Mirage

by Monica Burns

  She didn’t want to like how Lord Blakeney looked at her, and she certainly didn’t want or need his protection. After all, she and Father had meticulously planned every detail of this trip. She wasn’t some silly girl in need of a strong man’s guidance. And she most definitely wasn’t about to let the man tell her what she could and couldn’t do.

  “I don’t know why you’re so upset. The man is simply trying to be helpful.” Jane sat at the table. Shaking out her napkin in a dainty motion, she laid it in her lap.

  Alex sighed with frustration. “I know that, but you weren’t there last week when Lord Merrick was treating me like some simpleton, incapable of one clear thought.”

  “Well that doesn’t mean Lord Blakeney feels that way.”

  “That’s just my point, Jane. I don’t know anything about the man. He works at the British Museum, and in the Egyptology department, for heaven’s sake. For all I know, the man is coming along simply to report back to Merrick. I can’t trust him. I don’t want to trust him.”

  “Really, Alex, I think you’re over exaggerating. Lord Blakeney is a gentleman, I’m sure his intentions are nothing but honorable.”

  “Perhaps, but the last thing I want is Blakeney, or any man, watching my every move on this trip.”

  “Come, sit down.” Jane pointed at the seat across from her at the dining table. “All this pacing of yours is making me weary. I don’t know where you get all your energy.”

  “It’s excitement. I just wish Father and Uncle Jeffrey were here.” Alex bent her head to contemplate the tips of her pink kid shoes peeking out from under her gown. Her father and uncle would have made this trip not only exciting, but exceedingly amusing as well.

  “Oh, Alex. I know how hard this is for you.” Jane sighed. “Losing someone is always painful, but we both know they wouldn’t have wanted you to grieve so.”

  Her friend’s soft reply made her start. Jane had suffered loss in the past as well. She quickly rounded the table and gave her friend a hug.

  “I’m sorry. Will it make you feel better if I say I’ll make a distinct effort to seek out Lord Blakeney’s good points?”

  Her question provoked Jane’s laughter. “Why, Alexandra Talbot, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were interested in the man.”

  Appalled, Alex stepped away from her friend. “Don’t be ridiculous!”

  “If you ask me, the fact that he’s charming and handsome will make the voyage pass that much more quickly.”

  Alex took her seat across from her friend and released an unladylike snort of disgust. “I might have known you’d pick up that particular refrain.”

  “Are you telling me you’re completely impervious to our host’s considerable charms?”

  The teasing note in her friend’s voice made Alex grimace. She wasn’t about to let her friend know just how disturbing Lord Blakeney was to her senses. “I have no use for a man intent on charming me. I’m quite content with my life as it is. Give me a statue of Ramesses or Anubis any day over the affections of a man.”

  “Statues are a cold substitute for the warmth of a lover,” said the source of her misery as he entered the medium-sized cabin.

  Alex jerked her head around in his direction and sent him an askance look. Her reward was a small smile curving his mouth, while the dancing light of laughter in his eyes twisted her insides in too many directions. The man obviously took pleasure in goading her. Well, she refused to play his game.

  Jane, the traitor, smiled a welcome as the man bowed over an extended hand. “Good evening, Lord Blakeney.”

  “Good evening, Mrs. Beacon. Welcome aboard the Moroccan Wind.”

  “You must forgive Alex, she’s usually quite charming, but I’m afraid her desire to reach our destination has made her a touch edgy.”

  “Indeed.” The smooth one-word observation made her feel as if he’d given her a lengthy lecture. “Good evening, Miss Talbot.”

  “Good evening,” she mumbled before ducking her head to avoid his gaze. He took a seat at the end of the short table. One hand resting on the white damask tablecloth, he toyed with the stem of his wineglass that a porter had filled the moment he entered the room.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Alex eyed his fingers as they caressed the crystal. The memory of his fingers caressing the tops of her breasts made her suck in a sharp breath. Heat spread its way over her skin as her nipples grew taut, pushing against the restraint of her corset. Her gaze flitted toward him, and her mouth went dry as she found him watching her. Ducking her head, she struggled to control her body’s reaction to him.

  The porter held a platter of roast beef in front of her, and she gratefully took a helping. Anything to avoid the unsettling gaze that so easily triggered a hundred different wanton thoughts and needs inside of her. Determined to eat and escape to her cabin, Alex ate in silence, barely following the conversation between her friend and Lord Blakeney. She’d almost finished her meal when Jane smiled at her.

  “Isn’t that right, Alex?”

  Caught with food in her mouth, she quickly swallowed the bite-size potato as she shook her head. “What?”

  “I said all this started with your Uncle Jeffrey.”

  “What did?” She frowned for an instant. “Oh, you mean the search for Per-Ramesses. Yes, it all started with Uncle Jeffrey.”

  “The one who was a spiritualist?” The deep note of his voice caressed every inch of her body, and a tremor raced down her back. Dear Lord, the man’s voice was enough to make her mouth water. The memory of his seductive voice telling her how beautiful her mouth was teased its way through her head. Flustered, she tried to focus on the conversation.

  “Yes, Uncle Jeffrey told Father all about the city and where to find Nourbese’s tomb.”

  A sudden snapping sound rent the air, and Alex stared in astonishment as the crystal glass in Lord Blakeney’s hand shattered beneath the force of his grip.

  “Blast,” he growled.

  The sight of blood dripping from his hand made Alex’s stomach lurch with a sickening thud, and she could feel the color draining from her face. Across from her, Jane hastily sprang to her feet.

  “Oh no you don’t, Alexandra Talbot. You are not going to faint. His Lordship is fine.” Reaching her side, Jane quickly fanned the air in front of Alex. Closing her eyes, she could feel the room spinning around her. Oh, God, she didn’t want him to see her this weak. This helpless. Despite her best intentions, she sank into a dark oblivion.

  Chapter Four

  Murmurs echoed over Alex’s head as her eyes fluttered open. The dark brown gaze of the man bent over her sent a warm pulse of pleasure circulating through her veins. Disoriented, she shifted her attention away from him and realized she was lying on the couch that sectioned off the salon portion of the cabin from the dining area. Jane peered down at her from over Lord Blakeney’s shoulder. A look of merriment gleamed in her violet eyes.

  “Well, now. You look much better than you did a few moments ago. At least you have a little color in your face.” Jane winked at her. Her friend obviously found her situation vastly amusing.

  “How are you feeling?” The quiet concern in his voice wrapped Alex in a warm cloak of protection. She enjoyed the sensation, and a wave of color warmed her cheeks at the knowledge.

  “Much better, thank you.” She pushed herself up into a sitting position, her arm exploding with heat as his hand cupped her elbow to assist.

  Remembering the reason for her faint, she swallowed and took a quick peek at his hand. White cloth bound two of his fingers. “And you?”

  “A few scratches, nothing serious.”

  He stood upright, and stepped back to allow her to rise. When she was on her feet again, Jane eyed her with skepticism. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

  Although the room reeled in front of her, Alex nodded. She refused to faint again. “I’
ll be fine. What I need is some fresh air. If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll go up on deck.”

  “Not me, I’m going to stay here and study that Coptic dictionary you gave me.” Jane strolled over to a small reading-table and picked up a thin volume. “Something tells me it’s going to come in very handy in the near future.”

  “I’ll join you.” The husky timbre of his voice told Alex not to argue with him.

  She slid a sidelong glance in his direction before nodding. Jane had already sunk down into a comfortable chair near the gaslight, and Alex sent her friend a glare of reproof before walking out into the night. The salty tang in the air filled her lungs and told her they were well out to sea. With a sigh of appreciation, she looked up at the beauty of the night sky.

  “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

  With a nod at his observation, she moved forward across the open deck, her eyes pinned on the sky. Still a bit woozy from her recent faint, she stumbled forward as the ship encountered a large swell and lurched over the wave. Strong arms prevented her from falling as he pulled her into his side.

  Fire enveloped her with the speed of a hawk in its dive. Disconcerted by the wanton sensations racing through her, she arched away from him. Beneath her fingers, his muscles tensed under the lightweight material of his jacket. In an instant, she was free of his embrace. No sooner had she put distance between them, than she craved to be back in his arms.

  “Thank you,” she murmured. “It seems I’ve been saying that a great deal to you since we first met.”

  “Your gratitude is unnecessary.”

  His flat response troubled her. The moonlight cast his dark features into relief, his eyes staring at something beyond the bow of the ship. His stern demeanor made her think she’d offended him somehow.

  “Perhaps not, but you have my thanks nonetheless.”

  His reply was a sharp nod. With a brisk flick of his wrist, he gestured for them to continue forward along the deck. Strolling across the wood flooring, they reached the ship’s rail. The sculpted wood was slightly damp from the ocean mist as she grasped the chest-high barrier. Below, dark waters parted to make way for the ship as white foam and spray threw itself against the sides of the vessel. Once more, she stared up at the night sky, her body throbbing with an unexplained awareness of the man standing next to her.

  “What will you do if you find Per-Ramesses?” His unexpected question surprised her.

  “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “If you find the ancient city, what will you do? Excavate the entire site or allow someone else to do it?”

  “Someone like the British Museum, you mean?” It was impossible to restrain her bitterness.

  He glanced down at her, his gaze unreadable in the dark. “I’m sure the Museum will be more than happy to look at your findings.”

  “And take the credit for my work as well,” she said coolly.

  “If you do know where Per-Ramesses is, then you’re about to make history, and no one can take that away from you.”

  “Perhaps, but it won’t stop the Museum from trying. The idea of a woman archeologist is heresy.”

  “I’ve not noticed that it’s stopped you so far.” There was a thin layer of humor in his deep voice and one corner of her mouth tugged her lips into a small smile.

  Silence drifted between them, and Alex leaned on the ship’s raised banister. Staring out over the water, she watched the moonlight dance across the restless waves. The man puzzled her. He acted as if it was quite natural for her, a woman, to start out on a quest to find Ramesses’ lost city. His reaction made her nervous. Why was he so eager to help her?

  First, he’d arranged for her to have access to the Rosetta Stone. Then he’d appointed himself the task of escorting her to Egypt. When the Corinthian revoked her passage, she’d been annoyed, but put it down to coincidence until this morning when he’d come on board. His blithe announcement that the Moroccan Wind belonged to him had stunned her.

  She didn’t know how, but he was responsible for her losing her berth on the Corinthian. Her intuition told her that. Somehow he’d maneuvered her into traveling on his ship, and it irritated her. She had no need of a protector, especially one as disturbing and dangerously attractive as Lord Blakeney.

  Beside her, he shifted slightly, his arm brushing against hers. The instant fluttering of her heart made her swallow hard. Maybe she did need a protector. Someone to help her guard against these feelings he aroused in her. Despite her best efforts, every time the man came near her, her body erupted with fire and heat.

  But could she trust him? The only thing she knew about him was that he worked for the British Museum. That, in and of itself, was enough to make her want to keep him at arm’s length. Still, as much as it displeased her to admit it, his presence wasn’t completely unwelcome. He did make her feel safe, especially since she was certain someone had been following her for the past week.

  She’d tried to put it down to her imagination, but that was difficult to do when the same man kept turning up everywhere she went gathering supplies for the trip. Much to her chagrin, the man’s presence had unnerved her, making her think back to the recent deaths of her uncle and father. Their deaths had seemed natural, but the man following her had simply raised more doubts. Uncle Jeffrey had warned them they’d be met with resistance, but he’d never explained. His warning had taken on new meaning now.

  Could their deaths have been murder? But how? She wouldn’t even question their deaths if it weren’t for the fact they’d both died of the same illness six months apart. That could not be a coincidence. But she was at a loss to understand how or, more importantly, why.

  And what about her narrow escape in the Museum? That could have easily been an accident, but her instincts told her differently. Then there was Lord Blakeney’s obvious interference. With all that had happened she was wary about his motives. Still, despite her distrust of him, his sincerity seemed genuine, and something about him reassured her, comforted her.

  Her father would have liked him. They seemed to have similar temperaments. Uncle Jeffrey would have simply relaxed and enjoyed the pleasure of having two potential victims for his rapier wit. Beside her, she heard him clear his throat.

  “You mentioned Nourbese’s tomb earlier. It’s unusual for anyone outside the desert to know that name.”

  “Uncle Jeffrey is the one who introduced us to Nourbese.” Alex grinned at the memory. “Although Father and I were ready to have him declared insane.”

  “Why?”

  “Because the first time he mentioned her, he claimed he was the reincarnation of Ramesses and that Nourbese had been his wife.”

  He sucked in a quick breath. She laughed at the restraint of his reaction. Her father’s response had been a bit more explosive. Lord Blakeney obviously found the idea difficult to accept as well.

  “Your reaction isn’t quite the same one Father and I had. I can still remember Father storming out of the library the day Uncle Jeffrey asked us to find Nourbese’s tomb. It wasn’t until he produced some clear evidence that we realized there might be some truth to his vision.”

  “Vision?”

  “Uncle Jeffrey described it as that. He’d been working in the garden when he said he was transported back to another place and time. His descriptions of the images were quite vivid. Naturally, we were quite skeptical, but when he drew several hieroglyphic symbols he’d seen on one of the monuments in his dream, Father and I were convinced he’d indeed had a vision.”

  “Why would the drawings convince you?”

  Alex turned back to stare out at the ocean. A chill skated over her skin as she remembered translating the symbols. Trust not the Mazir who lies for he intends only death and destruction to those in his path. Whoever that person was he was dangerous, and she, for one, intended to keep her distance.

  “Uncle Jeffrey was the quintessenti
al businessman and he amassed a fortune expanding the family business. The man could tell you to the penny how much his quarterly statements were, but he wouldn’t have known the difference between the Coptic alphabet or a hieroglyph to save that fortune.”

  “And the hieroglyphs he drew, what was the translation?” There was an intense note of curiosity in his voice, and Alex stiffened. An inquisitive nature was one thing, but his interest made her wary.

  “Oh, a tribute to Nourbese and references to several landmarks near Per-Ramesses.”

  Lying always made her uneasy, especially when the translation was a warning. She didn’t look at him, but she immediately sensed the tension in him abating. The way he was acting made her think he knew more about Nourbese than he had admitted. Did he know the entire story about the doomed priestess?

  The first time she’d read Nourbese’s story it had astonished her. Her father had found an obscure text with the woman’s story in it, and it had taken four or five readings to ensure her translation was correct. Legend said that Ramesses had fallen in love with the young woman and married her.

  Politics had come into play because Nourbese had not been of royal blood. A member of the Mazir tribe, her place in the Pharaoh’s house had been a precarious one. So precarious she’d been murdered shortly after the birth of her son. The politicians had insisted Nourbese’s tomb be hidden from view as she wasn’t royalty.

  Ramesses had disregarded the demand, which resulted in the robbery and desecration of his wife’s tomb. Devastated, he’d built another tomb for his beloved wife in a secluded location. The storytellers said that only the rib of Ramesses would identify Nourbese’s current resting place, but they never described the rib itself.

  She was fairly certain the rib was an artifact of some sort, but couldn’t be for sure. Did Blakeney know any of this? If so, why didn’t he tell her? The thought that he might actually be working for the Museum sent a note of disappointment sailing through her. She shivered.