She shook her head. Then, looking at her hands in his, said softly, “I’m a widow.”
“Oh. I’m so sorry.” He rubbed her hands another minute, feeling like a cad for not really being sorry.
“No apology needed, sir. It’s been nine years now.”
His head jerked up. “You must have been a babe!”
She blushed. He was relieved to see color.
“Forgive me. None of my business. I just cannot believe you were not snatched up again since then.” He studied her carefully. Indeed, it seemed impossible. She was comely, with a perfect oval face, warm brown eyes, lovely pink lips that most certainly should be kissed—
No. He stopped himself. No time for that. Nathan released her hands and looked around for something to lay the glass in. There was a small bowl on a table used for fruit. He took the fruit out and brought it over.
“Hold this.”
Elizabeth held the bowl. This was all quite unexpected. She turned to see Olivia on the bed. Her charge had regained her composure and went to the dressing table to remove her disguise. Elizabeth was grateful for Olivia’s preoccupation. It gave her time to observe the man before her. He was kind. And young. And somewhat dashing. Not the type to be interested in a widow who’d been on the shelf for nine years and had no dowry or hopes of marriage. But still. He was kind. For some reason, that hurt more than being bound and gagged.
She could feel his heat as he methodically inspected every inch of her body, carefully picking stray glass from her form with the most tender of care. His hands touched her hair, freeing small pieces and dropping them into the bowl. Her hair fell past her shoulders in disarray, but he stroked through it, then lay it reverently back down. As if it were precious. The entire experience was so disturbing she could not speak. Only stare. Until he sensed her scrutiny. And stared back. Their eyes locked, and something she had never felt before gripped her stomach and squeezed at her heart. A connection. A yearning.
For him.
The desire was so strong, the emotion so intense, that her eyes burned, and she was ashamed when a puddle of tears slowly spilled over.
“Don’t,” he whispered gently. His thumb brushed one cheek to wipe the moisture. Then he winked. “I’ve yet to inspect your lashes. Close your eyes.”
She obeyed and felt the brushing of his finger through her lashes—the upper, the lower. Then his warning, “Keep them closed. I think I’ve got a bit here. Yep. Better. All right to open.”
Elizabeth did. Then smiled for real. “Thank you, Mr. Riedell. You are most kind.”
“Nathan. And it’s always a pleasure to be near a beautiful woman. I’m only sorry for the circumstances that brought us here.” He took one of her hands. “Though not sorry to be here.”
Olivia cleared her throat nearby, frowning, and Elizabeth turned.
“You’re well, Olivia?”
“Yes. Thanks to you, Mrs. Tisdale. Mr. Riedell, thank you for your assistance. I would like to change my clothing, as I’m sure would Mrs. Tisdale.”
“Of course. Excuse me. Professor … er … Mrs. Tisdale. Professor.”
“Elizabeth,” she corrected. “And this is Lady Olivia. A most charming and correct young lady, though I agree it is difficult to tell at the moment.”
Nathan bowed politely to Olivia, then to her. “Excuse me, please.”
The door closed behind him, and Elizabeth closed her eyes with a sigh, wanting only to imprint the memory of Nathan Riedell in her mind.
“He was very forward, Mrs. Tisdale.”
“He was being kind to an old widow.”
Olivia stopped and looked at her. Really looked at her.
“What is it?”
“Strange. I thought you were old. But you are not.”
“I’m thirty.”
Olivia grunted. “You were one and twenty when you came to be my chaperone. I thought you were so old and mature at the time.”
Elizabeth tilted her head, curious. “And that’s suddenly changed?”
“I don’t know, Mrs. Tisdale. I don’t know. This was a very strange night.”
“Yes,” Elizabeth agreed. “If you please, no more jumping off balconies. You gave me quite a fright. I should never find another job if people learned my charge so disliked me that she leapt to her death.”
Her young friend paused, then marched over and hugged her fiercely. It was a most uncommon experience. Olivia did not initiate embraces. Elizabeth didn’t know quite how to respond. “I would never let that happen. Thank you, Mrs. Tisdale.”
“For saving your life?”
“No. For caring.”
Elizabeth smiled. “You may not be so happy with me when the authorities come. Those men were looking for you, Olivia. They seemed to think you stole something from the British Museum and were very intent on getting it back … or for themselves, since I highly doubt they actually worked for the museum …”
“I see.”
“I see that you do. And what worries me most, Olivia, is that you are not in the least surprised.”
There was a knock at the door. Olivia opened it. Mr. Stafford stood, looking large and formidable.
He studied them both, then nodded as if satisfied. “You are better.” It was more command than question. Elizabeth smiled, while Olivia bristled.
“The magistrate has arrived. You need to answer some questions. You will no doubt lie, so please make sure your stories are straight. The hotel is sending up dinner, tea, and hopefully something a bit stronger. Then you’ll need to pack.”
“Pack?” Olivia’s eyes widened. “Are they evicting us? It was not our fault. They should not even charge us, for the lack of security at this establishment. Why, Mrs. Tisdale was nearly killed. It’s an outrage. Did you tell them that? It’s an—”
Mr. Stafford raised a hand. She immediately shut up. “As it appears you have no male protection and very little sense, I’m taking you to your father. In Egypt. We leave early.” He glared at Olivia, threatening. “Don’t make me regret this.”
With that, he slammed the door shut again.
“Well!” Olivia huffed. Then she did a little pirouette on her way to the wardrobe. “I told you we were going to Egypt, Mrs. Tisdale.”
“Indeed.” Elizabeth smiled thoughtfully, thinking of the men on the other side of the door. She hoped Nathan Riedell would also be going to Egypt, if that were not too much to ask.
Olivia, she knew, had other ideas. For her this would be fulfillment of a dream. The opportunity to travel and join her father on his many expeditions.
“I think, Mrs. Tisdale,” Olivia pronounced, pulling a mysterious envelope from her coat, “this is going to be a most wonderful adventure.”
Chapter Five
Adventuring was awful!
The ship rolled, and Olivia felt another wave of heat and nausea rip at her stomach. Gads.
Please make it end.
She would not survive the journey. Anything to be on land. Mr. Stafford did this deliberately. She had no doubt of it. He was punishing her being English. And female. And always being right.
Exhausted from lack of sleep, she lay down again, only to feel her stomach heave.
There was a knock at the door.
“Go away.” Her voice was weak, but clear. It was likely Mrs. Tisdale again, trying to comfort her. She didn’t want anyone to witness her weakness. So far she had been able to control herself from actually vomiting. Mrs. Tisdale insisted it would be better after that part was done, but Olivia didn’t believe her.
Mr. Stafford opened the door.
“Go away! I’m not decent.” Besides the fact that her dignity was stripped by the illness, she really wasn’t all that decent. She wore her man’s breeches, and a loose linen man’s shirt for comfort. Her hair was tied back from her face. Mr. Stafford on the other hand looked disgusting—a picture of health and humor.
He brought a tray of tea and biscuits.
“I hate you.”
He grinned. “I know.
Getting what you want isn’t always good, is it?”
“I shouldn’t be sick.”
“Why not? Most people get sick their first day at sea.”
“It’s been three days!”
“That’s because you’re fighting it. You’ll feel better once you let it out and go with the rhythm of the sea. Elizabeth is on deck now, enjoying the sail.”
Olivia closed her eyes, fighting the next wave, feeling very, very alone in the world. Everyone else was on deck having a grand adventure without her. Again. She moaned, “It wasn’t supposed to be like this.” He held a cup of tea to her mouth. She took a sip. Peppermint. It seemed to help a little.
“This is my first time leaving England. Ever! I always wanted to see the continent and travel with my father, but he—” She stopped. It sounded disloyal to say he never took her, or maybe never wanted her to go. It was always too dangerous, or too expensive, or too something. There was always an excuse. “It just didn’t work out yet.”
“There are plenty of things to see in England.”
“I know.” She swallowed a threatening choke. “Just—in books—everywhere else seems so much more … exotic.” She finished on a gasp, compelling her stomach to relax, forcing her breath through her nose.
“Truthfully, those exotic ports are usually much less comfortable than home. And oftentimes in less modern societies, there can be any number of uncomfortable diseases to be found.”
She held up a hand. “Do not tell me now.”
“Once you’ve recovered your strength and gotten some sea legs, I think you’ll enjoy meeting the people and discovering other cultures in the world. Provided you keep an open mind, of course. There are many treasures to be found, Lady Olivia. Be sure you look for the right ones, eh?”
“Are you a philosopher now, Mr. Stafford?”
“No. Just a lot more experienced than you, Ollie. And since you are on my ship, you should call me Captain.”
“I hate that name.”
“Captain?”
“No. Ollie.”
“Me too. It doesn’t suit you at all. You’re much too elegant for it. Though right now is not your best moment. I’ll only call you that when you annoy me.”
She groaned. “That will be forever.”
He laughed.
Despite her misery, it pleased her that she made him laugh. And he’d said she was elegant? A compliment? She grabbed the bowl, retching with dry heaves again.
“Please leave.”
“Not until you vomit. If I can’t make you ill, I’m not certain who can.”
This time she laughed. Then coughed. He patted her back. “Let it out.”
She choked thrice, then pressed her tongue to the roof of her mouth and tried to control her breathing again.
“I have friends, you know.”
“Of course you do.”
He sounded placating. She looked up and caught him suppressing a smile.
“I do have friends. They’re just academics or other ladies, so not useful in a real fight—which I never get into, so why would I need those types of friends?”
“I’m sure the ladies of the ton are discreet, loyal, and fierce in their defense of their friends.”
Olivia paused and thought. She supposed that was possible. She didn’t really have any of those friends either. Mrs. Tisdale maybe, though Mrs. Tisdale was paid. But Mrs. Tisdale liked her. Yes, certainly Mrs. Tisdale liked her and considered her a friend. Right? And why was she the only one still calling her Mrs. Tisdale?
The nausea passed for a moment. It felt like the ship might be settling, the waves not so large. She lay back down on the bed she shared with her chaperone and watched as Mr. Stafford dampened a cloth in a bowl on the dresser. Mr. Riedell had given up his cabin for them. It was a simple room. Nothing like home, but that was part of the adventure. She thought about what Captain Stafford had said about friends. “Are your friends like that, Captain Stafford? Discreet, loyal, fierce? And what, may I ask, are you doing that you need friends to be discreet about? That implies—”
He laid the wet cloth over her face. Her entire face.
As if that would stop her. She finished her sentence.
“—woo are reguwerely doing indescweet things.”
She sucked in moisture from the cloth, then pulled it off of her mouth, folding it over her forehead. If only the pressure on her temples would stop.
“Everyone has their moments, Lady Olivia. That’s when friends come in handy.”
“I think we should be friends, Captain. I have no sea-captain friends—” She choked and sat up in the bed. He brought the bowl back to her lap. “It’s useful. Plus—” Her stomach convulsed and she closed burning eyes, desperately fighting the weakness. He brushed back some strands of hair from her face. His touch felt remarkably cool. Despite the humiliation, it was a relief to know she would not die alone in her bed. She really didn’t want to die alone.
“Plus,” she gasped after another convulsion receded, “you are healthy and strong, with adequate defense skills, should they be required on my adventure.”
“Your adventure? Just what do you intend to do once you crawl out of here, my lady?”
“Get to Egypt, save my father from certain death, decipher the rest of the writings in the tomb, and become a world-renowned expert on ancient Egypt, after which I will be invited to speak at top institutions around the world.” She got it all out in one breath, before the next convulsion racked her body.
“Ah. A woman with purpose. That is to be admired.”
She smiled.
“Even if she is quite insane.”
She scowled. A gurgling in her guts ruined it.
“And I do have friends. Just no American ones. I don’t want people to think I’m—”
“Narrow? Rude? Snobbish?”
“No—”
“Bad-tempered, close-minded, intolerant?”
“No! Oh, forget it. You’re impossible,” she hissed. “A mome, a jackanapes, a complete varlet!” She gasped for air, trying to get oxygen as another wave rocked the ship, and she fell to the floor on her knees, holding the mattress with one hand, the bowl with the other.
“You shouldn’t care what others think.”
“I never have … before.” Strange that she would care what he thought.
Her body made a terrible hacking sound. She saw his soft leather boots inches away. He should be grateful she didn’t aim for them.
Then he was kneeling, holding her body as finally she convulsed out of control over and over into the bowl. It was horrible. Disgusting. Still he held her, pulling her hair back when it fell forward, murmuring words of encouragement. While she suffered, he could have been the devil himself, and she wouldn’t have cared.
Then finally it was over.
Her body trembled from the effort, her face covered in sweat and tears. He lifted her onto the bed, wiped her face, then gave her the cloth to wipe her mouth. Then he handed her some tea and told her to rinse and spit. That process nearly made her throw up again.
Somehow he made the evidence disappear with a call to a young cabin boy. She drank the rest of the tea and lay down. Relieved. Feeling better. Just tired. Maybe now, she could sleep.
He sat on the edge of the mattress.
She looked up and he smiled kindly. It made her wish she hadn’t called him a mome. But he must be one to have stuck around for her illness. No doubt he would gloat later. She closed her eyes in misery. A real adventuress would not have been sick the first three days of her adventure. It was a dismal start.
“I predict you will live to see another day, Lady Olivia. Feeling better?”
“Surprisingly.”
He massaged her scalp with his hands. It felt good.
“Try the biscuits before you fall asleep. You’ve barely eaten in three days. Now that you’re over the worst, food will help.”
“Does this automatically make us friends? Losing our guts together?”
“Only you lost yo
urs, my dear. And usually ‘losing your guts’ is the result of a long night of drinking and bonding.”
“Oh.” She closed her eyes, too tired to care.
“You still want to be friends even now that you know you will survive?” he asked.
“No.”
He laughed and got up. “Ah. Feeling much better, I see. Good. We will see you for dinner this evening.”
She grunted, her eyes already closed, listening as he walked to the door.
“And Lady Olivia?”
There was a pause. She peeked open one eye.
“I’m neither a fool nor conceited. But I am a varlet. You’d do well to remember that.” With that, he winked and closed the door.
Olivia curled up on her side, eyes closed, a smirk on her lips. A rascal indeed. And perhaps the strangest man she’d ever had the good fortune to meet.
Samuel didn’t know what to make of Olivia Yates. She was the strangest woman he’d ever met. Sweet, smart, and sassy one minute; snooty, snobby, self-important the next. Though he was getting a sense that the latter part came simply from an ignorant upbringing. She had read about the world in books written primarily by Englishmen. He supposed that could ruin anyone. To make matters worse, many of her assumptions were based on her own experience—which was next to none.
They were having their first civilized meal on board since she and Elizabeth had joined them. Olivia was obviously feeling better, as she did everything possible to irritate him—which mostly meant she never stopped asking questions. His crew might find her curiosity flattering, but he preferred that some things remain private. Unfortunately, she was obsessed with his family—what it was like to have siblings, the rampant gossip surrounding his little sister’s exploits, and which stories about his family were true and which were not.
His plan for a pleasant dinner turned into an inquisition. He tried to put an end to her queries. “I think you should just assume anything you hear secondhand is not true, Lady Olivia.”
“Exactly! But now I can get a firsthand account!” She cut into her fish and chewed thoughtfully while observing him. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Mr. Stafford, but you get very tense whenever I mention your family.” She pinched between her eyebrows to indicate. “You frown. Do you know if you do that too much you will have permanent wrinkles from frowning? The muscles get used to going that direction. Isn’t that so, Mr. Andersen?” She turned to his second mate and onboard medical expert for confirmation.
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