by Stacy Henrie
“You look as dazzling as debutantes,” she said, giving each of them a quick hug. Whether she joined their group on their next trip or not, she would greatly miss seeing them every day.
The widows kindly complimented her appearance too. Syble thanked them, then looked around for Marcus. Any minute now he would appear. Would he find her pretty? Was he as nervous as she was about dancing together?
“Is Marcus meeting us here?” she finally asked, hoping her voice betrayed none of her returning agitation.
Ethel shook her head. “He said he’d wait for us inside the ballroom.”
Syble’s pulse sputtered as she gazed in the direction of the ballroom doors. Marcus waited somewhere beyond them. All she needed to do was walk into that room and enjoy this night of celebration, regardless of what happened between her and Marcus.
Looping her arm through her grandmother’s, Syble tipped her head toward the ballroom. “Shall we proceed, ladies?”
“Oh yes,” Rose said. “I haven’t been to a ball in ages.”
Florence harrumphed. “If you ask me, they’re always too crowded and overheated.” She must have seen Rose’s crestfallen expression, because she added, “I do enjoy watching the young people dance, though. Reminds me of my youth.”
“I like that too,” Ethel agreed. “Will you and Marcus dance, Syble?”
She prayed the blush creeping across her face wasn’t painfully obvious. “I did request a dance with him.”
Not surprisingly, her response met with more than one overly pleased look. Syble picked up her pace, though she knew she couldn’t outwalk their potential questions in her trailing gown. Yet to her relief, no one made a single comment about who she wanted to dance with. Perhaps the widows had finally decided to let well enough alone, especially now that she and Marcus were getting along so splendidly.
Less than a minute later, their group reached the ballroom. Syble attempted to join the others in commenting on the beautiful interior, but in truth, she hardly noticed the details of their surroundings. Her gaze sought one thing—or, more accurately, one person. Was he here? The dancing had already begun, making it harder to spot Marcus in the swirling throng.
The doors leading to the terrace stood open, allowing a welcoming breeze to enter the room. Syble whispered to her grandmother that she was going to duck outside for a minute. With any luck, she could cool the flush in her cheeks before Marcus appeared.
She’d nearly reached the doors when she heard someone call her name from behind. Turning, she saw Marcus standing there.
Syble pulled in an unsteady breath as they regarded each other. She’d seen him in various forms of attire these last few weeks, from casual to formal. But she had never seen him in evening clothes, and the effect left her a little unsteady in the knees.
His black hair framed his tanned face, which was nicely highlighted by the white of his shirt and tie. The dark tailcoat and trousers accentuated his lean form, and his green eyes glowed with warmth from behind his glasses. No wonder the girls she’d introduced to him had been enamored with this handsome, knowledgeable archaeologist. And that was without seeing him dressed so handsomely.
“You look very dashing, Marcus,” she managed to say, in spite of her suddenly dry throat.
He stepped toward her, the intensity of his stare hinting at something much deeper than friendship. The sight of it sent prickles of delight dancing up her gloved arms.
“Syble.” Marcus cleared his throat. “You are positively stunning.”
She smiled fully at his earnest praise, all traces of nervousness vanishing. In its place, hope bloomed.
* * *
Marcus had to remind himself not to gape at Syble. She looked as regal as royalty in her ball gown. The gold of her dress emphasized the gilded strands of her blond hair, and the blue shades deepened the color of her eyes. If one didn’t know her, they might hesitate in approaching such loveliness. However, her smile held only warmth and animation. That, coupled with her clear eagerness to see him—an eagerness he felt in return—brought him as much pleasure as her invitation to attend the ball.
“Would you care to dance, Miss Rinecroft?” He extended his gloved hand toward her.
Her face brightened even more as she nodded. “I’d be delighted, Mr. Brandt.”
She placed her hand in his. And though he wished to feel her bare fingers as he had in the desert, he still welcomed the chance to hold her hand again. The timing of their first dance couldn’t have been more perfect either. The musicians had chosen a waltz. Marcus swept Syble into his arms and led her around the ballroom, their movements in total harmony.
It felt almost strange to do something as proper as dance with Syble. Their other shared experiences had been wildly unconventional by comparison. Yet he liked the notion that they could easily move from one type of setting to another, in a way that he and Esme could never have accomplished. Not a single ounce of regret accompanied the latter revelation, and that surprised him. He didn’t even mind attending the social event, especially since it meant spending time with Syble. If only he could dance with her and her alone.
“You dance very well,” Syble said, interrupting his thoughts.
He smiled as much at the praise as he did at her tone. “You sound a bit astonished.”
“Maybe I am, a little.” She chuckled.
He maneuvered around a slower-moving couple. “My mother insisted all of us learn to dance, which meant there were indeed times when I couldn’t leave my nose pasted inside a book.”
He’d meant the observation to be playful, but Syble didn’t laugh. Instead her cheeks colored with obvious embarrassment. “I never should have said that, Marcus. It isn’t true.”
“Isn’t it?”
She shook her head, her gaze holding his. “Just because you experience life in a different way or at a different pace doesn’t mean you aren’t living. I’m sorry I ever suggested otherwise.” She looked away. “I was wrong to judge you back then.”
“As was I, to judge you.” He squeezed her hand gently and waited until she peered at him again. “You had this vibrancy about life that I didn’t understand, but you paired it with surprising insight. I’m grateful for your observation, however blunt, that I would miss life if I didn’t look up from the page occasionally.” They shared a smile. “I was irritated by your remark, yet it wouldn’t leave me. Rather than reading one day, I chose to revisit the Valley of the Kings. It was there I met an archaeologist, and I realized my passion for Egypt could go beyond more than studying a book or seeing an exhibit in a museum.”
Syble shook her head. “I had no idea.”
“That was because I was too stubborn to admit you were right.”
The laugh he’d been expecting finally tumbled from her lips. “You’ll admit that now, though?”
He feigned an injured expression. “As much it pains me, yes.”
“Then as long as we’re confessing things…” She laughed once more, but this time, the sound carried a twinge of nervousness.
The music ended before she could finish what she’d been about to share. Marcus released her from their dancing position, but he didn’t let go of her hand. He wanted to hear what she had to say, tonight and every day going forward. But if they lingered inside the ballroom, someone else would surely come along and claim Syble’s attention.
“Would you like to get some air?” he asked. They hadn’t been dancing long enough to feel warm. However, it was the only excuse Marcus could drum up to draw out their time together.
Syble didn’t hesitate to agree. “Yes, let’s go out on the terrace.”
They exited the room, hand in hand. Cooler air, perfumed by the smell of the bougainvillea, greeted them as they walked onto the terrace. There were other people enjoying the outdoors, prompting Marcus to lead Syble to a more secluded section along the railing. When he found a satisfactory spot, he stopped and faced her.
“Was there something you wished to say back there?” He threaded
his fingers with hers.
She dipped her chin in a nod, her countenance an endearing contrast of determination and vulnerability. “I’ve been thinking a lot the past few days and have decided that I don’t want to be a permanent member of the Wandering Widows once we leave Egypt.”
“You don’t?”
Marcus wasn’t sure what he had anticipated her confession to be, but he hadn’t considered this. Another thought followed on the heels of his first. What did her change in plans mean? Did it change anything for them? His heart hammered harder with a surge of hope.
Syble’s gaze flicked away. “I want to keep traveling and experiencing adventures like we did here, but I don’t want those to be the only things I do with my life.”
“What do you want to do then?”
He watched her pull in a deep breath as if gathering courage. Marcus had rarely seen Syble as anything but confident and brave, and he found himself all the more intrigued to hear her answer.
“I’m hoping my old dreams might still be possible. The ones I buried because I was scared…and hurt.” She brought her eyes up to meet his. In the shadowed light, their blueness had darkened to shades of midnight. “I want to be loved, to be married, to have a family. I’ve always wanted that.”
Had he heard her correctly? “You wouldn’t rather live an independent life, traveling the world with our grandmothers and the others?”
“Not anymore.” Her confident tone had returned.
Marcus regarded her for several heartbeats. Did she mean what he very much hoped she did? Could it be that her change in plans was meant to give them a chance at finally being something more than friends? He hardly dared believe such a sudden and unexpected turn in their relationship could be possible, and yet the earnest way she watched him revealed much. This wasn’t Syble being spontaneous or overly enthusiastic without thinking things through; this was her speaking from her heart.
“Please say something, Marcus.” Her accompanying chuckle sounded full of nerves once more. “What are you thinking?”
He let go of her hand so he could remove one of his bothersome gloves. Her brow furrowed at his action, but he hoped she wouldn’t fault him when she realized what he was doing. Setting the glove on the railing, he lifted his hand and brushed his uncovered fingers along her smooth cheek. Her eyes widened before a soft smile settled on her perfect lips.
“What I’m thinking is that if these new plans will make you happy, Syble, then you ought to pursue them.” He leaned closer as he added in a low voice, “I want to know you’re happy, wherever you are…or whomever you choose to be with.”
Marcus wouldn’t presume that she would choose him. After all, she’d only confessed a change in her plans, not romantic feelings for him. For his part, his own feelings had become increasingly clearer tonight. He had not fully vanquished his fears—he still worried about whether a relationship between them could truly last. But he wouldn’t let his fears blind him to what he knew inside his heart. He’d fallen in love with her—of that he was certain. Was it possible she felt the same?
Her next words and the joyful smile she offered him encouraged his heartbeat to thrum faster again. “I’m happy being here—with you. Because, truth be told, I like you very much, Marcus Brandt.”
The window into her feelings set his hopes soaring. Could she possibly be happy with him now and always? Marcus wanted so much to believe it, to believe his proclivity for order and reading, not to mention his lack of unprompted fun, wouldn’t change things for them in the future. That is, if she was truly contemplating a future with him.
A longing to give her a glimpse into his own heart rose within him. Not since Esme had he allowed himself to be so open and vulnerable, though. The very idea of doing so now filled him with equal parts eagerness and apprehension.
“With you,” he admitted quietly, “I’m far happier than I have been in a very long time.” It was nowhere near a full confession of all that he felt, but it was a start.
A tear hovered against her lower lashes. “I think that’s the most wonderful thing anyone has ever said to me.”
“I meant it.” Marcus gently brushed away the drop of moisture. Then he lowered his arm and interlocked her gloved fingers with his bare ones. “Tell me. Do I have reason to hope that such happiness will continue? For both of us? Together?”
Syble let go of his hand and brought both of hers to rest on either side of his face. “This may answer your question.”
Her lips sought his, surprisingly tentative at first. But when Marcus clasped her waist and drew her closer, her kiss became more confident as she wound her arms around his neck. He met her kisses with his own, and as he did so, a profusion of bright light and rich colors filled him—renewing what was whole and restoring what was lost. Kissing Syble was every bit as vibrant and thrilling as he knew it would be.
“Was that a sufficient answer?” she inquired, releasing her hold about his neck and fingering the lapels of his coat. Her countenance was as luminous as any star in the sky.
Marcus worked hard to hide his ready grin. “It was most definitely an answer, I’ll give you that. However, to be truly sufficient, I believe it’s an answer worth repeating.”
“I see.” Syble nodded, her mouth twitching with amused understanding. “I don’t mind repeating it.”
He smiled fully. “Nor do I,” he murmured, bringing his face near hers once again.
“Good evening, Brandt,” someone announced from nearby.
Marcus straightened in surprise at the interruption—and the familiar form of address. While he was casually acquainted with many guests and staff members at the hotel, he did not know anyone well enough for that degree of informality. He peered over Syble’s shoulder to find Elijah Kirk standing a few feet away.
“Kirk?” Marcus stared in shock at his old friend. “What are you doing in Luxor?”
“I thought it was about time I see this part of the world.”
Belatedly Marcus remembered that Syble also knew this man. Letting go of his coat, she spun around. “Mr. Kirk?”
“Miss Rinecroft?” Kirk’s tone sounded every bit as disbelieving as Syble’s. “I didn’t know you were in Egypt.”
Marcus placed a protective hand on Syble’s elbow. This was her last beau, after all, and the one who had deeply hurt her. His gesture was not lost on his friend, as evidenced by the sudden narrowing of Kirk’s gaze as he studied the two of them. Something akin to dread stirred inside Marcus.
“Miss Rinecroft is here with her grandmother and mine for a dig project we just completed.” He looked past his friend, but Kirk stood there alone. “Is your wife with you this evening?”
Kirk frowned. “Even this far from England, I’d have thought you would have heard.” He pulled his shoulders back, attempting to look relaxed even though tension radiated from his rigid posture. “Miss Dyer ended our engagement a month ago. She came to believe it would be too difficult for her to make her home in London permanently. She is back in New York now, and I am here with my sister and her husband.”
Syble stiffened beneath Marcus’s hand. What did she think of Kirk’s news? Marcus didn’t want to believe it would change anything—not after that amazing kiss. But fear consumed him all the same.
“I’m sorry to hear things ended.” Marcus spoke with sincerity. If anyone knew the pain of rejection after a betrothal, he did. He wouldn’t wish that on anyone, even someone who had unintentionally wounded the woman Marcus loved.
“Yes, I’m sure you are.” Kirk stepped forward. He no longer acted friendly but suspicious. “I wondered why you did not speak up about Miss Rinecroft’s fine qualities when I came to you last year.” He waved a condemning hand at them. “Now it makes perfect sense. You didn’t want me to court her because you wished to claim her affections for yourself.”
Marcus fought to keep his voice even. “That is not true.”
Syble turned to face him. “What is he talking about, Marcus?” Hurt and confusion had replace
d the tenderness in her eyes, and the sight of it lanced through him.
“He’s exaggerating our conversation, Syble.”
“So he didn’t come to talk to you? About me?”
He adjusted his glasses, the alarm in his gut intensifying. “Kirk wanted my advice, yes. But he spoke of both you and Miss Dyer.” Rather than allaying her concern, Marcus could see he’d only increased it when her mouth turned down and she took a step backward.
“I didn’t tell him whom to choose.” He reached out to gently hold her shoulders between his hands. “I knew he had to make such a decision on his own; therefore, I told him to follow his heart.”
She shrugged out of his grasp. “You never even told me that you two were friends. And that night at Karnak, when I confessed…” She shot a glance over her shoulder at Kirk, then rubbed at her throat with a trembling hand. “You should have told me.”
“I should have, and I’m sorry.” Marcus wished they didn’t have an audience. It couldn’t be helped, though. He lowered his voice and continued, “I didn’t know back then what you wanted or how you felt. I figured it was best not to be too involved.”
Syble folded her arms, no longer meeting his gaze. “Did you think I wouldn’t make a suitable match for him? Is that why you didn’t say more to him in my favor?”
“What? No, Syble.” A dull ache thudded inside his head. Marcus had half a mind to pound a fist into Kirk’s face for triggering this whole mess, even if his friend seemed a bit chagrined now at the trouble he’d caused. “I promise you, I remained completely neutral in the matter. I had no idea when he left the house that day what he would choose to do.”
Kirk cleared his throat, earning a glare from Marcus. What did the man want now? “I will leave you two alone,” his friend said. “It was nice to see you again, Miss Rinecroft. Would you care to join me and my party in the dining room for breakfast tomorrow?”
