“I shall certainly try.”
“That’s all one can ever ask, Harry,” she said and patted his arm.
Sidney and the ladies proceeded to their respective rooms to freshen up, agreeing to meet on the terrace for tea shortly. Harry fully intended to join them. Regardless of his admonition, he would not put it past any of them—including Sidney—to take off on a whim should something prove interesting. He did not intend to lose them again.
He took longer than he had expected but the moment he stepped off the lift into the lobby, the desk clerk gestured at him. Harry stepped to the counter and was handed a note from Nazzal requesting a meeting in the bar. Harry glanced out at the terrace to find his party already seated and obviously settled for the time being, then headed for the bar. Only a handful of tables were occupied and it seemed there were more servers than customers. Nazzal waited for him at a table at the far end of the room.
“So, what is this about?” Harry said the moment the waiter delivered his gin and tonic.
“You wound me deeply, Harry.” Nazzal shook his head in a mournful manner. “Can’t one old friend share a pleasant drink with another without being accused of ulterior motives?”
“Not you.” Harry chuckled. “Out with it, Nazzal, what do you want?”
“If I recall correctly, you do owe me a favor.”
Harry probably owed him any number of favors, but then he had done the Egyptian any number of favors in return. “It seems to me we were fairly even when I left Egypt.”
“Who keeps track of such things?” Nazzal waved off Harry’s words. “I help you. You help me. It’s how we have always done business in the past.”
“You have a unique view of the past.”
“Which makes it no less accurate.”
Harry took a sip of his drink. You could say whatever you wanted about the domination of the British Empire but it did guarantee acceptable gin was to be had wherever its shadow fell. “I am not the same man I was a year ago.”
“You are better dressed.” Nazzal’s assessing gaze flicked over Harry. “I had heard you had come into money.”
Harry shrugged. He was certainly not going to admit anything to this man.
“And your traveling companions are, shall we say, unexpected?”
Harry snorted. “Yes, you could say that.”
“I must say this is rather more respectable than I would have predicted for you.”
“Life is frequently unpredictable.”
“Indeed it is. You were the last person I expected to see in Cairo. It was my understanding when you left, you would not be coming back.”
“No one is more surprised than I to be here.”
“However, you are the answer to a bit of a dilemma I have encountered.” Nazzal chose his words with care. “You and I have known one another for a very long time. Most Englishmen, as well as most Europeans, who come to Egypt do so only to steal the ancient heritage that is Egypt.”
“There was a time when no one in Egypt minded,” Harry said mildly.
Nazzal’s expression darkened. “Such foolishness is no longer acceptable.”
Harry was well aware of the governmental stipulations that had been developed in the last half century designed to keep ancient Egypt’s most significant relics in Egypt where they rightfully belonged. Nearly everything of significance he had uncovered had gone to the country’s main museum and the rest to the British Museum. Thanks to his father’s influence, Harry agreed with that principle. Not all who sought Egypt’s treasures did. Smuggling was one of the country’s biggest industries.
Nazzal leaned across the table and lowered his voice. “There is an American—a Mr. Wallace, a collector of antiquities—staying here at Shepheard’s. He has in his possession a medallion, an artifact that was among a number of now-missing antiquities. Part of a shipment destined for inspection by the Egyptian Museum.”
“You can hardly take a step in Egypt without stumbling over an artifact. What’s so special about this one?”
“For one thing, it’s gold. Not pure, of course, but still impressive. For another, one side is carved with engravings that need further study but we believe might reveal the name of the queen consort of Amenemhat II.”
“A queen’s medallion from the Middle Kingdom?” Egypt’s Middle Kingdom, some four thousand years ago, was still shrouded by the mists of time although Harry’s father and other scholars considered it Egypt’s classical period.
“You can well understand its importance.” Determination underlaid Nazzal’s words. “It must be recovered and returned to where it belongs. The American denies it’s in his possession but my information is never wrong. It should be a simple matter for you to slip into his room, retrieve the item and slip out.”
Harry chose his words carefully although he suspected the answer. “Why not just turn this over to the proper authorities?”
“Alas, the proper authorities are not as efficient as one would wish.” Nazzal shook his head forlornly. “Mr. Wallace has friends and influence and money. He would no doubt know of any intention to seize the object before action could be taken and it would not be seen in Egypt again.”
It was a common enough story. Egypt was not a wealthy country and even the most stalwart of local officials were susceptible to the lure of bribery. “If this is so simple, why don’t you do it?”
“You are a guest of the hotel. Even if you’re caught in the wrong room you can always claim besotted ignorance. You thought it was your room.”
“So I am to be drunk?”
“Only if you’re caught.”
“I should think this is more suited to your skills than mine.”
“Possibly, but my wandering the halls might be remarked upon. The American has met me and would be immediately suspicious of my presence. Besides—” Nazzal smiled knowingly “—you were always excellent at this sort of thing.”
“This sort of thing?” Harry raised a brow. “You mean theft?”
“I mean recovering relics.”
Harry shook his head. “I don’t recall doing this particular sort of thing.”
“Perhaps my memory is faulty but I clearly remember you doing this sort of thing. Spiriting objects out of encampments or warehouses or barges.” Nazzal shrugged. “I would think a hotel room would be no challenge at all.”
“Probably but—” he shook his head “—as much as I hate to disappoint you, I no longer engage in matters of a questionable nature.”
“Come now, Harry.” Nazzal scoffed. “I don’t believe that for a moment.”
“Regardless, as I said, I am not the same man I once was.”
“No?” Nazzal raised a skeptical brow. “I had a most interesting discussion with your charming traveling companions as to why you are here.”
“Did you?” Harry said slowly, a knot forming in the pit of his stomach.
“Delightful ladies, simply delightful.” Nazzal chuckled. “They remind me of my dear, departed grandmother. She too had a tendency to chat in what always appeared to be an aimless manner but was in fact quite deliberate.”
“Go on.”
“When we realized we shared a mutual acquaintance—you—they seemed rather determined, in a subtle sort of way to learn more about you.”
“Did they?”
“You needn’t be concerned. I did not reveal any of your secrets.”
“There is nothing to reveal.”
“No? I am mistaken, then.” Nazzal paused. “I did, however, take the liberty of making a few inquiries after our meeting.”
Harry’s jaw tightened. “And?”
“Again I was mistaken. I had heard of Mrs. Gordon, or rather, I had heard of her book. It is not unknown here.”
“Do you have a point?”
“Perhaps one you have already reached.” Nazzal studied him curiously.
“By my calculations, Mrs. Gordon’s alleged adventures in Egypt would have taken place some dozen years ago. Odd that I, or you for that matter, had never heard of her presence here.” He shook his head. “A lovely young widow carrying on the work of her husband is not something that would have gone unnoticed.”
“Even you are not aware of every foreigner in Egypt,” Harry said in a mild tone.
Nazzal laughed. “I was right. You do know the truth about her.” He paused. “Are you going to expose her?”
Harry blew a long breath. “My plans are uncertain at the moment.”
“You like her.” Nazzal grinned. “A woman, no, four women getting the best of Harry Armstrong? I never thought I’d live to see that happen.”
“Congratulations on a long life.” Harry raised his glass to the Egyptian. “But they have not gotten the best of me.”
“Not yet.” He chuckled. “You know her secret but apparently she does not know yours. And it is indeed a secret, is it not?” He leaned across the table, his voice low. “Or does she know that it was you who challenged her to prove her veracity, my lord.”
Harry narrowed his eyes. He wasn’t the least bit surprised. While he’d tried to be circumspect as possible, Nazzal could have learned about his title from Leo, who could never be completely trusted, or any one of several officials who had seen his passport since his arrival. “I would prefer that you keep that to yourself.”
“I would never dream of telling her anything you don’t wish her to know. Unless of course...” He spread his hands out palm up and shrugged. “I had no other choice.”
First Leo, now Nazzal. “Is blackmail the currency of Egypt these days?”
“Come now, Harry.” Nazzal smiled. “It always has been.”
Harry tossed back his drink and got to his feet. “I’ll consider your proposal.”
“Tonight would be the perfect opportunity for this venture of ours. Time is of the essence. Wallace is expected to leave Egypt tomorrow.”
What choice did he have really? “Very well. Tonight it is.”
“Excellent.” Nazzal stood. “I’ll give you further details then.”
“Dare I ask what you get out of this?”
“Aside from the knowledge that a priceless piece of my country’s ancient heritage stays where it belongs?” Nazzal shrugged. “Nothing of significance. A finder’s fee. No more. A pittance really.”
“Good to see you have not changed.”
“Few things truly do in life.” Nazzal paused for a moment. “We cannot deny our past any more than we can deny the color of our skin, Harry. The past is always with us.”
“The wisdom of the ancients?” Harry said wryly. How he’d thought for so much as a moment that he could return to Egypt without his own past catching up to him was just as ill-advised as anything else he’d done lately.
“They too are part of the past and always with us. It is our duty to honor their teachings and that which they left for us.” Nazzal glanced around then leaned close and lowered his voice. “You should know there are people who are aware you are here. Just a warning, my friend.”
“And most appreciated.” He raised a shoulder in a careless shrug. “But I have nothing to be concerned about.” He cast the other man a confident smile and took his leave.
Still, his conscience wasn’t entirely clear. While he had made no particular enemies he had also departed Egypt abruptly. There were no doubt any number of things he had left undone, loose ends left untied.
It might be best if he did not join the ladies for tea after all. Nazzal was probably right—this should be simple enough. Even so, if he was going to steal an already stolen relic from a wealthy American, his time might be better spent determining exactly how to do that.
And how not to get caught.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“YOU DANCE AS if your feet were guided by the wings of the gods themselves.” Mr. Nazzal smiled down at Sidney in his arms.
“What a lovely thing to say, Mr. Nazzal.” Sidney adopted what she hoped was a flirtatious smile. “But I would credit any skill I have to my excellent partner.”
“Then we are of one mind, Mrs. Gordon.” His dark eyes twinkled in a wicked manner, disconcerting and yet distinctly exciting. “I was thinking precisely the same thing.”
“Are all Egyptians so charming?”
He grinned. “Yes.”
She laughed. A few weeks ago, the look in this man’s eyes might have been cause for alarm. But Millicent Forester would never be alarmed by the flirtation of a handsome, engaging Egyptian and neither would Sidney. In spite of the minor problem of losing the ladies in the market, the trip so far had been filled with new experiences and had filled Sidney with confidence as well. Even though she couldn’t take full credit for resolving yesterday’s difficulties, everything had worked out quite nicely. Millicent couldn’t have done a better job herself.
This was a scene straight from one of her stories. The grand, ornate ballroom was decorated in the style of a French king, with doors thrown open to the terraces overlooking the gardens. The stars twinkled in the night sky and a breeze gently wafted through the crowded room. The perfect setting. The dashing, handsome, mysterious gentleman who expertly guided her around the ballroom floor—the perfect minor character. And the heroine had never before in her life felt so, well, perfect.
Her new gown was the latest fashion, the color of sunlight with a daringly low bodice and quite the loveliest thing she had ever worn. A maid provided by the hotel had cleverly fashioned Sidney’s blond hair into a riot of curls at the top of her head and drifting down her back. It was most effective. The mirror in her room said she was, at least tonight, not merely adequate but indeed rather pretty. There was something about not looking average or ordinary and far more than passable that made her feel poised and self-assured, as if anything was possible. As if she could do anything. As if she truly was the heroine of her own story.
Mr. Nazzal guided her through a turn and she followed his lead without difficulty, sending a silent prayer of gratitude to Miss Bicklesham’s for the dancing lessons that she’d never had the opportunity to use until she’d set sail for Egypt. Tonight she had danced nearly every dance. Not yet with Harry but with any number of other interesting gentlemen and once with Daniel—who was in rather a mood tonight and muttered something about camels being the devils of the desert. Whatever he had wanted to talk about earlier was apparently overshadowed by his encounter with camels. It might have been the adventures of the day, or the admiration in her partners’ eyes, or the fact that she was in the ballroom at Shepheard’s and this was exactly as she had envisioned such an evening, but the steps she had mastered a lifetime ago came back to her as if she danced every night of her life.
“I must thank you again for your assistance the other day.” She smiled up at him. “And what luck for Mr. Armstrong, running into an old friend in the process.”
“Not nearly as fortunate as meeting his lovely companions,” Mr. Nazzal said smoothly.
“Tell me, Mr. Nazzal, have you known Mr. Armstrong long?”
“You are in my arms and yet you wish to speak of another man?” He shook his head in a mournful manner. “You wound me deeply, Mrs. Gordon.”
“I doubt that.” She laughed.
“Dare I ask why you wish to know?”
“It’s quite simple really. I know very little about Mr. Armstrong. We only met when we left England.” She heaved a resigned sigh. “One does like to know something about one’s traveling companions. For safety and security, don’t you agree?”
“Excellent point, Mrs. Gordon. In the interest of safety and security, then, I see no harm in telling you what you wish to know. It’s common enough knowledge.” He smiled. “I have known Mr. Armstrong since he first came to Egypt nearly twenty years ago I believe.”
“I see.” So much for the e
arl’s nephew having visited Egypt only in his youth. And hadn’t Harry admitted he was in Egypt as recently as a year ago? “And did he spend a great deal of time here?”
“Indeed, he was nearly always in Egypt, searching for the relics of the ancients, although he did return to England on occasion through the years.”
“Is he an archeologist or perhaps an Egyptologist?”
“As your Shakespeare said, ‘what’s in a name?’ Anyone who searches for the lost riches of the pharaohs will claim to be an Egyptologist. It sounds so delightfully legitimate.” He thought for a moment. “But in the case of Mr. Armstrong, he has earned that title—both titles—as well as the respect that accompanies it. I don’t believe he’s been accorded that.”
“Oh?”
“Like most men who come to Egypt in their youth, Mr. Armstrong and his friends were lured by the excitement of the hunt, the adventures to be found in the ruins and deserts and tombs, and the possibility of great fortune. But Egypt is a seductive mistress and the spells she weaves are most alluring and nearly irresistible.”
She drew her brows together. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“In the beginning, Mr. Armstrong was little more than a treasure hunter, interested only in the money his finds could bring. But for the last decade, no, longer if I recall, whatever artifacts he has unearthed have gone to museums—mostly here in Egypt—for nominal finder’s fees. His years in Egypt, and his father as well, I believe, changed him.”
“His father?”
“A highly respected scholar of ancient civilizations and an acknowledged expert on Egypt.”
“I see,” she said weakly. Unease twisted her stomach. If she had known what an expert Harry really was right from the beginning she would have... Would have what? Not come to Egypt? Admitted he was right? She’d had no choice if she wanted to continue her writing. And while Harry’s suspicions had obviously not abated, he had apparently not found any real proof as to her deception. Good. If she could pull this whole thing off, perhaps she and Harry could... Where on earth did that come from? Surely she wasn’t starting to care for the man. That would be the height of stupidity. Still, there was something about him... Regardless, this was not the time or the place to think about such nonsense.
Lady Travelers Guide to Deception with an Unlikely Earl Page 16