What the Dashing Duke Deserves (Lords of Happenstance, #3)

by Sandra Sookoo

  “Let me help.” With a gentle tug, he brought her around until their gazes collided. The faint scent of jasmine wafted about him. “Tell me everything. I will do all in my power to assist. Never again will you be alone if you don’t wish it.” How the devil he’d manage that with the impending dig, he had no idea.

  “Such an easy promise for you when you leave for the Valley soon. I’ll remain but a memory.” When he waited in silence, for how could he deny such a truth, she sighed. “I cannot tell you here.”

  “Why?” His lack of elocution was stunning, and it was his turn to give into annoyance. “You’ve led me on with that same answer. It’s time to deliver.” He didn’t release his hold on her wrist. “Else I have to say you’re playing me for a fool.”

  “Cairo has too many eyes and ears,” she whispered, her eyes wide as if a threat would suddenly jump out from the jumble of junk collected in the storage room.

  “I rather think you’re making this a Drury Lane production, giving it more intrigue than it probably has.”

  “If only you knew.” The abject despair in her voice brought out his protective instincts.

  Daring much, Crispin pulled her closer until he could wrap an arm about her waist, holding her in a loose embrace. “Have you been threatened?”

  Her pulse fluttered in her neck, the outward testament to how his statement or proximity affected her. “Not yet, but then, I don’t have anything of value.”

  Bloody hell, she is lying once more. He knew it by the slight tick at the corner of her right eyelid. The first two times he’d seen it while in her company, he’d dismissed it, but now he was certain it was a tell. “Damn it all, Juliana, I cannot help you if you won’t be honest with me.” Having her more or less in his arms threatened to distract his concentration, but perhaps turnabout was fair play where she was concerned. Lifting her chin with his free hand, he lowered his head and claimed her lips with a gentle, fleeting kiss designed to confuse and tease. Afterward, he grinned, for the kiss had been most pleasant, especially when it wasn’t he who suffered from the confusion brought on by surprise. “I am not your enemy nor am I a King’s agent who would abandon you to your fate. That’s not the kind of man I am.”

  “Why did you do that?”

  “Do what?” He would treat her to the same game she’d thrust him into last night.

  “Kiss me.”

  He shrugged. “Why not? Isn’t that how you encourage men to do your bidding, or at the very least how you distract them so they won’t question you too closely?”

  The blush on her cheeks deepened. “Damn you, Crispin.”

  Adorable. She was simply adorable when in a snit. “Rule number one, dear girl. Never dish out what you cannot take.” No wonder his friends adored being a King’s agent, if banter with such a delightful companion was part of it. “Now, I believe, we are even. Tit for tat and all of that. One kiss for another, as it were.”

  “Oh, you are... nothing short of aggravating.” She stumbled backward out of his light embrace, but she nodded. “I’m sorry. I’ve been beside myself for so long I’ve clearly forgotten where my alliances are.”

  “Understandable.” He fought against the warmth the brief embrace brought him, and reminded himself he wasn’t looking for a romance right now. “I’m not leaving until you explain.”

  “Oh, I’m quite aware of your penchant for stubbornness,” she answered in a voice smokier than before. “I never knew you harbored such a willful side beneath all of your optimism.” Then she offered a smile that held no guile and so genuine that he looked more intently at her, wondering yet again why the emotion didn’t reflect in her eyes. “But I’m adamant that I not unburden my soul to you here.”

  “Fine. We will remove to somewhere more private.” Archewyne would bluster and buck about the delay, but there was no way around this little problem. “Come with me.”

  “Where are we going?” she asked as Crispin strode from the storage room and back into the archive library.

  “St. Ives estate.”

  “Who the devil is St. Ives?”

  A laugh escaped him. It was both shocking and refreshing to hear such vulgarity from a female. Yes, if their paths were destined to cross on adventure, she would prove a delightful partner. “Archewyne’s deceased father-in-law.” He glanced over his shoulder at her. “Don’t ask. It is yet another long story.”

  The taptap of her heels on the scuffed hardwood gave confirmation she followed. “Why there?”

  “It’s the safest place I know of in Cairo. And I have a feeling we’ll need the earl’s input once you begin your tale.” Then his smile died altogether. Archewyne lied to him when he’d first met Juliana. He had to know who she was and that she was an operative in the field—especially here. Why the hell had he not given up the information? Then another thought occurred. According to Juliana, no one from the King’s agent network had been in touch with her, so if Archewyne had known of her existence, why didn’t he make contact?

  Knowing there were secrets underlying the network he’d pledged his life to didn’t sit well.

  She’d gained her desk, stood staring at the coat rack that rested behind it. “I cannot leave the archives.”

  “I’ll wager you can.” He snorted. “I doubt anyone visits.” When he cocked an eyebrow and a faint blush infused her cheeks, he nodded. “Lock up and come with me. I want this matter over and done with so we can both move forward. And if you were honest with yourself, you do too.”

  “It’s beyond annoying how well you think you know me,” she said with a huff as she lifted her bonnet from a hook on the coat rack.

  He beamed. Surely he’d count this as a victory. “Perhaps not you specifically, but an agent in your position.” For he knew her not at all, but he sorely wished to delve deeper into the secrets she kept.

  After she drew her reticule from a drawer in the desk, she came around that piece of furniture to stand before him. “I’m ready. Lead me to the gallows, good sir.”

  Crispin howled with laughter. “It’s not as bad as all of that.” When she donned her bonnet that was trimmed with rose ribbons, he sobered. She appeared sweet and innocent in the frock and hat, but he knew differently, and that mystery only served to bewitch him more. “By the by, is there anyone else in the museum besides the director who can read ancient Hebrew?”

  Her slight gasp added to the intrigue. “It is one of my strengths and one reason Rathesborne sent me here. Why?”

  Of course it was. Drat it all. He offered her his crooked elbow. “All in good time.”

  Chapter Six

  There was something quite glorious about sitting ensconced in a man’s study, and the Earl of Archewyne’s private sanctuary at the estate of his father-in-law was everything luxurious.

  Books lined the walls, and with no need of a fireplace in Cairo, that left extra room for even more tomes crammed onto the rich walnut shelves. A massive desk occupied one corner of the room while leather wing-backed chairs were scattered over a plush Oriental carpet in no particular grouping. A walnut sideboard held various decanters and crystal bottles of spirits with a selection of glasses, and every inch of the room screamed masculine content.

  Back in England, her own father had such a study and she had always adored sneaking into it when he wasn’t at home. It’s where she allowed herself to dream and escape reality in books. This study was a throwback to those halcyon days when her life had been her own, before she’d become a King’s agent and a couple of mistakes had sent her hurtling down the slopes of ruin, deception, and exile.

  While waiting for Lords Archewyne and Litton to hear her story, Juliana snuggled into one of the buttery leather chairs and tucked her legs beneath her skirting. Why weren’t women allowed to have such rooms or drink spirits whenever they felt like it? Why were such things only set aside for males, where they could shut themselves away from the responsibilities of life without question or the assumption that they were being difficult?

  Why are we
not allowed a refuge or vices?

  Then she realized the reason for being here in this masculine abode, and her stomach muscles clenched. Her mission would be revealed and the men would judge her on her performance. Once more she’d be held as a failure within the organization and in front of the head of the King’s agent network to boot.

  What would happen then? Sent back to England in disgrace with no employable skills? Worry chased itself through her insides. If she couldn’t manage to succeed on this one last case, there was no chance to redeem her horrible mistake.

  Before those thoughts could torture her further, the door swung open. Crispin advanced into the room. He was alone.

  When his gaze alighted on her, a tiny grin pulled at the corners of his mouth. “You resemble a kitten curled up like that,” he said, his voice well-modulated. “Or perhaps a lioness who has put away her claws for the time being.”

  “Astute observation.” But his levity didn’t put her mind at ease. “That being said, I have a certain fondness for studies, even if they’re a man’s domain.”

  He looked about the room and nodded, his hands on his hips. “This place does lend itself to reflection and invites one to relax.”

  “Yes.” What would her real father think of her when she returned to London defeated and disgraced? Instead of letting those thoughts run rampant, Juliana concentrated on Crispin.

  In the sunlight that streamed through the windows, his blond hair gleamed. The breadth of his shoulders and the proud bearing of the duke that he was begged for her admiration. That plus his always-sunny disposition made her want to gravitate toward him simply on the off-chance he could lift the dark pall of what was coming, cleanse away part of what had already happened. She shifted her regard to his mouth that still curved with a faint grin as he browsed the nearest bookshelf. Her heart skipped a silly beat. He’d surprised her with that kiss and then alternately incensed her with his explanation of why.

  Perhaps they were, indeed, evenly matched, at least in this fleeting moment.

  She stirred, unable to stand the silence. “Where is Lord Archewyne?” Why couldn’t they hurry this along so she could lick her wounds in private, or at least know her fate?

  “Here.” The man himself appeared in the doorway, and both she and Crispin glanced at him. “Excuse my tardiness. I had thought Herrick and I would remove to the Valley, but instead I’ve had more troubles dropped into my lap, and as it goes, not of my own making. Since we did not leave on schedule, it was necessary for me to dispatch a letter to my wife and explain.” He closed the door behind him with a decided click.

  Heat slapped at her cheeks. “I apologize, my lord.” She uncurled herself from the chair. Though the man was intimidating enough with his back ramrod straight, his raven locks arranged just so, and his piercing coffee-colored eyes that seemed to see right through her, he didn’t look at her with disgust, so perhaps the Duke of Rathesborne hadn’t told him of her history.

  Then she noticed the brown leather folio he laid on the desktop, and chills slid down her spine. Did that folder contain notes of her last mission, a dossier on her as an agent and person?

  “It couldn’t be helped, Archewyne,” Crispin said into the sudden, chilly silence. He also stared at the folio with a frown. “She claims the intel is too volatile to risk being overheard. I thought bringing her here was in the best interests of us all.”

  “So I gathered when you arrived.” When he settled himself behind the desk and folded his hands upon the top, he nodded. “Perhaps it’s best we get to it straightaway.”

  “Where to start?” she murmured, threading her fingers together in her lap.

  “At the beginning, if you please, Miss Barrington,” the earl said, and his voice rumbled through the room. He opened the folio, and her heart trembled as icy fingers of fear squeezed it. “The truth is preferable.”

  “Right,” she whispered. When she looked at Crispin, and he nodded with encouragement, she heaved out a sigh. “For the last year I have been on a mission as a King’s agent, sent to Cairo by the Duke of Rathesborne and in search of the Staff of the Gods.”

  “Have you located the relic?” Archewyne asked, his focus on the paperwork in front of him. He didn’t show shock at her statement, another clear indicator that he’d known she was an agent.

  “No, or at least not all of it.”

  Crispin interrupted. “How did you know of the staff to begin with? I only became aware of it through a blurb on a scroll that is written in ancient Hebrew. As far as I knew, it was a secret.”

  She snorted. “It has been my experience that the more powerful or valuable a relic is, the more people know about it.” When neither of the men joined in on her mirth, she sobered. “I didn’t stumble upon the artifact until I was sent to Cairo following the death of my husband.”

  The duke’s eyes widened. “You were married.” It wasn’t a question.

  “Yes, but that has no bearing on this case.” The other, more horrible one, it did, but he didn’t need to know about that just now. Juliana bounced her gaze from him to Archewyne. He regarded her with an intensity that had chills moving down her spine. She moistened her lips. Did he know that, among the agents killed when her last mission went south, the leader of the operation was her husband? It all depended on what those papers contained. “Suffice it to say, once I arrived here, met the ambassador with whom it had been arranged I’d stay, I threw myself wholeheartedly into my new mission.”

  She kept her focus on the carpet, unable to bear the scrutiny in Archewyne’s gaze or the rampant speculation in Crispin’s eyes. “Perhaps I was grieving or perhaps I couldn’t handle the sudden isolation forced upon me. Whatever it was, when Lord Ramsay befriended me, I was grateful for his friendship and eventual romantic overtures.”

  “You and Lord Ramsay were... that is to say you and he indulged in...” Crispin’s words trailed off as he gawked, his lips forming words he didn’t utter.

  What must he think of her? In that moment, she didn’t care, for she’d lived her life and took chances. Some of them she regretted, some she hadn’t, for that very life was fleeting. You are not me, my lord, so do not pass judgment. “Yes, Andrew and I were lovers.” She put it as bluntly as possible, lest he continue his line of questioning.

  “I... you...” A strangled sort of sound swept away the rest of the duke’s response.

  Lord Archewyne cleared his throat. “Please get yourself under control, Herrick. The woman never said she was a nun.” Then his horribly piercing gaze plowed into her, and she wanted to shrink into a ball to escape his notice. “Continue, but please leave out narrative regarding your love affair. And neither do I wish to hear about your previous mission. No doubt Rathesborne made your life a living hell once it concluded, for I well remember the man’s temper when assignments soured that he was invested in. That is not where my interest in this current morass lies.” A note of command rang in his voice, and it terrified her. This man had the power to pull her off the case and send her home with her reputation in tatters.

  “Andrew... Lord Ramsay had been good for my flagging spirits, but I never told him I was a King’s agent, if that’s what you’re thinking.” She directed her comment to the earl with a slightly raised chin. It didn’t matter what he thought of her, but she didn’t wish Crispin to see her in a different light for her decisions. Neither of them had been there; they hadn’t lived through what she had. “That had been ingrained into me from the first, among other things. But he was solicitous and attentive, and he was in Egypt as an archeologist on a dig funded by an American with more coin than sense.”

  “Where did he dig?” The earl had returned to perusing his paperwork.

  “Luxor, or what used to be known as West Thebes.” When the men remained silent, she continued, for the quiet was disconcerting. “The archeologist found a cache of mummies, but they weren’t royal. In fact, they were all lower born, and what was more, most of them weren’t Egyptian.”

  “Oh?” Th
e earl glanced up, questions in his eyes.

  She nodded. “According to Andrew, they were eventually discovered to be of one of the Semitic peoples who migrated through the area, specifically belonging to the Canaan tribe. One was a priest. Others were members of his family. The others were not related.”

  Crispin exchanged a speaking glance with Lord Archewyne. “Should we make her privy to our own thoughts?”

  “Not just yet.” The earl waved a hand. “Continue.” He marked something on one of the papers with a question.

  “Andrew was unequivocally excited, of course, for the find was significant enough. However, he didn’t share a big piece of the discovery with me, and one that dovetailed into the case I’m working.”

  “Which was?” Crispin asked as he crossed the floor and then threw himself into the chair next to hers.

  “That he’d discovered a piece of the staff within the remains of grain found in one of the urns in the tomb.” She glanced first at the earl then at Crispin. “I didn’t know what it was at the time. I was only envious that he had a twelve-inch rod of gold, carved in the language of the Hebrew slaves who once walked the sands of Egypt.”

  “That is conjecture, for there are several schools of thought out there that say Hebrews were not enslaved,” Lord Archewyne interrupted.

  She shrugged. “But there is other overwhelming written evidence that argues they were. And that introduces doubt, which converts into alternative history that could have sprung up from truth.”

  “Did he let you examine this rod of gold?” Lord Archewyne asked with his pen poised over his paper, but there was faint grudging respect in his expression.

  “Eventually, and what he didn’t know is that I’m quite fluent in ancient languages, Hebrew included.” She gave a self-depreciating laugh. “The romance didn’t cloud my judgment or my thinking, if that is what you’ve assumed, so I kept it alive merely to see what Lord Ramsay wished to do with the artifact or even what it was.” She shrugged. “After all, I suppose once the grief from my husband’s passing faded and the sting of being exiled lessened, I didn’t have any more need of Andrew.”