The Destiny Code: The Soldier and the Mystic

by Hollingsworth, Suzette

  How could he have lost control in a place brimming with tourists? Maybe there really was something to this apex theory.

  Or maybe I am a damned fool as well as a scoundrel.

  Val cursed himself as he watched her regain her senses, her heart pounding and her breasts heaving against the thin lace.

  He had desperately wanted to take her here in this place he cherished. He had wanted to watch her fly into ecstasy in his hands. He had wanted…The devil take it, what did he want where she was concerned?

  And what am I thinking?

  That was the problem. He wasn’t thinking. They weren’t married, and he had no intention of being married to this vixen. He would give that marriage about six months before she left him.

  Unable to curb his thoughts, Val smiled, relishing the thought of six months of making love with Alita Stanton…Lady Ravensdale.

  Just as quickly, his mood turned dark. Val saw himself in his mind’s eye, translating in front of the fire while Alita sparkled at society parties, pursuing her next conquest. She would quickly grow bored with him and begin having affairs with men who were more in the mode. Alita Stanton was a lively, curious woman with a great deal of charisma and appeal to men. It wouldn’t be long before she responded to one of those dashing young blades. This woman was uncontainable, radiant, unhinged, irresistible.

  And dangerous.

  Val’s mood turned deadly as he saw the scene play out in his mind’s eye. Next he would have to duel her latest paramour to the death, along with every man who followed, until release would be afforded by the hangman’s noose.

  He would have lived through some of history’s bloodiest, most gruesome battles only to, in all likelihood, be killed by his lust for a woman he couldn’t control.

  Blazes to Hell! It was one way to depart this life, and he had no objections to it, but neither did he have any wish to be desperately in love with a woman who did not and could not love him.

  In love? Was he in love?

  It wasn’t possible. He had too much sense to be in love with Alita Stanton.

  She simply had control of his mind and body for a short while. It would pass.

  “Miss, Miss!” As he had anticipated, Flora began calling to them in low tones. He picked up his hat, which had landed on the pharaoh’s tomb, oddly enough. Alita placed her fallen hat on her head and smoothed her curls before arranging her veil to cover her face.

  She then smoothed her dress. There was no need, the blasted garment was glued to her skin.

  Val would forever hate that outfit. He took Alita’s arm a little more roughly than he intended, and they moved to meet Flora at the opening, appearing that they were all three just returning as footsteps approached.

  “Miss Stanton, this way please.” Val glanced at Alita, and even through her thin veil he could see that she stared at him in amazement, apparently equally surprised at the force of their attraction, which still lingered like the slow sizzle of a new fire on a winter morning.

  Bloody hell! Why couldn’t he be like other men of privilege who rode and hunted and amused themselves at pointless parties, cutting quite the dash and uttering frivolous nonsense?

  Then possibly he could hold onto Alita Stanton. He could devote every waking hour he wasn’t making love to her to entertaining her every whim. They would find themselves in one ridiculous scrape after another.

  An apt description of his life ever since meeting Miss Alita Stanton.

  27

  Turning Point

  Completing the tour, they returned to her Grace without exchanging more than a few words. It seemed to Val that Alita, like himself, had difficulty comprehending the strong and inexplicable attraction existing between them, and how quickly it had surfaced.

  Unless that was all part of her act: You have a great purpose, your talents are vast, I can’t comprehend this attraction I have for you, etc.

  But Alita’s upset was palpable. Why would she fall silent and distracted if she were not perplexed?

  When he had first met Miss Stanton, he was convinced her behavior was a stage play, a repertoire she had developed to engage in an illicit interlude while on holiday. Her reaction to his touch supported this theory. There could be no doubt she was a passionate woman. She had not called a stop to the incident in Khafre’s pyramid. He had.

  What a fool I am. I might have had the experience of a lifetime.

  And he might have ruined her, which would have made him no gentleman but a swine.

  Or perhaps her family had come across her escapades in the past and knew how to hush them up. He frowned.

  It could explain why she was in Egypt. Alita herself said it was a social embarrassment which had put her here.

  In spite of the evidence, there was something so sincere about Alita Stanton. Certainly everything she said was nonsense, but he would swear she believed it.

  Even more bizarre, he believed it for an instant when he was in her presence. Being with Alita Stanton was like being in a middle of a tornado and believing in one’s heart one was on a tropical island in perfect weather.

  Until one was swept away.

  Certainly no other woman had ever made him feel this way. No other person. Even more than sincerity, he would swear there was something remarkable about her.

  When he first met her, he was certain she was an actress on a grand scale. Now, after only one day in her presence, he felt a mixture of enjoyment, stimulation, delight, curiosity, and, of course, confusion.

  Confusion was Alita Stanton’s signature emotion.

  Val knew he wasn’t destined for great things—that was Tommy-rot, of course—but maybe she truly believed he was. This put a different spin on her actions: her motives, at least, were pure, and her dismay authentic.

  When they reached the Dowager Duchess of Yarbury, she was conversing amiably with an elderly gentleman who was clearly enthralled with her.

  No doubt her Grace had been attracting men since she had escaped from the schoolroom, and it didn’t appear to be something she could unlearn. Marvella Lawrence understood her time and her culture, she understood the men it produced, and she understood who had the power and how to wield it. It was second nature to her.

  Val considered Alita with apprehension. The ability to manipulate men appeared to run in the female line.

  “Lord Falcon, may I introduce my granddaughter to you? Miss Alita Stanton. And Captain Valerius Huntington, the 5th Earl of Ravensdale,” Marvella stated.

  Lord Falcon bowed agreeably and quickly returned his attentions to the duchess, talking incessantly in a jovial manner. His conversation centered on himself, and it soon became apparent that he was ill-informed on all other topics. Every subject was turned to a story about himself. Still, he was amiable and pleasant enough.

  “Recently widowed,” Marvella confided to her granddaughter when they were again situated in a felucca sailboat sailing up the Nile River.

  “You seem pale, Grandmamma.” Alita studied her grandmother with obvious concern.

  Val considered Alita’s remark to be odd in light of the fact that Marvella Lawrence had been lit up like an evening in Covent Gardens in the company of the distinguished gentleman.

  “Lord Falcon became on excellent terms with you rather quickly, Duchess,” Val observed. “I overheard him telling you the circumstances of his birth.”

  “Yes, apparently the family had almost lost hope of an heir,” stated Marvella.

  “Indeed?” Alita said with more courtesy than Val felt. “How fortunate that Lord Falcon was born.”

  “Proof that miracles happen,” Val muttered, entering into the spirit of the day. He reassured himself that he could speak nonsense with the best of them, mentally patting himself on the back.

  “Proof that cousins should not marry, more likely,” Marvella said under her breath.

  Alita came out of her reverie and stared at her grandmother in shock.

  “What are you staring at child?” demanded the dowager duchess.

>   “Grandmamma, I thought you liked Lord Falcon. You seemed to.”

  “Why shouldn’t I? He’s a peer of the realm. What more should he need to gain my approval?” She shrugged. “I’m simply stating the obvious. Or is that the exclusive right of you young people?”

  Val laughed out loud.

  “What are you laughing at young man?” Marvella demanded.

  “I laugh because I am amused,” he said simply. “It would take a much stronger man than I to feign indifference.”

  Hearing his own words, he felt a glimmer of hope. For some time now he had been the most indifferent man of his acquaintance.

  He had the strange feeling that today was the day everything changed for him.

  28

  Future Plans

  And what an ideal day: strange suppositions, absurd talk of magic and potential, and inexplicable forces of attraction despite his mental determination to the contrary. Disembarking from the felucca, they again caught a carriage to Cairo.

  As the carriage pulled up to Val’s abode, when he should have felt relief, he felt disappointment that this bizarre day of surprises was coming to an end.

  “Thank you for the tour, Captain Ravensdale.” Alita was as beautiful after a long a tiring day as she had been at the outset. Another of her magical gifts, he supposed.

  “You’re quite welcome.” He tilted his head to the duchess in deference. “I enjoyed my day very much.”

  “That makes two of you then,” quipped the duchess. “We shall see you on Thursday for dinner, then, Lord Ravensdale.”

  “Thursday? I had understood that the tour of the pyramids was all that was required of my services, your Grace.” The outing had gone much better than expected, it was true, but there was no point in furthering this acquaintance: it could go nowhere. In fact, he was very much afraid that it might go somewhere. All he needed was another reason to hate himself.

  “Then you misunderstood,” Marvella pronounced sharply.

  “What is on Thursday?”

  “I just told you. Dinner. Are you deaf?”

  Jolted by the command, he opened his mouth to protest.

  “Well get out of the carriage then, young man,” stated Marvella impatiently, waving her hand. “’Pon rep, I’m tired, and I need to go home.”

  He glanced at Alita, her quivering smile so becoming. He surprised even himself at what came out of his mouth next. “And the time, Your Grace? I must consult my schedule.”

  “Consult away. But we’ll see you at eight o’clock in the Shepheard Hotel dining room,” she commanded.

  He thought it best to beg off the invitation, if one could call it that. Just as he opened his mouth to protest, in a secretive voice the duchess added, “A word of caution, my lord. You’ll have some competition. There’s another gentleman of note dangling after my granddaughter, and he’s making considerably more progress than you are, I’m sorry to inform you.” But the Cheshire-cat’s grin possessing her face told him she was anything but sorry to be the bearer of bad tidings.

  “Oh, he is, is he?” Val glanced accusingly at Alita, an unexpected anger rising in his chest as he recalled the blonde Adonis in his mind’s eye.

  “Whatever you are envisioning, it is far worse,” Marvella said smugly.

  “Grandmamma!” Alita exclaimed.

  “Don’t look so indignant, child! Some gentlemen never quite master the art of courtship and die old and lonely. I’ve seen it many times. I’m doing this old soldier a favor.”

  “Funny, I had the distinct impression that I am the puppet to your marionette, your Grace, rather than the recipient of your assistance.”

  “Call it what you will, I am attempting to improve your sad life. What you call freedom looks like misfortune to me. I never saw a man of your youth look so hardened.”

  “I’ve earned my torment, I assure you, your Grace.”

  “Perhaps you have, and perhaps it’s time to put it to rest. Alita’s other suitor is having a much finer time than you are, I guarantee it—and he looks a good ten years younger. Perhaps you could learn a thing or two from that Pink of the ton, your lordship.” She raised both her voice and her eyebrows, ignoring her granddaughter’s embarrassment, her own expression a peculiar mix of haughtiness and sympathy. She added with a smile, “If you open your eyes, Captain Ravensdale.”

  “They are open, believe me.” The intensity of his gaze met hers, which never wavered.

  “If you choose to wallow away your time in anguish and self-pity, I suppose it’s no concern of mine,” she said.

  “Very good of you to observe what is your business and what is mine, Duchess.” He attempted to step out of the carriage.

  “Nothing is better known to me.” But the duchess seemed to realize her point had hit home and fully expected to see him on Thursday evening.

  And indeed she would.

  “Be off with you then.” The duchess leaned her head out the carriage and instructed the driver to make haste while Val bounded onto the curve.

  Captain Ravensdale shook his head in disbelief as he watched the carriage depart, checking that his major appendages were still intact.

  That settled it. Madness ran in the family.

  At least in the female line.

  29

  Medical Mystic

  “Grandmamma, I am worried for you.” Once the two ladies were situated at home, Marvella with her lemonade, fanning herself, Alita cautiously broached a subject of growing concern to her. “You have a health problem.”

  “Of course I do! I’m an old woman. I’ve traveled half-way across the world to a desert where I’ll probably die of heat stroke and exhaustion.”

  Surprisingly, this did nothing to allay Alita’s fears.

  “If the insects don’t devour me first. Or if the natives don’t murder me,” Marvella added.

  “I can’t see how it would serve anyone’s purpose to murder you, Grandmamma.”

  “Nor do I, but people murder each other all the time, for no apparent reason other than they can find nothing more entertaining to do. When I have a case of the doldrums, I seek to elevate myself rather than bringing others down into the gutter with me.”

  “I believe revenge, hatred, and greed are the most common reasons for murder.”

  “Stuff and nonsense! Pure laziness. Surely there is something better to give one’s time to.”

  Alita thought as much but said nothing. That was often the best course with the duchess, who did not like to have her train of thought interrupted. But Alita could no longer be silent on one point. How to broach the subject…

  “I hope this day was not too much for you, Grandmamma.”

  “Don’t you worry, my heart. I’m a bit tired and need more rest, that’s all.” Marvella’s sallow complexion said as much. “And I’m sure we have much more important things to discuss than my health.”

  “I assure you nothing is more important to me,” Alita said softly.

  “Nothing more important? Don’t be daft, girl.” Marvella smiled at her granddaughter with pride, her skin tone suddenly transformed into a pink-ish glow. “Everything is proceeding along very well—even better than I expected.”

  “I can’t see that anything is proceeding anywhere, much less well. To what are you referring?”

  Marvella rolled her eyes. “Naturally I congratulate you on finding this young man all on your own. Two eligible suitors. Nothing could be better. You see? I knew you had it in you, my dear.”

  “Two suitors? I assure you I have no such thing.”

  “Perhaps now. But that will be of short duration. You do not know your own power, my girl.”

  “I wish I might. At any rate, we were discussing your health,” Alita bit her lower lip.

  “You were. I was not.”

  “I’ve been thinking of your fatigue for some time, and I finally understand the cause.”

  “I’m sure we all do. I’ve just said as much.”

  “Grandmamma, is it not true that you feel
elevated after you eat sweets but shortly thereafter feel unusually tired?”

  Marvella pursed her lips, refusing to answer.

  “Your dietary choices could explain your grumpy moods, Grandmamma.” Alita hesitated knowing she ventured into dangerous territory.

  “Me? Grumpy?” Marvella retorted, muttering under her breath. “I’ll have you know, young lady, I have the patience of a saint, which is a prerequisite for sanity in this family. I am the most pleasant person on the face of the earth. I suffer without complaining. It is my way. I will punish anyone who says otherwise. And, speaking of which, I won’t have you bad mouth Lord Cadbury in my presence.”

  “Honestly, Grandmamma, you’d think that Lord Cadbury was more important to you than Jesus, the way you revere him.”

  “Certainly,” stated Marvella without apology. “I have daily contact with Cadbury, and I only meet with Jesus on Sundays.”

  “But that is your choice, Grandmamma.” Alita could not help but giggle.

  “Not entirely. Jesus is welcome to come and visit with me anytime He so chooses.”

  “As long as he brings chocolate?” Alita’s expression grew somber.

  “Precisely.”

  “And anyway, Grandmamma, I did not say chocolate was detrimental to your health—only cane sugar. I know of an herbalist in London who can assist with sweetening—it is an herb called Stevia rebaudiana. And there is another herb, Neem, which can control the sugars in your blood.”

  “Let us not speak of this again, Alita.” Marvella’s eyebrows shot up. “I won’t have any granddaughter of mine speaking with foreigners, not to mention using their illicit drugs.”

  “It’s nothing of the sort, Grandmamma. The Egyptian people have been studying herbs for thousands of years. And not without success.”

  “Not people. Heathens.”

  “We are not discussing their religion but their medical knowledge.” She looked down at her hands, adding softly, “And to you, they are heathens. To them, you are an infidel.”