by Cheryl Holt
She peeked up at Mr. Grey, and he was studying Fenton, his censorious gaze roving over Fenton’s features. He was taking the boy’s measure and seemed to have figured out his wicked temperament.
Fenton was blond and blue-eyed, tiny and slight, so he looked younger than he was. He had the face of a cherub, which was why it was so easy for him to cause trouble, and he was always able to deny culpability.
Mr. Grey was a hard nut to crack though, and he asked Fenton, “How were you separated from your cousin?”
“I have no idea,” Fenton replied. “One minute she was right next to me, and the next she wasn’t.”
He couldn’t hide a smirk, and Mr. Grey turned to Theo and said, “Shall we leave him here and see if he can get himself back to the hotel by himself?”
Fenton’s jaw dropped. “You can’t do that!”
“Can’t I?” Mr. Grey fumed.
“I’ll tell my mother,” Fenton warned.
“So tell her.” Mr. Grey gave a dismissive shrug. “I think it would be amusing to abandon you. What’s your opinion?” he asked Theo. “Is he smart enough to get back on his own? Or would he have his throat slit in some alley?”
“We’re not leaving him,” she said, wishing she had the temerity to behave so reprehensibly. “How can I hire a chair? The porters who brought us were from the hotel, but it appears they’ve departed.”
At the news, Mr. Grey’s expression was thunderous. “I’ll have a conversation about it with the manager.”
“Again, Mr. Grey, how will I accomplish the hiring of porters? Who would aid us? Can you point them out?”
“I’ll handle it for you, Miss Postlewaite. It’s obvious I can’t let you go off on your own. There’s no predicting what sort of jam you might land yourself in.”
“I’m perfectly capable of getting myself to the hotel without incident.”
“Are you?” He scoffed. “You just admitted you can’t so much as rent a chair without assistance.”
“Besides that small problem, I can manage.”
“Sure you can, Miss Postlewaite. Sure you can.”
He whistled to some men, and they rushed over. In a matter of seconds, Theo and Fenton were deposited in the chair, and they’d started off.
Mr. Grey trotted with them, and while Theo tried not to glance out, not to notice how vigilantly he assessed the route, she felt safe with him standing so close and was very, very glad that he’d insisted on accompanying her the rest of the way.
CHAPTER TWO
Soloman grabbed Fenton before he could skip into the hotel. He latched onto the boy’s ear and yanked him to a halt.
Miss Postlewaite was already in the lobby. Soloman wasn’t really interested in following her in, but she’d invited him to meet her aunt, and to his stunned surprise, he’d agreed.
Normally, he’d have been running fast and furiously in the other direction, but he was unnecessarily intrigued by her. He was quite certain—given sufficient opportunity—the pretty, gullible Theodosia would provide hours of amusement.
She was that kind of adorable mess.
“If you pull another stunt like that,” he hissed at Fenton, “I will skin you alive.”
Fenton peered up at him with wide blue eyes. “What stunt?”
“You can fool your cousin all you want, and I’m sure you can fool your mother. But you can’t fool me. You left her in that bazaar on purpose.”
“I did not.”
Soloman’s fingers pinched tighter, making Fenton squirm. “This isn’t some parlor game in London. This is Cairo, Egypt.”
“I know that.”
“It’s dangerous for a woman to walk about on her own.”
“Nothing happened to her,” Fenton snidely claimed. “She’s fine.”
“Despite your mischief. If you play such a nasty trick on her ever again, I’ll take a switch to you.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“I would.”
“I’ll tell my mother,” the little miscreant threatened as he had earlier.
“By all means. Tell her. Then I will tell her what you did to your cousin.”
“Try it.” Fenton grinned a malevolent grin. “Mother would never believe you over me.”
Soloman shoved him toward the grand front doors, and he laughed and raced away. Soloman thought about chasing after him, administering a few hard whacks alongside the head just to prove that he could, but the spoiled brat wasn’t worth it.
Besides, Miss Postlewaite had finally realized he wasn’t right behind her. She spun and asked, “You’re coming in, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I suppose I will.”
“My Aunt Edna will like to thank you for bringing us home.”
He didn’t imagine her aunt would think any such thing. If he was lucky, she wouldn’t recognize his name. Miss Postlewaite hadn’t, but her aunt might.
For that very reason, he rarely involved himself with the British tourists who wandered through Cairo, and over the prior decade, he’d met boatloads of them. Their world was a small one, and he could spot a Brit at a hundred paces. But his self-imposed exile suited him, so he couldn’t figure out why he would deliberately put himself in a situation where he would stir new gossip or be insulted to his face.
Yet apparently, he wasn’t finished with Miss Postlewaite. From the moment he’d seen Akbar marching off with her, he’d been fascinated. The silly woman was a menace who was in need of constant protecting. No doubt she assumed the event was ended by his kicking Akbar several times, but once he’d chatted with her aunt, he’d return to the bazaar, would find Akbar and deliver a louder message.
More and more often, his temper was spiking, and he couldn’t seem to rein it in. Miss Postlewaite’s appearance in his paltry universe had given him cause to vent a bit of ire at a reprobate who thoroughly deserved it.
She asked, “Could you speak to someone in a position of authority about the porters abandoning us at the bazaar? I’m not sure who to tell or how to say it.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll definitely tell someone for you.”
“Is it common for them to do that? We’ve only just arrived, so I’m not certain what’s customary and what’s not.”
“Yes, it’s common. Typically, women are too sheltered. They don’t have the experience or sense to avoid hazardous circumstances, so in a place like this, it’s easy for a criminal to take advantage.”
“What a charming compliment,” she sarcastically replied. “I love being told I have no sense.”
“While you’re here, you have to be more cautious.”
“I plan to be.”
She flashed a smile that he felt clear down to the tips of his toes, and he gaped at her, wondering why she had such a strange effect on him.
It wasn’t as if he never crossed paths with European women. It was all the rage to sail the Nile and explore the pyramids, so tourists were a penny a dozen. And it wasn’t as if he was longing to interact with a beautiful female. His paramour, Cassandra Valda, supplied plenty of entertainment.
Miss Postlewaite was very different from Cassandra though. Cassandra was French, a lithe, willowy, auburn-haired vixen who was possessed of every wicked trait, so she was the perfect companion for a man of his jaded state.
In contrast, Miss Postlewaite was blond and blue-eyed, fresh and wholesome, like a dairy maid who had walked out of a verdant pasture. She was short and slender, but rounded in all the appropriate spots. Her skin was smooth and silky, the color of peaches and cream, and she had dimples that made her look as if she was always about to burst out laughing.
He was cynical and weary so he wanted to stand close to her. She exuded goodness, as if she had such a kind nature she couldn’t hold it in, and he hoped some of her positive decency might rub off. Then again, maybe he was simply a disgusting roué, and his interest in getting close had nothing to do with pure motives.
They started across the lobby when it dawned on him that he was underdressed for the occasion. The ostentatious
surroundings were opulent and lavish, constructed for the most discerning, wealthy traveler. Fleetingly, he considered leaving, changing his clothes, then returning when he could present a better image.
As quickly as he pondered the notion, he discounted it. He intended to say hello, then go. He had no desire to linger and was still perplexed as to why he’d agreed to meet her aunt. He was certain the encounter would end badly.
The British citizens who journeyed to Cairo either knew him or knew of him. Since he’d just had to engage in a brawl on Miss Postlewaite’s behalf, he wasn’t in the mood for any rebuffs from her relatives.
Out on the verandah, a stern older woman was waving at them. A young lady was seated with her, and she was waving too.
Miss Postlewaite peeked up at him. “We don’t have to climb the stairs after all. My aunt and my cousin, Susan, are having tea on the patio.”
“I see that.”
She leaned nearer and murmured, “Please don’t mention the…incident at the bazaar. It would upset my aunt.”
“I’m sure it would. How will you explain your missing bonnet and scraped palms?”
“I’ll claim I tripped, my bonnet fell off, and a camel stepped on it. It was ruined, so I threw it away.”
“That will work.” He grinned, liking her more than he should. “Are you a skilled liar?”
“No. I’m surprised to discover that I have any talent for deception.”
“Perhaps it’s a natural and previously unnoted aptitude, Miss Postlewaite.”
“Perhaps.” She scowled. “And…ah…when I introduce you, could you…ah…call me Lady Theodosia?”
She blushed a charming shade of pink, and he had to fight not to flinch.
A bloody nobleman’s daughter!
There was no way his identity would remain a secret for much longer. He would have turned and stomped out, but she stopped him simply by slipping her hand into the crook of his arm.
“Aunt Edna is a bit stuffy,” she whispered, “and a bit forceful, but don’t let her rattle you.”
“She couldn’t possibly,” he whispered in reply.
“She has a gentle disposition, but she comes across as a tad harsh.”
“I’ll try to hold up, Lady Theodosia.”
His tone was overly mocking, and her scowl deepened. “Are you angry that I didn’t tell you sooner?”
“You might have warned me who you are.”
“There was no need. I’m not anyone of consequence.”
It was much the same comment he’d made about his own antecedents. Weren’t they a pair?
With her pathetic statement quietly hurled, they exited onto the verandah and any opportunity for further discussion was cut short.
The wide patio looked out over the Nile, the majestic river flowing past. Pleasure boats and fishing boats drifted by. He never grew tired of the sight, and he could have dawdled there all afternoon, but Lady Theodosia yanked him over to her aunt’s table.
“Aunt Edna, how nice to find you here. It’s so pretty and so much cooler by the water.”
“Theo.” Her aunt appeared horridly grumpy, and she frowned at Soloman as if he were a dead rat the cat had dragged into the house. “Who is this?”
“Edna, I had a little trouble at the bazaar,” Lady Theodosia said.
“What sort of trouble?”
“I fell and—”
“Honestly, Theo. You’re never careful when you should be.”
“You’re too right, Aunt Edna,” she smoothly said. “Mr. Grey helped me up and escorted Fenton and me to our chair, but our porters had fled, so we were stranded. He hired a new chair for us and he followed us home to ensure we arrived safe and sound. Wasn’t that kind of him?”
“Yes, very kind.”
Edna glowered, and Soloman suffered a burst of sympathy for Lady Theodosia. What an awful traveling companion Edna must be. What an awful way to see the pyramids, to try to have an adventure.
Edna was older, probably fifty or more, so she must have had her children later in life. Stout and rounded, she was a matron in every sense of the word. Her eyes were grey, her hair grey and pulled into a tight chignon, and her skin was lined with wrinkles as if she’d never enjoyed a minute of happiness.
She was dressed in widow’s weeds, the black fabric dark and heavy, and it had to be incredibly uncomfortable. A servant was standing behind her and frantically waving a palm frond to cool her. Soloman could hardly keep from suggesting she consider changing her clothes.
The girl across from her, Susan, was obviously related to Lady Theodosia, but not nearly as fetching. She was a few years younger, nineteen or twenty, so she was barely out of the schoolroom. Like her cousin, she was blue-eyed and blond, with agreeable features and perfect manners, and he was already bored to tears.
A servant rushed over and held out a chair for Lady Theodosia and himself, and for a brief second, Soloman hesitated. He was about to announce he didn’t intend to tarry, but Lady Theodosia smiled at him again, and he plopped down—even though he hadn’t meant to.
“This is my aunt, Edna Wallace,” she said, “and my cousin, Susan Wallace.”
“Hello, ladies.” He nodded, trying to pretend he had acceptable manners too.
Lady Theodosia continued. “Edna’s husband was the late Colonel Winthrop Wallace. He served with the Horse Guards, Sixth Regiment, in India, and he had a long and distinguished career there. Have you any family in the military? Might you have known the Colonel?”
“No, sorry,” he responded.
“Edna, Susan, this is Mr. Soloman Grey.” She grinned. “But that’s all I can tell you about him, except that he’s very gallant. He was enormously helpful to Fenton and me at the bazaar, and I wanted to introduce you.”
At hearing her describe him as gallant, he bit down a guffaw. He wasn’t at all, and he kept his steady gaze locked on Edna Wallace, waiting for her reaction to his name. It came quickly enough—as he’d suspected it would.
She’d been sipping her tea, and she paused and frowned, her cup stopping in mid-air. Then she smacked it down on the saucer.
“Theo,” she asked, “did you say Soloman Grey?”
“Yes?”
Mrs. Wallace’s expression was furious and even a tad alarmed, and she studied him meticulously as if he might suddenly strip off his clothes and dance about naked.
“By any chance,” she demanded of Soloman, “are you kin to the late earl, Ralston Grey? Was your half-brother, Caleb Grey? Are you that Soloman Grey?”
“The very one,” he cockily retorted.
“Well…” Mrs. Wallace huffed. “I’m at a loss for words.”
An awkward silence ensued, where Mrs. Wallace gaped with dismay, and Lady Theodosia and her cousin shared confused glances.
“What is it?” Lady Theodosia finally inquired.
“I’ll let your aunt explain,” he said. “I’m certain she’ll do a bang-up job of it.” He stood to depart. “I don’t believe I’ll stay for tea after all.”
He spun away, but Lady Theo reached out and clasped his wrist. “You’re leaving? Why? We’ve only just arrived. Don’t go.”
“I shouldn’t have come in with you. I hope you have a lovely holiday in Egypt. Goodbye.”
She tightened her grip, but he yanked away and marched out.
“Mr. Grey!” she called, but he didn’t halt or reply.
He wasn’t hurt by Mrs. Wallace’s remarks, but he was definitely irked by them. Didn’t Londoners have anything better to do than palaver over his family’s calamity?
The tragedy had happened almost a decade earlier, when he’d been a stupid boy of twenty who’d had no idea how to handle the swirl of rumor and accusation. His answer had been to flee England and never return.
It was probably asking too much to expect the debacle would eventually be forgotten, but there had been hundreds of scandals since then. Why couldn’t some of them transfix people as his own had? Why couldn’t people shift their attention to some other unlu
cky sot?
He’d been intrigued by the very pretty, very gullible, Lady Theodosia, and for a few minutes, he’d imagined it would be amusing to befriend her. But there were many other pretty women in the world, and they had many interesting ways to keep him busy.
He left the hotel without looking back.
“Aunt Edna!” Theo scolded. “What is wrong with you?”
Edna was practically wheezing. “Let’s pray no one noticed him sitting at our table!” She grabbed her napkin and fanned her face, peeking at the other guests.
“Mr. Grey? He seems perfectly respectable to me.”
“He would!” Edna said. “What am I to think, Theo? I’m glad your father wasn’t here to see this! He’d assume I’m having no beneficial effect on your character.”
Susan piped up. “Are you going to swoon, Mother? I thought you were made of sterner stuff than that.”
“Don’t be smart, Susan,” Edna snapped.
“I can’t help it,” Susan responded, “not when you’re acting like a silly goose.”
“If I need sarcasm from you, I’ll ask for it,” Edna told her daughter.
“And if I need sarcasm from you,” Susan sassed, “I’ll let you know too.” She pushed back her chair and stood. “I’ll be up in my suite.”
She stomped off, and Theo fought the urge to beg her to stay for what apparently would be a very difficult conversation.
Susan and Edna were constantly at odds, their rancor a trying experiment in tact and good manners.
Susan wasn’t in quite as much disgrace as Theo, but only because her situation had remained a secret rather than the sort of very public fiasco Theo’s had been. In London, Susan had immersed herself in a very inappropriate flirtation with a bohemian artist named Neville Pinkerton. Susan had brazenly announced that he’d proposed and she was inclined to accept.
The declaration had sent Edna into a flurry of packing and traveling, with her being determined to wrench Susan from Mr. Pinkerton’s clutches. Susan had been forced into the trip to Egypt just as Theo had been forced, with her mother insisting that time and distance would quell Susan’s improper infatuation.
Theo had never discussed Neville Pinkerton with Susan, so she couldn’t guess if there had been true affection between them or if Susan was simply using Mr. Pinkerton to torment her mother. Susan was suffering through the same issues Fenton was suffering with Edna. Edna had been absent for all their lives, and with Susan now an adult, she didn’t relish Edna swooping in and taking charge.
