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

by Sandra Sookoo

  Crispin sucked in a breath. “It rather sounds horribly cold when put succinctly.”

  She shrugged. “But it is the truth. Grief and shock makes a person do things others cannot understand at the time.”

  “And then?” The duke hung on her every word as he rested an elbow on the armrest and dropped his chin into his hand.

  “Some of that writing indicated a large number of slaves making bricks for the workshop or storeplace of the Temple of Amun at Karnak. That was impressive enough, since there isn’t much proof that Semitic tribes even existed in Upper or Lower Egypt due to their penchant for wandering or being pursued by the Egyptians during times of war.”

  Lord Archewyne nodded. “And your research?”

  “It wasn’t until I saw an obscure reference to the staff in an equally obscure treatise on nomadic tribes that moved through Egypt during the New Kingdom, which I’d uncovered during a reorganization in the archive library, that I knew Andrew wasn’t being completely honest. It mentioned the Staff of Absolute Power, or a loose translation from that particular dialect of Hebrew which meant Staff of the Gods.” She blew out a breath. “With further research I found it meant the staff had been infused, or blessed, by not only the gods the Egyptian pharaohs worshipped, but also by the very power of the god of the Hebrews.”

  “Impressive.” Crispin’s eyes danced with interest. Then he lost his grin. “Did you tell your lover about that?”

  Juliana rolled her eyes. “I did not. However, there was also another find in that cache of mummies, which precipitated my silence and warranted further scrutiny. A few ushabtis were scattered among the other funerary objects, except those ushabtis bore the name of the pharaoh Thutmoses I, and I was confused as to why such things were included with the burial of Hebrews, even as close as they were to the funerary temple of Hatshepsut.”

  “They weren’t digging there?”

  “Not at that time. Luxor is a site of interest for archeologists and Egyptologists alike, and dig permissions are given by popularity or favors.”

  The earl snorted. “As is anywhere else a man wishes to dig in Egypt.”

  Crispin launched himself from the chair. “Thutmoses I was the pharaoh who issued the decree that all the infant sons born to the Israelites were to be thrown into the Nile River.”

  “Yes.” She nodded, her heart beating faster to hear the excitement in his voice. “I expressed an interest in the statuettes, and especially the one that was much larger than the others. Andrew gifted them all to me, for they are not valuable. I intended to further study the markings and wanted to try and find evidence in the archives that these two things—along with the staff—were connected.” She shrugged. “He and I separated not long after that; his fervor for all things archeological had consumed his time and led him down a different path than I needed to walk.”

  “And you, like a black widow, had no more need of him,” the earl said in a quiet voice.

  “For God’s sake, Archewyne, have a care.” Crispin’s admonishment rang in the sudden silence. Was the man completely without manners? Then he addressed her once more. “How did the ushabti collection come to land in the Museum of Antiquities?” he asked before the earl could get off a question of his own.

  “I didn’t wish to have anything that reminded me of Andrew, so I talked to my surrogate father, who was friends with the director of the antiquities museum. The director encouraged me to make a donation, which I did.”

  Lord Archewyne cleared his throat and all attention landed on him. “When did you discover you’d made an error? I assume that is the conclusion you’d come to by stealing the statuette back?”

  “Yes.” Restless and in need of something to do to deflect the unrelieved focus of the men, Juliana struggled out of the chair. She paced about the room. “Over the months while Andrew continued to dig at the ancient Thebes site thinking he could find a better windfall, I buried myself in the archives, where I legitimately had a position.”

  “Instead of working the mission you were given.” A hard note had crept into the earl’s voice.

  “That is one way of looking at it,” she spat out with an equal level of vitriol in her tone. Why was he so quick to pass judgment? Words in a mission report were devoid of emotion the agent had gone through, which only told part of the tale. “However, despite what you might think, I did have the mission uppermost in my mind, for the only way to delve into the legend surrounding that staff was to dig deeper into the religious history of both peoples. I am not the bacon-brained idiot you might think.” She dismissed the earl and focused her attention on Crispin. “The director might have kept the museum a mess, but over the course of months while I ran the archives, I managed to transform the place into a well-catalogued haven of sorts.”

  When Crispin grinned, some of the tightness in her muscles faded. “Never let it be said that the world won’t be saved by the efficiency and curiosity of a librarian.”

  “And, during that heaven-sent tidying jag, what did you find to support your theory on the piece that Lord Ramsay has in his possession?” Lord Archewyne asked with annoyance or amusement in his voice, she couldn’t tell which.

  “In a book of fables, if you can believe it, in ancient Hebrew, I found a legend referring to the Staff of the Gods, in which Moses was gifted by his mother—”

  “—Hatshepsut, the daughter of Thutmoses I,” Crispin interrupted with some excitement and shining eyes.

  “Exactly!” She turned toward him, the beginnings of a smile pulling at her lips. “She had apparently given him the staff for his thirteenth birthday, decreeing he would make a fine pharaoh in his own right, for her father had no sons, which meant—”

  “—if Moses was reared as a child of the pharaoh’s court, and if he agreed to take up that mantle when the queen’s father died, then he would indeed rule over both Upper and Lower Egypt that had recently been united following the defeat of the Hyksos peoples,” Lord Archewyne further interrupted with a particular fervor of his own. “However, this is speculation, for we all know that Moses ultimately turned down that appointment to follow the will of God.”

  “Yes, yes, of course, we know that now,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “However, no one knew that back then, and Moses did indeed intend to ascend the throne of Egypt, no doubt pushed there by his mother. In fact, his mother was so certain she could rise to power through him that she gave him the name Senenmut or sometimes he was known as Hatshepsut Xnem Amon, which means offspring of Hatshepsut by the god Amon, when he came to live at the palace with her. He was educated in all the wisdom of the Egyptians and reared to be a pharaoh, I’ll wager my life on it.”

  Lord Archewyne snorted. “Heresy aside, why is the staff significant?”

  “According to the legend in the fable, during a ceremony one rare, stormy night, when the wrath of the gods had been stirred, the priests loyal to Moses’ mother held a ceremony unbeknownst to Thutmoses I. During that ceremony, the staff was blessed by each of the royal gods. For good measure, she had invited a Hebrew priest to the court, who also blessed the staff at a later time with all the power his god commanded.”

  “Only according to a children’s tale in a fiction book,” the earl said with the shake of his head. “It’s not fact.”

  “Fact is often born of fable and legend, my lord. Which is why I told my father about my findings.” When both men stared at her, heat infused her cheeks. “Er, the man masquerading as my father, for he is a very learned man and has quietly studied all of his life regarding the lost treasures of Egypt.”

  Crispin nodded. “Did he agree with your research?”

  “Yes, and he promised to do some of his own.” Fear circled through her gut like a cold snake. “Which was how my father became involved. He, too, wished to help, and when the director told him he’d discovered where the last piece of the staff was, he was murdered and my father framed.”

  Pregnant silence reigned in the room for some minutes, marked by a lon
g-case clock in another room chiming the eleven o’clock hour.

  It was Crispin who broke the quiet. “You mentioned the last piece of the staff. However, if Lord Ramsay has one, where is the second piece?”

  “Ah, I’ve gotten ahead of myself in my excitement.” Juliana moved to her chair. She rooted in her reticule for the ushabti and grabbing it, she pulled it out. “If I’m correct in what the markings in that Thebes tomb meant as well as on the piece of the staff Andrew has, this will be the second piece.” Swiftly, she moved to the earl’s desk, and as she held her breath, she smashed the statuette against the edge.

  Both Crispin and Lord Archewyne uttered vehement protests.

  “Gentlemen, the statue is merely a shell. See how easily it crumbled?” Juliana bent and picked through the jagged pieces of clay. There in the rubble, winking in the sunlight was a golden ornament. She gently lifted it and then held it aloft between her thumb and forefinger. Not more than three inches long and an inch tall, the winged bird of prey with tiny emerald eyes glittered despite the plaster dust clinging to it. Blue and green paint decorated the spread tail feathers. The double snake headdress signifying a united Upper and Lower Egypt rested on the bird’s head. “This is the real treasure.” Rising, she turned it over in her palm. “Note the hollow here at the bottom. I believe it fits on top of the staff.”

  Crispin was immediately at her side, peering at the treasure. Lord Archewyne approached with more leisure, but there was no mistaking the light of interest in his eyes. “How fantastic!” The duke took the piece from her palm. He walked the few steps to one of the windows and turned it this way and that in the strong sunlight. “What are these loops here on each wingtip?”

  “I believe Moses wore this piece as part of a larger pectoral ornament when he attended court events. And see this hollow hole at the back?” She turned the piece over in his palm so they could both see. “I think there is a jewel or other ornament that slips in here.” She grinned. “In fact, since Moses was the architect of his mother’s funerary temple, there are reliefs depicting him wearing that very pectoral necklace. I’ve not found evidence of a jewel though.”

  “Have you seen the reliefs yourself?” Of course the earl was the voice of reason.

  “I have not, but there is more to confirm such a thing. In that fable book of Moses as a young man, there is a rendering of him wearing such a piece and then another drawing later as the tale wrapped up showing Moses holding the golden staff. The bird piece was on the top.” She couldn’t hold back her grin, for she had indeed done her research, and done it well.

  “And a jewel?”

  She shrugged. “The rendering wasn’t clear.”

  “Where is that book of fables now?” Crispin wished to know as he returned the golden treasure to her.

  “Hidden away in a trunk of my things at the ambassador’s residence.” She closed her fingers around the artifact. “In fact, I’m so paranoid Andrew will come snooping that I cut a square out of the innards of a larger book and then hid the fable volume inside that.”

  “Smart.” Crispin glanced at her hand. “What will you do with this artifact? You cannot keep hauling it around in a reticule that can easily be stolen.”

  “Perhaps a safe here?” She looked at the earl.

  “No.” He shook his head. “We’ll remove to the Valley of the Kings soon and won’t be here to deter a thief.” He leveled his speculative gaze on her. “Put it on a long golden chain and wear it on your person. It’s too valuable to have out of sight.”

  “Why do I have a feeling you’ve done something like this before, Lord Archewyne?” She felt almost giddy that she’d told them of the secret. “What now?”

  He gestured to her abandoned chair. “Sit. You have somehow managed to tell us a story without giving up very many details on why this mission has stalled. Nor have you explained Lord Ramsay’s part in it.”

  The knots in her stomach renewed efforts to twist. “May I have a glass of water?” At least the delay would help marshal her thoughts.

  “I’ll fetch it,” Crispin offered. He was out of the study in a flash, leaving her alone with the earl.

  As she stumbled over to the chair and fell into it, she asked, “Does Crispin know about my last mission?”

  “Not at the moment.”

  “Do you?”

  He reseated himself behind the desk and tapped the dossier with a forefinger. “Of course. I had every file on all the agents in my circle pulled when I took over from Rathesborne. They never leave my presence.”

  “Yet you didn’t make it known you knew I was a King’s agent.”

  “I didn’t need to at that time.”

  Why was everything an intrigue game? She pressed her lips together as anxiety clawed at her insides. “Will you tell Crispin of my shame?”

  “I haven’t decided yet.” His gaze was hard once more.

  “Why?”

  The earl shrugged. “If the two of you are to work together, that will become your responsibility, but I do consider you near probationary territory for your actions on that mission. Your future with the King’s agents will depend on what happens with your current case.”

  “It wasn’t directly my fault,” she whispered through a tight throat. Panic climbed through her insides. If she was tossed out on her arse, what would become of her? Being a King’s agent was the one thing she had that belonged exclusively to her. “Surely you can see that.”

  “My opinion doesn’t matter.”

  She moistened her lips and forced down a swallow. “Why did you not write to me regarding Rathesborne’s death or send an agent to check on my here in Cairo if you knew the whole history of my story?

  A hint of ruddy color rose on the earl’s neck. “I have been rather busy myself since taking over for the duke, but I realize that is no excuse.” He heaved a sigh. “Pardon my oversight. I am not the man that Rathesborne was.”

  “Perhaps that is a good thing, but I will reserve my judgment of you.”

  “Fair enough.”

  Terrible silence reigned again. Her chin trembled and she fought valiantly against the urge to cry. Not in front of this man.

  “What did you mean about the duke and I working together?” Was it possible she’d receive the assistance she sorely needed?

  “Time will tell. I’ll wait to see if a few things come together.” He stared at her, his gaze hard and cold, his square jaw set. Once more he tapped the folio. “There are notes in this folio from Rathesborne himself.” His expression remained closed. “One of the men who died in that last mission, your husband, in fact? He was a rising star in the network, one of the few Rathesborne hand-trained, and the man he’d wanted to plant in France to monitor possible spies coming over the border from Germany.” A muscle in his cheek twitched. “That man was the only nephew of his wife, and a person they’d doted upon. They both considered him like the son they never had—his heir, in fact.”

  “Oh, God.” She swallowed a few times in succession to stave off the need to retch. No wonder Rathesborne had been so irate with her, but that didn’t explain why Lord Archewyne looked at her as if he couldn’t wait to be rid of her. “I didn’t know. Phillip never said anything about his familial connections.”

  “He wouldn’t, for he was well trained, and he knew what Rathesborne thought of putting love and romance before work for the Crown.”

  “But he married me anyway,” she whispered.

  “Every man makes his own decisions, for good or for ill.” A slight shrug moved the earl’s broad shoulders.

  “We’d been married six months.” Her throat was tight. “Eloped. He said his family wouldn’t understand why he’d fallen so hard, so fast...” Now she knew why she was never able to meet any of those family members. The outcry would have been horrific. “And then the mission came up. We both agreed to it, knowing the risks. Perhaps we thought we were invincible. It’s a failing of all agents.” A wad of emotion gathered in her throat. “I’m so, so sorry.” She lo
oked at the earl with tears prickling the backs of her eyes, and she knew in the depths of her soul she would never find redemption for her actions that night.

  Chapter Seven

  By the time Crispin returned with a glass of water, the attitude in the study had changed to that of a standoff, and he’d swear the temperature had dropped ten degrees.

  One look at Juliana’s face, at the tears that rolled down her cheeks, and he lost his composure. “What the devil did you say to make her cry?” he exclaimed at Archewyne while handing her the requested water.

  “We were discussing her last mission, and the ramifications therein. Calm yourself, Herrick,” the earl commanded with a trace of frost in his voice. For the first time, Crispin saw him as the man who’d taken over for the Duke of Rathesborne and not as his pal and chum. He much preferred his friend.

  “I will not.” Despite Juliana’s half-hearted protest, he locked eyes with his superior. He could, if he wished, give the man a dressing down due to their stations, but he refused to go through life bullying people because he was a duke. Annoyance burned through his chest that Archewyne knew things about Juliana and her previous mission, that neither apparently were wont to share with him. And, damn it, he was the one with a prior association. “If you don’t mind, I will handle any further questioning.”

  Amusement danced in Miles’ eyes. He leaned back in the chair and the springs gave a creak. “As you wish, Your Grace. I’ll be here when you flounder.”

  “If, shall we say.” Heat stung his cheeks. Was this to be a trial by fire then? So be it. As his heart beat out a frantic pace, he turned to face Juliana, who held her glass with both hands, her gaze firmly on the water inside it. “Juliana.”

  “Yes?” Slowly, she raised her head and glanced at him. Despair etched itself into her expression, but her eyes remained devoid of emotion.