Heart's Demand

by Cheryl Holt

  George Blair was whispering to a priest seated beside him and hadn’t noticed Michael’s approach, but Susan Blair eased forward in her chair.

  As the boy had mentioned in the yard, she was very ill. Her skin was an odd orange color, and she was so thin, she was practically skeletal. Most of her hair had fallen out, and there was an air of disease about her that made Michael suppose she didn’t have long to live.

  “You there!” she snapped at Michael. “Who are you? Tell me who you are this instant!”

  Her sharp tone caused George to whip around and glare at them. He gasped as Susan Blair repeated, “Who are you? Who?”

  “Hello, Mrs. Blair,” Michael rudely said. “I’d call you countess but you really aren’t one, are you?”

  “How dare you, sir!” George Blair huffed. “You can’t come into my home and insult my wife.”

  “He already has,” Matthew replied, “and we take great issue with you pretending this is your home. It was never yours, and we’re here to see that you return it to the rightful owners. That would be us.”

  “You’re mad,” George scoffed, but he glanced about anxiously, as if worried over who might be listening.

  He waved to a few servants as if they’d run over and accost Michael and Matthew, but none of them moved. They recognized, as George Blair didn’t yet, that Michael and Matthew couldn’t be intimidated.

  “Julian?” Susan Blair suddenly hissed, evidently assuming—as the servants had outside—that Michael was his father, risen from the grave. “Is it you? Julian! Speak up! You’re dead. You’ve been dead for twenty-five years. Don’t haunt us. Please! I’m begging you.”

  “I happen to believe you could do with a little haunting,” Michael retorted.

  “And quite a bit of revenge,” Matthew added.

  “Who are you!” Susan demanded again. “You won’t say. Why won’t you say?”

  “I am Michael Blair,” Michael coldly announced.

  “And I am Matthew Blair,” Matthew announced just as coldly.

  “What? What?” George Blair chirped like a bird. “You’re a Blair? Are you claiming to be kin? For if you are, I call you a liar to your face.”

  “We would never claim kinship with the likes of you,” Michael said. “Our parents are Anne and Julian Blair.”

  On his mentioning his parents, Michael and Matthew received the precise reaction they’d been hoping to obtain. The names—Anne and Julian—sizzled around the room, as if the universe was marking the declaration.

  “No, no, this can’t be,” Susan wailed. “You’re dead! Julian’s children are all dead.”

  “You’re wrong. We’re all hale and healthy, especially our brother, Bryce, who is the lawful earl. We will retrieve what is ours. You ruined our parents. You killed them, and we’ve come to finally make you pay for all your crimes.”

  Susan Blair collapsed to the floor in an unconscious heap.

  * * * *

  “You’re very kind to accompany us, Mr. Blair.”

  “Thank you, Nicholas, but I’m not working for free. I’m being compensated for my services.”

  “Of course you are. My sister and I would never accept charity. It’s not in our nature.”

  “Your…sister?” Bryce asked.

  Kat had previously informed Bryce that she was a widow and Isabelle and Nicholas were her son and daughter. He wasn’t mistaken.

  “Yes, Katarina is my sister,” Nicholas said. “Who did you think she was?”

  “I thought she was your mother.”

  “Why would you think that?”

  “I have no idea,” Bryce lied. “I guess I was confused.”

  “My mother perished while birthing Isabelle.”

  “You must have been very young when it happened.”

  “Yes. I was two when she passed away.”

  “I was five when I lost mine.” Bryce sighed with regret.

  Yet he wasn’t sure she was deceased. Due to his grandfather’s perfidy, she’d been transported to the penal colonies as a convicted felon. His sister, Evangeline, refused to believe she was dead.

  Evangeline insisted their mother had survived the hazardous ocean voyage to Australia and that she was fine and safe and still living there. She planned to locate her and bring her back to England. It was a grand dream, and when Bryce was with Evangeline, he liked to pretend it could transpire. But he was more inclined to suppose she’d been deceased for many years.

  “I don’t remember my mother,” Nicholas said. “Do you remember yours?”

  “Yes, I remember her very clearly.”

  “You’re lucky to recollect.”

  “I am lucky.”

  “What was she like?”

  “She was beautiful and glamorous. She was a gifted singer so our home was constantly filled with music. She used to invite me to sit with her at her harpsichord and we’d sing songs together.”

  “What fun that must have been,” Nicholas wistfully murmured.

  “It was very fun. I miss those times, and I recall them often.”

  “As you should.”

  Bryce smiled down at Nicholas. They were standing at the bow of the boat Valois had arranged to deliver them to Cedric Webster’s camp.

  He’d met Kat at her hotel at nine, and Valois’s porters had quickly and efficiently carted the Websters’ belongings to the river. Two boats had sailed side by side, with the porters and a cadre of additional guards in one, and Bryce, Chase, Miss Clementi, and the Websters in the other.

  They were anchored for the night on the banks of the Nile. The sun had just set, and it was a glorious evening, the hot temperature waning, birds taking their final flights. They cawed and dove into the water, grabbing a last bite of fish. The sky was purple and orange, and off in the distance, he could make out a line of pyramids. It was a magical sight.

  Nicholas was an interesting boy. He was only twelve but very mature for his age. Isabelle was ten, and she was very much like him.

  Occasionally they were as rambunctious and curious as any other children might be, but they could be very reserved and aloof too, very direct and authoritative in a way Bryce had never witnessed in other children. It seemed that perhaps they’d been trained in decorum and comportment, that they’d been raised to a bigger, more majestic life than the one they were currently leading.

  With Bryce having discovered Kat was a sister and not a widowed mother, he suspected there was much more to their story than he’d been told.

  Valois had simply asked him to escort Kat to her destination, then stay for as long as Kat required his services. Bryce might have refused, but the stipend Valois negotiated was an outrageous amount, so he hadn’t been able to decline.

  Chase had signed on too, with his friend needing the money as much as Bryce did. He’d also mentioned Miss Clementi in a fashion that had Bryce assuming there was romance brewing between the pair. He certainly hoped Miss Clementi recognized him for the cad he was. Chase was a handsome devil, but he was completely unreliable.

  Quite a bit earlier, Isabelle had gone below, and suddenly she popped up on the deck and called to her brother. “Nicholas, Katarina says it’s late and you should come to bed.”

  “I’m not a baby, Isabelle. Tell her I’ll be down when I’m tired.”

  “She says you’re tired now, but you don’t realize it.”

  Nicholas peeked up at Bryce and grinned a grin of conspiracy and an innate male knowledge of women being ridiculous.

  “I’m talking to Mr. Blair,” Nicholas responded. “We’re reminiscing about our mothers. I’m not ready to stop.”

  “Katarina says we’ll be up at dawn so tomorrow will be another very long day. You need your rest.”

  Nicholas glared at his sister, then sighed. “Fine, Isabelle. I’ll come to bed.” He peered up at Bryce. “Will you excuse me, Mr. Blair?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “I can’t bear to upset Katarina. She’s done so much for me, and I’m very grateful.” In a very Europe
an manner, he clicked his heels and bowed from the waist. “Goodnight.”

  “Goodnight,” Bryce replied. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  He watched Nicholas and Isabelle climb down the ladder into the hold to the berths where they would sleep in luxurious comfort. The boat was lavishly furnished with feather mattresses and sheets sewn from the softest Egyptian cotton.

  He thought again of what odd children they were. They looked just like Kat, slender and handsome with the same dark hair and green eyes, so when she’d claimed to be their mother, he’d believed her without question. But their close kinship couldn’t be denied, so with his learning they were siblings, he didn’t question that information either.

  Nicholas’s hair was neatly cut, his clothes expensive and perfectly tailored. Isabelle dressed in the same costly style, and because she was still a girl, she wore her hair plaited in a single braid down her back. Obviously they were rich and had been highly educated, but there was a graciousness and sophistication about them that belied the scant details Kat had provided.

  He didn’t mind a woman having secrets. He had plenty of his own, but it made his job of guarding her more difficult. If he had no idea what dangers she faced, how was he to guess when danger was approaching?

  He went to a chair and sat, lit a cheroot and stared at the fires on the bank. The porters from the two boats were camped on shore, had cooked their supper and rolled out blankets on the sand. He was wondering about their lives and families when he heard footsteps on the deck behind him. He glanced over his shoulder to see Kat. She sat in the chair next to him.

  “It’s so beautiful, isn’t it?” she said.

  “Yes, very beautiful.”

  “The tropical climate is intoxicating. It leaves me so invigorated.”

  “It’s a notorious effect travelers always feel when they’re here.” He frowned at her, eager to deduce what was going on in her devious head. “Are your children in bed?”

  “Yes. I help them, but they’re so grown up, they don’t need me for much.”

  “It must be hard being a mother with no husband.”

  She gazed out at the water and casually said, “Yes, it’s been very hard.”

  “How old were you when Nicholas was born? Ten? Eleven?”

  “Ah…ah…”

  Her voice trailed off. Evidently she couldn’t perform the mathematical equation quickly enough to sound truthful.

  Bryce smirked with annoyance. “Give over, Kat. You’re not a widow and you’re not anyone’s mother. At least not Nicholas’s or Isabelle’s.”

  “I am too!” she staunchly declared.

  “No, you’re not. Nicholas spilled the beans.”

  She looked aghast. “About what?”

  “About the fact that you’re his sister.”

  She exhaled a terrified breath. “Oh. Did he…ah…tell you anything else?”

  “No, but I’m wishing he would have. I’m trying to ascertain what has you so frightened.”

  “I’m not frightened.”

  “Really? If you keep me in the dark, how can I protect you? I’m being paid to watch over you, but if you’re concealing important details, you could imperil us both.”

  “Don’t be silly. We’re not imperiled.”

  “Not yet.”

  She scowled, and he could practically see her struggling to decide how much to reveal. Ultimately she confessed, “Nicholas and Isabelle are my siblings.”

  “And you’re hiding your relationship to them because…?”

  “Let’s just say Nicholas is a very wealthy boy, and I have relatives who don’t have his best interests at heart.”

  “All right, let’s say that.”

  “If anyone is searching for us—and I’m not claiming anyone is—they’d be hunting for three siblings traveling together. I pretend I’m a widow with two children and that’s what people remember about us.”

  He assessed her, his blue eyes probing, digging deep, until she began to squirm in her chair.

  “You’re the worst liar, Kat.”

  “I’m not lying.”

  “You are, but we’ll let it go at that. Will you ever trust me? I’m worried about you.”

  “You needn’t be.”

  “You don’t have to be so tough and independent. Would it kill you to lean on me a bit?”

  She was silent for a long while, then she confided, “The past few months have been awful. I learned the hard way that I have no friends.”

  “I’m sorry to hear it.”

  “It’s not easy for me to trust others. It used to be, but it’s not now.”

  “I can certainly tell. You’re not from Boston, are you?”

  “No.” As if the admission was embarrassing, she peered down at her lap. “We’re from Europe, but please don’t ask me where.”

  “I won’t.”

  With how Nicholas had clicked his heels when saying goodnight, Bryce had guessed they were from Europe. But where? Prussia? Switzerland? He’d figure it out eventually.

  “If a miscreant was sneaking up on you, what might he look like?”

  “He’d likely have a trimmed beard, and he’d have a hat pulled low on his head. He’d be wearing an embroidered wool vest too. It’s a common garment in my country.”

  “You’ve described the man who assaulted you outside Valois’s villa.”

  “I’m sure that was a coincidence. It was a failed robbery. You said so yourself.”

  “What if I was wrong?”

  “You weren’t.”

  “Well, that fellow has met his Maker, but I’ll keep an eye out for his brother or cousin.”

  “I’m positive there’s no need, but I’m relieved by your vigilance.”

  He stood and went to the railing, and he tossed the butt of his cheroot into the water. It was slowly occurring to him that Valois had put him in an untenable predicament. Bryce hadn’t been present when Valois was alone with her attacker. What had the brigand told Valois?

  Bryce liked Valois and was grateful for his assistance, but he had secrets and hoarded them like gold. What did he really know about Kat and her siblings? Bryce should have pressed him for more information before he’d sailed off with her.

  He studied the porters gathered around their fire pit on the shore. Chase and Miss Clementi had gone ashore too, and he wondered where they were.

  He glanced back at Kat. “Is Miss Clementi sensible?”

  “Sensible? Yes, I suppose.”

  “Would she recognize a cad if she saw one?”

  “I should hope so. She was engaged to one when she was eighteen, and he jilted her and vanished without a trace. Why?”

  “My friend, Chase Hubbard, is a scoundrel and libertine. Caution her, would you?”

  “I will, but I can’t imagine it’s necessary.”

  Her reply vexed him enormously. She didn’t seem to have accumulated much pragmatism or prudence. She was extremely gullible and never thought anything bad could happen, never thought anyone would behave in a way she wasn’t expecting. The prior months should have taught her to be wary, but they hadn’t, so his job of protecting her would be even more difficult.

  If she never noted a person’s unsavory traits, a criminal could get much too close before she realized she should be afraid.

  He turned to face her, his hips balanced on the railing, his arms crossed over his chest. “I hate that I’m working for you, that you’re paying me.”

  “I’m not having financial trouble. Don’t concern yourself over it.”

  “I wish I could have helped you as a favor without demanding remuneration, but I simply couldn’t afford to be altruistic.”

  “I understand, but I wouldn’t be poor if I had ten lifetimes to spend all my money. I won’t notice the expenditures.”

  “So you are an heiress after all.” He grinned. “Didn’t you once suggest I snag an heiress? It sounds as if I’m in the right place.”

  “I won’t precisely admit to being an heiress, but I�
�m not eager to marry so you’ll have to find your rich bride somewhere else.”

  “Drat it. I figured it would be easy to persuade you.” He gestured to her and said, “Come here.”

  “Why?”

  “I’ll tell you when you get here.”

  “I don’t like that look in your eye.”

  “It’s dark out. How can you be sure of what look is in my eye?”

  “I don’t require a lantern to see that you’re plotting mischief.”

  “Why, Miss Webster, you already know me so well.”

  He grabbed her hand and yanked her to her feet, pulling her to him so the front of her body was pressed to the front of his.

  “Are you going to kiss me?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “We shouldn’t.”

  “So? We’ll do it anyway. There’s no chaperone to prevent it.”

  “Just because we don’t have a nanny, we can still follow our moral code.”

  “I have no moral code,” he huffed.

  “You liar.”

  “I have a bit of one, but it never precludes me from dallying with a beautiful woman in the moonlight.”

  “It’s not a good idea.”

  “Again, Kat, let me remind you that there’s no one to tell us how to behave.”

  “I don’t care about behaving. I simply wish I was freer.”

  “Freer to…what?”

  “To act however I please.”

  “You are free, you silly goose. We’re alone and we’re in Egypt and whoever or whatever we were before we arrived, it doesn’t matter now.”

  “If only that were true.”

  “Trust me, it is,” he insisted.

  She might have continued, but it was ridiculous to debate the issue.

  They shared a potent attraction, and they were two healthy, red-blooded adults. There was no reason to practice restraint, except that she was his employer and he her employee. But he wouldn’t think about that. It was a night for romance, and it wasn’t as if they would fornicate on the deck. They would merely enjoy a very lush, very satisfying kiss.

  Still though, there were porters on the beach and various servants finishing their chores. He couldn’t have rumors spread about her character or his intentions, although with how he constantly watched her—like a wolf on the hunt—gossip was probably already circulating.