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

by Sandra Sookoo

  He turned to catch her gaze. Typical humor twinkled in those brown eyes. “It’s true, I had no idea. However, I brought a handful of pieces that hadn’t sold in the shop. One never knows when the need to barter for something better will come up.” When he grinned, she was transfixed by the light in his eyes, the crinkling of the delicate skin at the corners, the play of the golden strands of his hair that gleamed like molten gold. “If I’ve learned one thing from accompanying Archewyne and his wife anywhere, it’s to bring gems, because any man can be bought if the price is right.”

  “You definitely sound as if you have experience in that arena.” What adventures had he been on?

  “One day, I hope to tell you the story of the Lancelot Stone.”

  Before she could respond, one of the men in the party interrupted and engaged her in conversation. Crispin slipped away to do the pretty with the other ladies present, yet Juliana couldn’t help but watch him as he circulated through the room. Did nothing ever perturb him? He always seemed on an even keel, aside from the penchant for punching unscrupulous men. How intriguing.

  Then they were summoned to dinner by Alfred ringing a silver bell.

  She wasn’t seated next to Crispin. Instead, she had the surgeon and the dig foreman as partners, and though they were both skilled at conversation and interesting in their own right, she couldn’t remove her focus from the duke. Her heart made funny little flutters when he chatted with Lady Jane, who sat at his right with all the manners of a grown up. And when the main course of roasted quail was set before her, Juliana could barely force down more than a few forkfuls, for her appetite had fled. Nothing could come of the alarming attraction, even if the kisses they’d shared had served only to reignite flames she thought she’d buried. Hadn’t her last mission shown her that a romance with a King’s agent was a singularly bad idea?

  I cannot doom another man to my bad luck and horrid timing.

  But that invisible pull to the duke persisted, and in order to quell it, she applied herself fully to eating, for the manual labor of the day had taxed her body even if the queer little flutters in her belly worked at cross purposes to taking nourishment.

  All too soon, dinner ended. No one wished to linger at the table like folks in London would, and there was no excusing of the ladies to the drawing room. That was a refreshing change.

  The countess stood, and with shining eyes, said that dancing would commence in the drawing room once furnishings were moved. “Or, you can choose to enjoy the courtyard. I’ve found the evenings in Egypt are lovely and somewhat cooler than the day, so I won’t begrudge you the escape.”

  After a brief discussion around the table, most of the diners declined to dance, for with so little women, the numbers were uneven. As one company, everyone left the dining room to filter back into the drawing room, where drinks were poured and lively conversation featuring speculation about Archewyne’s tomb took hold.

  Juliana quelled her disappointment as best she could. Indulging in the exercise would have to wait. She politely declined a glass of madeira when the surgeon offered. “Horrid stuff.” Then she gave him what she suspected was a wicked grin. “I much prefer aged Scotch, for I learned to like it spending time in my father’s study.”

  If the surgeon found that shocking, he said nothing, but his shaggy eyebrows soared into his hairline.

  “Stop teasing the man, Miss Barrington,” Crispin whispered at her side. When she looked at him, those strange flutters started in her belly again, and she’d experienced enough of life to know that she headed toward trouble. He held out a hand. “Fancy a turn about the courtyard? It doesn’t appear anyone else has the idea yet.”

  “Why, are you deliberately leading me into scandal, Your Grace?” she couldn’t help but tease, and she slipped her hand into his.

  His eyes twinkled. “Let’s discover together.” He led her out one set of doors and into the star-strewn night.

  She sucked in a breath. “I never realized how wonderful star-shine could be when there are no gaslights on the streets or illumination in windows competing with the heavens.” The navy velvet sky twinkled with thousands of points of light. “They’re like diamonds. It’s quite breathtaking.”

  “Indeed, it is,” he murmured, but he wasn’t looking at the sky. When he pulled her into his arms and urged her into the correct position for a waltz, she gawked at him.

  “What are you doing?” His fingers at the small of her back were distracting.

  “Giving you the opportunity to dance where you were denied due to lack of interest this evening.” His whispered voice rumbled through her chest and sent heightened awareness sailing over her skin.

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Words aren’t needed to enjoy a waltz.” And then he set them into motion.

  They danced and twirled over the expanse of the cobblestoned courtyard, wove in and out and around the potted flowers and palms, the scuff of their soles and the rustle of her skirts the only sound.

  There must have been magic in the balmy air, for never had she enjoyed a waltz more. The firm press of his gloved fingers against hers, the gentle way he held her in a loose embrace as they whisked over the stones, the indulgent twinkle in his dark eyes, the veriest brush of his thighs and waist against hers while they moved all worked in tandem to catch her up in the charm of the evening. With little provocation, she could lose herself in his gaze, and when he flashed a genuine, warm smile, she dropped her focus to his mouth. Would he kiss her if she hinted?

  “You have questions in your eyes. Will you ask them, I wonder?” he whispered and encouraged her to twirl away from his body.

  Her skirts twisted about her legs and then went the opposite direction when he reeled her back to him. Oh, dancing was jolly fun. All her earlier aches and pains vanished in the face of this entertainment. Laughter escaped her and heat blazed in her cheeks from more than the exertion. “I’m not sure that’s wise.”

  “You’ll never find the answers if you don’t ask.” Crispin put his lips near the shell of her ear. “And I can all but guarantee if you give voice to one, the answer will be in the affirmative.”

  A host of tingles fell down her spine and despite her best efforts, she lost a piece of her heart to him in that moment. “How tempting.”

  His chuckle tickled her insides and prompted a curious throb through her core. It had been a long time indeed since she’d felt that way about a man, and this one intrigued her more than he should, but her history loomed above her head like an invisible dark cloud of doom. Crispin was all too good. Once he discovered what happened on that fateful day when she’d wrecked her career, killed innocent people, and lost her husband, he’d wish to distance himself. The gossip alone, even if he kept company with her on the dig, would be enough to bury him.

  “So?” One of his eyebrows lifted in inquiry.

  “I think we’re better off not giving into that particular temptation.” It pained her to admit, but there was no way to a happy ending between them, and she didn’t want him for a quick tryst. He was worth more than that, and quite frankly, despite everything she’d done, so was she.

  “I see.” The duke pulled her a tiny bit closer so that their thighs brushed with more regularity. They took a full turn around the courtyard before he spoke again. “How about this?” Humor winked in his eyes. “I’d like to visit the sites in Luxor, see Hatshepsut’s mortuary temple and perhaps find a clue that may have been overlooked... even if depictions of her have been defaced and destroyed.” When she opened her mouth to speak, he said, “And I want you to go with me.”

  “What?” In her shock, she missed a step, which pitched her into his body.

  “Exactly what I said.” Crispin steadied her without loss to the rhythm they’d set. “Is that something you’re interested in?”

  “Yes!” To her mortification, a giggle left her throat. Lud, what an idiot. Only schoolgirls giggled. “I have never been anywhere except the sites at Giza.”

&nbs
p; “Ah, then you have a proclivity for pyramids?”

  “No, I adore it all, and would love the opportunity to poke about tombs and other creepy crawly places.”

  His grin could rival the moon’s light. “Well, it’s what a top-notch gentleman would do for a woman who’s interested in all things Egyptian.”

  Drat, drat, drat. The sensation of falling assailed her, and this time when she missed a step, Crispin brought them to a halt. She stared at him with bemusement. It was impossible, this connection in such a short period of time, yet they’d had a previous friendship. He returned her regard, his eyes darkening and his fingers at the small of her back tightening, inching her ever closer to him.

  “In answer to that question from earlier...” she said in a whisper as she clutched at his hand. Her heartbeat thudded through her veins. Fires sprang into being throughout her blood. “I wouldn’t mind if—”

  “Papa said I should come out here and talk to you,” Lady Jane said in that forthright way she had as she headed their way. An ivory nightdress with pretty blue satin ribbons floated about her tiny person.

  The governess trailed behind. “I’m so sorry. She ran from me when she should have been preparing for bed.” There was no mistaking the admonition in her voice.

  Juliana sprang away from him as if she’d been caught by a ton gossip instead of a six-year-old girl. “Thank you for the dance, Your Grace,” she murmured. Cold regret trickled through her at the fact their kiss had been thwarted.

  “You are quite welcome.” Then he looked at the little girl and bowed from the waist. He extended a hand. “Would you care to dance, Lady Jane?”

  “I would ever so much, and I hoped you would ask!” She hopped up and down in her excitement. “None of Papa’s friends ever ask me.” The girl latched onto his hands and then she stood upon the tops of his boots.

  “Merciful heavens,” Juliana whispered. She pressed a hand over her heart, where that organ constricted from the romance and gallantry of it all.

  “Some men are born to chivalry, and would do exactly the same if they were the lowest inhabitant in the streets of London. That says much to the measure of said man.” The countess joined her. “While they’re busy, we can indulge in a chat.” With the ease of a woman who was used to managing others, Lady Archewyne pulled her to one side of the courtyard.

  “He is that.” Juliana tore her gaze away from Crispin and his tiny partner in order to focus upon the countess. “How do you feel, my lady?”

  The countess snorted. “Honestly? I’m tired of people asking me that question, but to answer it anyway, I’m exhausted just now.” When she smiled, the corners of her eyes crinkled. Then she sighed. “I had forgotten how taxing it is to host an evening when enceinte.”

  “You inspire me.” Juliana stifled a groan when the rest of the party joined them in the courtyard. She would have to claim a kiss some other time.

  “I’m merely attempting to find balance in all aspects of my life.”

  “I’ll wager it’s more difficult than you let on.” Juliana gave the other woman a smile. “You are quite a strong woman. Perhaps you’ll tell me your secret.”

  “Ah, Miss Barrington, there is no secret.” The countess grabbed one of her hands and squeezed. “It is as much hard work as it is a bit of luck.” As she laughed, her emerald eyes twinkled.

  “Is it difficult following your husband and his career, no matter where it takes him?” It was something she’d struggled with during her brief marriage. Directly after their ceremony, Phillip was sent to France. She couldn’t accompany him due to a prior commitment in London, and since she’d still been a green agent, she’d wished to make a good impression. It wasn’t until three months into their marriage that she was able to join her husband on a case... and that hadn’t ended happily.

  “Not more than anything else.” Lady Archewyne frowned. She rested a hand on the rounded swell of her belly. “Miles doesn’t rule me, nor I him. We are a team; neither of us is more important than the other. All decisions are made jointly between us. That is the only way a marriage works.”

  “You are a fortunate woman,” Juliana whispered. Her chest tightened with grief she’d long ago spent and tucked away. Those six months following the incident when she’d been confined to London had been horrible days, awash in tears and self-recrimination and soul-crushing guilt. The following year in Cairo, she’d passed in anger and guilt, but there’d been no more tears, for crying didn’t solve anything and they certainly didn’t bring back the dead.

  “No, I am a survivor.” Her tone brooked no argument as she peered at Juliana while a few couples had paired off and joined Crispin in dancing. “At times, we are presented a life that is difficult to take. There is no other choice but to survive it and hope for better days.” She lowered her voice. “It also helps to remember that the mistakes we make along the way don’t define us. How we rise from them does.”

  “Have you made mistakes in your time with the King’s agents?”

  “Oh, heavens yes, and even before I was an official agent.” The countess’ tinkling laughter took the edge off Juliana’s maudlin feelings. “Every one of us mucks up a case, but that is how we learn and grow. In fact, I’d go so far as to say it’s expected in an effort to cultivate critical thinking.”

  “I wish I could believe you,” she whispered. “What I did...” She shook her head. “There is no forgiveness. The Duke of Rathesborne made certain I knew that.” Tears pricked the backs of her eyelids and she hurriedly blinked them away.

  “I was very fond of the duke.” That affection lingered in Lady Archewyne’s voice. “However, Adam was too hard on the agents in his care, for he always wished them to be better than he was. That was his shortcoming, not yours.”

  “Perhaps.” Tears crowded Juliana’s throat when she swallowed.

  “My dear girl.” Unexpectedly, the countess gave her a swift hug. “The best advice I can give, in addition to what I’ve already said is, when help comes, don’t turn it down. Choosing to play at being a martyr doesn’t make you strong. You grow in strength and courage when someone has your back.”

  Juliana glanced at Crispin, who had ended his dance and was placing a kiss upon Lady Jane’s little hand. “Even when it’s dangerous?” she whispered.

  “Especially then.” The countess patted her shoulder. “That is where the mettle of a man is made. And a woman too. It is a joint effort, after all.”

  Did she refer to a mission or a marriage? Perhaps it didn’t matter. “Thank you for the talk.” She gave the other woman a smile.

  “You are quite welcome, and if you follow it, all the better.”

  Then the earl came over and claimed his wife’s hand, whisking her away into a dance. They moved splendidly together, as fluid as water.

  Gaiety erupted all around her when Lady Jane was led from the courtyard by her governess. Juliana danced with a few of the men, changing partners often. She forgot the horrors of her past for a time and joined in on the laughter and lighthearted discussions. At the end of the evening, she drifted into Crispin’s vicinity, and she didn’t object when he escorted her back to her room. But he didn’t kiss her, and she didn’t push for it.

  In the dark, she left the candle on her bedside table unlit, for the moonlight filtering through the gauzy curtains at the window was lovely and touched everything with silvery frost. With a yawn, she undressed, yanking her clothing over her head and leaving them in a heap on the floor. Then she donned a simple nightgown edged with Brussels lace and closed down the front with pink satin ribbons.

  Her eyes drooping with exhaustion, she tucked mosquito netting about her bed and turned back the bedclothes. Something black and serpentine moved from a coil in the shadows. The moonlight skittered along a muscled, inky body and glittered off beady dark eyes. Oh, good Lord! Urgency propelled her heartbeat into a frantic rhythm. A hooded cobra rose from the sheets and thin blanket at the foot of her bed.

  Juliana screamed, frozen to the spot.<
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  In an abstract section of her brain, a fact about the snake surfaced. The Egyptian cobra was represented in Egyptian mythology by the cobra-headed goddess Meretseger. A stylized cobra—in the form of the uraeus representing the goddess Wadjet—was the symbol of sovereignty for the pharaohs who’d incorporated it into their diadem. It was also known as an asp, depending on how people remembered the snakes.

  Was this a warning from the old gods or cruel irony?

  Imperative knocking rained upon her door, and when she didn’t answer right away, for her throat wouldn’t work properly, the panel was flung open. Crispin came into the room. Upon seeing the predicament, he kept his gaze on the serpent.

  “Juliana, please don’t move,” he whispered, edging as close as he dared.

  “Does it look like I’m trying to run?” she shot back as terror gripped her insides.

  The earl arrived at her door next, a pistol firmly seated in his palm. “What is the meaning of this?”

  “See for yourself,” Crispin invited in the same low voice. “We’re in a spot of bother.”

  “I’d say more than a spot, Your Grace,” but strain overrode humor in Archewyne’s tone.

  “Give me your weapon, Archewyne,” the duke asked, never taking his attention from the snake, who remained stationary but flicked its tongue at her.

  “Are you mad? The chance the ball might ricochet in such close quarters is high, and if you miss, you’ll startle the serpent into premature action, or worse, hit Miss Barrington,” the earl hissed back. He, too, stared at the bed with wide eyes.

  “I am aware of the risks, but we have no choice.” Crispin held out his hand. “Now, if you please.” The command in his soft voice was unmistakable. “If Juliana moves at all, it will strike. You know this. We all do.”

  “Yes.” With a curse, the earl handed over the weapon.

  Icy cold terror played Juliana’s spine as she stood staring down the cobra. Her breathing shallowed as she attempted not to make any unnecessary movement. Vaguely, she was aware of the crowd in the corridor behind the earl’s broad shoulders, but the snake took the bulk of her attention. It’s black, unblinking eyes were mesmerizing as it began weaving its head back and forth. What would it feel like if it struck and sank its fangs into her skin? How long until death claimed her? Would it hurt?