Ferguson, J. A. - Call Back Yesterday.txt
Page 7
deepened even more. “Please sit, Miss Kincaid.”
This time she said nothing. She sat in her chair by her
typewriter and folded her hands in her lap, ignoring how
the brocade crinkled beneath them.
He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it as he
looked past her. At her typewriter, she knew, although she
watched him steadily. Again it was simple to read his
thoughts. He wanted her gone from Rosewood Hall. Yet
he wanted her skills with the typewriter to remain.
“It would be best,” Dr. Garnett said in the same
strained tone, “if you don’t encourage my father in his
antics. If you did not notice, he was overexerting himself
at dinner in an effort to impress you.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t understand. I simply listened while
he told of his visit to London.”
“He was too frenetic. He needs quiet. That is what his
doctor has ordered.”
“Dr. Garnett, I had no idea that he was so ill.” She
started to rise, but he motioned for her to stay seated.
She watched as he paced the room, easily skirting piles
of books and not once stepping on a page on the floor,
even though he kept his gaze focused on her. How many
hours had he walked back and forth across his office while
he pondered some tidbit of information he had discovered?
“My father must have serenity.” He paused and affixed
her with his powerful eyes. “I should have followed my
first inclination and sent you away from Rosewood Hall
without delay. Instead, I let your machine seduce me into
changing my mind.” His lips tightened into a straight line.
“I shan’t allow you to seduce my father from his life one
day early.”
This time, when Darcy surged to her feet, she ignored
his gesture to remain where she was. She would not sit
here and let him spew his rancorous spite at her. No
position should require her to endure this.
“I bid you good night, Dr. Garnett,” she said, her voice
shaking with fury on every word. “I shall be here in the
morning to continue my work unless you wish to tell me
otherwise now.”
“I shall let you know in the morning.”
Although she wanted to accuse him of tormenting her
with this delay, she simply nodded. Anything she said now
might guarantee her being shipped back to London even
before morning.
“Good evening, Dr. Garnett.” She walked toward the
door.
“Miss Kincaid?”
“Yes?” She did not turn.
When he gripped her arm and swung her to face him,
she intended to order him to release her and to tell him she
was resigning from this position and state that she would
be leaving Rosewood Hall at first light. She said none of
those things when she found herself falling into his eyes’
emerald depths, fearing she would be scorched by the fiery
passions within them.
His fingers gentled on her arm, curling up along her
sleeve before tightening just enough to draw her a halfstep
closer. She barely noticed, for she was lost in his eyes.
Those eyes had seemed so familiar from the very first time
she had looked into them. If she gazed into them long
enough, would the answer to this puzzle be found?
She knew Simon Garnett. She was as certain of that as
she was of her desperate wish to return to the banks of the
Nile where she had been born. She knew his many moods,
and she knew how he chewed on his bottom lip when he
was concentrating on a problem he had not yet solved.
Most of all, she knew his alluring touch. It was the
most familiar thing of all. Even though he had never
touched her as he did now.
“Don’t go,” he murmured.
“I don’t want to go.” She was astonished at her
breathless response, for she should be lashing out at him
for treating her with such impertinence. Yet the words were
a truth which surged out of her lips as if they had been
kept silent for too long.
She was not sure whether to shiver at the brush of his
breath or melt into the heat that rushed through her. Beneath
his mustache, the hint of a smile urged her to lower even
more the wall of propriety he had breached. His full lips
would certainly be as fiery as his touch. Even as she
watched, the coolness in his eyes warmed to the heat
pulsating from his fingers. His other hand rose to cup her
cheek, setting her skin alight, as if the sun had suddenly
risen and sent its rays through the garden. Slowly her hand
rose to cover his.
“There is so much to say. I—” He jerked his hand
away from her face. Blinking, he abruptly looked down at
his fingers on her sleeve. He lifted them away, first one,
then another. Almost as if he could not bear to release her.
“Good evening, Miss Kincaid.”
She eased back from him, frightened of how the very
brush of his skin against her had undone every lesson she
had ever been taught. Alone with a man—her employer—
she should have been on her guard against any untoward
behavior. Rather, she had let him snare her in his seductive
trap with what should have been a chaste touch, albeit one
that overstepped the bounds of propriety.
But his indecorous actions were not the real reason
she was so unsteady she had to grasp the back of a nearby
chair to keep herself on her feet. It was the very knowing
how wondrous his fingers would be upon her. She had
anticipated his caresses with a longing born of
foreknowledge.
“Good evening, Miss Kincaid,” he repeated.
Was the tinge of desperation in his voice or in her
ears? Either way, she knew he was right to want to put
some space between them.
“Yes, yes. Good evening, Dr. Garnett.” Her fingers
fumbled along the door until she found the knob.
As she turned it, her eyes were caught by something
glowing close to the ceiling. Her companion light she saw
each night? It had never appeared anywhere except above
her bed as she fell asleep. Her guardian angel’s reflection,
she had told herself when she needed comfort. What was
it doing here?
Yet it was not the small circle of light she was
accustomed to seeing. It was a floating film, resembling a
wisp of cloud amidst bright sunshine. Even as she watched,
the film collapsed into the ball she had seen so often, then
it vanished.
“Is there something else, Miss Kincaid?” asked Dr.
Garnett in his coolest voice. He held a book open in his
hands, cradling it as gently as he had her cheek.
“No. No, of course not. Good evening, sir.” She hurried
out of the room and into the hallway.
Pressing her back against the raised panels along the
wall, she fought to catch her breath and slow her swift
heartbeat. Dr. Garnett’s bold touch had bewildered her,
but not as much as the swell of sorrow rising through her
&nb
sp; as the light disappeared. A sorrow that was not hers. It
had come from the filmy glow.
What was going on here at Rosewood Hall?
Five
~~~ “You speak of things I do not understand,”
Meskhenet said.
“Do you understand this?” The stranger’s broad hands,
which were as coarse as the sand beneath her sandals,
framed her face. He tilted Meskhenet’s mouth toward his
and bent toward her.
She pulled back. “You dare much, stranger, to come
into the Pharaoh’s palace and try to kiss the Pharaoh’s
sister. Men have died for less.”
“I know.” Sorrow dimmed the fire in his eyes.
“Who?” she asked, knowing the very question
suggested a betrayal to her brother, the Pharaoh. That was
not so, for there were laws her brother despaired at, but
the priests in Ra’s temple insisted they were the god’s own
decrees. Meskhenet’s argument her brother was the
reincarnated god who should be able to decide how his
people were ruled had done no good in budging the
Pharaoh.
“Does it matter?” he asked. “The Pharaoh’s laws must
always be obeyed. That is the decision of the gods
themselves.”
“But only when they are fair.” She put her fingers to
her lips. If she was overheard—if this man spoke of her
traitorous words to anyone else, even her close relationship
to the Pharaoh might not save her.
“You are wise, Beloved of Thoth.”
“Why do you call me that?”
He pointed to the pendant she wore about her neck.
When he smiled, she was sure his face was as bright as
the sun upon the Nile. He reached out to lift the pendant,
and his finger brushed her skin. That scintillating heat
soared through her like a bird gliding over the river.
“You wear this,” he said, running one fingernail along
the design on the pendant. “Only those who are beloved
by Thoth would wear it.”
“That is silly. Many wear jewelry inscribed with the
ibis-headed god to honor Thoth.” She pointed to his sandals
which were decorated with a similar symbol, although not
as finely rendered.
“But I cannot call you by your given name, for that is
forbidden. For me, you are the Beloved of Thoth.”
Meskhenet knew she should have understood that right
from the beginning, but her mind was ajumble with the
unknown, yet enticingly familiar sensations roiling through
her with each word this man spoke. Quietly, trying to regain
control of her errant emotions, she asked, “What is your
name, stranger? It is not forbidden for me to speak it.”
“I am called Kafele.”
“Kafele the architect?”
He bowed his head toward her again, but his smile
revealed his pride. “I am honored you know of me.”
“How could I not? You are overseeing the building of
my brother’s tomb in Thoth’s Valley.”
“It is my greatest honor.”
“I hear it is beautiful beyond all others dug out of the
mountain there.”
“It will be.” He chuckled, surprising her for he had
been so somber in his speech before now. “It is a blessing
the Pharaoh has many more years before he will need his
tomb.”
“You worked as well on my father the Pharaoh’s
tomb.”
“Do you wish to speak only of death? I know you are
curious why I am in your garden.”
“That is true.”
His voice softened. “I have heard many songs of your
beauty, and I wished to see the truth for myself.”
“So my brother the Pharaoh’s tomb can be accurately
painted?”
“No.” He held up his hand as he had before. “When I
hear your name lauded, my heart is filled with such joy I
needed to learn why. Now that I behold you, I know it was
meant I should be here with you.”
She could not halt her fingers from rising to settle on
his. As he drew her to him, she did not resist. She could
not resist. Her other hand curled up over his shoulder. It
was as unyielding as the wall surrounding her garden.
When his arm encircled her waist, he pulled her up
against his naked chest. His mouth found hers, and she
thrilled in his kiss. It was . . .
***
“Blast and damnation!”
Darcy quickly closed her notebook, shocked at the
curse and the slamming office door. She stared at Dr.
Garnett, who was striding toward the desk with the
determination of a runaway wagon. He held a single piece
of paper, but his knuckles were white and his mouth a
straight line.
“Sir?” she asked, hoping he would not plow over her.
“Oh, Miss Kincaid. . .” His expression revealed he
had forgotten she was there.
She stood, holding her notebook protectively. “If you
need some time alone to—”
“Time?” He laughed sharply. “I have no time, and I
have all the time in the world.”
“Excuse me?”
He tossed the paper onto the typewriter.
“What is this?” she asked. Was she being dismissed
after only three days? If so, she could not understand why
he had delayed this long. She had been fearful that he would
send her back to London after her first dinner with him
and his father. . .and the way Dr. Garnett had touched her.
Dr. Garnett had acted as if nothing were amiss when
she returned to the office the next morning. The only
difference was his voice sounded more gruff than before.
They had worked side-by-side like the strangers they were.
“Read it,” he ordered.
She set her notebook beside the typewriter. With
trembling fingers, she lifted the fine vellum. She read it
quickly. She was not being fired. It was a letter written to
Dr. Garnett. It stated if his manuscript could not be
delivered to the publisher in two months, the offer of
publication would be withdrawn. It was signed with a
scrawl she could not decipher.
Dr. Garnett fingered his mustache that could not hide
his scowl. His coat was wrinkled, and he was wearing the
same green waistcoat he had worn yesterday. He must have
worked through the night, then found this waiting.
Quietly she asked, “Is this a problem?”
“A problem?” He stared at her as if she were mad. “A
most unanticipated problem. I was in London only last
month and spoke with Caldwell.”
“The gentleman who signed this?”
A grim smile barely tilted his lips. “One and the same.
During my visit, he told me I would have until next summer
to complete the work. It’s ludicrous to think I could finish
the book this far ahead of schedule.”
“But aren’t you going to try to finish the book as he
requested?”
“Try?” He cursed vividly as he dropped to the sofa.
“Why bother?”
Darcy placed the letter on the desk. “And, if you don’t
bother, what
will you do? How many years of your life
have you invested in this book, sir?”
“I shall not present Caldwell with less than the best I
can do. Two months.” He crossed his arms over his chest.
“How in hell do they expect me to perform such a miracle?”
With a sigh, Darcy glanced at her typewriter. She could
answer him, but he would not like what she had to say. He
never would finish the book by complaining. Perhaps he
had become too accustomed to having his every need
anticipated before he was even aware of it. She had almost
been seduced into such a life, but it never could have been
truly hers. She would have remained an outsider in the
closed circle of the British aristocracy who considered pure
bloodlines so important. For their horses, for their dogs,
and for themselves.
She bit her lip as he walked toward the door, then
called, “Dr. Garnett?”
He slowly faced her. “Miss Kincaid, if you’re about
to launch upon a lecture on the fact the effort in itself is a
reward, let me warn you I have no interest in listening.”
“Do you want me to continue?”
“Continue.” Frustration burned in his eyes, anger
tightened his jaw.
“If you plan to halt your work, there’s no need for me
to continue typing your manuscript. However, if you wish
to finish before your deadline, you should know I am
willing to work whatever hours are necessary.”
His eyes narrowed. “Why?”
“I need this position, sir.” She linked her hands behind
her in a pose identical to his. That way he would not see
how they quivered as she imagined crawling back to
Kincaid Fells. “And I was engaged to help you complete
this manuscript.”
“You’re being honest, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
He looked past her to her typewriter. A flurry of
emotions crossed his face, each replaced by another before
she could gauge his thoughts.
She held her breath, waiting for his answer, although
she was not sure why. His decision should be simpler than
the one Meskhenet had made to trust Kafele. Clenching
her hands by her sides, she wondered why she was letting
the story linger in her head when Dr. Garnett’s next words
might destroy any chance to finish her book.
Walking back to her, Dr. Garnett asked, “You are