Only You

by Cheryl Holt

  “I can’t?”

  “No.”

  He was staring at her with such an intense focus, and she’d never had a man look at her like that before. Well, Lord Trent had, but his attention had been feigned.

  What about Mr. Grey? Was he a roué? Was he a practiced seducer? If he was, she needed to shove him away and hurry back to the party. If he wasn’t, if he was gazing at her with such strident regard because he…he…had decided she was marvelous, then she wanted to remain where she was.

  She’d been a forlorn little girl and had grown up to be a forlorn young woman. The future didn’t bode well for her to ever have a beau or another fiancé or a husband or a family, so there wouldn’t be many occasions where a man would meticulously assess her as he was. She couldn’t bear to have the moment end.

  “You’re very pretty, Theo,” he said.

  She was charmed by the compliment. “Do you think so?”

  “Yes.” He pointed toward the villa. “So you have to go now.”

  “Why?” She mockingly batted her lashes. “If I stay, will you ravish me?”

  “No, but I’ve had too much to drink, so you shouldn’t dawdle.”

  “You would never hurt me.”

  “You might be surprised.”

  “No, I wouldn’t.”

  He actually laid his hand on her waist, and he drew her to him so the entire front of her body was crushed to his. The sensation was riveting.

  She peered up at him, curious as to what he was planning. Prior to her meeting Lord Trent, she hadn’t realized two strangers might share illicit kisses, that an embrace could be sweet and very fulfilling. She wondered if a comparable event wasn’t about to transpire again, and she had to admit she wouldn’t necessarily be averse.

  She’d had limited experiences with men. Did they always make such suggestive passes when they were alone with a woman? Or was she unwittingly encouraging men to behave as they oughtn’t?

  If it was something she was doing, she had no idea what it might be, but she definitely had to stop doing it.

  “What really happened all those years ago in London?” she was stunned to hear herself inquire.

  “I wouldn’t ever discuss it with you.”

  “I’m a good listener, and I can keep a secret.”

  “You’re a female, so that can’t be true. Every woman of my acquaintance gabs like a magpie.”

  “I’m different from other women.” The boast astonished her. She was more completely ordinary than any female in the kingdom.

  “No, you’re not, Lady Theodosia. But you are very pretty. About that fact, I wasn’t lying. Why don’t you go?”

  “No.”

  “Then I will. I can’t tarry here with you.”

  “Will I see you inside?”

  “No.”

  “I’d like to.”

  “I can’t imagine why.”

  For another second—it seemed to last an eternity—he hovered next to her. Though it was insane to assume so, she was positive he was about to kiss her. Since she was eager to let him, she recognized that she couldn’t continue to ignore Edna’s complaints about her moral disposition.

  Was she loose? Was she wanton? Perhaps she was.

  “Will you call on me at the hotel?” she asked.

  He snorted with derision. “I have no desire to encounter your aunt. One confrontation was quite enough for me.”

  “Will I ever see you again?”

  “Not if we’re both very, very lucky.”

  “After how you rescued me at the bazaar, doesn’t it feel like we’re…friends or something?”

  “I don’t have any friends.” He reached out and traced a seductive finger across her bottom lip, then he vanished into the shadows.

  Struggling to understand what had just occurred, she went over to the bench where he’d been sitting, and she plopped down.

  She’d been forward and brazen and shameless, and in light of all the vows she’d made before leaving London, she had to accept that she might not be decent and respectable after all. Maybe Edna was correct, and she was every sort of trollop her father had accused her of being. Was she?

  She sent the question out into the dark night, but in case the dark night sent an answer winging back, she couldn’t bear to hear it.

  Jumping up, she scurried to the house, but with her discovering Mr. Grey was in residence, that he might be gazing at her through the windows, she couldn’t concentrate enough to socialize. While she usually liked to chat and meet new people, the party was no longer interesting or fun.

  Susan Wallace strolled out to the verandah and downed the contents of a glass of champagne.

  Her mother wouldn’t like her drinking, which was the reason she’d come outside. Susan adored champagne, and with Edna finally home and watching her like a hawk, there were so few occasions to imbibe.

  Edna wanted to constantly lord herself over Susan, but Susan had spent too many years without a mother, and now that she was twenty, she didn’t need her mother butting in and telling her how to behave.

  She wouldn’t say she was bitter over how her mother had lived in India and left her alone in England. She was simply far beyond the time when that part of their past mattered in the slightest. Susan had grown up, but Edna had missed Susan’s childhood and wished she was still a little girl.

  She leaned her hips on the balustrade and stared into the parlor, assessing the gowns of the women from Paris. Mrs. Valda in particular was stunning. Susan yearned to comport herself in such a sophisticated manner, but she’d never had the chance to learn what French females seemed to instinctually know.

  And there never would be a chance because Susan would never have the money to buy such beautiful clothes. Her mother believed Susan should marry a soldier as Edna had done, that she should trot off to India and be courted by men like her father, men who were manly men, who wasted their days killing the natives, then bragging about it at supper.

  Susan would never wed a paltry soldier, and she was desperate to figure out how she could get what she wanted—that being tons of money and an exciting life—in the quickest, easiest way.

  A man stepped out, and he came over, not stopping until he was right next to her. In London, a chaperone would have had to present him to Susan, and she loved the more casual atmosphere in Cairo.

  She loved Monsieur Valois’s villa too and was curious as to how he’d reply if she begged to stay with him after her mother went to camp in the desert. Edna insisted they were about to have a grand adventure, but Susan would rather slit her wrists than tour the pyramids with Edna and Fenton.

  Theo she liked well enough, and she thought it would be fantastic if they could remain at Valois’s. Susan would be able to fill her evenings flirting with the sort of handsome fellow who’d just approached.

  “I haven’t yet had the pleasure of meeting you,” he said. “You won’t faint if I introduce myself, will you?”

  “I’ll try not to.”

  He chuckled. “I am Preston Price.”

  “Hello, Mr. Price. I am Susan Wallace.”

  “A very pretty name for a very pretty girl.”

  “Thank you. I’m charmed by flattery so feel free to dispense more of it.”

  “You like flattery? Wonderful. I’m an expert at bestowing it.”

  He had two glasses of champagne, as if he’d been watching her and knew her first one was empty. He handed it over without asking if she wanted it, and she sipped the bubbly liquid, studying him over the rim.

  He was much older than she was, perhaps as old as forty, but she liked older men. The boys who’d courted her once she was out of school had been tedious and silly. With the exception of Neville Pinkerton, she’d refused to give any of them a second glance.

  Mr. Price was tall and slender, with a full head of dark hair, although it was peppered with strands of grey so he looked very distinguished. He had the most luscious brown eyes, and he was evaluating her with an intensity that was exhilarating.


  In his formal evening attire, he appeared dapper and fit and extremely polished, and she suffered a little thrill from realizing that she’d tantalized him sufficiently that he’d been compelled to say hello.

  “What brings you to Cairo, Miss Wallace?” he inquired.

  “We’re sightseeing. How about you?”

  “I’m planning the same. I have acquaintances who are some distance down the river. I’m arranging transport so I can join them.”

  “Will you roam the desert like a nomad and consort with savages?”

  “Gad, I wouldn’t think so. I rather like my creature comforts.”

  He toasted her with his champagne glass, and they both laughed.

  “I can’t guess what we’ll find at our destination,” she said. “We’re off to an archeological dig that’s being run by an old friend of my father’s. Cedric Webster? I’m told he’s quite famous. Have you ever heard of him?”

  “No.”

  “He’s been digging there for decades, so supposedly it’s a very modern encampment complete with all the amenities.”

  “Let’s hope so—for your sake.”

  “Have you met my mother, Mrs. Wallace?”

  “Yes, I chatted with her inside.”

  “My father was in the army and stationed in India, so she’s often traveled to exotic lands. She swears I’ll enjoy myself once we arrive. Do you imagine I will?”

  “I doubt it. After you’ve seen one crumbling pyramid, won’t they all start to look alike?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t been to Egypt before.”

  “Neither have I, but I’ve visited plenty of museums. After a bit, the artifacts all blur together.”

  “That’s my opinion exactly.” She sighed and sipped her champagne. “Oh, I wish I could stay in Cairo and let my mother flit off to that camp by herself.”

  “Have you suggested it?”

  “It would be pointless. She’s determined to expand my horizons.”

  “You poor dear,” he sarcastically crooned, and they laughed again.

  “If you’re not interested in sightseeing,” she asked, “why are you here?”

  “I’d grown bored in London, gaping at the same faces day in and day out. I was desperate for a change of scenery.”

  “You’ve definitely found it.”

  “Yes, I definitely have.”

  But from how he was assessing her, she could tell that he didn’t mean the landscape. He was intrigued by her, and she preened under his scrupulous appraisal.

  Neville was the only man who’d ever gazed at her with such searing regard, and she’d relished sending him into such paroxysms of ardor. His bold and blatant attention had spurred her to consider conduct she’d had no business considering.

  He’d been madly in love with her, and she’d pretended to feel the same. She must have been a very capable actress, because he’d believed every word she’d ever uttered. Of course circumstances had quickly spun out of her control. He’d begged her to elope, but she never would have. She’d liked leading him on, but a future had been impossible between them.

  Although he was nice enough and handsome as a Greek god, he was a penniless artist who lived to paint. While she’d never admit it to her mother, it had been a relief when Edna had dragged her away from London in order to separate them. Susan had protested Edna’s autocratic ways, but not very fervidly.

  She’d used her mother as an excuse to break it off, and he’d probably been bereft when she’d jilted him. She’d fled without a goodbye, so she had no idea. But honestly! What had he expected?

  She wondered if Mr. Price had any money. From their brief conversation, he certainly seemed to possess many captivating attributes. His dress and mannerisms—and the fact that he could afford a trip down the Nile—had her suspecting he’d have more than a few farthings tucked away.

  It might be beneficial to get to know him better.

  “How long will you be in Cairo?” he asked. “Are you leaving for the desert immediately?”

  “We’ll be here for several days yet. Mother still has to hire the porters and make all the arrangements.”

  “Where are you staying in the interim?”

  “At the Hotel Cairo.”

  “A lovely establishment. I’m staying there myself.”

  “Are you?” she blandly replied. “I wouldn’t be surprised if our paths began to cross.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised either. Have you seen much of the city?”

  “No, Mother isn’t keen on venturing out among the native hoards.”

  “Pity. There are some delightful spots I’d like to show you.”

  “I’d like that too.”

  “I’d call on you, but I’d really rather not sit around drinking tea with your mother.”

  “A fate worse than death, I assure you.”

  “If there was some way to…well…sneak away, I wouldn’t necessarily complain.”

  Susan raised a brow. “Why, Mr. Price, that sounds like a naughty proposition. If I was an innocent girl, I might swoon.”

  His lazy gaze wandered down her torso, and his evaluation was scandalously personal.

  “I wouldn’t take you for the swooning type,” he said.

  “I’m not.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.”

  He pulled out a cheroot, and he used a nearby lantern to light the tip. They dawdled in the quiet, watching the guests inside, enjoying the verdant garden. With the cheroot dangling from his fingers, he looked suave and polished, so very different from poor, besotted Neville whose hands had always been flecked with paint no matter how diligently he washed.

  Butterflies swarmed in her stomach. What would it be like to strike up a liaison with such a dashing, older man? It might be very thrilling. She’d been alone with Neville on numerous delicious occasions, and she knew how to prevent any irrevocable conduct from being committed.

  She was anxious to entice Mr. Price and couldn’t let her mother butt in and wreck things. But with him being so mature, she couldn’t act like a silly schoolgirl. He had to view her as worldly and sophisticated. She thought of the glamorous Parisian, Cassandra Valda, and recognized—if she wanted to capture his attention—she had to comport herself as Mrs. Valda would.

  “I was thinking,” he said, “with our both being at the hotel, it might be simple to socialize once in awhile.”

  “I’m certain it would be.”

  “In fact, if you were cautious, you could just come to my room. We could relax and revel without interruption.”

  Susan’s heart pounded with alarm, but with excitement too. She was eager to demonstrate that she could be the woman he needed her to be.

  “I could do with a bit of relaxing,” she blithely said. “You can’t imagine how stressful it’s been to travel with my mother.”

  “Yes, I can.” He took a final puff of his cheroot, then crushed it under his heel. Casually, he mentioned, “I eavesdropped on your mother when she was chatting with Valois. She’s meeting him tomorrow afternoon to discuss your journey down the river.”

  “Is she?”

  “That sort of planning is quite involved. It will take an enormous amount of time to hash out the details.”

  “It probably will,” she agreed.

  “If you remain at the hotel while she’s with Valois, you might have several hours to yourself. Could you convince her to leave you behind?”

  “Absolutely.” Susan grinned. “And if I call on a new friend after she departs, there’s no one to know that I kept my own appointment.”

  He grinned too. “No one to know at all. I’d never tell.”

  “Neither would I.”

  “Until tomorrow then,” he said. “Around three?”

  “Three sounds perfect.”

  He clasped her hand and bowed over it, and as he drew away, she realized he’d slipped her a piece of paper. He winked, then went inside, and she glanced at it, seeing his room number was written on it. They were housed on the same floor, a
lthough his room was in the opposite wing of the building.

  She crumpled the note into a ball and threw it into the ferns. Then she strolled inside too.

  If there was a loud voice shouting in her head, warning her not to proceed, she didn’t have to listen. From the minute her mother had announced she was a widow and was rushing to England to bring them together as a family, Susan had been livid.

  She’d explained to Edna that she was an adult and could make her own decisions.

  The entire trip to Egypt had been a bore and a slog. If she could jump into a clandestine romance with Mr. Price, at least she’d have some delectable memories to carry home to England once they were able to flee the desolate place. And it was always possible that the relationship would turn out to be more than a romance. She wouldn’t know if she didn’t try.

  She peered across the parlor to find Mr. Price snuggled in a corner with Mrs. Valda. At the sight, she was shockingly jealous, and if she’d had any reservations about engaging in a flirtation, they were swiftly tossed away.

  Tomorrow afternoon at three, Preston Price would definitely have a visitor.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  How far is it?”

  “To Cedric’s camp?”

  “Yes.”

  Edna stared at Valois, trying to look firm and confident. She didn’t trust the French, and he was much too elegant and urbane in all the ways she detested. She was convinced, should she show the slightest weakness, he’d take advantage of her.

  She’d run her husband’s household in India like the most miserly sergeant. She was an expert at counting her farthings and, before leaving for Cairo, she’d investigated the costs of a Nile voyage. She knew what she should pay, and she wouldn’t pay a penny more.

  “It’s a three-day journey,” Valois said.

  “Long days?”

  “Yes, but travel on the river can be very luxurious—if you can afford to hire experienced people.”

  “I can afford it, but I won’t be cheated,” she vehemently stated.

  “Well, of course you won’t be cheated. That’s why you retained my services, isn’t it?”

  He flashed such a smooth, ingratiating smile that she had to brace herself against it. He was a wily scoundrel, and she wouldn’t be tricked by his smooth manners or placating demeanor.