by Olivia Drake
The gleam in his dark eyes spoke volumes. He expected her to refuse to comply with his command. The bully wanted to expose her as an impostor, to prove she was a husband hunter like those other women, so that he could toss her out of his house.
His ultimatum set her teeth on edge. But Bella could hardly refuse. If she didn’t show him, she would lose any chance to convince him to hire her. She would never have the opportunity to search for the missing map—or to claim her half of the pharaoh’s treasure.
“Turn your back,” she ordered. “I’ll need to roll down my stocking.”
The duke cocked a haughty eyebrow, but did as she commanded. He swiveled to face the stone stela with its depictions of life in ancient Egypt. In an aggrieved tone, he said, “Hurry up. I haven’t all day.”
It was likely the first time that he had ever obeyed a woman, Bella thought tartly. For added privacy, she stepped behind an enormous granite statue of an Egyptian god with a falcon’s head. There, she bent down to reach beneath her petticoats. The starched muslin rustled loudly, and she cringed to think that Aylwin must hear it. Filthy dog! Wishing all manner of curses on the beast, she untied the garters on one thigh and rolled the white silk stocking down to her ankle.
Her hand brushed the dagger strapped to her other leg. With the fitted gown, there had been nowhere else to hide it. She could only hope he wouldn’t see it.
Letting her skirts drop, she stepped out from behind the statue. Aylwin still had his back to her. But he was hunkered down now, studying the pictorial symbols chiseled into the base of the stone stela. As she watched, he traced one with his forefinger as if attempting to decipher it. Could he read the hieroglyphic language?
Now was not the time to ask.
She cleared her throat. He turned in a crouch and stared pointedly at her lowered hem. His lips curled in a sneer. “So. You’ve realized the impossibility of deceiving me.”
“Quite the contrary.” His gloating assumption emboldened Bella. He needed to see that she would not be intimidated. She marched forward and stopped directly in front of him. Grasping her skirt, she lifted the hem slightly and thrust out her foot. “There is your proof.”
From her vantage point, she could see the tiny crystal beads on Lady Milford’s slippers sparkling in the sunlight. The rich garnet hue of the satin lining contrasted with the deep bronze silk of her gown.
“Fancy shoes for a spinster of such advanced age,” Aylwin said.
Bella scowled down at him. Was he teasing? No, he didn’t have a humorous bone in his brutish body. “Just look at the markings. They’re right above my ankle.”
“I can’t see them. Your skirts are in the way.”
She raised the hem another modest inch or two. “That should be sufficient to confirm that I’m … oh!”
Without warning, Aylwin sat back on his heels, took her ankle in a firm grip, and lifted her foot onto his thigh. The action caught Bella off balance. Gasping, she was forced to steady herself by grabbing hold of his shoulders.
His very broad, very muscular shoulders.
Much to her consternation, she found herself leaning over the duke, so close that she could see each individual strand of his chocolate-brown hair. Her heart thumped against her breastbone as the heat of his skin seeped through the linen shirt. Again, she caught a whiff of his darkly enticing scent.
More startling than anything else, though, was the feel of his callused hands delving beneath her skirts.
Blood rushed through her body. She tried to pull away, but he kept a secure hold on her leg. “Excuse me, sir!” she said, her voice high-pitched. She drew a breath and strived for a firmer tone. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Aylwin glanced up. His gaze flicked over her, lingering a moment on the low cut of her bodice, which was regrettably in his direct line of sight. The glance sparked a tingly warmth in her bosom that could only be due to acute anger at his boldness.
One corner of his mouth curled up in a half smile that made him dangerously attractive. “I should think it’s obvious what I’m doing, Miss Jones. I’m checking your credentials.”
With that, he pushed the petticoats up over her knee, exposing her lower leg to his view. Bella clenched her jaw. She didn’t like this man. She didn’t like him one jot. He was a tyrant who did as he pleased without a care for common decency.
Placating him, however, was a central part of her plan to gain employment in his house. For that reason alone, she forced herself not to move as Aylwin examined the markings on her lower leg. Cupping her ankle, he leaned closer, so close that his warm breath feathered over her bare flesh. Her limbs went weak and she felt as if she might melt into his lap at any moment. How foolish!
“You’ve seen quite enough,” she said curtly. “There can be no more doubt that I am Isabella Jones.”
As if she hadn’t spoken, he lightly rubbed his fingertip over the inked pattern that encircled her ankle. A corresponding prickle traveled up her leg and magnified her discomfiture. Never had she known that her skin could be so sensitive.
Or that any man could be so irksome.
“Fascinating,” he murmured. “Do you know the meaning of these symbols?”
Bella shook her head. Perhaps she’d known at one time. But how was she to remember anything when his invasive touch engaged her entire attention? “Kindly release my foot, sir.”
Aylwin ignored the request. “I’ve seen similar markings on tribeswomen. The circle with the line through it represents the sun and its healing properties.” He traced one tattoo, then another. “The inverted semicircles around the stars are meant to ward off the evil eye.”
“They ought to ward off impertinent dukes.”
Looking up at her again, he let out a full-bodied laugh that made him appear almost … charming. A charm that threatened and allured at the same time. But any glimmer of warmth on his face vanished at once. His gaze took on a hard, analytical edge, and she wondered if the wretch had known all along that she was Sir Seymour’s daughter.
It didn’t matter; Aylwin couldn’t possibly guess her game.
Bella gave her leg a hard tug to break his hold. This time, he let her go and she stepped back. Her skirts tumbled back down, and with both feet planted on the parquet floor again, she felt fortified by the restoration of clear thinking.
At least until she saw the object in his open palm. As he stood up, the ivory-handled blade glinted in the sunlight.
“My dagger!” she cried out.
Angered by his theft, she rushed straight at him. Aylwin raised his arm to hold the weapon high. She stretched up on tiptoe, heedless of the need to press herself to his muscled form, her only thought to retrieve her precious means of defense.
It was no use. The duke had the advantage of his superior height.
She stepped back, drawing in large breaths to cool her ire. How had the beast snatched the dagger from its sheath without her knowledge? “That was a gift from my father. Give it back to me at once!”
Aylwin glanced at her heaving bosom before returning his hard gaze to hers. “No. This is my house and no one here carries a weapon. It shall be returned upon your departure.”
He placed the knife atop the stone stela, out of her reach.
Bella fumed. The filthy dog! Only the requirement of her mission stopped her from voicing that slur on his character. She must remember her purpose here. The dagger could be retrieved later.
“Excuse me,” she said rigidly.
She marched behind a tall granite statue. In relative privacy, she drew up the saggy stocking and refastened the garters beneath the voluminous petticoats. Residual anger made her fingers clumsy. Aylwin had gained the best of her several times already, with her bonnet, with his peek under her skirts, and with the dagger.
But now it was her turn. She would make him dance to her tune. Even if it meant swallowing her pride and—heaven forbid—charming him.
The gravelly sound of Aylwin’s voice came from beyond the stone behemoth. “
“Been?” she asked over her shoulder while struggling with one of the ties.
“Your parents left Egypt rather abruptly. It was right after the death of my father. Where did you go?”
“I’m afraid I couldn’t say, I was too young to remember.” Bella strove for a mild, conversational tone—only for the purpose of her ruse. “We traveled a lot since Papa was very interested in studying ancient civilizations.”
“Tell me where you traveled.”
“Here and there through Asia and the Near East. My childhood was spent roaming in caravans, camping under the stars, visiting many archaeological sites. And then…”
Then the twins had been born and Mama had died and the family had stopped wandering like vagabonds. They had settled in the mountains of southern Persia near the ruins of Persepolis because even Papa had been forced to admit that it would be unwise to transport two infants on long expeditions through harsh and perilous territory.
“And then…?” Aylwin prompted from the other side of the effigy.
Bella swallowed the lump in her throat. She must not reveal that she had a sister and brother living in Oxford under the watchful care of a neighbor, Mrs. Norris. The less the duke knew of her personal life, the better. She would never subject her siblings to his tyrannical nature.
Besides, she didn’t want to complicate the story that Lady Milford had advised her to tell. Bella had come to Aylwin House for a specific reason. In order to achieve that purpose, it would be necessary to weave a few falsehoods and half-truths into the tapestry of her tale.
The time had come to hoodwink the duke.
Chapter 6
Impatient for Isabella Jones to reveal more of her past, Miles shifted from one foot to the other. The statue of Horus blocked his view of her. Only the edge of her gown could be seen as she bent over to finish tying her garters. What the devil was taking her so long?
He should have done the task himself.
Miles imagined sliding his hands beneath her skirts, this time all the way up to her thighs and beyond. She had a passionate nature, given her reaction to his seizure of her dagger. How enjoyable it would be to make a game out of tying the garters, caressing her smooth skin with its strangely erotic tattoos, reaching higher to brush her moist folds as if by accident, then using bolder strokes to make her cry out in ecstasy …
As heat clenched his loins, he pushed the fantasy from his mind. Lust was a pointless distraction. He wasn’t stupid enough to bed a spinster lady, not even one who’d had such an eccentric upbringing. All he wanted from Miss Jones was information about Sir Seymour. To understand why the scoundrel had left Egypt in such a damnable hurry.
Miles had never been able to shake the uneasy notion that foul play had been involved, that someone had paid those grave robbers to kill his father. But if Sir Seymour had been the culprit, what had the fellow gained from it?
He had taken nothing of value when he’d fled into the night with his family. Miles might have been only thirteen at the time, but he’d known the excavation site inside and out. Every artifact had been engraved in his memory. And he hadn’t been aware of any quarrel between the two men.
A knot tightened inside him. No, the only quarrel had been between Miles and his father …
At that moment, Bella Jones stepped out from behind the stone statue. A ray of sunlight made her blue eyes luminous and gilded a few golden strands in her otherwise mousy brown hair. As she took a deep breath, her bosom lifted, drawing his attention again to its shapeliness.
“You wished to know what happened to me next,” she said, her voice somber. “Last year, Papa died of a fever in Persia. I’d always kept busy as his assistant by transcribing his notes and organizing his papers. But after his death, I lacked the means to live on my own.”
Surprise pricked Miles. “Your father left you nothing?”
“Very little, I’m afraid. You see, we’d always managed to scrape by through selling a few small antiquities here and there, earning just enough to live on.” She bit her lip, glancing out the window before returning her gaze to him. “With Papa gone, that was no longer possible. The local officials wouldn’t allow a mere woman to engage in trade. And so, having nowhere else to go, I returned here to England in the hopes of securing employment. This is, after all, my birthplace.”
“Have you no family to take you in?”
“None—either they are dead or they want nothing to do with a woman who grew up among foreigners. They’re strangers to me, anyway. I’d much prefer to earn my own way.”
No wonder she’d carried a dagger for protection. But Miles didn’t want to think about her dire circumstances. Her life was no concern of his. All he cared about was information. “It was imprudent of Sir Seymour not to build a nest egg by selling more artifacts. There’s a fortune to be made in the antiquities market.”
Her lips pursed at the criticism of her father, Bella Jones trailed her fingertips over the statue of Horus. It was the only hint of the fierce woman behind the spinsterish façade. “With all due respect, Your Grace, not everyone has the means to bring such relics as these back to England where they fetch higher sums. My father sold to dealers for much lesser amounts. He was quite happy to do so, for he preferred to study ancient civilizations, not profit from them. And…”
“And?”
“And knowing one of those dealers has been quite helpful to me.” She dipped her chin and gave him a wide-eyed look. “You see, upon my arrival in London, I went to visit a colleague of my father’s, an antiquarian whom we’d met overseas. Mr. Smithers mentioned that he’d recently made your acquaintance.”
Miles felt an unpleasant jolt. A dark-haired man with weathered reddish features and flashy garb, Smithers had called here out of the blue three days ago and had talked Miles’s ear off before he’d finally ejected the fellow from the house. “You know that windbag? He visited me under false pretenses by claiming to have several rare Egyptian items for sale. Then he tried to sell me a box of commonplace scarabs.”
“Did he? Perhaps he didn’t realize you’re a premier collector.” She tilted her head to one side. “I must confess, Mr. Smithers is the one who suggested that I come here to Aylwin House. He knew that Papa had once worked with your father many years ago. He also told me that you were interested in hiring a curator.”
“Bollocks,” Miles scoffed. “Forgive me, Miss Jones, but I’m afraid you have it all wrong. Smithers had the cheek to declare that I needed help. It was his idea, not mine.”
She took a step closer, lacing her fingers together at her waist. “But surely there must be some truth to his observation, Your Grace. You’ve a great many artifacts, not just here in this room but elsewhere in the house, too. I saw them as I was—”
“Sneaking through the corridors?”
“I had to speak to you, Your Grace,” she said firmly. “I couldn’t take the risk of being turned away without an audience. Because you see, I would like to apply for the post of curator.”
Miles’s jaw dropped. So that was her game. He had suspected from the start that she had an ulterior motive in calling on him. She’d been far too determined to prove her identity. He had expected her to play on her father’s connection to his family and beg for an artifact or two, something that she could sell for money on which to live.
But this? Surely there could be no fate worse than hiring a talkative, meddlesome female who would distract him from his work. A woman who gazed at him with the biggest, bluest eyes he’d ever seen.
Irked by that direct stare, he prowled back and forth. “I’m sorry, but Smithers misled you. There is no job of curator to fill. I’ve always worked alone.”
She fell into step beside him. “Have you organized all these artifacts? Do you have a complete written description of every piece in the house? Have you made a copy of the symbols carved on each relic? Those are all tasks that I can accomplish on your behalf.”
He hadn��t completed those chores and it would be useful to have them done—not that he intended to tell her so. “Don’t be ridiculous. Employing you is out of the question. What do you even know about Egyptian history?”
“I know quite a lot about other ancient civilizations. That will give me a unique perspective. The rest I can learn.” She stopped pacing and folded her arms. “Besides, I acquired many useful skills while assisting my father at his work. I know how to keep catalogues. I can copy paperwork and organize your writings. And I promise to be as quiet as a mouse. You’ll hardly even know that I’m here. If it pleases you, I’ll work in a different room so that I won’t disturb you.”
He bit back a harsh laugh. Bella Jones would disturb him all right. One look into those lapis lazuli eyes foretold trouble. He needed to eradicate the feel of her soft skin and shapely legs from his mind. His every instinct warned him to eject her from his house at once.
And yet … he had not completed his investigation into Sir Seymour. Miles itched to question her further, to pursue additional information about her father. There might be some nugget of truth that could be coaxed from her memory, something that would close the door on that terrible night once and for all.
Something that would ease the weight of his own guilt.
Her hand came down on his sleeve, a light touch that jolted him nonetheless. “Please, Your Grace, I shall be the most dedicated servant on your staff. At least allow me a trial period of a fortnight in which I might prove myself—”
“Fine,” he growled, stepping back so that her hand dropped from his forearm. “A fortnight and then I’ll reassess your usefulness.” That ought to be time enough to find out what he needed—and then he would send her packing.
Her lips curved into a pretty smile that lit up her face. “Thank you, sir. You won’t be sorry, truly you won’t.”
He was already sorry. Especially when his gaze dipped to the shadowed valley between the mounds of her breasts. “Run along and see Witheridge,” he said gruffly. “You can’t work while dressed like that. You’ll need the proper garb.” Hopefully, a drab costume that covered her up to the chin.
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