“It gives me character.”
“Frankly, you are a bacon-brained idiot.” She pushed him onto the foot of her bed, where, he was glad to see, fresh linens now dressed it and there was no trace of the dead cobra. The sharp scent of incense lingered in the air, but there was no evidence of it. With a pull at the ribbons beneath her chin, she wrenched the bonnet from her head and then tossed it to the bed.
“But at least I’m happy,” he couldn’t help but quip.
She dampened a rag in her basin, came close to him, and then dabbed at his wounds. “You have to understand that not everyone will be a friend, but that doesn’t mean you need to go around picking fights with them. That’s not how life works.”
“I am aware of that.” He winced as she pressed the relatively cool cloth against his cheek.
“You are not a fighter, and conflict is not the answer.” She stood directly in front of him, tilting up his face to better tend to him. “You are a gentle soul, Crispin, and there is nothing wrong with that. You have a heart for helping people. I admire that about you, for you haven’t allowed your position in the ton to make you hard or jaded. Embrace who you are.”
Heat from her touch danced over his skin. His prick twitched to life, and he stared at her lips, wanting the interrupted kiss. He caught up her free hand. “Why do you care, if you’re using me for reasons only known to you?”
A trace of a blush infused her cheeks. She moved the rag to his chin, and he stifled a groan of pain. “I might want to see you live into your dotage.”
“Why?” His pulse pounded in his temples. This was the most honest she’d been with him since they’d met.
The blush deepened. “You’re interesting and nice and intriguing. It’s refreshing to know a man like that.”
“Interesting, eh? More so than Lord Ramsay?”
“Perhaps.”
“Ah.” He grinned, and immediately regretted the action when the dried blood on his lower lip pulled. “Not attractive or connected to you with desire we’re both ignoring or the fact you might grow heated whenever I’m near?” It was a gamble, but one he hoped would pay off.
“Perhaps you’ll find out soon enough,” she whispered and continued to swab his face and neck, her eyes downcast and the blonde fringe of lashes fanning over her cheeks. “Besides,” the word sounded strangled as if she battled with emotion. “You look better without cuts and bruises.” Then swiftly she bent and pressed a fleeting kiss to his lips, but stepped out of reach when he extended a hand, her gaze on the door. “Go, before we both land into trouble.”
He laughed and awareness of her trembled over his skin. Yes, there was something between them. He needed to explore it further and tease it from her. “There are worse things.”
“Oh, I know, but I don’t wish to indulge in them at the moment, for I just spied Lady Jane sneak down the hall, and you wouldn’t want to destroy her image of you, would you?”
If that was the case, he still wouldn’t have that kiss.
Bloody hell.
Chapter Thirteen
November 6, 1822
It had taken two days, but the task of carting away the fill in the tomb’s passageway had finally been finished. The physical work made conversation, or anything else, impossible, for Crispin was exhausted by the end of each day, and once he’d tended to bathing and then went to dinner with the company, he fell into his bed exhausted.
But, once the fill was cleared, they’d discovered rock-cut steps that led down into another passageway. Miles was beside himself with joy, for that meant there was indeed a tomb somewhere inside what would probably be a vast network.
Unfortunately, two nights ago, a worker was discovered dead at the entrance to the tomb. It had been his lot to guard it during those overnight hours. The death—still under investigation—had sent anxiety through the camp. Everyone was on edge, the workers especially, and superstitious minds tended to be more dangerous than an airborne plague. The death of the man, hard on the heels of the cobra incident, had tongues wagging.
Was there a curse at play? If so, did that mean the tomb had once belonged, indeed, to a pharaoh, who was now displeased at having his final resting place disturbed?
The earl being who he was, quickly summoned everyone to Archewyne House shortly after the body was discovered. He made a heartfelt speech that this was not the work of a vengeful spirit, and when he found out who had murdered the worker, there would be hell to pay. That seemed to relieve some of the worry, and when everyone sought out their beds that night—with a new man at the tomb entrance—life went on much as usual.
The following day was uneventful until they’d broken through a wall at the bottom of the stairs, which revealed yet another passageway filled with limestone chips and other rubble, but not to the extent of the entrance tunnel.
The bigger news was nothing seemed disturbed or desecrated. No doubt they’d need to break through a wall or two, or descend into a burial shaft, but they would find the burial chamber... and they’d need to avoid traps or other peril, for the ancient Egyptian tomb builders adored arming the final resting places of the kings with such.
Beyond that, the discovery meant the tomb was now a magnet to local thieves and a great temptation for tomb robbers. Archewyne ordered double the guard every night, and each of them would take a turn.
Tonight was Crispin’s.
He yawned as he plodded along the trail that led into the Valley. The bath and dinner had only refreshed him so much. How did Archewyne do it? He showed up every day shortly after breakfast and he remained at the excavation site until the sun went down. He never complained; he never hesitated to take up a basket or a shovel alongside the native men hired for those jobs. Then he did the pretty each evening, presiding over dinner, charming the ladies, cajoling his wife.
And the countess! She was a gem like no other. Even while pregnant, she did small tasks about the tomb or sifted through the fill until luncheon.
Perhaps I’m not cut of the right cloth that this sort of work demands.
But the mission to find the Staff of the Gods kept nagging about the corners of his mind. He’d tucked the piece of the golden staff into the sleeve of a jacket and secured the end with a slip of leather and then cautioned his valet not to make use of the garment until he gave the order. Where the devil was the tomb mentioned in the mortuary temple? He couldn’t very well go haring off to the Valley of the Queens and poke about the cliffs without a plan. It would take months, perhaps years, and there was no guarantee of finding anything.
Was the mission stalled?
“Never say you’ve let Egypt defeat you,” Juliana teased as she came up behind him with all the spry energy of a woman half her age.
He glanced at her. His heart beat a smidgeon quicker. “No, it hasn’t defeated me, but I do feel as if I’ve gone a few rounds with it.”
“At least your bruises are healing, though you still look positively ghastly.”
“Thanks for that.” When she easily kept pace with him, he frowned. “What are you doing out here? I told Archewyne I’d take the watch tonight.”
“Keeping you company.”
“Why?”
“Why not?” She shrugged, and without the ever-present bonnet required in the sun, he could easily see her face and the emotions that flitted through her expression. “What’s more exciting than the thought of spending a night under the stars at the entrance of a tomb?”
Crispin snorted. “Why do I suspect that isn’t your only reason?”
She bumped his hip with hers. A jolt of awareness sailed down his spine. “Ah, are you fishing for a compliment?”
“I’m not, but I do wish to know your true motives.” He rubbed a hand along his jaw and then pushed his fingers into his hair. “Perhaps I’m tired of the mind games and would prefer honesty.” When he caught her gaze, shadows clouded her blue depths. “I want to know the real you, Juliana. Stop hiding. Stop pushing me away. Stop denying your emotions.”
H
er swallow was audible. “I want that too,” she admitted in a soft voice. “I am almost to that point. I promise.” A sigh escaped her. “It is but one purpose of my accompanying you.”
“Very well.” He wouldn’t rush his fences, for if he demanded the purging of her soul right now, she’d button up and post a figurative “go away” sign on her forehead. The woman was nothing if not stubborn and proud. “Why else have you decided to keep watch with me?”
“I had a look ‘round the interior passageways in the tomb this afternoon while you and Archewyne were chatting during tea.”
“And?”
“I have a good feeling about this dig.” She laid a hand on his arm and brought him to a halt. In the light of the moon, excitement shone in her eyes. “If I’m right, this is the break we’ve wanted, and the fact that it could possibly link our mission with Archewyne’s hobby is nothing short of astounding.”
“You’re serious?” He hadn’t closely inspected anything about the tomb outside of the new passageway they’d uncovered.
“Yes.”
Her enthusiasm transferred to him. Crispin grinned and went so far as to hold Juliana by the shoulders. “Do you suppose the jewel is in the burial chamber if this tomb once belonged to Queen Hatshepsut?” At this point, anything was possible. It could have been abandoned by the original owner and used for later date burials by regular common folk, priests and their family members, or any number of things.
“It could be.”
He nodded. “Let’s remember to keep our excitement in check until we have more solid information.” Then he flashed a smile. “No sense getting Archewyne’s hopes up with speculation.”
“Or mine,” she added, but her smile was genuine. “Now,” she said as she threaded her hand around his upper arm. “Shall we continue on to the tomb?”
“We can.” He put them into motion, setting a strolling pace. The night was fine, and as the heat of the day had dropped off once the sun disappeared, it was quite pleasant. In the distance, the howls of jackals shattered the silence and recalled his attention to the task at hand. “However, if you’d like, we can take the scenic route. Archewyne’s already assigned two workers to bunk down at the tomb of the tomb.”
“Where did you plan to pass the night?”
Crispin shrugged. There is a tent pitched near to the entrance that will serve well enough.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Care to keep me company? It might be cramped and dreadfully uncomfortable, but the blankets are clean—more or less.”
“That all depends.” She withdrew her hand from his arm, and he immediately missed her warmth.
“On what?”
“What I decide to tell you.” Juliana pulled ahead of him slightly, and he contented himself with the gentle sway of her hips and the way the errant breeze played with her lavender skirts. She’d clasped her hands in front of her, a sure sign of agitation.
In that moment, he played into a hunch. “Like I said, we’ll take the scenic route, which will add perhaps ten minutes to the walk.” Easily, his strides caught her up, and this time he slipped a hand around her upper arm. “Indulge me.”
She didn’t answer, but her eyes were clouded with unspoken emotion.
Crispin kept his own council. The woman was much like a skittish colt. With proper handling, he could have her eating out of his hand. He didn’t want to tame her spirit, but he did wish to understand her better.
Since the Valley of the Kings consisted of cliffs and hills made of limestone and covered with scrubby, scraggly vegetation, there were any number of places to have a private conversation. He led Juliana through the rocks until they came to a short plateau that overlooked the wadi—valley—where Archewyne’s tomb was located. From that distance, he could easily make out the two local men who sat with their backs to the tomb entrance. Flames from a small, cheerful fire danced before them and provided a point of brilliant light in the otherwise dark, drab landscape. The many rocks and hills hid them from the twisting path they’d arrived upon. A pile of boulders blocked their presence from the men below as long as they remained seated.
“Indulge me. We could both use the excuse.” He gestured to the ground. Dust, sand and tiny pieces of limestone rock littered the area, but Juliana settled in. Crispin dropped heavily to the ground by her side. The rocky hillside dug into his back, but the discomfort was softened by the stretch of navy velvet sky and the millions of bright stars that sprinkled that tableau. “Do you know how fortunate we are to be here?” he murmured as he tipped his head up and contemplated the heavens. “Life is quite grand when you think of it.”
“Perhaps it is when one is as optimistic as you.” She kept her gaze on the tomb. From their height, the workers looked like miniature dolls framing the gaping black maw of the entrance.
“There’s nothing wrong with maintaining a positive outlook, for life is rarely as bad as we think.” Dark holes dotted the cliffs all around them. Did each one of those openings or crevices indicate a tomb? It boggled the mind.
“Perhaps, but eventually, even that runs out and you’re left with the stark reality. A mindset doesn’t help, for one is forced to play the hand fate has dealt them, to use a rather labored metaphor.”
“And to repeat your own words, that depends.” A comfortable silence fell over them. Crispin stretched out his legs and crossed the ankles. Eventually, the curiosity to talk outweighed enjoying the peace. “Why are you troubled?”
“What makes you think I am?” She didn’t look at him.
“I can see it in your eyes and the fact you’re clenching your fingers in your lap.” He rested his head against the rock. “You’ve been wanting to talk about whatever’s on your mind for some time, but either you don’t trust me or don’t trust yourself to tell it—or you won’t let yourself.”
“Perhaps it’s a feeling that something is coming.”
He snorted. “Something glorious tomb-wise?”
“I am not certain.” Juliana turned her head, and her eyes were haunted. “Events have been set into motion and will soon come to a head.” Then she jogged her gaze away to examine the valley below.
“Don’t feed me such gammon,” he said quietly, and he, too, kept his focus on the men guarding the tomb’s entrance. Perhaps she needed prodding or permission. “You have the look of a woman who wants badly to unburden a soul.”
“It is nothing.” She sighed. “I’m merely worried.”
“About the tomb? Every precaution has been taken.”
“No. The tomb isn’t uppermost in my mind, but once more progress has been made, it will be.” She glanced at him and the stark need in her eyes tugged at his heart. At least she’d allowed herself that. “If you must know, it’s the mission that’s causing me anxiety. What if we—I—cannot manage to located that staff jewel? And then how do I wrestle the other piece from Andrew?”
“Best advice? Take it day by day.” Given the peer’s proclivity for popping up uninvited, his gut said they’d see Lord Ramsay sooner rather than later. Below, the flames of the campfire provided much-needed warm color in the desert landscape. “And if you’re wondering, it’s quite all right to talk about anything else that’s on your mind.”
Juliana watched them too. Then she took a deep breath and let it ease slowly out. “Before you and Lord Archewyne came into my life, I felt as if I fumbled around, lost in the dark.” She inclined her chin toward the campsite. “You are like that light down there. A beacon of hope. It’s almost as if I now have a chance at redemption.”
“There is no reason to think you didn’t before.” Crispin smiled to himself. “The King’s agent network is like the family I never knew I needed. Every man and woman I’ve had contact with gives me support when I need it and advice when I don’t. They would put themselves into harm’s way for me, and I for them. And I have. That’s what it means to belong.”
“I’m beginning to see that.” She focused on his face. The slight tremble of her chin gave away the fragile state of her mindset. �
�My husband was an agent too.”
A queer little thrill shot down his spine. Finally, she would share a piece of her life with him. “You must miss him.”
In the light of the moon, shadows filled her eyes. “There are times when I feel as if Phillip’s death just happened, while at others, the horrible day seems so far away.” Her voice was soft, and he had to lean close in order to catch the words.
“I’m sorry for your loss.” What else did one say to such a tragedy? “How long were the two of you together?”
“We knew of each other since the first day I joined the King’s agents, which was three and a half years ago.” She moistened her lips, and damn if his gaze didn’t drop to her mouth for a few seconds. “Rathesborne had signed him a week before I accepted the position.”
“Ah, so then it was a romance from the beginning.”
Her laughter was unexpected. “Not quite.” Juliana leaned her head back against the rock and let her eyes shudder closed. “We got on like oil and water. He assumed all of his ideas were gold and that my opinions didn’t matter.”
“And noting your penchant for bucking authority, you took exception to that.” How easily could he imagine her early life as a brash and green agent, willing to plunge into danger but not having the experience to back up the enthusiasm.
A ghost of a smile curved her lips, and he gave himself over to looking at her without her knowledge. “Why do men assume that a woman cannot possibly have a brain to deduct or reason as well as theirs?”
“Not all of us.”
“Of course, there are always exceptions. Phillip ended up being one of them.” She opened her eyes and met his gaze. “In any event, I trained for six months. As did he. Then we were both sent to France.”
“Paris in the spring usually does the trick.” He couldn’t help the quip, for when last he’d been in France, it had been quite charming, if marred by the fact he’d just come into the title and was seeing his predecessor’s wife settled at his estate there.
What the Dashing Duke Deserves (Lords of Happenstance, #3) Page 18
