The Destiny Code: The Soldier and the Mystic

by Hollingsworth, Suzette

  Alita grew resolute. She must focus if this was going to work. She and Captain Ravensdale were not simpatico intellectually, but they were, in fact, aligned emotionally, spiritually, physically, and psychically.

  True, Valerius was not aware of this on a conscious level, and there was no appealing to his logic. They always came full circle back to this.

  Perhaps I can change all that. She must capture his attention, even against his own will.

  “Times are different now, Grandmamma,” Alita murmured, tapping on her teacup with her index finger.

  “Flora, bring me my hartshorn!” Marvella commanded at the top of her lungs while waving her handkerchief in front of her face.

  38

  Shoe on the Other Foot

  The devil take it, Val cursed to himself. Why wouldn’t she see him? Each time he called on Alita at the Shepheard, she refused to see him, formulating a new excuse with each visit.

  It was driving him to madness.

  Is it just more of her games? If that were the case, there might be some surprises in store for Miss Alita Stanton, because he wouldn’t play at this for long.

  It is a bloody waste of time.

  “Whiskey.” Frustrated beyond reason, Val parked himself at Shepheard’s bar for the third afternoon in a row, watching the spiral staircase from his stool. He hadn’t worked much for the past week, and he didn’t give a damn.

  “I haven’t seen her today, Raven,” Zaheer stated, knowing the question before it was asked. “She doesn’t even come down for meals.”

  “How do you bloody know?” Val grumbled, taking a sip of his whiskey without moving his eyes from the staircase. “She might have slipped your notice. You can’t be everywhere at once.”

  “I can. And I am.” Zaheer bowed his head. “And nothing escapes my notice. The drink has made your brain foggy, Raven.”

  “Enlighten me then. How do you know where she has been?”

  “Because I have friends in the kitchen, of course. She takes all her meals in her rooms.” Zaheer poured Val a steaming drink.

  “What’s that?” muttered Val.

  “It is a hot beverage made from the coffee bean. It will assist you to keep your job.”

  “And how will it do that, I’d like to know?”

  “It is a magical potion created by the Genie Quareen Hamzad and delivered by a maharajah and his team of elephants, of course. Drink it.”

  “I don’t give a rat’s ass about my job,” stated Val, his eyes unwavering. “And I thought you held no high opinion of my work.”

  “How can I hold an opinion on that which does not exist?” Zaheer chuckled.

  Val downed the rest of his whisky glass. He reached under the counter, found a bottle, and poured himself another glass. “You might be surprised.”

  “Unlikely. You don’t actually do that much work, Raven—just enough to get by. All the better.”

  “So you wish to keep me or not?”

  Zaheer shrugged, returning the bottle to its place under the counter. “We could have worse than you. At least I know what foolishness you’re up to.” The crimson-and-gold pill hat perched on the bartender’s head looked out of place against his masculine features. His long, curled moustache was apparently an asset in Shepheard’s eyes, no doubt lending a touch of the exotic to the ambiance. In point of fact, one expected Zaheer to pull out an antique lamp from underneath the bar counter at any moment.

  Val wished he would. Maybe then he would stop talking and let a man drink in peace.

  “I thank you for your endorsement, Zaheer. When a man is down, it’s good to know he can count on his friends.” Val stared at the bartender for a long moment before taking a sip of the coffee in spite of himself. He swallowed it with difficulty. Staring at the cup he muttered, “It’s so bitter. It’s bloody awful. It’s almost bad enough to make me want to take up tea again.”

  Almost.

  “Try this, Raven.” Zaheer added considerable cream and sugar to the cup and stirred. “Tea is not strong enough for you at the moment, and whiskey is too strong.”

  Damnation! Was it that Sherwood fellow? Had Alita decided the Adonis was more to her liking, despite her assurances to the contrary? Did she secretly prefer that frippery dandy and his dribble?

  Do I actually believe for a moment she isn’t playing me for the fool?

  Maybe she is playing both sides. Certainly the duchess was. He wouldn’t put it past the granddaughter, not for a second.

  A wash of anger embraced him. Maybe the ding-dong had proposed.

  Can I blame her for snatching up what I am not willing to give?

  As if Alita Stanton had truly ever had any interest in marrying him to begin with.

  “Zaheer, have you seen her with the blond gentleman?” he demanded.

  “No, Raven, I told you. She has kept to her rooms.”

  Val returned his eyes to study the curve of the staircase. He had counted the number of stairs, and he knew the designs in the carpet so well he dreamed of them. Quietly he added, “Have you seen the tall blond gentleman in here?”

  Zaheer smiled, his expression suddenly arrogant and his black eyes mysterious. At that inopportune moment one of the parties of gentlemen at the round tables snapped his fingers at the bartender.

  Zaheer seemed pleased for the opportunity to abandon his station, no doubt anticipating raising his price for the information he knew the English captain of the guard desperately wanted.

  “Greedy bastard,” Val cursed under his breath, hoping Zaheer heard him.

  Returning to the bar after dispensing the drinks, Zaheer pretended to wipe off the counter directly in front of Val’s coffee cup, already shining like the star of Bethlehem, ignoring his customer with aplomb. Val kept his eyes glued to that self-satisfied, pompous face even as he placed a bill on the counter. “Well? Do you know anything, Zaheer? What can you tell me about Miss Stanton’s gentleman companion?” he demanded.

  “The fair-haired Englishman has been in here.” Zaheer shrugged, chuckling while he placed the bill in his white pants pocket with the expression of one who had gotten something for nothing. Or robbed a dead man of his only belongings.

  Grave digging suits the bastard.

  “And?” Val demanded.

  “He would not speak with me, Raven,” Zaheer said simply.

  “Did the gent seem overly happy?”

  “No. But happier than you.”

  “Sad?”

  “At times. Why else would he come in here?”

  “Was he rude?”

  “No more so than any aristocrat without labor.” Zaheer shook his head. “But not as rude as you.”

  “She should at least have the decency to come out and tell me instead of keeping me at arm’s length.” Val punched the air, sending his coffee cup down the length of the bar, causing all eyes to look at him for an instant. “It would only take a few minutes of her time, and she could be done with me. She is entitled to spend her time with whomsoever she chooses, but I deplore a woman who keeps an honest man dangling and who can’t simply state the truth.”

  “You deplore her. This I can readily see.” Zaheer’s lips formed a knowing smile as he retrieved the coffee cup, now half full, and placed it in front of him, though not quite so close.

  This has been the problem with Alita Stanton along, her false façade intended for some hidden purpose.

  Val could not stomach duplicity and manipulation in a woman. With her refusal to see him, he wondered if everything she had done and said from the minute he met her was a lie.

  Then why the hell do I long to see her as much as I have ever wanted anything in my life?

  “Tell me one thing, Raven,” Zaheer stated, leaning toward him.

  “Give me back my money, then, if you are to ask the questions.”

  Zaheer returned the bill to the counter, his dark eyes scrutinizing Val, his gaze intense. “Do you love her?”

  “Of course.” Val felt a smile tugging at the corners of his m
outh. “I would die for her,” he pronounced softly.

  “Why don’t you just marry her, Raven?” Zaheer sighed heavily.

  “I want her to tell me once and for all what she is about. I want her to tell me the truth.”

  “And what is the real reason? Is there anything else you want, Raven?”

  He wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her, just one last time. But he had to gain entrance in order to accomplish these two goals. And it didn’t appear that was going to happen.

  “None of your damn business,” Val muttered. “The relevant point is I’ve either fallen in love with a madwoman or a damned liar, and I can’t marry either.”

  “Raven, why do you love a madwoman who lies?” Zaheer threw his hands into the air even as he shook his head, his crimson-and-gold jacket a flash of color.

  She claimed to be able to see the future and to be able to see inside people’s thoughts and feelings, even who they could be. It was obviously absurd. But the question was, did she believe it herself? If yes, she was a quack. If no, she had an ulterior motive. And what is it?

  “No, Zaheer, it’s one or the other.” Val frowned. “Not both.”

  “Yes, yes, go on with your English logic.” Impatiently he added, “Just tell me why you love her.”

  “It’s the damnedest thing,” Val muttered, adding more sugar to his coffee, which was already starting to look like sludge. “I must be crazier than a loon to entertain such an idea, but I think she might actually love me. If she lies because she has a design on me, she has a design on me because she wants me. She is the most delusional or manipulative woman I’ve ever met. Her eyes sparkle when she looks at me. She treats my every word like nectar from the gods. Hell, I don’t think any woman has ever listened to me before, much less believed in me. The only thing she seems to want…is me.”

  “It’s too bad you can’t love her with your heart and leave your mind to destroy other people’s lives,” Zaheer stated matter-of-factly, tilting his head matter-of-factly.

  Val threw his money on the counter. He’d been here too long. Alita Stanton wasn’t coming down today.

  He cursed under his breath. This was what came of ignoring his instincts. And this was what came of attachments. They never worked for him.

  Val was almost to the door when he turned back. Returning to throw another large coin on the counter Val said, “Let me know if you learn anything, Zaheer.”

  Once out of earshot, Zaheer muttered under his breath, “And the same to you, my friend.”

  39

  An Urgent Missive

  “It is imperative I see you prior to my departure from Egypt. Might you arrange a time and a place?” Alita’s hands had shaken as she wrote the missive. She had come alive in Egypt and the thought of leaving filled her with sadness.

  Allowing Valerius to be in control of the environ would ensure his agreement. As long as the situation was disreputable, it would appeal.

  “Meet me in Lord Cromer’s office at the British Consulate at five o’clock this evening. We can be assured of privacy.” He responded with a quickly sprawled note delivered by the embassy’s page. Noticeably absent from the letter was “Don’t go, dearest.”

  Alita mustered all of her strength to see Valerius one last time. She was elated, nervous, suspicious, excited, and full of dread. She longed to see him at the same time she feared her heart might break. She was so intensely grateful for this magical interlude where her heart had first loved and which had taught her more than she had learned in the previous eighteen years. She could never regret knowing Valerius or the journey she had traveled, but it did not ease the pain of being forever separated from him.

  We should be together. Every instinct told her so.

  Striving to put her mind on anything but her sadness, she selected a simple pink linen walking suit with brown velvet trim. Studying her reflection in the mirror, she frowned at the haggard image staring back at her, the fitted suit almost loose.

  I am not the innocent young woman I was only a few months ago. Though her eyes shown against the pale pink, they also revealed her exhaustion from sleeplessness, desperation, mental concentration, diligent effort and self-admonitions. She turned away from the mirror, striving to focus on the concerns at hand.

  Upon arriving at the embassy, she instructed the carriage driver to wait for her return, leaving a coin and promising another.

  Alita found the door to Lord Cromer’s anteroom ajar. Walking inside, she motioned to Flora to sit on the bench. Alita took the parcel from Flora.

  Feeling considerable trepidation, Alita knocked lightly on the door outside Lord Cromer’s office with some inconvenience, as she was holding both her reticule and a large package tightly in her arms. Her maid rose to assist her, but Alita motioned with her head for Flora to return to her seat.

  “Miss Alita,” Val murmured, his voice low. Despite her delicate knocking, Val quickly opened the door, a slow lazy smile coming to his lips as he seemed to drink her in.

  She would have thought from his expression she wore a low-cut evening dress instead of a serviceable ensemble. He motioned gallantly with his arm. “I am delighted to see you. Do come in.”

  “Captain Lord Ravensdale.” She nodded, avoiding his eyes.

  This is where it began and this is where it will end.

  She bit her lip. No, no, not now. Pull yourself together. This is not the time for sadness but for service.

  I will endure and find the joy in life wherever it may be.

  “Ah, I see that you have done some last-minute shopping. May I assist you with your packages?”

  “No, thank you, my lord,” she replied curtly, keeping her back to him.

  “May I ask why you have been avoiding me, Miss Alita?” His tone was polite, but it had an edge to it.

  “I have been quite absorbed in a project,” she stated simply, looking about the room, unable to keep herself from a quick glance in his direction. Even in his casual attire, a linen suit and tie, he made her heart ache.

  “A project? It must have kept you exceedingly busy,” he replied smoothly, a frown forming on his lips.

  I have lost much sleep over it. I hope it shall not be in vain.

  “Indeed it did.” Alita agreed with as much disinterest as she could muster. Her eyes moved to his feet to see that he wore leather sandals—and no socks.

  “Do as the locals do, I always say.” He smiled as he followed her eyes. “Much more comfortable.” It was quite annoying how he always seemed to know what she was thinking.

  And she the mystic! One wondered.

  “Do you? I don’t recall ever having heard you say such a thing.”

  He moved to offer a retort when something in her expression stopped him abruptly, his eyebrows knitting together. “You look thin, Miss Alita. Even more so than usual.” He studied her for a moment, concern creeping into his eyes. “And tired. Are you well?”

  “I am indeed tired,” she replied simply. And I think I shall never be rested again.

  “Shall I send out for something to eat?” he asked without hesitation. “I do have light refreshments here, but I could send out for something more substantial. I don’t eat much myself, so it didn’t occur to me. I should have thought…”

  She felt a warmth emanating near her hand. Turning, she observed a full tea service waiting on the table, steam arising from the slender silver spout. He was prepared for her visit.

  “No, I thank you, I am not in need of sustenance, I assure you. I will return to Shepheard’s for dinner, and this is the first in many evenings where I will dine in the dining room.”

  Val frowned at this intelligence. “Would you care for a sherry, Miss Alita?” he asked.

  “No thank you.”

  He frowned at her stiff formality.

  “Tea?” he asked simply, watching her deliberately. “I also have some sweet biscuits.”

  “Hmmm,” she sighed. “A hot cup of tea and a biscuit would be nice.

  He motione
d to the couch, and, as before, she chose the chair next to the couch. She leaned her package against her chair before seating herself.

  Val’s lips expressed his disapproval, even as he poured her tea and added a touch of cream. He must have remembered from their dinner that she didn’t take sugar.

  After delivering the hot beverage, he poured himself a sherry and leaned up against the table, his full scrutiny focused upon her. Studying her intently, his expression was solemn, his initial gaiety subdued.

  Uncomfortable with his proximity, even with the armrest between them, she stood to walk about the room, holding her tea cup as she walked. There were bookcases everywhere, filled to overflowing with books on agriculture, medicine, sanitation systems, and city planning. It was obviously a working office. The only sign of disorder was the scattered maps, and it appeared that the room was being wired for electricity. There were even plants in the window sill, which looked to be crops rather than house plants.

  The only personal effect on Sir Evelyn’s massive desk was a photograph of his wife. As she moved to the window, she observed both the Nile and a view of the maze gardens.

  I will miss everything about this place—a land she never wanted to come to. Swallowing hard, she steeled herself for the task at hand and turned to face Val.

  “Captain Ravensdale…” she began.

  “I see we have returned to our initial formality. It doesn’t seem right between us, somehow, Miss Alita.”

  “I brought you a parting gift.” Ignoring his attempts at intimacy, she motioned to the package she had leaned against her chair, reseating herself. “The project we spoke of.”

  “Why, Miss Stanton, I…thank you.” As she held the wrapped gift towards him, Val expressed surprise, an unusual emotion for him.

  “A moment, please, Lord Ravensdale.” As he reached for the package, she held up her free hand. “There will come a time when you will remember this meeting with me today with great clarity and impact.”