped another hole in her tissue of hope. This revelation meant she had well and truly lost Rafe. Perhaps soon she might have to accept she’d lost Dash as well. Perhaps it was best to accept it all at once. There was no Rafe, no Dash. Time to grow up once again and move on. She dropped the latch and raised her chin.
‘Since my brother may have suffered the same fate as my father and I do not believe in the occult, then, yes, there is nothing to be done. Gone is gone.’
She couldn’t hold the woman’s compassionate gaze. Any moment now she would break and she did not want Lady Edward to report back to Rafe that Miss Cleopatra Osbourne was a hopeless watering pot.
‘I had best return to Mrs Phillips before her argument with Mr Thorpe regarding the true nature of Medusa comes to blows.’ She tried to smile and went to the door, but compulsion made her turn and the words tumble out of her. ‘I do hope Rafe keeps out of trouble. He was very kind and helped me, though I was nothing but trouble for him. I hope to repay the favour some day, though I cannot see how.’ On a final impulse she added: ‘I dare say you will think it forward of me to say so, but I do hope you and Lord Edward are working on another book. I cannot tell you the pleasure they gave me and my brother while... Never mind. Thank you for listening to me, Lady Edward.’
She didn’t return to Mrs Phillips. She couldn’t face anyone else just now.
She’d barely sunk on to a chair in Mrs Phillips’s small parlour when there was a tap on the door and Betsy poked her head in.
‘There you are, miss. I didn’t see you downstairs.’
Cleo rose to her feet guiltily. ‘Is Mrs Phillips looking for me, Betsy?’
‘No, miss. A man. Not the big fellow from the square, another one. Very polite. Says he’s your brother...’
The darkness welled up like sinking into a pool of ink and the air rumbled with the galloping of at least a hundred horses, but when the light returned the maid was still in the doorway, waiting.
‘Dash.’
‘Shall I show him up, miss?’ the maid asked hesitantly.
‘Show him...? Oh, yes, please, Betsy. Yes.’
When Dash entered she was standing, her hand braced on the table, still prepared for disillusionment. But it was him—her little brother, smiling. She stood, spread her arms and he walked into her hug. They stood like that a long while until he squirmed out of her arms just as he had as a little boy. But he was grinning.
‘I’m honoured I merit a few tears, Sis. I can’t remember ever seeing you cry.’
‘I’m becoming soft in my old age. I’m so happy you are here and safe, Dash. I was so afraid.’
‘So was I,’ he replied, inspecting her head to toes. ‘When I saw the damage to our rooms I was frantic until I found your letter saying you’d left for England. I wasn’t certain you would have. I took what I could and left for Alexandria that same day.’
‘But then why did you not leave for England immediately?’
‘Because our friend Boucheron was in Alexandria and he controls everything there. I decided to lie low and wait for him to leave, but the blasted fellow looked set to stay there for a while so I finally risked coming into port, only to find myself waylaid by a sailor who knew my name. I almost had an apoplexy, but he just gave me this and disappeared. I realise now that your large friend with the scars must have set him on to me.’
Her breath hitched at the mention of Rafe, but she merely took the worn and limp piece of paper Dash handed her and unfolded it. Rafe’s voice filled her mind immediately.
‘I’m seeing your Patrick safely to London. Your friend B. is serious about retrieving whatever your father took from him, so if you have it I suggest you find a safe means of returning said property—I find it’s always best to hide a needle in a haystack and make a great deal of noise about the hay. Whatever you do, don’t turn your back on him—make sure there are other people about if you speak with him. And if a fellow named al-Mizan finds you, tell him nadab will make it well worth his while to send you safely on your way. I have a feeling he will show me that courtesy, one mercenary to another. Don’t dither.’
Cleo rubbed the paper a little as if she could feel him.
‘Who is he?’ Dash asked, watching her closely, and she sighed. There was no point in telling Dash the truth about Rafe, at least not yet.
‘His name is... Rafe. It’s a long story. First tell me the rest of it. What did Father take from Boucheron?’
‘I don’t wish to show disrespect for the dead, but our fool of a father kept a notebook listing all of Boucheron’s transactions. He listed which antiquities were sold where and there were markings which I think showed which were real and which forgeries. Farouq must have seen the notebook.’
‘Oh, no. No wonder Boucheron wanted Father back under his thumb.’
‘Yes, he must be well pleased he’s dead.’
‘Did you find the notebook among his belongings?’
‘I did, though I had no idea of its significance until I read your friend’s note. I only took it because it was Father’s and I wish I hadn’t been so sentimental. If I’d left it there for Boucheron’s people to find, none of this would have happened. I returned it to Boucheron, though.’
‘Dash! That wasn’t wise. Now he might think you know about the forgeries!’
‘I wasn’t that obvious, Sis. I took your big friend’s advice and gathered a stack of Father’s most recent notes about the pyramids of Meroe, bought some books about Upper Egypt and was lucky enough to find a volume called Hidden Treasures of Nubia in an Alexandrian bookstore. I put it all in a parcel and waylaid Boucheron at the Ptolemy Club in Alexandria so there would be other people around. I think I played the wide-eyed innocent to perfection. Told him I presumed Father stole his plans to find a treasure cache in the Nubian pyramids and conveyed what I hope was the right amount of scoffing disdain at the idea. Then I proclaimed I was only too delighted to finally be able to leave Egypt for England. He said how delighted he was to recover the books, but it was the notebook that he slipped into his coat pocket as I was leaving. You know what he’s like—a damned clever fellow. He was even so kind as to offer to put me in contact with some friends of his in London if I needed occupation. He assured me he had excellent connections here.’
‘How sweetly ominous.’
‘Exactly. I thanked him, but said I was looking forward to taking up an offer of a fellowship in Edinburgh. I felt that was far enough away to calm his concerns.’
‘I’m so proud of you, Little Brother. But mostly I’m just happy you are finally here. I’ve missed you.’
He grinned and gave a jaw-cracking yawn.
‘Same here. Now about that giant of yours—’
‘He’s a mercenary and he’s not mine. Now you are safe he will no doubt consider his obligation fulfilled. He must return to his family.’
‘Pity. I wasn’t very gracious just now.’
‘Just now? You saw him?’
‘By the docks. He had people on the lookout for me. I thought they might be Boucheron’s people who somehow followed me aboard the Nightingale and to England and was a little rattled.’
‘Oh. What did he say?’
‘That you’d have his hide if he didn’t
deliver me safely.’
She smiled, pressed her hands over her face and burst into tears.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Rafe leaned on the hackney door, giving his leg a moment to adjust as he looked up at the imposing façade of Sinclair House. Even after a day lying abed he was not yet well enough to be up and about, but his conscience was causing him more grief than his leg. He’d put off this moment far too long; it was time to see Edge and face his future. At least his injury might soften his brother’s well-deserved ire.
The door to Sinclair House was opened by a butler almost before he’d released the knocker.
‘Mr Grey to see Lord Edward,’ Rafe announced and the butler opened his mouth but then paused, his eyes widening. ‘Lord Edward is in residence, isn’t he?’ Rafe asked cautiously.
‘He is, Your Grace.’
Ah. He’d forgotten how alike he was to Edge. Though given his current state, he would have thought it would take a man longer to make the connection.
Thankfully the butler said no more, merely stood back.
‘This way, Your Grace.’
Rafe limped in his wake, concentrating on his steps. Each one was an adventure in discomfort. He was used to pain, had lived with it for quite a long time after the fire. But strangely he felt this cut even more. He was not as resilient as he had once been. He just wanted it to be over. He wanted...
He wanted Cleo to be there and hold his hand and scold him for his stupidity in wandering around London at night without paying attention to his surroundings and to tell him that only an idiot tended to a knife wound himself. He wanted to see her frown and her smile and he just...wanted her.
Oh, hell, he was a mess.
‘In here, Your Grace. I shall fetch your brother.’
He hesitated as Rafe lowered himself on to a sofa, biting back a groan of pain, and then hurried out.
* * *
Edge burst into the drawing room and Rafe smiled, far more relieved than he would have believed possible to see his brother. He looked fit and well. Far better than he’d looked the last time he’d seen him in Brazil. Apparently he didn’t return the sentiment for his gaze swept over Rafe and his frown deepened.
