by Monica Burns
“Well yes, but I’ll need at least an hour or more to study the markings.”
“Then you’ll have it.”
Behind them, Lord Merrick came to life. “I say, Blakeney. It’s just not done. She’s likely to wreak havoc in the workroom. The scholars will be quite distracted by her presence.”
The anger bubbling just beneath her calm surface exploded as she turned to face the protesting director. “x one aay aza mn name zapa oyhh eanno.”
“I say! Did she just speak Coptic?” Merrick sputtered.
A glimmer of respect and assessment sparkled in the dark brown eyes studying her face. “She did, and with impeccable clarity.”
Alex flushed at the amusement she saw tugging at his mouth. It was obvious Lord Merrick didn’t understand the language, but Lord Blakeney’s knowledge was clearly far superior to the older man’s. Oh God. The man would never take her to the Stone now. Whatever had possessed her to speak in such an unladylike manner? The director really was a pompous jackass, unfit for the duties of his office, but she should have realized one, if not both men, might be fluent in the language of the pharaohs. When was she going to learn to think before acting?
“Well, what the devil did she say?”
She held her breath as Lord Blakeney arched a regal eyebrow at her in only the way a British male could. Well, there was nothing for it now. She lifted her chin up in a stubborn gesture, ready to translate her words.
“The young lady thinks you perform your duties like the hardiest of mules.”
Alex started with surprise. He’d not given her away. Why had he translated her insult in such a positive light? Her surprise evolved into suspicion. What did he want?
“Harrumph. Does she now.” Merrick eyed her with skepticism. “Well, Blakeney, if you’re compelled to show her the Stone, do so, but if the scholars protest, it’s on your head.”
With a slight nod, Lord Blakeney grasped her arm and ushered her out into the corridor, closing the door behind them. As they walked in silence, Alex finally recognized the tantalizing smell of cedarwood mixed with another spice she couldn’t identify. It cultivated her earlier image of him in Pharaoh’s garb, his legs sleek and powerful beneath a short loincloth. She could even visualize her fingers gliding over the hard sinews of his golden arms and chest. Would his bared body be as muscular as his clothing hinted?
The decadent thoughts horrified her. Heavens, she’d been around Jane too long. Her widowed friend’s constant consideration of men’s physical attributes had finally rubbed off on her. Quickly she thrust the images aside. But it was difficult to do so given the way her body reacted to his.
Several corridors later, she knew she’d never be able to find her way back to the exit without her escort. A slight shiver skated down her spine. She knew nothing about the man accompanying her. But her body did. Her skin had not stopped tingling since the first time he’d touched her. She tried to suppress the sensations. For all she knew he could be the worst kind of rake—the kind her friends had warned her about before she left New York.
A moment later, Lord Blakeney ushered her into a well-lit room. Worktables lined the walls, where several men were immersed in their study of various documents and books. In the center of the room, on a waist-high pedestal, stood the object she’d come to see.
Her fingers tightened on the portfolio she carried and she sucked in her breath as she drew near the Stone. Reverently, she stretched out her hand then stopped. Was it being treated with a solution her fingers might disturb? She turned back toward him.
“May I?”
“By all means.” A small smile curved his mouth. Feet planted slightly apart, he folded his arms across his chest. For a moment she forgot the misshapen basalt slab as she pictured him in the hot Egyptian climate, his rippling chest muscles glistening with oil her hands applied. The heady image stole her breath away, and she saw his eyes darken with a dangerous invitation.
Gathering her wits, Alex sucked in a ragged breath and turned her attention back to the Stone. Her hand caressed the cool surface of the ancient rock, the carved indentions rough beneath the pads of her fingers. Her throat tightened. This would have meant so much to her father. Touching the Stone would have been the culmination of his lifelong dream. Now it was her dream. Her chance to prove that a woman was just as capable as a man when it came to finding an ancient city.
She peered closely at the artifact’s surface, noting several hieroglyphs identical to ones in the notes she carried. Without thinking, she quickly opened the portfolio in her arms and sifted through the papers. It took a moment, but she finally extracted the page she sought. She examined it for a moment then looked closer at the Stone. The glyphs on her page were slightly different from the black basalt slab’s markings.
Pulling her pencil out, she sketched a mark from the Stone onto her paper. The difference in the mark was small, but significant. She inhaled a sharp breath of excitement. Her father had been right. Per-Ramesses was at Khatana-Qantir, and she was going to find it. She scribbled another correction onto her paper as her gaze shifted between the Stone and her work.
There, another glyph that didn’t match. She pulled another sheet of paper from the folder and scanned the symbols. The significance made all the difference in the translation. She smiled. Her persistence had paid off. With these final corrections, Per-Ramesses and his beloved Nourbese would soon see the light of day after more than three thousand years.
She pulled one page after another from her portfolio, intent on verifying the work she’d brought with her. Eventually, half her portfolio lay spread out at her feet as she continued to confirm and correct her notes. Time held no meaning as she studied the markings. The light changed as she worked, and she frowned as shadows hovered over the black basalt, making it difficult to read the markings. Throwing her head back, she looked up at the skylight. She’d been so absorbed in her work she’d not even noticed the sun was setting. With a quick glance at the workstations that circled the room, she saw most of the scholars had left. She didn’t even see Viscount Blakeney.
She rolled her head around to stretch her neck muscles before stooping to pick up several stacks of paper she’d placed on the floor. The sudden frisson rippling over her skin made her suck in a quick breath. She swallowed hard as a golden-skinned hand picked up some papers and offered them to her.
As she looked up into Lord Blakeney’s dark brown eyes, the warmth of his gaze heated her body to a fevered pitch. It was like being taken from the coolness of a cave out into the heat of a desert sun. The sudden awareness of him spiraled a cord of tension through her. Disturbed by the wild sensation, she accepted the papers with a quick nod of her head. Standing upright, she quickly jostled her portfolio closed as she tried to ignore his presence. Impossible.
“Please forgive me, my lord. I didn’t mean to inconvenience you by working so late. I’ve imposed on your kindness.”
“There’s nothing to forgive. It’s obvious you have a passion for your work.”
She glanced back at the Rosetta Stone. “Yes, it’s been my life for a very long time.”
“And did you find what you were looking for?”
Excited, she smiled as she bobbed her head. “Yes, and I know I’ll be successful now. I only wish…”
“You wish your father were here to share the triumph.” His firm lips curved in an understanding smile.
“Yes, both he and my uncle would have been elated, and it would have been difficult not to be carried away by their euphoria.”
“Your uncle?”
The memory of their recent deaths made her throat constrict. In less than a year, she’d lost the two most important men in her life. She controlled her sorrow and nodded. “Uncle Jeffrey is the one who first tempted my father with the idea of finding Per-Ramesses.”
“Was your uncle an Egyptologist as well?”
“Oh, no, Uncle
Jeffrey was a member of the spiritualist movement.”
Skepticism arched the man’s eyebrows at her statement, and Alex cringed as she realized her mistake. Everyone had believed her uncle a madman, but he’d provided too many clues about Per-Ramesses for her or her father to discount him as such. The man’s arbitrary dismissal of her uncle disappointed her for some strange reason.
“Come, I’ll see you home. Where are you staying?”
“At the Clarendon, but your escort is unnecessary. I’ll have a hackney take me to the hotel.”
A stern expression hardened his rugged features as he grasped her elbow and ushered her out of the workroom. “I think not. London after dusk is no place for a lady unescorted. I cannot leave you to such a fate.”
Swallowing hard, she protested. “I appreciate your kindness, my lord, but I’m quite accustomed to taking care of myself. The streets of London are hardly any more treacherous than those of New York.”
“Perhaps, but I’ll escort you safely to your destination nonetheless.”
The set of his jaw indicated she would not sway him in the matter. With a quiet sigh, she acquiesced to his stubborn insistence. The gloomy corridors of early afternoon were now almost dark. Had she really been working for so long? It seemed like just a few moments ago that she’d first touched the basalt’s cool surface. The last of the sun’s light barely lit their way as they entered a large exhibition hall filled with Egyptian artifacts.
Above their heads, a balcony encircled the room with more exhibits, while the various sarcophagi they passed threw eerie shadows across their path. Glancing upward, she frowned. Had something actually moved on the balcony? She scoffed at the notion, but a shiver scraped its way down her back. It was impossible to shake the disturbing sensation of being watched.
She glanced up at her escort. Lord Blakeney appeared quite unconcerned as he guided her across the large room. With a slight shrug, she discounted the inner warning. As usual, her imagination was out of control. Yet, despite her best intentions, the sensation refused to go away.
By the time they reached the middle of the room, the hair on the back of her neck had spiked with apprehension. Something was wrong, but she couldn’t pinpoint exactly what. Ahead of them, two giant statues of Anubis provided an arch over the doorway leading into another gallery. Guardians of the tomb, the jackal-headed figures presented an ominous picture as they approached the entryway.
Foreboding tensed her muscles as she shot a quick glance at her companion. There wasn’t a hint of concern or wariness on the man’s face. Lord, she was acting like a muddleheaded goose. As they drew close to the statues, she looked up with awe at the massive monuments.
They were magnificent. Would she find similar treasures at Per- Ramesses? Out of the corner of her eye, a shadow flitted along the wall of the balcony encircling the room. Just as quickly the vague form disappeared. She frowned. She was almost as bad as Uncle Jeffrey—seeing things that weren’t even there. A scraping sound made her stop abruptly. Lord Blakeney paused as well and eyed her with curiosity.
“Is something wrong, Miss Talbot?”
“I’m not sure.” She shook her head. “I thought I heard something.”
Arching an eyebrow, he glanced over his shoulder to search the dark recesses of the room’s corners. The scraping noise came again, this time louder and she looked up to see a large stone plummeting toward her. Inhaling a breath of terror, she froze. In the next moment, a strong arm snapped around her waist and jerked her to safety. The sandstone shattered on the floor behind her. Buried in the warmth of Lord Blakeney’s embrace, Alex shuddered.
Alive. She was still alive.
She’d been too terrified to move. In the distance, shouts sounded through the hall. Trembling, she struggled to remain calm as the voices grew in strength.
Pushing her away from him, Lord Blakeney’s hand brushed over her brow and cheek as he studied her with a look of concern. “Are you hurt?”
Unable to speak, she shook her head. He glanced back at the disintegrated sandstone on the marble floor before looking upward. She followed the direction of his gaze and saw the hole in the balcony. It must have been a loose stone, just waiting to fall. A man slid to a halt just outside the Egyptian room.
“My lord, are you and the young lady all right?”
“Yes, Martin, we’ve escaped injury. Miss Talbot, however, is quite shaken from her narrow escape. Get several of the men to help you clean up this mess, and tomorrow I want the balcony and wall inspected for other loose stones.”
His strong arm still wrapped around her in a protective gesture, he guided her around the pieces of broken sandstone. As they passed beneath the somber statues of Anubis, she shivered. Had she really seen a shadow up on the balcony or had her intuition been trying to warn her of impending disaster?
More importantly, had Uncle Jeffrey been right? Was there really a curse on those who searched for Per-Ramesses and Nourbese’s tomb?
Chapter Two
Sheikh Altair Mazir sank back into the plush leather cushions of his carriage. Seated opposite him, Alex Talbot sat quietly, her face pale in the gaslight shining through the window. She was amazing. No tears, no hysteria. If it weren’t for her pallor and the way her hands were trembling, no one looking at her would be able to tell she’d almost been killed a few moments ago.
“I’m sorry your visit to the museum was so frightening.”
She lifted her gaze to his, and his gut clenched at his physical reaction to her. Damn, but those hazel eyes of hers were nothing short of incredible. Large and round in her face, they flashed with whatever emotion she was feeling at a particular moment in time.
“I admit it wasn’t exactly what I expected.” A wry smile tipped the corner of her mouth. Then a look of mortification spread across her face. “Forgive me, my lord. I failed to thank you for saving my life. If you’d not pulled me away from where I was standing…”
“Don’t dwell on it. You’re safe now.”
“But you saved my life. I shall always be in your debt.”
Her gratitude was discomfiting given his connection to her. He needed to explain who he was, but he couldn’t find the words. Instead, he watched her through the shadows, remembering the way her soft curves had pressed into him when he’d pulled her out of harm’s way. His groin tightened at the memory. Her body had been soft and luxuriant against his. Lush and sensual.
Unable to help himself, his gaze slid down to the round fullness of her breasts. The images dancing through his head teased his senses and his imagination. Would her nipples be as inviting and pink as her generous mouth? Or perhaps they would be dark against that creamy complexion. The thought singed his skin with fire.
At that moment, her gaze met his. From where he sat he could see the way her eyes darkened with the awareness he’d seen earlier. Her enticing mouth parted slightly, and he swallowed hard at the urge to pull her into his arms again. Christ, he was acting like a stallion determined to mount a mare. The thought prompted an image of her on top of him with her golden-chestnut hair tumbling down over her creamy shoulders. It hardened his cock immediately.
Dragging his gaze away from her, he peered out the window of the coach. Traffic was heavy tonight, and it was taking longer to get to the Clarendon than usual. If they continued at this slow pace, his groin was going to be in agony by the time they reached the hotel. He turned his head and caught her watching him. Her cheeks darkened in the muted light as their eyes met. There was curiosity and something else shining out of those mysterious hazel depths.
“You seem puzzled by something, Miss Talbot.”
“Yes.” She nodded her head then quickly denied her response. “I mean no…I’m sorry, it was rude of me to stare. I…it’s just that you don’t look like the other English noblemen I’ve met.”
The comment made him stiffen, and he was thrown back to a different time when
another woman had said the same thing. Even after ten years the thought of Caroline cut deep. He closed the door on the painful memory. The past was behind him. He’d paid dearly for Caroline’s betrayal. It wouldn’t happen again.
“And how do you think an English nobleman should look?” he said in an icy tone.
“I’m sorry. You must think me terribly rude. It’s just that your skin tone and profile remind me of the Egyptian pharaohs I’ve seen in different texts.”
Biting the inside of his cheek, he wasn’t sure how to interpret her comment. Accustomed to society’s contempt for his mixed blood, he didn’t care what people thought of him. But something about this woman made him care, and he didn’t like the sensation. And he especially didn’t like the way his body reacted to her soft shape.
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said with a bit more irony than he intended.
“Oh, but it was. A compliment I mean. I’m terribly sorry. I have this habit of speaking without thinking first. My friend Jane warns me all the time to guard my tongue, but I can’t seem to help myself.”
He folded his arms across his chest, studying her contrite expression. At this stage in his life, he found it easy to ignore the prejudice and scorn most of London society flung his way. But this woman posed a conundrum. For some unfathomable reason, he hesitated telling her who he was. What he was.
Confused by the notion, he frowned. She’d given him no reason to think she would be appalled by his confession, and yet it was a risk he didn’t want to take. Eventually, he’d have to tell her the truth, but for the moment—for the moment he was content to let her think of him as Lord Blakeney.
Clearing his throat, he smiled. “I hope your scare tonight doesn’t make you hesitant to return to the Museum.”
“Oh no, not at all. I’m sure it was an accident.” She frowned for a moment, staring off into space. The idea that it hadn’t been an accident nudged at her. It was rather odd how that stone had fallen just at that precise moment. And what about that shadow she’d seen? She’d thought her imagination had been playing tricks on her, but now she was convinced that wasn’t true. She’d seen someone up on the balcony.
