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

by Sandra Sookoo

  She nodded. “If you’d like, once we arrive at the tomb, I can roll up your sleeves for you.” Her sideways glance caused his heartbeat to accelerate and his groin to tighten. “You could stand to let your skin tan. I think you’d look incredibly dashing with some color.”

  “I shall bear that in mind.” He couldn’t help his grin. At least he wasn’t far from her thoughts, which meant that interlude from the night before didn’t leave her as unaffected as she wanted him to think. Encouraging, that. Softly, he cleared his throat. “Tell me of your time with Lord Ramsay.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Juliana slowed her pace as she gawked at him, shock and shadows in the blue depths of her eyes.

  “Just what I asked. I’d like to know more of your relationship with him.” It was crass and he could have finessed the subject better, but he wanted it over and done with.

  She blew out a breath that ruffled the few curls on her forehead. “Do you suspect him of the incident with the boulder?”

  “How can I? He hasn’t made an appearance at the dig or at the house.” He shrugged his good shoulder. “Except for our unexpected meeting at the mortuary temple, he has left us alone. But his absence makes me suspicious.”

  Juliana kept her focus on the dusty path in front of them. “His own dig is probably keeping him occupied.”

  “Not if he’s put together the same clues we have.” He frowned as another thought occurred. “Do you think it might have been Lord Ramsay who raided your rooms and stole the book of fables?”

  “Anything is possible, I suppose.” She looked at him with wide eyes. “And if it is, and he saw my necklace during my fall at the mortuary temple...”

  “I’d thought of that too.” His gut churned. “Damn it. Yet that doesn’t explain the two incidents that occurred in our own camp. There was no trace of his presence here, and each of them could have been purely coincidental.” Though he was beginning to doubt that heavily.

  “They could. However, let’s entertain the thought Andrew was behind both attacks. To what purpose? If either of us were killed, he still wouldn’t have my staff piece nor would he have access to the tomb, which is not even connected to our case.”

  “Unless he knows that we now have the second piece of the staff itself, which was why he showed up at the mortuary temple.” Bloody hell. “We should have covered those reliefs better when we left.”

  “He would have found them eventually. Andrew isn’t a stupid man. It was one of the reasons I broke the relationship.”

  Ah, here was the opening he needed. “How long were you together?”

  She turned her focus away from him. “What does it matter now?”

  “It might not, but I’d like to know just the same.”

  “Fine.” A sigh escaped her. Juliana clasped her hands in front of her. “I met Andrew a month after arriving in Cairo.” She didn’t look at him as she talked while they followed the winding path through the hills. “At the museum, in fact. We struck up a conversation over a mummy, of all things.” Her laughter sounded forced. “Then we discovered we had other mutual interests regarding Egyptian antiquities, even the same period of history...”

  “The era between Thutmoses I and III, correct?” he asked quietly.

  “Yes.”

  Damnation. When Lord Ramsay had found that out and knew it would help in his own endeavors, he’d used her, exploited her loneliness and recent loss as well as the grief she’d probably felt at disappointing Rathesborne.

  “I’m such a fool,” Juliana whispered. “It’s yet another failure on my part.” The tendons in her neck worked with a hard swallow, but Crispin didn’t dare interrupt her. “When Andrew invited me to tour the Giza sites with him, I accepted.” She remained silent for several minutes and due to the rigors of the path, it was necessary to forego conversation as they navigated. Once back on level ground, she continued the tale. “I’d like to say I was dazzled by history or his attention, but I know my mind well enough that such a thing would be a lie.”

  Crispin wished to touch her, to comfort her, but he feared any sort of movement on his part would snap her from the confession. “You were a recent widow and lonely. Above that, you were desolate, thinking the network you toiled for had abandoned you. It’s understandable you craved companionship.”

  “Thank you for that.” Juliana laid her hand on his arm with a slight smile, but there was a telltale blush in her cheeks. “I wanted Andrew merely for carnal interests at that point. My mind wasn’t at a place for anything else.”

  “I see.” He struggled to hide the shock tightening his chest. Was she using him in the same way? That very lord had hidden at the fact.

  “It’s a horrid idea for a woman to have needs or to talk about them, and it’s the height of scandal besides. At least that is the popular convention.” She waved her hand and a huff of annoyance escaped her. “Women are not allowed to slake their desires, and if we do, we must do it in private else society will rip our reputations to ribbons. Men can have mistresses and brag about conquests, and it’s encouraged in our society, but women must be pure and demure and subservient at all times.” She uttered a growl. “The mindset is maddening.”

  Despite the gravity of the conversation, Crispin chuckled. “No one would dare accuse you of being subservient or demure.” By that time, they’d gained the wadi that separated them from the tomb entrance. He slipped a hand about her upper arm and halted their forward movement. “Please don’t be embarrassed. You are human, just like anyone else, and no one can fault you for your decisions during that time.”

  Her chin quivered. “Oh, but they have,” she whispered. “How can I return to England knowing the gossip has preceded me?”

  “Who says you need to? Perhaps you’re destined to travel the world as a King’s agent.”

  She snorted. “Only if I can redeem myself.”

  “You will.” Crispin slid his hand down her arm and briefly squeezed her fingers in solidarity and encouragement. “The people who matter most in your life will not cast up your decisions, or your mistakes, to you. Remember that.”

  “Oh, Crispin.” Her eyes welled with tears, magnifying the blue. One of the crystalline drops splashed to her cheek. He wiped it away with a finger. “How much I want to believe you.”

  “Make up your mind to do so, and you’re halfway there.” He offered a smile.

  Juliana didn’t return it. “Andrew and I were together for three months. Eventually, I realized he wasn’t what I needed to work through my grief and frustration and embarrassment. I needed time. Exile gave me that.” She continued to walk toward the tomb, and he had no choice but to keep pace with her. “When I knew Andrew had a healthy interest in the Staff of the Gods—I hadn’t told him anything of why I wanted it, that I was after it, nor that I was an agent—I didn’t feel right in leading him on romantically, not even for the mission, not after what happened the last time when I did something in that fashion.” She wasn’t quite successful in stifling a sob. “I was trying to change.”

  What the devil did that mean? “The mission?” he tried to prompt, but she shook her head.

  “Yes, but now is not the time to purge my soul on that count.” The tone of her voice brooked no further inquiry.

  He’d never been a man fearful of treading on thin ice. “I want to help, Juliana.”

  Once more she laid her fingers on his arm. Her eyes were sad, seemingly holding the grief of the universe in those depths and it tore at his heart. “I’m not ready for you to see me in a different light once you know the full story.”

  Crispin forced a swallow into his suddenly tight throat. He could know in an instant if he read the contents of that leather folio Archewyne had given him. But he wanted to hear it from her. “I’m not that man. I don’t make snap judgments, for I’ve had them made of me.”

  “Oh, but you are.” Tears hung in her voice. “All of you noble, black-and-white seeing King’s agents are, because you have to be, because you’re trained that way,
and the longer I can keep you from my history, my shame, the better.”

  This time, he took her hand and threaded their fingers together. He slowed their walk enough that he could hold her gaze. “Sooner or later, you will have to trust me. I am not like the other men you’ve known, both personally or professionally. I won’t hinder or humiliate you. I only want the best for you.”

  Her hand trembled in his. “I’m trying.” The words sounded pulled from her. She shook her head. “I want to make progress on this case first because I owe it to myself.”

  “Understandable.” Yet cold disappointment flooded his chest. She didn’t trust him. He looked across the wadi and he groaned. “Damn. Archewyne is waving us over. We’d better give our walk some stick.” He dropped her hand. There was no more time for conversation, personal or otherwise.

  At the tomb, the earl hopped about and gestured at them in his excitement. “Miss Barrington, I need you immediately.”

  “Why?” Both Crispin and Juliana inquired together.

  “The air is passable.” Archewyne’s words trailed away as he ducked into the passage and quickly led them down the corridor and through the other hole and into the new passageway. A few lit lanterns illuminated the rough-hewn corridor. “Look here. At the reliefs.”

  She stepped over to the wall he indicated and gasped. “It’s incredible.” With shaking fingers, Juliana traced parts of the paintings that still retained their original brilliant colors. “This is Queen Hatshepsut, and look. There is Moses. He’s holding the staff.”

  Both Crispin and the earl stood back so she could better examine the drawings.

  “She is quite proud here.” Juliana pointed to a depiction of the queen in full court regalia with attendants and others standing around. Then she moved her focus to another picture. “This is Moses, but in this relief, there is a golden halo behind his head.” She frowned. “Why?”

  “It appears he’s wearing the crown of Lower Egypt,” Crispin said in a soft voice. “Did that mean the queen gave him command of part of her kingdom?”

  “I couldn’t venture to say.” Juliana moved back in order to better glimpse the whole relief. “He is standing by a young woman. She’s beautiful and wearing royal robes as well as a golden crown.”

  “Yes, and look at their hands,” Archewyne interrupted. He was quick to point out that section of the painting. “The fingers are intertwined. Perhaps a love interest?”

  “It will take me time to translate the hieroglyphs.” She shrugged. “And I don’t recognize the name in the cartouche, but I will soon. I can promise you that.” When she glanced over her shoulder at him, she smiled, and Crispin’s heart squeezed. “This is irrevocable proof that this tomb has now intersected with our mission, Your Grace.”

  “And conclusive proof the cobra incident and the attack on me were not accidents,” Crispin muttered. Someone was after whatever the tomb contained.

  “Excellent. If murder is in the offing, then we’re on the right track.” The earl beamed as if the news were the best of all things. “Herrick, fetch her a notepad. Let’s not waste any time. I’d like to push on as far as we can in the morning. I have a good feeling about this.”

  I wish I could share that. For his gut flared once more. Something was coming. It remained to be seen if it was riches or danger.

  Chapter Sixteen

  While Juliana, with a notepad and a pencil, sat on a wooden stool in front of the relief with the painter Francine, Crispin and Archewyne took a handful of workers down the passageway to see what other potential blockages they might encounter for the next day.

  Lantern light bobbed and sent eerie shadows dancing along the rough-hewn passage walls. The farther he went, the staler the air. Every footfall and sweep of native robes stirred up the fine limestone as well as the dust of the ages.

  Crispin made himself a mental note to wear his cravat tomorrow merely to wrap it around his nose and mouth in a bid to keep the particles from being inhaled. “How far do you imagine this passageway goes?”

  “Difficult to say. What will probably happen is another will branch out from this one, and more than likely will lead downward. Such is the habit of tombs designed in this period.” The rumble of Archewyne’s voice through the corridor added another layer of macabre to the scene.

  “At least this isn’t like the catacombs of death in Paris.” Crispin chuckled, as did the earl, but since the context was lost on the remainder of the party, they merely stared. “This trek would be a hundred times more trying if the passage was lined with the bones of the dead,” he said for the benefit of the rest of the crew.

  “There will be bones,” the foreman rejoined in overly somber tones. “This is a place of the dead. Make no mistake.”

  “Dead men—or women—have no more power in the world of the living, my good man,” Archewyne said. He was uncommonly cheerful with an excited fervor lighting his eyes. “And don’t give me some gammon about mummy curses or the wrath of a pharaoh. I’m not a believer.”

  “No, but our crew might be, so do have a care,” Crispin reminded him. “We cannot proceed without them.”

  “I shall challenge the gods myself if we are prevented from reaching that burial chamber ahead of thieves. Just you watch.”

  Crispin kept his own council. No amount of the earl’s arrogance would stave off a mass boycott of the work site if another “accident” occurred.

  Another few minutes of walking brought them to the end of the corridor, which was blocked by debris.

  “Bloody hell. Never say the ceiling has collapsed,” the earl muttered. He swung his lantern high as they clustered at the blockage.

  “I don’t think so.” Crispin moved his lantern close to a dark object on the ground amid the rubble that resembled a stick. In the flickering light, the sight proved even more horrific, for the dried out brown object was a mummified leg. The ancient leather straps of a sandal were still attached to the wizened foot. Despite himself, he took a step backward, crashing into the foreman. “Dear God.”

  Two of the workers they’d brought with them cried out and immediately began murmuring what he could only assume were prayers of protection.

  “It always takes you by surprise when you see your first mummy, eh, Herrick?” Archewyne squatted near the foot but didn’t touch it. “There’s a good chance the rest of this unfortunate person is beneath that slab of limestone.” He glanced up into the shadowed recesses of the ceiling.

  So did Crispin. “This is really quite fascinating. No doubt an ancient mechanism meant to deter thieves.” Then his spirits plummeted. “Does this mean our shriveled friend here was a thief or was he a priest who met with an accident when the trap triggered prematurely?”

  “No way to tell until we lift the slab off him.”

  “You mean to dig him out?” Either way the man died, the fate was gruesome.

  “Of course. At this point we are explorers, archeologists in the search of answers and new understanding.” Archewyne shot him a glance that brimmed with annoyance. “Would you rather turn back now on the assumption there might be other traps and an already pillaged burial chamber? Or are you curious as to the possibility that the tomb has been undisturbed, that you could make history?”

  Crispin once more looked up into the dark maw of the ceiling. He repressed a shudder. “Perhaps both.” At least it was an honest answer. “I’m not too proud to admit there is a level of fear there.”

  “Bravery, my friend, is pressing on even if you are afraid,” Archewyne murmured without taking his gaze from the mummified leg. “As an agent, you must anticipate the danger and proceed anyway. In this instance, you have a mission and must see it through, which means treading into the unknown. That’s the job.”

  “Of this, I am well aware.” And in that moment, he realized the earl wasn’t the pompous arse he thought. He was merely taking the opportunity for teachable moments that would help Crispin in the future.

  Damn the man’s eyes.

  Before he
could form a reply, the sound of running footsteps echoed to their location and then Juliana and Francine pelted onto the scene.

  “We heard shouts and feared the worst,” Juliana said, breathless. She frantically sent her gaze over everyone present. “Are you all right?” When she took in the limestone slab and the mummified leg, she gasped.

  Francine pressed paint-stained fingertips to her lips. “Good heavens.”

  The earl gave a huff. “Herrick, catch Miss Hogarth. She’s going to faint.”

  Crispin sprang into action and caught the artist as her knees crumpled. He assisted her to the ground and then kneeled in front of her. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes.” She fanned her face with a hand. “It took me by surprise. So horrible.”

  “It’s a good reminder that we are dealing with death just being here,” he said with a slight grin. When he stood, he glanced at Juliana. Her face had paled and she kept bouncing her gaze between the slab and the ceiling. “It’s rather a shock, isn’t it? I still cannot seem to wrap my head around the ingenuity of the ancient peoples and the lengths they’d go to in order to guard the trappings of the afterlife.”

  Finally, she looked at him. Relief showed in her blue eyes. “I’m glad you’re unharmed.”

  He shrugged, and schooled his features so that his pleasure at her regard didn’t show. “It is the life of a King’s agent, I suppose. The level of danger is always there.”

  Archewyne cleared his throat. He drew the foreman forward. “What say you, Abdul? How long to hoist up the slab and shove it to the side?”

  “An hour, perhaps two. I will go gather the necessary supplies and more workers.”

  “Very good.” The earl nodded. “I’d like to have the slab moved by sundown. That way we can push forward at first light tomorrow.”

  “Of course.” The foreman nodded, his dark eyes alight with the same excitement that gripped the earl. “What of the mummy? My men will not touch it for fear of curses.”