When a Lady Deceives

by Tara Kingston

  Well, then, there was no point correcting her mistaken assumption. He’d given in to pure instinct, but it was for the best that she did not know the truth. Strained civility suited his purposes far better than passion.

  “Carpe diem.” He infused his words with an unfeeling casualness. Blasted shame that wasn’t the truth. What lay ahead of them would be far easier if he didn’t give a damn about anyone. Especially Alexandra.

  “Seize the day. Or evening, I suppose. How very typical—you were always quick to action, regardless of the consequences.” Her throat tightened, as if she’d swallowed against an unspoken emotion. “In any case, if you thought a kiss—of all things—would entice me to join you, I’m afraid you were mistaken.”

  “You wound me,” he said blandly. “A man does have his pride, after all.”

  “Your pride will survive any damage I might inflict.” Her full mouth thinned, not quite a smile. “I do wish to thank you for your assistance tonight. For that, you will always have my gratitude.”

  “Gratitude will not keep either of us alive.”

  She reached out to him, clasping his hands in her long, slim fingers. She held the gentle contact. Could she sense the awareness coursing through him at the simple press of her skin against his?

  “Rooney will soon be on his way to prison,” she said with quiet confidence. “Colton and his associates will ensure he remains powerless to do further harm.”

  Benedict slowly shook his head. “Trust me when I tell you that common ruffian does not represent the worst of the threat against us.”

  “It’s not as if London is crawling with tomb raiders and bandits,” she lightly scoffed. “And do not forget—my brother-in-law specializes in bringing very bad men to justice. I am confident Colton will see to my well-being.”

  “This situation is beyond his area of expertise.”

  “The Colton Agency is highly valued in Her Majesty’s service. I’ve no doubt one of their operatives will be up to the task.”

  “The agent won’t know what he’s up against. These are not ordinary criminals.” Benedict’s mind raced, searching for some way to convince her to put her trust in him. She did not realize the gravity of the danger she faced. “Consider this carefully—I will not be here the next time a man like Rooney comes to call. I would not seek your assistance if I saw an alternative. Trust me, Alexandra. This time, I will not let you down.”

  …

  Alex entered her bedchamber. Each motion slow and deliberate, as if she were trapped in a dream she never wanted to come to life, she closed the door behind her. How was it that her reality—her very life—had changed in a matter of minutes? From the moment the brute named Rooney had invaded her study, the quiet existence she’d known had shattered. Deep within, she sensed nothing would ever be the same.

  Benedict had shown considerable courage in defending her. But in the grand scheme of things, that had changed little. He was not lying. She was sure of that. He believed the danger he’d spoken of to be quite real. But that did not mean an ulterior motive did not influence his actions. There was something he hadn’t told her—some concealed reason why he’d seek a map she’d neither seen nor heard mention of until Rooney had uttered his harsh demand.

  She glanced down at her hand. Odd, how her fingers trembled, when they hadn’t so much as twitched during the commotion. But now that the immediate danger had passed, and she’d locked herself behind a sturdy door in a house watched over by two highly skilled agents, the fear she hadn’t allowed herself to show made its appearance.

  Sleep would likely prove impossible. Every nerve in her body was on full alert. On edge. The danger felt more real now, even though the logical part of her mind insisted the threat was over and done. Rooney could do her no further harm. And if anyone else viewed her as prey, they would come face-to-face with the guards Colton had assigned to protect her.

  From deep within her, a yearning she’d walled off crept to the surface. Benedict’s unforeseen appearance had left her shaken. Body and soul. Dash it! She’d thought her feelings for the man had been transformed to something cold and brittle. How easily he’d reawakened the passion she’d never been able to deny. Despite the shields she’d built around herself, Benedict had stirred a need for his tenderness she’d believed long dormant.

  She shouldn’t have let him kiss her. At the first touch of his lips to hers, she should have pushed him away and delivered a strong slap to put him firmly back on his heels.

  Instead, she’d clung to him shamelessly. Utterly wanton.

  If only she hadn’t craved his touch.

  But she had. She’d longed to drink him in, the warmth of his hard body like an elixir. Even now, when her rational mind raged against her weakness, she could not deny how she’d wanted him. How she desired the way he filled her senses.

  Blast it, she knew better. Nothing good could come of it. Hadn’t she already learned that bitter lesson?

  Well, it was done now. Her fingers went to her buttons on her bodice, slightly unsteady as she unfastened her gown. She stripped off the garment and cast it aside, followed by her layers of petticoats. Finally, bared to her chemise, she slipped her nightdress over her head and padded over the chilly floorboards to the bed.

  She extinguished the lamp on the bedside table and peeled back the covers. With a sigh, she slid over the cool sheets and allowed her limbs to splay in relaxation. Slivers of moonlight danced over the furniture, creating what seemed to be bizarre creatures in the night. Even as a girl, the darkness had held no fear. Rather, the interplay of light and shadows had always fascinated her.

  Through drowsy-lidded eyes, she stared at the moonbeam shapes, allowing her thoughts to wander. Funny, no matter how hard she tried, one image crowded out all of the others. She pictured Benedict’s face, his sly smile that had brought her laughter and joy. He’d hurt her so deeply, but now, that pain seemed a far-off thing. The all-too-recent memory of his kiss was a caress she felt to the core of her being.

  His passion had been real. She knew that, just as she knew how very badly she’d yearned for it. She could have rejected the pleasure of his touch. If only she’d wanted to resist the feeling, the tender bliss to be found in a simple kiss.

  She’d see him again. Someday. Their paths would no doubt cross, just as they had in the years since he’d left her. Those encounters had been exceedingly brief and impersonal, surrounded by colleagues in the field or at an exhibition.

  Nothing like tonight.

  Nothing like the moment she’d looked into Benedict’s eyes, so very intent and serious.

  Nothing like the instant when his skin had once again touched hers, his warmth and strength and crisp essence setting her senses on full alert.

  Soon, he’d be on a ship, steaming off to Egypt. And she would return to her quiet, orderly pursuits. Her colleague, Gavin Stanwyck, and his wife, Sophie, had recently returned from the Nile Valley. He’d sent a message regarding a significant find, a papyrus he required her expertise to translate. She would also prepare a lecture on the find, and then, of course, she would plan for her next expedition to Luxor, a journey that would not include the complication of keeping close quarters with Benedict.

  Perhaps the Stanwycks possessed some knowledge of the map Benedict sought. He’d been so certain she had the document. Why would Stockwell mislead him? Had the professor believed he needed some bait to tempt Benedict to return to London and act as her protector?

  Pulling in a calming breath, she allowed the tension to ease from her weary muscles. The morning would be here soon enough.

  She thumped her pillow, rested her cheek against the freshly laundered linen, and closed her eyes. Soon, Benedict would leave her and London behind, once again.

  It was for the best.

  Wasn’t it?

  If only he hadn’t shown such courage when he charged back into her life. It was far easier to think him a selfish cad when he’d left her behind to pursue his fortune. But now, he’d risked his life
to keep her safe.

  Of course, he had another motive. Of that, she had no doubt. But it was rather thrilling, nonetheless, to consider that for this one night, he’d acted the white knight.

  Her hero.

  A little smile tugged at her lips, and she embraced it. Giving her pillow another thud, she wriggled beneath the sheets. No matter how tempting the thought, she could not afford to forget the harsh truth of the matter.

  Benedict needed something from her that had nothing to do with passion. Nothing to do with emotion. He’d been quite honest about that, hadn’t he? He required a translator. He’d come after a map that likely led to a treasure.

  His kiss had been a diversion. A simple pleasure. Nothing more.

  Her low sigh was muffled against her pillow.

  His caress had been meaningless.

  Pity she could not convince her heart.

  Chapter Seven

  “Nefritiri, you naughty girl!”

  The housekeeper’s admonishment rang out as the woman’s footsteps padded over the corridor outside Alex’s study. The shrill, aggravated tones tore her attention from the images she’d been studying. The photograph Benedict had left behind offered an adequate view of the symbols, but examining the cryptic message for clues had left her blurry-eyed and weary. While she took no pleasure at her typically unflappable housekeeper’s exasperation, she welcomed the momentary distraction from the task.

  “Come back here, you little minx,” Mrs. Thomas called, nearing the study.

  Alex smiled to herself. Somehow, she doubted the cat was listening to the matron’s commands. Had the mischievous feline launched another attack on the feather duster Mrs. Thomas wielded with precise efficiency?

  The cat dashed through the doorway, a flash of black fur and golden eyes as it escaped its nemesis. Just as Alex had suspected, several feathers pilfered from the cleaning implement dangled from its mouth. Nefritiri leapt onto her desk, nimbly evading the reference volumes she’d stacked in one corner. Mrs. Thomas followed her into the study, halting her pursuit at the door.

  “So sorry to disturb you.” Mrs. Thomas’s cheeks had flushed rosy red, whether from exertion or embarrassment, Alex could not be sure. “I see you’re hard at work again.”

  “Think nothing of it. I see Nefritiri has been stalking the duster again.”

  “At this rate, there won’t be much left of it,” Mrs. Thomas said with a defeated shrug.

  Alex slanted the cat a glance. The little beast had taken refuge behind her desk, the incriminating feathers still in its mouth. “I trust your morning has been uneventful…other than this naughty girl’s mischief.”

  “I cannot complain,” the older woman replied. “Though I suspect the cat may be the least of your worries. I spotted two men loitering outside your residence, a couple of serious gents, each trying to look as though they’re not watching the house. I’m questioning whether or not to alert a constable.”

  Alex set the image aside. “They’re still here?”

  Mrs. Thomas narrowed her eyes in confusion. “You know them?”

  “Yes…well, not personally. I know who they are and their purpose for being here.”

  The housekeeper’s mouth went taut. “Is something amiss… Is there something I should know?”

  “Oh, dear, I suppose I should have explained this morning. I hadn’t anticipated they’d stay here so late.” Alex drummed her fingers against the desk, then quickly stopped herself. She detested the nervous habit. “Those men are security agents. Matthew Colton assigned them to watch over the residence last night. There was an incident… All in all, rather a mess. I’ll tell you more later. For now, I’m longing for a spot of tea.”

  “Of course, miss,” Mrs. Thomas said with a crisp nod. “I’ll bring you a pot. By the way, you did say there was an incident…a violent incident?”

  “The potential for bloodshed was definitely there.”

  Mrs. Thomas’s mouth thinned. “I suppose that would explain the stain on the Aubusson.”

  Alex nodded. Did the woman miss a thing?

  “I believe it would.”

  “I’ll be getting your tea now, Miss Quinn. Would you care for a piece of shortbread?”

  “Yes, that would be marvelous. I’ve had little taste for food this morning, but that might be just the thing to whet my appetite. I never can resist anything you’ve baked.”

  Mrs. Thomas flashed a beaming smile. “I’ll be back straight away.”

  As the housekeeper bustled from the room, Alex’s gaze settled on the spots of blood marring the fine carpet. A little sound escaped her, a cross between a sigh and a groan. The blemishes were small, but the reminder of the night before roiled her stomach. She pictured Rooney’s cold eyes staring into hers as he put his rough hands on her. Perhaps the tea would help to quiet her nerves. Then again, perhaps only time would diminish the remnants of fear.

  Nefritiri regarded her with her usual dispassionate gaze. She’d dropped the purloined feathers on a thick book, evidently trusting Alex with her newly acquired treasure. The cat strolled toward Alex, soliciting a rub behind the ears. A full-bodied purr rumbled through the creature’s plump body, tugging another smile to Alex’s mouth. Amazing, really, how the simple physical contact with the sweet-natured feline soothed her frayed emotions in a way no amount of well-reasoned logic ever could.

  Allowing a few minutes to simply enjoy the moment, Alex stroked the fur ball. Her attention wandered to the neatly penned expedition journal Professor Stockwell had prepared on the discovery of the Pharaoh’s Sun. She’d intended to review the notes today, before Benedict’s unexpected arrival had shifted her priorities to deciphering the dead man’s message.

  Stockwell had meticulously documented the details of the exploration. Pillaged many times over, the tomb of an obscure pharaoh from the fifteenth dynasty had yielded few artifacts. A scarce few items of pottery and nonprecious metals had escaped the raiders’ clutches. Only the amulet known as the Pharaoh’s Sun would have elicited a thief’s excitement. The bronze pendant would likely fetch a modest sum, but its historical significance was considerable. The professor had taken pride in recovering the piece before a less scrupulous explorer could get his hands on it.

  And yet, Stockwell had summoned Benedict. How very ironic. The professor’s most accomplished student had shifted his focus from academic interest to the price an antiquity would fetch on the market. Professor Stockwell knew that better than most. Why had he called upon a man who could not be trusted to safeguard a precious relic?

  Had the professor fabricated the tale of a map to some long-buried treasure in a desperate effort to stir Benedict’s interest and entice him to pursue Rooney to London?

  Or had he told Benedict the truth?

  Was it possible she unknowingly possessed the map?

  Professor Stockwell would not have kept her in the dark. He’d trusted her implicitly. Unless…unless he believed he was somehow protecting her by withholding that crucial bit of information.

  She picked up the professor’s journal and stared down at the cramped, precise script. Was it possible the aging scholar had concealed information in plain sight?

  As a girl, she and her younger sister had often occupied themselves with games of intrigue. Jennie had written messages using juice she squeezed from lemons, advancing in sophistication as she concocted formulas that could be developed using a bit of sodium carbonate. Could the professor have used some sort of invisible ink to sketch out a map to some unknown archaeological find?

  With the journal in hand, she rose from her desk, moved to the window, and opened the curtains. She held each page up to the light. The notes bore no trace of indentations where a pen might have left an imprint, nothing to indicate the professor’s journal contained anything other than rather tedious details of the excavation.

  Mrs. Thomas returned with a pot of tea and shortbread on a silver tray. “Is there anything else you would like me to prepare for you?”

  The bi
scuit’s rich, buttery aroma drifted to Alex, but at the moment, she had no taste for it. “No, thank you,” she said, peering down at the documents in her hand. Heat from the teapot wafted to her. If the professor had utilized a heat-responsive ink, would the warmth from the silver vessel be adequate to develop the notations?

  She waited until Mrs. Thomas placed the platter on a side table and left the room, then tested her theory with each leaf in the notebook. Nothing. No change in the paper. No sign of a hidden symbol or map.

  Pouring a cup of Earl Grey, she set the journal aside, took a sip, and resumed her examination of the message captured in the photographic image. Crudely drawn by a dying man, the symbols presented a challenge she had not anticipated. A pair of wavy lines. The letter V. Something that might have been meant to indicate the letter M. The icons bore little resemblance to Egyptian hieroglyphs. Was there a message to be found in the figures? Or were the faint letters and pictographs the product of a wounded man’s delirious thoughts?

  Taking up her hand lens, she brought the emblems into keener focus. Not of Egyptian origin, she mused. She was certain of that. Could the symbols be derived from Greek?

  “The post has arrived,” Mrs. Thomas said as she padded back into the study. “I’m quite sorry to disturb you, but I thought you might wish to see what’s come for you.”

  The housekeeper held out an envelope addressed in Stockwell’s distinctive hand. Taking the letter in hand, she stared down at the script. Emotion swelled deep within her. This was likely the last correspondence she would ever receive from the professor. Scalding tears burned the back of her throat as she fought to hold them in. She had to maintain her composure.

  “Is something wrong?” Mrs. Thomas asked, her voice soft with concern.

  “No,” Alex said with a shake of her head.

  The housekeeper furrowed her brow and gave a little shake of her head. Had she seen through the harmless little lie so easily? Not surprising, really. Deceit had never been Alex’s strong suit.