Jillian's heart sank. "Graham, I meant to tell you. I couldn't get the tracing. I was watched too closely." Her husband's expression tightened, and she said, "I can try again, now that I'm married and have more freedom."
"Try hard," he said softly. "We need it, Jilly."
He looked a trifle desperate, as if it weren't a map he sought but something more meaningful, like his heart's desire.
"Tell me about the story you were discussing," she said.
The duke nodded. "Very well. Khufu is the pharaoh for whom the Great Pyramid was built. His sons liked to amuse their father with stories. One told of a powerful magician who desired revenge upon his wife's lover. He created a small wax crocodile, and had his servant toss it into the lake where the lover bathed. The crocodile came to life and swallowed the youth."
Graham went on, his rich, deep voice lending drama to the tale. She listened, enthralled.
"While supping with Pharaoh Nebka, the magician called forth the crocodile, and out of its mouth it spat the wife's lover, totally unharmed. The magician ordered the reptile to take the boy, and both man and beast vanished from sight."
"Legend says Pharaoh Khufu was so intrigued by the tale he rewarded his son with a magic wishing casket with powers to make dreams come true. Into this box he placed a small gold crocodile with an emerald the size of an egg in its yawning jaws, as tribute to Sobek, the crocodile god," Kenneth put in.
"However," Graham went on, "the clever pharaoh told his son he would receive the treasure only after his death, if he could find it. Khufu buried the treasure in the western desert, but created a map with clues to find it. But first, one needed to find a key to unlock the hiding place, and the key is hidden in Khufu's tomb."
Jillian focused on Graham. "And the map to find this priceless wishing casket... this is the papyrus you need?
A strange look entered his eyes. "Yes. And that wishing casket is everything. It's not merely a priceless treasure. Father said it had the ability to grant dreams, even those dreams that seem desperately out of reach." Then he gave an elegant shrug. "It is myth. It could be there. Or not."
"I'll do what I can to trace the map," she promised.
"Do it, Jilly. As soon as possible. We need that map. I need that casket."
For a moment, despair crossed his handsome face. Then the usual blank expression slid over him. She watched Graham help himself to eggs from the steaming trays the servants began to set out. Why was her husband so determined to seek this treasure? Did he truly believe in its magical powers?
And would finding it finally dispel the haunted look swirling in his dark eyes?
Chapter Thirteen
Over the next several weeks, Jillian settled into a pleasant routine. During the day she rode in the park, and sat for hours in her husband's vast library, devouring his large collection. Jillian marveled over his tastes, always taking care to leave before Graham arrived home and caught her reading. She'd learned that lesson from her father, who disdained her thirst for knowledge.
Sometimes she sat in the drawing room, doing needlepoint like a dutiful wife while Badra discussed books and nursed her son. At first, Jillian felt shocked embarrassment at her friendly sister-in-law's habit of feeding Michael in front of her. But after a while she realized the viscountess was much more discreet around others. And as she grew to know her better, Jillian realized Badra thought of her as a close sister who shared intimacies. She was deeply touched at the trust the woman accorded her.
Trust and emotional closeness, things the duke did not accord her. Graham frequently vanished for long periods during the day, and when she once timidly asked where he went, he replied curtly, "It's not your business." Hurt, she withdrew, not asking again.
It appeared the only intimacy he would share was in bed each night. There, he made love with great passion. Still, when she clung to him, searching his eyes, he seemed distant, as if he shared only his body and withheld the rest of himself.
Jillian found herself in the peculiar position of becoming closer to her in-laws than her husband. Reticent at first, even Kenneth became friendly. He joined her in the library, explaining he'd only learned to read English in the past year. He talked of growing up among the Khamsin, the Egyptian warrior tribe who raised him, and how he had fallen in love with Badra. Graham's family openly shared themselves. Graham did not.
Jillian tried during dinner to engage her husband in conversation. She dared to comment when Graham and Kenneth discussed investments. But when Graham's piercing gaze locked on her, she quieted and focused on eating her food instead. She did not want to see an echo of her father's condemnation in her husband's face.
Today, she'd actually found herself needed. Jasmine's governess was ill, and Jillian offered to give lessons. In the cheerful schoolroom, the pair skated through reading and sums, and then Jillian decided to stoke the young girl's sharp mind with her own love of economics. Jasmine sat at her small wooden school desk, listening with rapt attention.
"England has been suffering from an economic depression since 1873. Blame it partly on the Industrial Revolution. We are no longer an imperialistic country leading the way in international trade. For example, look at the production of steel. All the new sailing vessels are constructed with it. America produces it far cheaper. And what does it mean when you can produce a product cheaper?" Jillian asked her young pupil.
"You can sell it for less?"
"Exactly—and still make a profit. It's called supply and demand. Buyers want to cut costs; they'll purchase it from the cheapest source. And if there are only so many ships being built, and they all want their steel from America and not England, then it means—"
"Our ship is sunk," Graham interjected.
Cold dread crawled over her at the sound of that deep, smoky voice. Jillian cautiously turned. Her husband lounged in the doorway, arms crossed over his broad chest. He studied her intently. Feeling as guilty as a child caught snatching a cookie, she jumped to her feet, knocking over her chair.
The duke strode into the room, righted the chair. A furious blush ignited her cheeks. "I'm sorry. Er, Miss Hunter is ill today and I... I... thought Jasmine... I mean, economics is... and..."
She bit her tongue. Would the duke laugh, as Bernard had, or punish her as father had? Surely he would be disapproving of her interest.
"You think England no longer leads the world in industrial growth, Jillian?" he asked.
Wordlessly, she stared. Interest filled his gaze. Heart racing, Jillian waited for reproach, but he parked a hip against the desk Drawing in a hesitant breath, she explained.
"Mass production has lowered costs and expanded productivity, but demand in England simply isn't enough for what our factories produce. And our overseas export markets are shrinking, thanks to the competition from America."
"But America has suffered as well. Look at the depression of 1883," he countered.
More energized, she nodded. "True, but America is likely to rebound more easily than England due to its competitive pricing and natural resources. As an industrial nation, we are lagging behind. It's the law of supply and demand."
The duke's gaze flicked to his niece. "Jasmine, isn't it time for your afternoon ride? Charles is waiting for you."
The little girl looked to Jillian for affirmation. Jillian nodded and Jasmine scampered out. The duke unfolded his powerful frame and strode toward her.
Oh no, here it came, the lecture and the condemnation, the chiding. She couldn't bear it. Jillian bit her lip.
So expecting was she of criticism, she started when his large, warm hand cupped her cheek. Jillian trembled as he stroked a line along her jaw.
"My wife, the brilliant little economist. I'm fascinated. Whom did you study?"
Jillian stared. He showed no signs of sneering.
"Marshall. The Principles of Economics is a book my father bought for his library. He rarely read it."
"Clearly you did," he murmured. "Why are you looking so frightened? I'm not a bea
st Didn't you realize when you brought up the topic at dinner I was interested?"
"I thought... a woman's opinion about such things matters not to men."
Surely it had never mattered to her father. Her father, who interrupted her mother when she dared to speak. Her father, who constantly criticized her mother until her mother became silent and offered her opinion no more.
He gave a derisive snort. "Some men, perhaps. Not me. I'm not well-educated on investments and economics. Perhaps you'd care to enlighten me."
Her husband sat upon the desk and nodded for her to take a seat. Encouraged by the interest flaring in his eyes, Jillian hesitantly began talking. He asked pointed, intelligent questions. He coaxed answers from her, argued several points. She found herself enthralled, and was surprised to see the little gold watch pinned to her blouse indicate more than an hour had passed. She stood and hastily began organizing papers upon the oak desk.
Graham gave her a thoughtful look. "You're an excellent teacher. Have you ever considered furthering your education?"
Jillian bit her hp. She stared at his kind expression. Did she dare confide in him? She had nothing to lose now. Her hands shook as she smoothed over the papers.
"My heart's desire is to attend college. I had set my sights on Radcliffe College in America." Daring to look up, she saw understanding cross his face.
"Ah, that is why you were running away. Your father wouldn't send you to school."
Bitter laughter rose in her throat. "He sent me to finishing school to learn how to pour tea. He chided me for expressing my opinions and theories. He said I'm a weak woman who prattles about things she doesn't understand. School in America offered the only option."
His warm hand rested atop hers. She stared at the elegant, long fingers pressed against her skin.
"You don't prattle. I find you immensely engaging and fascinating. Why can't you believe me?" he asked quietly.
"Men of rank do not expect intellectual discussions with their wives. They expect them to share their bodies, not their minds." Jillian couldn't help the cynicism inflecting her voice.
"I think men and women can share both," he countered.
"You do?" Her heart thudded wildly at the intent look he gave her, the sultry want in those midnight eyes.
"Take your discussion of gold, for example," he murmured. "Gold, like the color of your hair when the sun lights it. You predict gold will be the backer for currency in America." He plucked free the pins holding her locks captive. They spilled free in soft waves, tumbling down past her breasts, one of which the duke palmed, heat flaring in his gaze.
"The purchasing power of gold continues to rise," she stammered, her gaze riveted to the equally fascinating rise in his silk trousers.
"I doubt it will deflate in the near future."
Desire darkened his gaze to black. Graham very gently pulled her down to the polished floorboards with him. He clasped the back of her neck, drawing her to him.
"Gold, er, gold is much more stable and reliable, and such a..." She whimpered as he lightly bit her neck, then chased it with a soothing sweep of his tongue. He pushed her back against the hard floorboards. His hands—oh goodness, his hands were beneath her sensible skirts.... Here she was, in a schoolroom, babbling about gold standards while her husband was pushing her skirts up. His hand slid along her inner thigh, teasing and skimming the stocking's edge. His heavy-lidded gaze captured hers as he unbuttoned her white blouse, opening it to reveal the upper halves of her breasts lifted by her corset.
"Do you know how much I adore it when you talk like this?" he asked.
"L-like what?" Oh God, he was running his finger along the edge of her breast. She tensed with sweet anticipation.
"Like the intelligent woman you are. It excites me." He breathed against her ear, nibbling at the lobe.
"I didn't realize you found economics so... stimulating."
Graham paused and cupped her cheek. She dissolved at his tender look. "It's you, Jilly, that I find stimulating. Your brilliant mind, your clever wit... your passion."
He reached down and loosened her corset, then popped a breast free. Jillian drew in a breath, feeling her skin flush.
With a slow, deliberate lick, his rough velvet tongue crested her nipple. Graham swirled it round the hard peak, which his mouth then closed over. He suckled deeply.
Jillian arched, gasping, tremendous heat engulfing her with each insistent tug of his mouth. Graham released her nipple and leaned back, a slow, knowing smile teasing his mouth. His wet mouth, reddened and warm. Oh, she needed that mouth, needed it on hers, now. Jillian reached up and wrapped her hands about his neck, dragging him down to meet her.
He kissed her lips, stroked the inside of her mouth, tasting and coaxing her response. Then Graham pulled away, his dark eyes intense.
"Tell me more about Marshall's theory," he demanded.
Talk? Amid this mindless pleasure?
"Ah, um, well... Mr. Marshall expresses the logic that man evolving into a more sophisticated being means that even his animal passions need association with mental stimulation...."
"Animal passions," Graham breathed. He made a rough, growling noise deep in his throat as he showered tiny kisses over her collarbone, along the edge of her throat.
"Um, oh... ob... even when he has the means to acquire more expensive food and drink, he still has a restricted appetite, for nature restricts him—oh God," she moaned as his mouth encased her nipple. With long, slow strokes, he flicked his tongue over the hardened peak.
Graham raised his head, his gaze burning into her. "And?" he demanded.
"Graham, please, sod the bloody economics," she begged. She needed him inside her, now.
Deep laughter rumbled from his chest. Graham unfastened his trousers. He leaned over her, his gaze midnight black, as he settled between her thighs and mounted her. She felt the thick hardness pushing at her wet entrance, and with a mighty thrust, he entered her. Her bottom skidded along the polished oak floor; he caught her hips and held her tight as he rocked back and forth, penetrating deep.
Jillian bit back a tiny cry as she clutched his lapels, feeling as if she drowned in pleasure. Giving in, she arched and muffled her cry of release against the black silk of his coat. Her body tensed and convulsed, infused with molten fire. Graham stiffened above her and his jaw tensed as he clenched his teeth, biting back a harsh cry as he violently shuddered.
Releasing a ragged breath, he stared down at her. "Did you enjoy your lesson?" he asked.
Jillian managed to find her wobbly voice. "And... and what lesson was that?"
"That, habiba, was a lesson in supply and demand. Since I intend to be a very demanding husband, I will supply you with as much pleasure as you can possibly stand, a beneficial trade agreement for both involved parties."
"But at what price?" She held his gaze, feeling him still hard within her.
Graham dropped a light kiss on her perspiring forehead. "Whatever price you desire. How does attending college here in England sound? Would you like that?"
Jillian's heart skipped a beat. "Truly? But the money—"
"Blast the money. We'll find a way. If attending school is your heart's desire, Jilly, then I want to deliver it." He caressed her cheek "On a gold platter, if I could."
She managed a smile. "Silver. We can't afford gold."
He laughed. "If I find you a school to attend, Jilly, you'll stay with me?"
Haunted loneliness flickered in his eyes. She thought of all he must have lost as a child, and her heart turned. But she needed more from him. She vowed never to have her parents' marriage: two people merely sharing space and not each other.
"If I stay, Graham, things must change," she said slowly.
He loomed over her. The duke's powerful body kept her helplessly pinned to the floor. Her slight, feminine body was invaded, kept at a distinct disadvantage. But she pressed on, knowing she had to speak now, while she had his full attention.
"I can't have a marr
iage where my husband closes himself off to me. You disappear for hours and don't tell me where you've gone. You build a stone wall around yourself and no one is allowed in. You said men and women can share their bodies and their minds. Share yourself with me, Graham. Everything."
His gaze went cold. She felt him abruptly withdraw from her, both physically and emotionally. He stood, adjusting himself, brushing off his silk trousers as if their tumble had meant nothing. As if her words had meant nothing.
At the doorway he paused, his back to her, his voice emotionless. "I'll instruct my secretary to begin the search for a university that will admit you. Think about it, Jillian. I can give you your heart's desire—if you don't leave me."
But will you give me your heart, Graham, she silently asked. How can I remain if you insist on shutting me out?
He left her lying on the floor, her skirts up to her waist, his seed pooling between her damp, trembling thighs.
* * *
With meticulous precision, Graham was setting his plan into action. He'd kept everything concealed from Jillian. To tide his family over, he'd sold one of the four Arabian mares he'd purchased from the Khamsin. He offered half the money to the Khamsin sheikh as a partial payment on the mares purchased from them, but Jabari had written back, refusing payment. Instead, he'd requested a small percentage of money earned from stud fees.
"Your stallion's stud fees, my friend, not yours," Jabari had written. "Speaking of breeding, congratulations on your marriage. Consider the mares a wedding gift."
Graham sighed as he read over the sheikh's smooth, flowing English script. His financial problems were temporarily solved.
Under less pressure now, he'd spent afternoons with Jillian's father at his club—building trust, allowing himself, despite his dire financial circumstances, to lose at cards. Convincing the earl he had taken up his cause.
Only one quest diverted him from his zealous drive to ruin Stranton. Graham sent his secretary to inquire about colleges Jillian could attend. He did it with a guilty pang, knowing Jillian wanted from him what he could not offer. Himself. Share the terrible darkness inside? He couldn't do it. Never again would he permit himself to be vulnerable.
The Panther & the Pyramid (Khamsin Warriors of the Wind) Page 15
