Reckless

by Shannon Drake

  “The workers?”

  Margaret laughed. “No, our student workers! Allan, Robert, Alfred…and David. Can you sketch them? Sketch them as you see them now—and as you see them in your mind’s eye? And with your soul.”

  Kat looked at her, afraid that she might have known what feelings she had once harbored for David. But then she realized that Margaret had asked her for a far different reason. Her father was pressuring her. And she truly didn’t know if she would be making the right decision.

  “As you wish,” Kat murmured, frowning as she thought how to tackle the concept.

  “Here, if you would…draw on the horizontal, one face after the other,” Margaret said.

  Kat began to do so.

  Robert Stewart first. Fine face, wide eyes, slightly narrow lips, a bit of arrogance, but an open smile. Allan next. Perhaps the least classically handsome of the group, but with honest eyes and a real enthusiasm for life, pleasure in what was around him. Then Alfred, Lord Daws. Again, some arrogance. Lean face, strong cheekbones, a challenge, a devil-may-care, I-am-who-I-am, I-own-the-world look about him. Then David. Beautiful David. But as she sketched him, Kat realized that she was drawing a chin that was slightly weak, eyes that hid a constant fear, a manner that was uncertain, seeking.

  She handed the book to Margaret when she was done.

  Margaret studied the sketches carefully.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  Kat looked at the sketches over Margaret’s shoulder. There was something that disturbed her about her own work, though exactly what, she didn’t know.

  David? She had drawn what she had begun to see.

  Allan. Perhaps she had done the same. She liked Allan best.

  Robert Stewart? Well, he did think himself akin to royalty.

  And Alfred. Again, the fellow was Lord Daws.

  It was his picture, however, that bothered her most. Strange, she should have liked the fellow, should have felt a real kinship with him. They both despised his stepmother so!

  She didn’t hate him, any more than she hated David. She believed in her heart that, even if Hunter hadn’t arrived that night, they would have let her go. David would have accepted the fact that she couldn’t be his mistress. They had been behaving like very spoiled schoolboys.

  And that, basically, was what they were.

  “Hmm,” Margaret murmured. She glanced at Kat. “Have you sketched your husband?” she asked.

  “No.”

  Margaret laughed. “You must!”

  “I—”

  “For me, please. I had such an infatuation for him for so many years!” Margaret admitted. “Of course, I never dared tell my father! And, of course, to him, I was never more than Lord Avery’s precious little blond daughter. He was polite, tender, caring…but, oh, I envied those women he looked at with that certain glint in his eye. Oh, I am sorry, I’m talking about your husband. Of course, I’ve never seen him with anyone as he is with you. Except, of course…”

  “Who?”

  “Oh, nothing, never mind.”

  “Margaret! That is not fair!”

  “Yes, and I’m sorry, truly sorry. Young women of good breeding do not sit around and gossip thus!”

  “I’m not, in truth, a young woman of good breeding, not in the sense that you mean, and therefore, it’s quite all right for you to finish that thought!”

  Margaret started to giggle again. “You are so determined, and passionate, and surely, that is why he loves you so.”

  “Margaret!”

  “Oh, surely, you’ve heard some rumor. Luckily, rumor doesn’t mean a thing to any of them. All of England knows that Brian Stirling turned into a hermit, a so-called monster, after his parents’ deaths. And that was when Camille met him. But at the time, Hunter thought that Brian had really lost his mind. And he was so afraid for Camille. He tried to scare her away from Brian—he was really worried. Strange, of course, because he—Hunter—was instrumental in helping Brian when the truth was finally known. And the two of them quickly became the best of friends. They have so very much in common. But, truly, I have never seen Hunter with anyone else as he is with you. He and Camille are wonderful friends, and I believe that Brian and Hunter would second each other at any turn. So…what I’ve said is really idle gossip, and that is all. He does love you so, Kat!”

  Kat kept silent. She couldn’t tell Margaret how very wrong she was.

  “Thank you. That is a lovely thing to say to me.”

  “Do a sketch of Hunter. Do it for me. You see, now, to me, he is my very good friend, as well. I would cherish a drawing of him.”

  And so Kat sketched Hunter. And she sketched all that she had come to see in him. The light in his eyes that sometimes mocked himself. The set of the chin that promised he would see every vow through. The cheekbones, the brow, the slight smile. And in his likeness, there was both arrogance and humility, pride, passion and strength. He was strikingly handsome, and perhaps she hadn’t even realized that until she had fashioned the truth of his face with her own fingers.

  “It’s wonderful!” Margaret said. “Truly wonderful. You must show him.”

  “No!”

  “Please? He will love it!”

  “No, Margaret, I beg you! You mustn’t show it to him!”

  And then Margaret stunned her with her wisdom, saying softly, “Kat, you did have that very silly affection for David going, but…well, anyone can see that you have moved far beyond it!” She looked away. “David sees it, and I believe he is quite heartbroken. Because David can’t quite decide his heart.” She sighed. “I would be loved, Kat, for me. Not for money. And I would never have a husband who chose me because I was Lord Avery’s daughter, because I was wealthy.”

  Kat gazed at her, so touched and truly admiring all that she saw in the young woman whom she had judged to be so light of heart and mind. She put down her sketch pad and hugged Margaret warmly.

  “Well, this life may be for you, but it isn’t for me!” Margaret claimed. “Tomorrow, I’m going back to the hotel. And that is that.”

  “But, Margaret…”

  “I really do enjoy Shepheard’s. And there are so many visitors. Lovely, enchanting people to meet,” Margaret said. She shivered.

  It was growing colder, Kat thought. It was amazing to go from such heat to such chill. But on the desert, it happened often enough.

  The light was beginning to fade, and it was time to pack up her pencils and pads for the day. Margaret helped her, and together, they headed back to camp.

  KAT HADN’T REALIZED THAT Ali had left them until she saw him riding back across the desert just as the sun was setting in earnest. Margaret had gone to her quarters.

  Hunter was still on top of the hard stone slab they had uncovered earlier, and Ali rode straight to him. He dismounted with the expertise of the desert horseman, and she thought that he, too, was someone she must draw.

  Her brow furrowed as she watched the two. Whatever he was telling Hunter must have been worrisome, for Hunter listened to him with grave attention. When he had finished speaking, Hunter set an arm around the fellow and they started walking in together.

  “Kat!”

  She turned. Camille was there, soap and towels in her hand. “We’ve a guard around the watering hole. Can I interest you in a dispersal of desert dust?”

  “I… Yes!” she said, always glad to be something less than completely coated in sand.

  She glanced at Hunter and Ali. Hunter was the one doing the talking then, Ali nodding as he listened. She turned and followed Camille.

  “I saw the sketches,” Camille said. “The portraits. That’s a lovely one you did of Brian and me. I should very much like to have it.”

  “Of course!”

  Camille shook her head. “You never knew before that you were as good as you are?”

  “My father is the artist.”

  “Yes, a wonderful artist. But so are you.”

  “Professor Atworthy has certainly taught me a great dea
l.”

  “I’m sure he has. But your skill, your talent, they were always there.”

  “I always enjoyed drawing, and watching my father. He is far better with oils than I am.”

  “Well, I think that everyone has something unique. With you, perhaps, it’s your ability to remember so well. To put on paper what you’ve seen before.”

  Kat chuckled ruefully. “Like today. I was supposed to be sketching more of the dig and I wound up doing sketch after sketch of faces.”

  “I’m sure that will be fine,” Camille said. She thanked the workers who were standing guard around the canvas screen of their “bath.” In the shallow but clear, cool water, she shed her trousers and shirt and ducked down, soaking her body and hair. Kat followed suit.

  “Ah!” Camille said rising. “Can you imagine! Brian has told me about digs he has been on when there is no water, none at all, and every drop must be saved for drinking. I suppose I would endure it, though. I do love all this so very much!”

  “It is exciting,” Kat agreed.

  “Not to everyone. Lady Margaret is unhappy.”

  “She plans to return to the hotel.”

  “It’s best. We’ll go back now and then ourselves, you know. This is slow work. Very hard, very tedious.”

  They lingered in the water until the last of the light, then rose, dressed and returned. By then, supper had been prepared, the others were all about eating or finishing up, returning the utensils. Although their workers were able and adept at every mode of service, Brian and Hunter ran the kind of camp where everyone pitched in, and therefore, most often, everyone tended to his or her plate and utensils.

  Kat and Camille had just finished eating and were cleaning up when Hunter made a surprising announcement.

  “There will be a party heading back to the hotel tomorrow,” he said. “Lady Margaret is returning to her father with a full report of all that has happened thus far. Mr. Doyle is returning to his wife, and our young men will be heading in as well, with several of the workers as escort. Oh, Kat, you will be joining them, too.”

  “What?” She was so startled that she voiced her incredulity in front of everyone.

  “You’re going back,” he repeated.

  “But…why would I be going back?” she demanded.

  A hush had fallen over the group. She realized that everyone was watching the two of them. Camille was pretending to pick a piece of lint from her skirt. Arthur was scratching his head, looking at the fire. The others made no pretense of doing anything but watching.

  “Because I have said so,” Hunter told her.

  She didn’t care to have an argument in front of the entire company, but neither did she simply intend to back down and meekly obey.

  She stood, straightening her hair. “We shall discuss it later,” she said, and walked out of the tent.

  She was stunned. Why on earth was he so eager to get rid of her? So eager, in fact, that he would send her back with David.

  She should have known that he would be right behind her. She had cleared the area of their camp by no more than a hundred feet when she felt his hand on her arm, stopping her, spinning her around.

  And he was angry.

  “Do not defy my authority in front of the entire company,” he said sharply.

  “Then don’t send out shocking edicts in such a manner!” she countered. “I have no desire to go back. Margaret may be uncomfortable out here, I am not!”

  “I want you back at the hotel.”

  “Why? I’ve done nothing wrong out here, I’ve…I’ve settled well, I think,” she said, faltering a bit. She had thought that he had enjoyed the fact that there was a body awaiting him at night. She had thought that…well, if he didn’t really care for her, at least he enjoyed her!

  “I will explain to you. Apparently, there is a cult out here, and it is growing increasingly bolder. Ali has been out, gathering information. There was an attack on a camp just south of here, nearer the Nile. That group had been working in the tombs of some lesser queens. Two men were killed.”

  She shook her head. “But you’re here. And Brian is here. And we have Abdul and Ali…and if you don’t send them back, Robert, Allan, Alfred and David!”

  “You’re going back,” he repeated stubbornly. “As are they.”

  “Is Camille going back?”

  “No.”

  “Then why must I?”

  He let out a massive sigh of exasperation. “Because I have said so!”

  “But—”

  “Kat! You seem to be a magnet for trouble. I want you back at the hotel.”

  She was shocked by his words. She swallowed hard. “I will not go back.”

  “Believe me, you will. One way or the other.”

  He meant it. She could imagine the rich humiliation of being bound and tossed over her horse’s back to be forcibly removed from the desert. It would make Ali unhappy to perform such a service, but he would do it. And none would protest Hunter’s authority.

  She was angry and close to tears. Oh, yes, sending her away would doubtless keep her safe from attack, but she was convinced that the real reason was that he was tired of her, that she had, indeed, proved troublesome. She wondered what she had done to make him feel that way.

  “You would force me out of here?” she asked.

  “Absolutely.”

  She started past him, then. She stopped, tossing words over her shoulder, not at all sure why she was saying them, except that she was so very hurt. “You are loathsome, you know!”

  “You should be happy. You’ll be off with your ever precious David. And I will not even be with you.”

  “Yes, but I’m sure I will be under guard.”

  “You may guarantee that. Ali would kill without a qualm in his heart. They are very strict about such matters here.”

  She hissed out an oath and started back for the camp, still wondering what transgression had so turned him against her.

  She paused, staring out at the rows of tents, at the moon, shining down with all its glory, in the distance, touching the enchanting rise of the great pyramids. The common area was empty now; perhaps everyone was packing. Everyone but Hunter and his chosen few.

  She hurried down the dark hallway to their private area. She, too, should pack.

  She chose not to.

  She wanted to throw something. There was nothing to throw but the lamp, and she didn’t want to be cast into pitch darkness, not when she was alone. She threw herself down instead, curling close to the wall on the bedding, her face to the wall.

  She lay awake, eyes staring at nothing, seething inside. He was not that far behind her. She heard him shed his clothing, douse the light and lie beside her. She felt his hands on her back. She stiffened, trying to inch away from him. There was not far to go before being entirely smashed against the wall.

  “Kat…you will be gone,” he said, and despite her last words to him, he did not sound unkind.

  But then, why should he? He was the one doing the dictating!

  “I will be gone because you are sending me away. And that is your choice,” she said.

  “You little fool. I am afraid for your life.”

  “What about Camille?”

  “Camille has not been involved in nearly so many dangerous situations of late as you have been. And she is Brian’s concern. You are mine.”

  “And I don’t care to go.”

  “But you will.”

  “Then you will kindly take your hands off me.”

  She was startled by the sound of his laugh, ever so slightly arrogant, and yet even more bitter. “So all the world is a bargain with you, is it?” he demanded.

  “No! Yes! Maybe…I don’t know. What do you want it to be?” she demanded angrily.

  He rolled her to face him. She was dimly aware of the power in his voice when he said softly, “The truth? I’d never risk the truth, my love. But we will not part like this.”

  She was stunned, then, to learn that anger could be s
uch a staggering aphrodisiac. There had been nothing she’d wanted more than to be cold to his touch, pretend that his touch was nothing to her. She was becoming known for the precision of her memory, and now she wanted their lovemaking etched indelibly there, every detail—the scent of his naked flesh, the slick feel of it rubbing against her, friction, heat, the slightest brush of his fingers, his every kiss and caress. She didn’t think that she had ever responded with such searing passion herself, clinging, arching, moving, touching tasting…shoulders, chest, beyond, for it suddenly seemed that it had never been more important to seduce and arouse.

  She could only pray that some small piece of herself would be caught in his mind, in his soul, and even, if naught else, in the carnal memory of the flesh…

  And still, in the end, there was nothing but the wall. No words. He did not intend to relent. She was vaguely aware that he lay awake just as she did. But with passion spent, he was distant. He did not even draw her against him.

  Eventually, morning came, and quickly, he was gone.

  KAT WOULD NEVER KNOW how very sorry he was to see her seated on the mare, chin high, refusing to so much as glance his way.

  Nor would she ever know just how worried he was, heart and soul. He had told her about the cult attack at the other dig.

  He had not told her the worst.

  That Françoise, the French-Egyptian girl, had been discovered out in the desert, her throat slit, her blood drenching the sands. Kat would find out soon enough. The news was being shouted throughout Cairo. But by then, she would be at the hotel. Lord Avery had sent messages, and he had returned them, asking Lord Avery to see that Kat was as protected as his own daughter. And Ethan would stay at her side, as well.

  He still didn’t trust David and his cohorts, but those young men were being sent back, too, something he had determined with Abdul, Ali and Brian. The only certainty they had was that the young men had not been the culprits who had attacked and killed the two men at the other camp. He was sending the women off with an escort of half the workers, David and his cohorts, as well as Ethan and Ali. It would take a horde to stop them.

  Kat would not look at him. He walked to her, anyway, taking her hand where it rested on the saddle as she waited.