“If we could but speak privately for a moment.” Miss Stanton turned and motioned to her maid, who maintained just enough distance to allow for private conversation as she followed them.
A slow smile came to his lips. The maid knew precisely what was expected of her, even without an interchange of language. This wasn’t the first time Miss Stanton had engaged in a private meeting, and it wouldn’t be the last.
“And, if you could but give me your name, sir, it would provide me with the greatest of relief.” She made an obvious effort to steady her breath. “I have been longing to know it these many months and would hate to lose sight of you after this long journey.”
Val studied the delicate beauty before him. She was either an excellent actress—or mad. For his sake, he hoped it was the former, though he wasn’t entirely sure he cared at this point. Quickly he ascertained the possible outcomes of the scenario before him, each of which was immanently agreeable.
Bloody hell! Odds that were contrary to reason: a game which was impossible to lose. And certainly a situation which did not come his way often.
Next Val considered the young lady before him from a scholastic point of view. This provocative beauty had not fainted of boredom, nor had she stormed off from insult. She had endured with equanimity his direct pronouncements. She seemed intensely interested in him in fact. Nor was she insipid and predictable, insincerely fawning over him.
An irresistible combination. He experienced an excitement he hadn’t felt in some time.
“My name is Val Huntington,” he stated, his gaze seductively memorizing everything about her. He gently led her to the left toward a path, when she had been inclined to go to the right.
Three times out of four one ended up where one started on the grounds, a maze by design.
I mustn’t lose this one.
“Val Huntington, the Earl of Ravensdale? Your family holds the county seat?” she asked in a manner approaching academic retrieval. “I knew you were an officer in the war, but I did not realize you had stayed on in Egypt.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t feel badly about that, Miss Stanton. You seem to know a great deal about me,” he replied in his most consoling tone of voice.
“I know no more than any young lady just out would know about the unmarried peerage,” she stated with a slight indignation, slowing her pace.
She was not putting forth any effort to hide her intent. Possibly that was the way she wanted it.
“Stanton…sounds familiar. Would I know your parents?” He reminded himself she both had a maid and was dressed exquisitely. She was obviously moneyed.
“I wouldn’t imagine so,” she stated with a wave of the hand, as if she had no time for the niceties.
As he watched her, Val thought he could almost taste those lips.
She added with an impatient shake of her head, the light reflecting off her buttery curls, “My father is not a peer of the realm, so you would not have met him in Parliament. At any rate, who I am is of no importance to my purpose.”
“You don’t say, Miss Stanton,” Val drawled, lingering on the words. “And what is that purpose?”
So, she was a member of the merchant class, a wealthy member from the looks of that expensive gown, which molded to her shape perfectly, out to nab a peer of the realm.
Or to have some fun on holiday while away from the uncompromising scrutiny of London society.
“I would so love to tell you!” she exclaimed with a heavy sigh.
“As I would love to hear it.”
“Lord Ravensdale, may we please sit somewhere and talk? I have traveled a great distance, and I will simply die if I cannot tell you the purpose of my journey.” She appeared more and more anxious.
“I beg you not to distress yourself, Miss Stanton,” Val replied consolingly, feigning sympathy. “I assure you I would not permit you to go without telling me the whole, so never fear on that subject.”
“Oh, thank you, my lord.” She sighed, her expression one of relief. She continued to give the impression of having some difficulty in standing, and Val strengthened his hold on her arm. “It does seem as if we are traveling in circles.”
“We are, my dear. We are.” For once, he didn’t mind. Val didn’t know when he had seen a prettier spectacle.
He knew it was contrived, but a part of him wanted to pretend along with her. It had been so long since any woman had had the slightest effect on him, and this was considerably more than slight. “But if you require more private quarters, why don’t we proceed to the consul-general’s office and use his private sitting room? I know for a fact he is gone for hours. We can even lock the door. Unless this offends your sense of propriety?” he asked pointedly.
“No, my lord,” she stated without hesitation.
“I didn’t think so,” murmured Val.
Next they came to the center of the estuary maze only to a find a sculpture of a giant fish facing the Nile. She gasped and almost turned full circle to behold it. “For someone not on a quest of the fanciful, this entire experience of simply walking to the consul-general’s office would be somewhat perplexing.”
He laughed out loud, not remembering the last time he had done so. It turned out she was not without language, which was much to his liking. He could not tolerate a beauty without intelligence and education.
And this one ran the show, he was quite sure.
“Quite so, Miss Stanton. Though caprice was no doubt the goal of the architect—one of those art-nouveau fairy-flapping types obsessed with moonbeams and talking animals—for the inhabitants of the office, the design has the effect of reducing the number of visitors.”
“I should think that is the goal of government officials everywhere.”
He burst out laughing again but soon sobered.
Only last evening my thoughts were suicidal and now I am a bloody clown.
She smiled, but her lips quivered even as she attempted it.
“Whatever is the cause of your distress, Miss Stanton?” His attention was quickly diverted to her.
As they reached the steps of the British Consulate building, framed by two marble lions, Val observed her anxiety mounting. He wanted no part of a liaison not mutually desired and entered into without reserve.
He stopped in his tracks and faced her. “If the thought of my company is distasteful to you in the slightest, let us abandon the endeavor immediately.”
“Oh, no! No! I beg you not to say such a thing, Lord Ravensdale.” Alarm crossed her expression as she bit her lip. “It is merely that what I have to say to you is of such vital importance, and when I most need to have my wits about me, an unpleasant memory interferes with my presence of mind.”
“An unpleasant memory? What possible trauma could a young lady just out of the schoolroom have already experienced?’
“I wouldn’t expect a gentleman to understand.” She looked up at him through long eyelashes, her eyes sparkling like emeralds floating in a river stream, the sunlight bringing out the golden flecks in her eyes.
“Just a washed up soldier, am I?” Val asked gently, ashamed at his earlier abruptness as he escorted her up the steps. “Ah, you think me ignorant of the concerns of the fairer sex. I have been in the world more than you might think, Miss Stanton.”
“Very well then, Lord Ravensdale, I shall explain.” Her lips trembled, but the sudden trust revealed in her expression, almost as if she were sure of him, disconcerted him. “You see, I was cast out at the Queen’s Ball following my presentation at court, by my dearest friends, no less. Ever since that day, I have had some difficulty maintaining my calm in situations of grave importance to me. It’s as if…as if an unnamed fear sweeps over me. I struggle so diligently to control my fear that I lose sight of myself.”
“To the contrary, you seem to know your own mind in a way few young ladies do, Miss Stanton.”
“You don’t understand, Lord Ravensdale.” She shook her head.
“I am trying to, believe me.” They had reached th
e front door of the embassy, and he was beginning to feel some anticipation. She stood gazing up at him under the crest of Queen Victoria which contained all the floral emblems of the British Isles, as well as those of Upper and Lower Egypt.
“Oh, I do hope so, and I thank you for that, my lord.” She smiled so sweetly, and it surprised him that it warmed his heart.
Captain Lord Ravensdale was generally not a fan of sweet.
“Believe me, Miss Stanton, the pleasure is all mine.” And, strangely enough, it was.
Even as he opened the door for her to enter and she stepped onto the magnificent Persian Heriz carpet in the main reception room, he glanced down to see a wave of sadness wash over her face in response to his words, and he was immediately repentant for his sarcastic, brash response. Whatever her true motive as concerned him, she had been hurt at the Queen’s Ball.
“A soldier’s friends will die for him,” he muttered under his breath. “If indeed silly girls would hurt you over something so self-centered as a presentation, good riddance to bad rubbish, my girl.”
“Still I love them, and their rejection pains me,” she whispered, walking past the twenty-sixth-dynasty alabaster canopic jars, a strange juxtaposition in view with four watercolor paintings by the famous limerist, Edward Lear.
“It is difficult to have one’s love and all that one is be a great inconvenience to those one holds dear.” The words escaped before he realized he had said them. Val saw that the grief in her eyes was genuine, and for just a moment he was captured there.
She opened her mouth to question him, but he did not wish to continue this line of conversation. He was mildly curious to learn how she had managed a presentation at court without a parent of the peerage.
She obviously knew someone willing to sponsor her, and he would like to know whom. But they had arrived at Sir Evelyn’s rooms, and the answers to these and other questions no longer were paramount in his mind.
Again she hesitated, standing in front of the door to paradise.
“What is it, Miss Stanton?” His hopes wavered. “Have you remembered a pressing engagement?”
“Oh, no! It’s just that…that…”
“Yes?” It felt like an eternity before she spoke again. “Please do tell me.”
“I have certain gifts”—she cleared her throat—“which I rely on in instances such as these. And I have been distanced from them as well these few months.”
“From your gifts?”
“Yes.”
“These are gifts of personality?”
“Indeed. Their absence makes it more difficult for me to understand people. I don’t expect you to entirely grasp my meaning, Lord Ravensdale. Suffice it to say I can’t seem to swim out from under my own emotions at the moment, in this case to make contact, so to speak.”
“Difficulty in making contact, is it?” As he stared into the depths of her emerald-green eyes, he tried to remember his train of thought. “I know the feeling, Miss Stanton, believe me. But we shall do our best to remedy that.”
As they entered Sir Evelyn Baring’s plush sitting room, Val motioned to Miss Stanton’s maid to remain in the antechamber while inviting Miss Stanton to enter the inner office.
Val smiled as he observed Miss Stanton raising no objections, nodding her approval to her maid. It was imperative the three be seen entering and departing the closed quarters together else Alita Stanton be ruined, but now that appearances were taken care of, there was no doubt in his mind that Miss Alita desired a private audience.
If there had been any doubt to begin with.
Once in the private chambers, Val locked the door and turned to face her. Swiftly, he turned and locked her into his arms. His mouth came down on hers with an urgency that shocked him, as did his reaction to her lips.
He was desperate to entice her to yield to him. He placed his hand on the back of her head, pushing her closer to him.
She did not react initially to his kiss. He knew the moment when she gave into the force between them, timidly opening her lips for him. Her breath mingled with his as his tongue toyed with her lips, teasing her and playing with her. She arched her back and slowly parted her lips, allowing him to take possession of her mouth.
It had been so long since he had kissed a woman like this, a stunningly beautiful woman of the world with airs of naiveté.
The strength of his attraction surprised him. She made everything about him feel alive. He was bathing in his own desire, his body and mind a stranger to him.
“Lord Ravensdale,” she gasped, “what are you doing?” Suddenly she began pushing at his arms, though her strength was no match for the tension of his muscles tightly wrapped around her. She turned her head as he trailed kisses along her cheek.
“I thought this was what you wanted, Miss Stanton,” Val replied with raw feeling, catching his breath. “Was I mistaken?” he asked, knowing from her response he had not been.
“Sir, I had no intention—I…I can’t say it was unpleasant, but you only distract me from my purpose.”
“Not unpleasant?” he repeated in disbelief as he slowly released her. He studied her until he saw what he was looking for in her expression. “You wound me, Miss Stanton. Tell me, how do other kisses compare to that one? For my part, I found it quite unforgettable.”
“Lord Ravensdale, I could not say. I have never been kissed before. But I certainly didn’t expect my first kiss to be like that.”
“Miss Stanton, I honestly can’t remember when I have been so amused.” Val laughed heartily, slowly releasing her. It had been far too long since he had known anything but grief.
“Please, do sit, Miss Stanton.” He motioned to the sofa. “Make yourself comfortable and tell me your story, so that we may continue with more pleasant endeavors.”
“Lord Ravensdale,” she protested, raising her eyebrows as she sat in the muted plum wingback chair next to the brown leather sofa, clearly forcing some space in between them, her feet squarely placed on a lavender-and-blue Persian rug. “I knew you could be deadly, but I had seen that your heart was pure, so I perceived no danger to myself.”
“Now I wonder,” she added.
Deadly? A dead bore, more like it. “Please, Miss Stanton, tell your story, and let us be done with the preliminaries.” It won’t take me long to pick you out of that chair and onto the sofa, but we must play the game in order if it pleases you, my lady.
He moved to the cadenza, where he poured himself a glass of sherry. “Would you care for a drink, Miss Stanton?”
“A small cordial, please,” she responded in a subdued tone of voice.
Val felt his lips curl into a slight smile. A young single woman did not drink alone with a single gentleman. There was something in her manner suggesting there were absolutely no rules where he was concerned.
I heartily approve.
He found he couldn’t stop smiling in this woman’s presence. He was not himself. The Earl of Ravensdale was apt to be called melancholy at best, and dangerous at worst.
If she keeps this up, I might have to marry her, harlot or not. As he glanced back at large gold-green eyes framed by blonde hair the color of wheat, the idea appealed to him. Then he could have her all to himself.
Bloody hell. He had never in his life thought about marriage. Why should he do so at a time like this with a girl he had only just met?
Val laughed out loud. He had known this girl for twenty minutes at best.
She cleared her throat, took a sip, and patted her hair, as if these inconsequential niceties would uphold the proprieties.
Miss Alita Stanton was pluck to the backbone, Val had to give her that. She set her hat on the Queen Anne table separating the leather couch and her chair, a move that met with Val’s full approval. The less clothing the better.
“Oh, it is no use.” She sighed heavily. “I have very little hope you will believe me, but I can think of no other course than to simply tell the truth. If you do not believe me, I will have at least done my best
.”
“By all means, Miss Stanton. Do your best, and I shall do mine.” He did not believe her distress was real, but he nonetheless took the opening and moved to sit as close to her as was possible.
“I vow I must maintain my distance.” She held her hand up in protest. “I must not enter into your feelings, or I cannot possibly proceed through this.”
“Please do continue, Miss Stanton,” he repeated in his most reassuring voice, amazed at his reaction to her. He who had been privy to sophisticated military tactics had abandoned his duty within minutes of meeting her. And was not long after unable to take his eyes off her.
Miss Stanton had maneuvered herself into his company, holding his full attention, when an hour ago he wouldn’t have believed it possible.
He tapped his finger on his glass of sherry. He knew he could break her spell whenever he chose, but to his surprise, he was enjoying himself too much to do so at the moment.
“Well, Lord Ravensdale.” She took a deep breath and a sip of sherry. “It all began when I was in England. I had a dream about you.”
“A dream?”
“A powerfully vivid dream.”
“Do tell,” Val stated, swirling his sherry in his glass, anxious for the coquetries and teasing to be over so he could return to kissing her. A few stray strands of her blonde hair had fallen about her shoulders in wisps. He reflected, not for the first time, that he had never seen a lovelier girl.
“You were a black panther,” stated Alita.
“A favorable comparison,” stated Val, his voice low as he stretched his long legs out before him, settling into the leather couch. “I will leave it to you to determine if I am worthy of the name after we have finished our tryst.”
“Please, Lord Ravensdale, I beg your attention. My story is not about you and me. It is only about you.”
“I love it already,” he muttered.
It’s all about the man. A very wise ploy on her part. But then, he began to suspect his visitor had the intelligence of a military genius.
But to what purpose? Was it political or personal?
God, I hope it is personal. Swirling the sherry in his glass, Val considered the young ingénue before him, the tactical equal of a general. As his eyes lingered on her lovely complexion and drank in her sparkling eyes, he let out a slow, uneven breath.
The Destiny Code: The Soldier and the Mystic Page 13
