by Stacy Henrie
“Thank you.” Marcus lifted his gaze to the hilltops as they continued to head southwest. “As I said, while I am still skeptical, I can see how important this is to Gran and the others. As such, I would like to put in a full effort.”
He chose not to voice the part about wishing to wrap things up quickly so he could return to his original project. It would only anger her more. Besides, as he’d said, pleasing his grandmother and appeasing the others were also priorities, along with proving his archaeological skills to the group. It wasn’t quite the same as proving himself to the archaeological community at large, or to his siblings in particular, through a significant discovery. But he’d known these women all his life, and he wanted them to think well of him. He’d been pleased and flattered that the four of them valued his expertise to such a high extent that they would only undertake this venture if he was involved. Cutting a glance at Syble, he wondered if she would ever be impressed by what he did here.
“I appreciate your willingness to put in a full effort,” she said, “especially since you still don’t believe in this project.”
Fighting a smile, he paused on the path. “Am I mistaken, or did Syble Rinecroft actually thank me?”
“Don’t let it go to your head, Marcus Brandt,” she said without stopping. “I’m going to make you a believer in this map. And who knows…” She shot him a cheeky smile over her shoulder. “I might actually get you to do something fun or spontaneous in the process.”
He chuckled as he caught up with her. “I highly doubt that. Not even you are capable of changing someone’s personality.”
“Other miraculous things have happened.” Syble motioned to the hills around them. “We are, after all, in the land of our biblical forefathers, who walked across the Red Sea on dry ground.”
Marcus gave an amused sniff. Quiet settled between them, though it wasn’t uncomfortable or fraught with tension. And that itself was a small miracle indeed.
“May I ask you a question?” He threw her a half smile when she turned to look at him. “I promise it’s nothing too personal.”
Syble nodded, her own mouth twitching upward. “I suppose it’s only fair. Go ahead.”
“Why did you come to London for the season last year?”
Her brow furrowed with suspicion. “How did you know that I was in London? Did my grandmother tell you?”
Belatedly, Marcus remembered he’d learned from Kirk about Syble being in town. Yet if he admitted to his source of information, he would also have to admit that Kirk had come to him to talk about Syble. And in light of the letter he’d received from his friend some weeks ago, Marcus felt sure that the topic of their conversation that day in London might be best left unshared with the blond woman half glaring at him.
Apparently Kirk had chosen Miss Edith Dyer, and the two were now engaged. Marcus assumed Syble had heard the news as well. Again, he found himself wondering how Kirk’s choice had affected her. Had she been relieved or saddened? He didn’t know the answer, nor did he feel it his place to ask.
His silence stretched on long enough that Syble began talking, despite his lack of a reply to her question. “I had two disappointing seasons in New York.” A touch of weariness settled over her features as she spoke. “A young lady I knew had gone to London the year before and become engaged to the son of a marquess, so my mother thought it might be advantageous for us to go to England too. My best friend, Gwen, and her mother came as well.”
Marcus had heard of these trans-continental marriages between American heiresses and members of the British gentry, most of whom were in need of cash to fund their country estates or their careers in politics. As for the women, the marriages offered a chance to gain a title for themselves and their children, something they couldn’t come by back in the States. Kirk himself had ended up with an American heiress, even if he hadn’t chosen this particular one.
“Were you hoping for a titled match yourself?” he asked, somewhat surprised. Surely someone so independent and romantic—given the novels she’d been reading at thirteen—would wish to marry for love rather than a title.
“Well, yes.” Her chin rose defensively. “It’s not so mercenary or outlandish as it may sound.”
He shook his head. “I was not implying—”
Her words rode over his. “My parents expected me to marry a titled gentleman who met with their approval, but they also knew he had to be someone I felt some degree of affection for. Someone I could grow to love over time.”
Had she felt that way about Kirk? Marcus squirmed inwardly at the thought of his friend’s rejection hurting Syble. Or perhaps there’d been another gentleman she’d fancied more. Though if that were true, then Syble wouldn’t be here—she’d likely still be in England, preparing for her wedding or settling into a home with her new husband. Neither she nor the Wandering Widows had mentioned a beau or fiancé in New York or London.
“Did you enjoy the season?” It was a safer question than the others crowding his mind.
An animated light entered her blue eyes, her countenance energetic once more. “It was glorious.” She released a wistful sigh. “At least in the beginning. I adored London. The theater, the balls, the dinners—everything just seemed brighter and more exciting than back home.” She peered over at him. “I don’t think I ever saw you, though.”
“That’s probably true.”
“Too busy with your books and artifacts to attend social events?”
He recognized her attempt at light teasing, but the words still pricked all the same. After Esme’s rejection and their failed engagement, Marcus had stopped attending larger social functions. His parents were still active socially, and on occasion he attended more intimate dinners and receptions along with them. Yet Syble wasn’t far off the mark as to how he preferred to spend his time when in London—with his books or attending lectures and museums on his own.
“You know me too well,” he murmured, trying for a casual tone.
He should have known Syble wouldn’t be so easily thrown off. Her head tilted to the side as she regarded him seriously. “Do you prefer staying within the comforts of home, or is there something, or maybe someone, who makes that the more pleasant choice?”
“Now who is getting too personal?” And astute. But Marcus kept that latter observation to himself.
She offered a smile, but it wasn’t unkind. The gesture contained a great deal of understanding. “I think that was my answer.”
“What about you?” he couldn’t help countering. He didn’t want to think about Esme, much less discuss his personal reasons for not being overly social. “Why are you here instead of eagerly planning another season in London—or elsewhere?”
The smile immediately dropped from her face. “I won’t be returning to London this season or attending another one anywhere else.” She picked up her pace, forcing Marcus to do the same if he wished to walk beside her. “Since we’re on the topic of future plans, I can tell you that this isn’t the only trip I expect to take this year. Now that I’m a free woman, and one who likely won’t marry at all, I’m going to become a permanent member of the Wandering Widows.”
Marcus barked a laugh, certain she was joking. But the dark look she sent in his direction held no humor. “Are you quite serious?” he asked, unable to believe that this was truly her plan.
Her scowl increased. “Why shouldn’t I be?”
“First and foremost, you are not a widow, Syble.” He numbered the potential issues using his fingers. “Second, you are many decades younger than the other members. And third, I cannot believe the same girl who once devoured romance novels doesn’t intend to marry at some point.”
Had someone jaded the bright-eyed romantic that Syble had once been? Marcus could understand how a negative experience could leave a person wary of marriage. He’d certainly felt that way after Esme—there were times he still wondered if he would ever marry. He only hoped it hadn’t been Kirk who had shattered Syble’s dreams of love and courtship.<
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“I still read romance novels,” Syble said haughtily. “But I have to look at things realistically too. I’ve already had three seasons, and at the age of twenty-one, I’m considered by some to be on the shelf. My parents have resigned themselves to that fact that I will never marry, so why shouldn’t I accept it as well? Besides, the widows need me. I would be a great addition to their group.”
Marcus kneaded his forehead. He felt the beginnings of a headache—an inevitable outcome of arguing with Syble. “Twenty-one is not old nor anywhere near being ‘on the shelf,’ as you put it. My mother was well into her thirties when she married for the second time.”
“If you’re so certain everyone should wed, why aren’t you married?”
He narrowed his gaze, though he doubted it would serve as any sort of warning to her. “I have not yet found the right girl.”
“Or have you?” She watched him closely again.
Averting his face for fear she would ascertain too much, Marcus cleared his throat, more than ready to turn the tables on her. “Let me guess. You would say the same? That you haven’t found the right man, even after three seasons?”
He walked onward before realizing she was no longer striding beside him. Turning, he found Syble gaping at him, her hands curled into fists at her sides. He’d never witnessed her shocked silence before, and the sight of it produced far more discomfort than her anger.
He removed his hat and pushed his hand through his hair. The breeze felt good against his scalp. “I’m sorry,” he said, fiddling with the brim of his hat. “That was quite uncalled for.”
“Are you talking about your apology or your assumption about why I’m not married?” The coolness of her gaze matched the frostiness of her tone.
He presented her with a regretful smile. “The second.”
“Good.” Syble folded her arms. “I need to…to apologize as well. I’m sorry for my outspoken manner. This isn’t the first time it’s gotten me into trouble, and unfortunately, it probably won’t be the last.” Her shoulders rose in a shrug. “I do try to work on it—most of the time.”
An appreciative chuckle fell from his mouth. She might still be outspoken at times, but she’d also matured in the years since they’d last seen each other. The girl Syble would not have admitted to wrongdoing in the honest and humble way the woman Syble had just done.
“Apology accepted,” he said, returning to her side. “Will you accept mine as well?”
She made a show of thinking it over, then finally nodded. “Yes.” Placing her hands on her hips once more, Syble surveyed the landscape around them. “I still don’t see that unusual hilltop yet.”
“Perhaps we ought to consult the map again.” The rest of their party would probably be leaving Nefertari’s tomb soon. And unfortunately, he and Syble had nothing to show for their efforts beyond some enlightening conversation, a heated row or two, and a tentative reconciliation.
Syble withdrew the map. However, this time she released her grip on the parchment when Marcus took hold of it. He glanced at her in surprise, but she merely peered past him at the map. The tiny inkling of trust revived a bit of his flagging energy.
After several long seconds of studying the map, Syble snapped her chin up and charged toward the closest hill. The mound held no trail, but Syble rushed up it, heeled shoes and all.
“What are you doing?” Marcus called after her.
She stumbled a bit on the loose ground but righted herself. “Getting some new perspective.”
He frowned as he watched her, then shrugged. Might as well follow. There was little else to see from this angle.
Marcus scrambled up the hill after her, doing his best to dodge the bits of earth she kicked loose. Thankfully he’d worn the pair of shoes he donned when on a dig. Syble’s footwear wasn’t likely to fare as well, though she still didn’t seem to mind. Esme would have bemoaned the state of her shoes—and likely wouldn’t have suggested or condoned rushing up a hill in the first place.
At the top, Syble took off her hat and fanned her face. She was flushed but not unattractively so. Wisps of her blond hair brushed against her pink cheeks and smiling lips.
When he slid a few feet, Marcus realized he’d been paying more attention to his companion than to the terrain. Syble apparently noticed his unsteady footing, because she moved to the edge and reached out to grasp his free hand in hers. With her help, he managed to traverse the last few feet to the top of the hill to stand beside her.
“Thank you,” he said, feeling both chagrinned and impressed at her fortitude and dexterity—and her kindness in aiding him without comment or hesitation.
He removed his hat too and wiped his damp forehead as he took in the view. Being at the top of the hill truly did afford them a different perspective.
“Isn’t it incredible?” Syble’s voice held the same tinge of awe Marcus felt each time he saw this landscape after seven months of being away.
He smiled. “I couldn’t agree more.”
“That may be a first,” she said with a light laugh.
“Unless you count last night, when we both agreed I shouldn’t join this dig.”
Her glance flicked away. “Are you sorry you’re here?”
His answer came swiftly, even though his desire to return to clearing his tomb and reaching the treasury room hadn’t waned. “No. Are you sorry?”
“It depends on the moment.” When he threw her an arched look, she grinned. “But right now, I’m actually very glad to be here.” She faced the valley again. “If only we could locate that hilltop.”
Marcus couldn’t see anything resembling a battlement. He glanced back down at the map. As he did so, a partially formed thought nudged the back of his mind. What was it Syble had told him before racing up the hill? She’d been hoping for a new perspective.
“A new perspective,” he muttered to himself.
He twisted the map upside down, as he had earlier to read the Arabic words written there. This time, however, he carefully studied the section of the map where the tomb supposedly lay.
“That’s it!”
Syble leaned over the map. “What are you talking about?”
“The hilltop.” Marcus jabbed his finger at the unusual marking. “This portion of the map is meant to be viewed upside down—that’s why the Arabic saying was written that way. We can then conclude that isn’t actually a hilltop at all.”
Syble shook her head. “Then what is it?”
“It’s a shadow.” His certainty grew stronger. “The tomb isn’t located beneath a hill that looks like a battlement. It must be near a shadow with that shape. That has to be why the sun is depicted as it is on the map. The shadow can only be viewed when the sun is directly above the hills.”
Understanding lit her blue eyes as she met his gaze. “I think you’re right.”
Marcus glanced up at the sky. “The sun is not quite overhead anymore, but hopefully it is close enough that we’ll still see that shadow.”
They both turned their attention to the landscape again, but this time they searched the valley floor. Before long, Syble gave a small cry. “I found it.”
“Where?”
He followed the line of her finger as she pointed. As he’d predicted, a shadow in the shape of a battlement tower darkened the earth on the other side of the valley. “I believe we have our site.”
Syble covered her mouth with her hands. “We found it?”
“We did,” he said in astonishment.
In the next instant, she’d thrown her arms around him. “We actually did it! We figured it out!”
He rested his hand against her back as Syble embraced him. A part of him protested at how scandalous they must look to passersby. However, a larger part of him didn’t truly care.
The leaping sensation returned full force within his chest the longer they stood this way. It wasn’t an altogether unpleasant feeling. If anything, it reminded Marcus of the euphoria he’d felt when he had broken the seal on his firs
t tomb.
Besides, he reasoned with himself, it was not every day he received an embrace from a beautiful woman. Surely this was a moment to savor and enjoy.
“You deserve most of the credit,” he reminded her when he at last stepped back. “Your solution to gain a new perspective was what made me think to look at the map differently.”
She let go of him, her face heightened with color again. Was it from pleasure at his compliment or warmth from being out in the sun? “You were the one who figured out we were looking for a shadow. If you hadn’t solved that, we might have wandered all over the valley without finding anything.”
“One might say we work rather well together.” Marcus folded the map and passed it to her. “At least, when we’re both of a mind to do so.”
Syble laughed. “Agreed.” She slid the map back inside her bag.
“Do you happen to have a pencil in that satchel of yours?”
She nodded. “Why do you ask?”
“It might prove difficult to find that exact spot once we’re back on the ground. But if we sketch it from up here…”
“That’s a wonderful idea.” She pulled out a pencil and a notebook and extended them toward Marcus.
He didn’t take them but instead held up his hands in mock surrender. “I’m proficient at reading maps, not drawing them.”
“All right. I’ll draw it.”
After she opened the book to a blank page, Syble paused as if mentally memorizing the scenery, then she began drawing. Marcus bent closer to watch. Soon the shadowed area appeared, along with what he assumed must be Nefertari’s tomb on the other side of the page.
“Don’t forget to draw the outline of the hills,” he said, “directly above the site.”
She threw him a scolding look. “I won’t forget. Now hush. You’re making me nervous.”
Did she mean the words in jest? He found he almost hoped she spoke in earnestness. It might mean she felt the same growing awareness toward him that he felt toward her. Though why that should matter, he didn’t know.
“I make you nervous?”
He caught sight of her eye roll. “I meant about my drawing, Marcus.”
