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

by Sandra Sookoo

  Thirty minutes to midnight, they met at Fishawi’s coffee shop in the Khan el-Khalili. Juliana’s nerves felt strung too tight, so she passed on a cup of the dark brew, but Crispin and Archewyne indulged. No conversation—congenial or otherwise—broke the silence around the small round table where the three of them clustered. A glance at each of them showed nothing except slight boredom.

  Did they not feel that edge of foreboding, that tremble of suspense?

  She wasn’t given the opportunity to speak with either of them after their conversation with Andrew, for the earl had dashed off, citing business. Crispin had made his apologies once Andrew departed and he left as well. Not having anything else to do, she’d returned to the archives, talked to her “father” and informed him of her intentions for the evening. After dinner, she’d returned to the St. Ives estate to await further orders.

  Now, she couldn’t stand the silence. Regardless of the anemic flow of people through the marketplace—which would close at midnight—the two agents never made eye contact with each other. Crispin stared at the mosaic tabletop while Archewyne kept his gaze on a copy of The Times, squinting in the dim light from the lantern mounted in the wall nearby.

  “Won’t you boys at least say something?” she whispered into the silence.

  The earl glanced at her from over the top of his paper, then he shifted his focus to something behind her. “Lord Ramsay approaches.” Methodically, he folded the news and left it on the tabletop.

  Immediately, Crispin stiffened while her heartbeat accelerated. Would the two of them fight again? Already, a slight bruise had formed on the duke’s left cheekbone from their contretemps earlier. “We should go.” He scrambled to his feet while Andrew joined their little party.

  “Gentlemen. Miss Barrington.” Andrew executed a shallow bow from the waist as he looked at her. “Are we ready? And do try to make yourselves somewhat less... austere,” he said in a whisper as he raked his gaze up and down Crispin’s person. “Some of the people you’ll meet will know at once you’re not of the criminal element.”

  As the two men loosened cravats, punched a hand through a top hat, smudged a bit of dirt along Crispin’s cheek, Juliana regarded their unlikely companion.

  “You’re enjoying this,” she accused in a low tone.

  “Of course. And if it puts you back into my good graces, even better.” His grin bordered on charming. “I’ll enjoy it even more if the duke falls into misfortune while we’re mingling.”

  “It would behoove you to stop acting as if you’re a sullen boy in boarding school.”

  “I will when he does.” Then he took a step backward when Crispin came close. He crossed his arms at his chest. “Best mind yourself, Your Grace. These sorts of men don’t respond to nobility or manners.”

  The duke’s eyes flashed. “Don’t worry about me. I didn’t come from nobility, but it’s manners that separate gentlemen from the lower classes.”

  “Arse.” Andrew dismissed him. “There’s an alley behind this shop. We’ll access old tunnels beneath Cairo from there.”

  Juliana exchanged a glance with Crispin. She had no idea there were secret tunnels beneath the city. When he shrugged, she fell into step behind the men, but endeavored to stay close to the duke. More than once she smoothed a hand over the pocket she’d had sewn into her gown—into all her clothing—and the solid outline of her pistol gave her a sense of peace.

  At a crumbling brick wall, Andrew slid back a rotting lattice-work screen. The dark maw of a tunnel waited for them. “If you’re afraid of rats, scorpions, spiders or the occasional dead body, now’s the time to turn back.”

  “Where you go, we go,” Crispin said, his expression a mixture of grim determination and curiosity.

  Andrew nodded. “Fifty feet in, the catacombs are lit.” He waited until the party had entered and then he drew the screen over the makeshift doorway.

  A shiver went down Juliana’s spine. This was something she should have known about as a King’s agent, and the fact she hadn’t meant she didn’t do as good a job as she thought. The darkness was complete, and though the echo of their footsteps told her she wasn’t alone, not being able to see any of her companions brought a touch of fear to the proceedings. When she thought she might scream merely to alleviate the tension in her shoulders, someone’s fingers brushed hers, and she grasped them, hoping it was Crispin she held onto instead of Andrew.

  Just as Lord Ramsay had stated, eventually sconces burned in holders along the walls, and Crispin—for it had been him who clasped her fingers—released her. Andrew brought up the rear. When the corridor intersected into three separate tunnels, everyone halted.

  “Which way?” Archewyne demanded, his whispered voice fairly booming off the crumbling stones.

  Andrew chuckled. “I’m afraid at this point we’ll need to split up, for each tunnel leads to a large room in which an auction is being held. It’s the busy time, what with all the nobs with more coin than sense ambling about.”

  “You withheld that intelligence on purpose,” Crispin accused. He curled one of his hands into a fist.

  “Don’t risk it.” Juliana tugged at his arm, and slowly he relaxed his fingers. “He’s baiting you.”

  “That I am.” Andrew grinned, and in the flickering light from the sconces, he looked positively wicked. “In any event, you know now. Twice a week, auctions are held from midnight until two in the morning. You’ll be treated to a flood of antiquities, weapons, any other sundry items—animals and humans included—that people with enough coin might find of interest.” He delved a hand into his waistcoat pocket. “Give the men guarding the doors these tokens.” Everyone received one. “And, in the event you wondered, this is the only time I will help. I have a reputation to uphold.”

  What an idiot. Juliana rolled her eyes. “That is something I wouldn’t brag about if I were you.”

  “What happens now?” the earl asked as he flipped the golden token coin in his palm.

  “Obviously, we’re splitting up. It’s more efficient.” Andrew’s tone was droll. “So saying, I’ll go with Miss Barrington. Consider it payment for you being here. Leave whenever you wish. There’s an exit tunnel on the other side of each auction room. Good luck to you to both.”

  “I assume we’re not regrouping afterward?” Archewyne glanced down one of the yawning tunnels.

  “Once this evening is over, I’m hoping to never see either of you again.” He offered a crooked elbow to her. “Shall we?”

  Despite Crispin’s protests, Juliana laid her fingers on Andrew’s sleeve. “I’ll be fine, Your Grace, but thank you for the concern.” She raised an eyebrow in challenge. This was her mission and she’d take care of it. “Best have the evening over with.”

  “You sound as if I’m leading you to the gallows.” Andrew pulled her along the middle tunnel.

  When she glanced back over her shoulder, the earl and Crispin held a hurried, whispered consultation and then they each vanished down a branching corridor. “I rather think you know why I don’t trust you.”

  “That was months ago. I thought we’d moved past that.”

  Juliana didn’t answer. Instead, she took note of her surroundings. The fact such things existed down here was testament to the fact that the Cairo police force was as corrupt as any politician. Her spirits sank the farther they walked. When they reached a doorway complete with what appeared to be a heavy, wooden door and a hulking guard standing in front of it, her heartbeat tripled.

  “Good evening,” Andrew greeted in a congenial voice. He offered his golden token, as did she. The guard snatched them up with his beefy fingers and then opened the door without one word.

  Using the word “room” as a descriptor was a stretch. It was merely a section of tunnel that had fallen into disrepair. Dark piles of rubble formed a blockade at one end, while brickwork and plaster lined the other three walls. Two rows of chairs containing four each faced a wooden platform where an auctioneer in blue and white striped robe
s held up a fragment of a relief no doubt stolen from a tomb. His white turban bobbed as he went through his animated speech. More men stood along the sides and back of the room, some of them lifting a hand to indicate interest in the object.

  “Come,” Andrew whispered. He led her to the only two vacant chairs in the back row. “Faheem is one of the more popular auctioneers and is paid handsomely for his services.”

  “For orating or finding the antiquities?” she whispered, laying her hands in her lap. It was dangerous to be with her companion, especially when she wore part of the staff around her neck. The chain felt as if it weighed a hundred pounds and she resisted the urge to pat her bodice to make certain the artifact remained hidden.

  Two auctions went by before Andrew spoke again. “What is it you and the others are searching for?”

  “What makes you certain we’re looking for an object? Perhaps we’re here to ferret out members of the criminal element.”

  He scoffed. “Anyone wishing access to this network is looking for something.”

  She let a full minute of silence pass before answering. “I’ll know it when I see it.” She kept her gaze focused on Faheem. How was it that this man could still pull information from her? It was yet another failure to add to her list.

  “Ah, you are after an antiquity.” Andrew rested an ankle on his knee. He leaned closer to her. “Never say you’re on the trail of the relic we both seek.” His whisper skated over her cheek, and she struggled not to shiver with revulsion.

  How had she ever seen anything in him enough to allow intimacy between them? Cold foreboding circled in her belly. “What relic?”

  “Don’t play coy. You missed our meeting last night, the one you asked for.”

  “It couldn’t be helped. I was called away.”

  “No matter. The fact you wanted to meet with me is enough.”

  “To gain access to this place only.”

  “I know you well enough to know you have more depth than that.” A chuckle rumbled from his chest. “Did you find a piece of the staff?”

  For several heartbeats, she considered her options. I have none. “I did not.” She hoped she didn’t have a tell when she lied, as Crispin had said, and if she did, she hoped Andrew didn’t know her as well as the duke apparently did. “Perhaps you have, hmm? Or do you have a clue to its whereabouts?”

  He grunted. Another several minutes of silence trailed by before he once more leaned into her personal space. Thankfully, no one paid them the slightest heed. “I am still investigating. The site in Luxor where I’m digging could yield the results I seek. What’s more, I feel I’m close.”

  “Why?” Despite herself, she turned her head and looked at him with curiosity. Her face was inches from his, and she steeled herself not to recoil, but there was something in his eyes that was kind, that was haunted, and it tugged at her. Perhaps if she pretended a lingering interest—carnal or otherwise—in him, he’d talk. “What have you found?”

  “Now, now.” Andrew tsked his tongue. It was he who pulled back, putting a gulf between them. But his eyes glittered in the low light. “Tit for tat, Juliana, or should I say Ana?” He lowered his voice so much that she had to lean toward him to hear. “The more urgent question is why the need to completely alter your appearance, and why use an assumed name when we were together?”

  She clasped her fingers together to quiet their trembling. “I wanted a change.” He didn’t need to know anything else. “This seemed the easiest way to bring that about.”

  “Why?”

  Reveal just enough to draw him out. “I had to be away from England for a time. Sad memories.”

  “Ah, that I can understand.” A trace of vulnerability shadowed his eyes.

  “Oh?”

  He nodded. “My sister is dying.”

  Juliana sucked in a breath. “I didn’t know you had a sister. Why did you not tell me?”

  Another rumbling laugh came from him. “Why did you not tell me all of your secrets?”

  Damnation. “Touché.” She huffed. Clearly, she wasn’t capable at this job. “What is your sister dying of?” she asked, reminding herself to harden her heart against whatever story he’d tell. For all she knew, it could be a lie designed to gain her assistance.

  “Some sort of wasting disease that’s attacked her lungs.” He shrugged, but the flash of despair she caught in his eyes made him all too human. “She’s struggled with it for little under a year. The doctors agree there is no cure.”

  “I am so sorry to hear that, Andrew.” She went so far as to lay a hand on his arm. “It’s a terrible thing to hear.”

  “Agreed, and the worst part about it is that she’s with child. Against the advice of her doctor, for a pregnancy will tax her strength, but she wants a baby.”

  Her chest tightened. “Understandable.”

  “Yes.” He nodded. “And since I have no children, I, too, am looking forward to the babe, for if it’s a boy, it will be my heir.” His grin was genuine and it tugged at her heart. This was the man she remembered, the man she’d thrown her lot in with no long ago. “Life is strange and fragile.”

  “Such a true statement.” She turned her attention to the auctioneer, not knowing what else to say to this man. Finally, she sighed. “Why are you in Egypt when you should be by your sister’s side? Every second with her is precious.”

  “She cautioned me not to forego this once in a lifetime trip,” he said and his voice was tight.

  When Juliana looked at him again, something glimmered in the depths of his dark eyes, but she couldn’t read it past the worry and sadness. “I hope your work concludes quickly and you can return home.”

  “As do I.” He put his leg back on the floor and then rested the other ankle on his opposite knee. “I weary of talking about me, so let’s go back to you. I’m glad you finally admitted to the subterfuge.”

  “Why?”

  “Since I told you one of my secrets, it brings us even once again. And, I suspected you weren’t being truthful when we were lovers.” He put his lips to her ear, and despite herself, her heartbeat kicked up a notch. “Let’s just say the hair on your head didn’t match the hair in other... places on your body, and that made me curious.”

  Heat fired in her cheeks, from embarrassment or annoyance, she couldn’t say. “Cad.” What had he done with that information? Perhaps nothing. He was only a man, after all, not an enemy.

  “Or a rogue.” When he laughed, prickles raced up and down her arms. “I put out some inquiries through the English consulate and to some of my contacts. While I waited on word, I questioned your ‘father.’”

  Juliana sucked in a breath. She edged away from Andrew. “You framed him for murder.” Her pulse beat hard in her temples and throat.

  “Again, tit for tat, Miss Barrington, and you haven’t answered any of my questions, but I ask you. I merely wanted your father to talk candidly with me. That was all.”

  “But...” Again, what would she say? He was obviously fighting his own demons.

  “Exactly.” His eyes glittered in the dim light. “Unfortunately, the one thing I can tell you is that, as we speak, your dear ‘father’ is being detained by Egyptian authorities and will begin his term in a Cairo prison.” He gave his head an exaggerated shake, but his eyes reflected nothing but concern.

  “Pig.” She swallowed to head off the urge to retch. Had Andrew killed the director? Did he know who she really was, or was this merely circumstantial evidence? If he had killed the man, did that mean he knew the existence of the staff pieces or at the very least, the history of the Hebrew slaves she’d pieced together, as well as the riddle the director gave her father?

  “Hardly. I am trying to do what any Englishman would do when confronted with a rather sticky situation.” He sighed and then frowned. “I am concerned for you.”

  “I wonder.” Juliana scooted her chair a few inches away while her mind spun. She was out of her depth, desperately needed assistance, but she wanted to redeem he
rself and help the poor man who’d taken her in as a favor to the Duke of Rathesborne. “I’ll figure this out eventually.” But if Andrew wasn’t the guilty party, who was?

  “Ha!” His low-pitched laughter skittered over her skin and both made her remember the good times with her and turned her stomach. “At the rate you’re moving to locate a staff piece, if that is your interest anymore, I have nothing to worry about.”

  “Why?” Despite her confliction, she was curious.

  “The director gave me a clue I’ll wager you don’t have, and that gives me the upper hand.” When she could do nothing but gape at him, he continued as if they conversed in an English drawing room instead of an illicit antiquities cave.

  “Which is what?” If the auctioneer did have a staff piece, she hadn’t paid enough attention, and it could be in the wind by now. Another mistake.

  “Oh, we aren’t there yet. Trust must be rebuilt. So here’s my next question: What are you really doing in Cairo, Juliana, for you don’t have the cunning needed to hunt down artifacts.”

  Hot tears sprang to her eyes. Did every man look at her and figure she was worthless? She shook her head. “The same as you. To make coin and perhaps find treasure. The wont to escape.” It was best to remain cavalier about her position. “All I need do is bat my eyelashes and any archeologist will do my bidding. So I do not lack for interests.” Heat wrapped around her person. That had been the crux of the problem on the botched mission.

  Never again.

  “Ah, we were so well-matched. Digging in the sands of time during the day and enjoying each other’s bodies by night.” His tone was hypnotic, almost suggestive, like it had been when they were together. “You were so anxious to please me, so desperate for attention.” He trailed a finger along her shoulder, traced the golden chain where it rested on her nape while she held her breath. Her heartbeat went into a frantic rhythm. “But I’m afraid I’m better at treasure hunting.”

  She knocked his hand away as she burned with outrage. “We shall see.” Another few minutes passed as she listened to the auctioneer with half an ear.