Lady Travelers Guide to Deception with an Unlikely Earl

by Victoria Alexander

  “Very well.” Resignation sounded in his voice and he unlocked the door, allowing her to enter first as he cast another cautious look up and down the corridor. He then closed the door, locked it behind him and flicked on the light. Electricity was certainly convenient. The room had a similar layout to hers although the furniture was not exactly the same. “Any idea where it might be?”

  “It’s in the chest of drawers.” She gestured at the large piece of furniture flanking one side of a washstand. “In the drawer with his undergarments and his socks.”

  He stared at her. “How the devil do you know that?”

  “At tea, one of the ladies said she was concerned about keeping her jewelry in her room and thought perhaps she should leave it in the keeping of the hotel. Mr. Wallace said he always put his valuables in the drawer under his unmentionables as no one ever thought to look there.”

  “You are a clever little group, aren’t you?” Harry strode across the room to the chest and opened the top drawer. “Remind me never to cross a determined author and her band of aged miscreants.”

  “Do hurry, Harry.” She twisted her hands together. This was more unnerving than she had anticipated. Perhaps she should have waited in the hall after all.

  “One minute.” Harry rummaged through the top drawer, quite thoroughly and entirely too slowly.

  “Have you found it?”

  “You’ll know when I do,” he murmured. Odd, the more confident he sounded, the more nervous she grew. He moved to the second drawer and a moment later he paused. “I think I have it.”

  At once her trepidation vanished and she hurried across the room to join him.

  He drew out a black sock, weighted down by something in the toe. He slid his hand in, pulled it out and presented the stolen artifact with a flourish and a smile. “The missing medallion of Amenemhat II’s queen consort. Well, possibly, anyway.”

  “May I?” She held out her hand.

  “Certainly.” He handed it to her then returned the sock to the drawer.

  It was heavier than she would have thought but then it was gold and warmed in her hand. The medallion was grayish yellow in color which was to be expected. Ancient gold usually had some silver in it. It was about an inch and a half in diameter and both sides were engraved, with one side’s design looking more complete than the other. How very intriguing.

  “Isn’t this interesting.” She tilted it toward the light.

  “You read hieroglyphics?” Surprise sounded in his voice.

  “Don’t you?” she said absently.

  “More or less.” He closed the drawer. “I would say our work here is done.”

  “Shouldn’t we look around to see if there are any more of the missing items? I understood this was part of a shipment of antiquities.”

  “I do hope you paid that server well,” he said with a huff. “And no. We need to leave.”

  “It would only take a minute.”

  “If Wallace was in possession of more than the medallion, Nazzal would have told me and ask me to retrieve those as well. Now—” he waved toward the door “—let’s go, shall we?”

  “If you’re—”

  A knock sounded at the door and they froze.

  Her heart skipped a beat and her gaze met Harry’s. He put his finger to his lips.

  The knock sounded again. At least it wasn’t Mr. Wallace. He would never knock on his own door.

  “It’s the maid to turn down the bed,” she whispered.

  Harry nodded toward the wardrobe. “Hide. In there.”

  “It’s not nearly big enough for both of us.” She still had the medallion in her hand. Without thinking she slid it between her breasts, tight against her corset.

  “Only one thing to do, then.” He grabbed her hand, strode to the bed and yanked back the covers. “Get in.”

  “Are you mad?”

  “Apparently.”

  The distinct sound of a key in the keyhole vanquished her hesitation. She swept the back of her skirt tighter around her and fairly leaped onto the bed, Harry immediately following suit. He pulled the covers up to hide any indication of their clothing, then wrapped his arms around her. In spite of the precarious nature of their situation, and the fear that gripped her, this was not at all unpleasant.

  The doorknob turned.

  “My apologies,” he whispered, pulled her tighter to him and pressed his lips to hers.

  And her world stopped.

  Perhaps it was the element of surprise. Or the simple fact that she’d never been kissed before or the sheer terror of discovery. Or more likely it was him. Annoying, sanctimonious, heroic Harry Armstrong.

  A squeal sounded from the doorway along with a stream of apologetic Arabic. Sidney barely noticed. Almost at once the door snapped shut.

  And yet he didn’t release her and she didn’t push him away. She had never imagined the sheer intimacy of a man’s mouth pressed to hers. The shimmering sense of longing that swept through her and made her insides quiver. Oh, she had considered the idea of being kissed but had long ago accepted if she hadn’t been kissed by the age of thirty-two the chances were good she never would be. Certainly, Millicent Forester had shared the occasional kiss with Richard Weatherly but writing about a kiss was one thing. Experiencing it in real life something else entirely. Something quite remarkable that left the oddest flutter in the pit of her stomach and the strangest ache for something, well, more. At last he drew back and stared in a disconcerted sort of way.

  “No apologies necessary, Harry.” She mustered a shaky smile. “You did what needed to be done.”

  “Yes, well, we should—”

  “Indeed we should.” She forced a brisk note to her voice. “Perhaps if you would release me?”

  “Of course.” He shook his head as if to clear it then threw off the covers, slid out of bed and helped her to her feet. They remade the bed as best they could, moving as quickly and silently as possible. There was the distinct possibility the maid might realize at any moment that the couple in bed did not belong in that room.

  Sidney stepped to the cheval mirror, adjusted the off-the-shoulder cap-sleeves of her gown and tried to smooth away wrinkles in her skirt. She patted her hair back into place and decided it would do. Harry stepped up behind her and straightened his collar and tie. Her hands stilled and her gaze met his in the mirror. She had no idea what to say. What she should say. And, aside from “kiss me again, Harry,” no idea what she wanted to say. Ridiculous, of course. He had kissed her out of necessity. A kiss he had apologized for in advance. It was nothing more than a ruse. Certainly he had asked to kiss her on board ship but he had not made such a request again. And aside, from that moment in the pyramid, he’d had other chances that he’d squandered as well. Surely a man who wanted to kiss a woman would seize on any opportunity.

  Harry looked every bit as flustered as she. Was he also at a loss for words? Because he regretted his actions? Because he didn’t want her to think it was more significant than it was? Or because he too wished for more?

  “We should go,” he said abruptly and moved to the door, opened it cautiously and peered into the hall. He opened it wider and waved her through.

  “Thank you,” she murmured and stepped past him.

  They made their way back to the ballroom in near total silence, awkward and uncomfortable. She had no idea what the man was thinking although he did seem distracted and deep in thought. Sidney too had any number of thoughts crowding her head.

  Not the least of which was wondering what it would be like to be kissed by Mr. Harry Armstrong when it wasn’t spurred by necessity but by desire.

  And what it might take to find out.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  WHAT IN THE name of all that was holy had come over him?

  It was a kiss. A fully clothed kiss at that and nothing more than the brill
iant solution to an unexpected dilemma, even if perhaps it wasn’t entirely necessary. Regardless, it was of no real significance whatsoever. Why, he had kissed any number of women. And most under circumstances far more intimate than tonight’s. Even so, the feel of her in his arms, her body pressed against his, her lips responding first with demure hesitation then with rapt abandon, refused to leave his head. No, he might as well admit it. It was more than a kiss, more than a spur of the moment ploy to prevent discovery. He wasn’t sure exactly what but definitely more. And hadn’t he been wanting to kiss her for some time?

  Harry accepted a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and lingered near the doorway, watching Sidney across the room. The moment they returned to the ballroom she joined the other ladies at Mr. Wallace’s table. Judging from the look on the portly American’s face when he stood and took her hand, he too had probably read her blasted book. Surely Wallace’s attention had more to do with his admiration of her work than the fact that—in spite of her efforts—she looked the tiniest bit tousled and eminently desirable. The idea that Wallace might be interested in something other than her writing was extremely annoying. When she’d accused Harry of being jealous of Nazzal and he’d admitted it, he hadn’t really meant it. Or perhaps he had. He had no idea what he was thinking anymore. This awkward business of liking a woman was proving to be most confusing.

  “She’s really quite remarkable, don’t you think?” Lady Blodgett appeared at Harry’s side.

  He glanced at her in surprise. “I didn’t realize you had left the others.”

  “You’re not very observant, then, are you?”

  He chuckled. “Apparently not.”

  She rolled her gaze toward the ceiling. “It’s a wonder you’re still alive.”

  “Luck, Lady Blodgett.” He sipped his drink. “I will take luck over skill any day.”

  “Luck frequently runs out, young man.”

  “It hasn’t yet.” He paused. “At least not for me.”

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “About Mrs. Gordon?” His gaze shifted back to Sidney. “Yes, I do think she’s remarkable.”

  “Did you and she take care of your little errand?” she asked in an offhand manner, as if inquiring about nothing more important than fetching a forgotten item from her room. Apparently Sidney wasn’t the only one with a touch of larceny in her soul.

  “We did.”

  “And it was successful?”

  “It was.”

  Bloody hell. He’d completely forgotten that Sidney still had the medallion. Although no one knew that but him. And even when Wallace discovered the artifact was missing, he would not sound an alarm. A man in possession of stolen goods rarely made a public outcry when they went missing. There was nothing to connect Sidney, or Harry either for that matter, to the relic. The maid had seen nothing but two entwined figures covered nearly to the tops of their heads. Even so, the longer Sidney and her friends were in Wallace’s company, the greater the chances one of them would unintentionally say something. He was not overly confident in their ability to keep quiet. “Perhaps it would be prudent if you and the others bid Mr. Wallace a good evening.”

  “I was thinking exactly the same thing.” She slanted him a curious look. “You can trust us, you know. We are far cleverer than we may appear.”

  “I have absolutely no doubt of that, my lady.”

  “It is, however, when engaged in any sort of subterfuge, wise to err on the side of caution.”

  “Exactly, Lady Blodgett.” He doubted the ladies ever engaged in any sort of subterfuge whatsoever unless, of course, one included their assistance with Sidney’s own deception. And, while they might not realize it, they hadn’t been entirely successful with that. He stifled a smile.

  “Age does not denote stupidity, Harry. Unless, of course, one was stupid in one’s younger days. I assure you neither Effie nor Poppy nor I was stupid in our youth.”

  “I never—”

  “Furthermore, we were all married to men who were hardly ever present. They were off exploring the unknown or, in Effie’s case, serving the Crown. They had grand adventures and epic exploits and, we privately suspected, a great deal of fun.” She pinned him with a firm look. “Do you know what happens to women who marry such men?”

  “I’ve never thought about it,” he said cautiously.

  “Which indicates you never seriously entertained the thought of marriage with any particular woman. Good to know.” Before he could ask why she nodded and continued. “Women who marry men of adventure either become helpless, delicate flowers who can barely take care of themselves or they become independent and self-reliant.” She paused. “There isn’t one among the three of us who wouldn’t have done very nearly anything if it had meant our husbands would be home to build a life with us. But, as that was not to be, we became the women we are now. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  He stared in confusion. “I’m afraid not.”

  She sighed. “We have always done what needed to be done. On our own or with our friends. In some cases, we did so to set things right. In others, because it was the right thing to do. Or because someone needed our assistance, even if they might not have realized it at the time. And now that we are in the inevitable final period of our lives, when we are no longer troubled by the bothersome rules of propriety or even laws, we still do what we believe is necessary. For the greater good, a noble cause if you will, of course, not merely for fun.”

  “I see,” he lied.

  “No you don’t but it is sweet of you to say.” Her gaze turned back to Sidney and the others. “I should gather my little flock and be off.”

  “Good evening, then. Sleep well.”

  “Oh, we have no intention of retiring.” She scoffed. “It’s not yet ten o’clock and we are on holiday. Although I daresay we will be in our rooms before midnight. But I met a lovely group of travelers this afternoon, here on a tour. Not, unfortunately, a Lady Travelers tour but a Thomas Cook excursion. Those people are everywhere you know.”

  “There are a lot of tourists in Egypt.”

  “I’ve even run into a few people from London right here in the hotel who know people I know. I must say I did not expect that.” She shook her head. “Many of those from the Cook’s tour have read either Sidney’s book or her stories in the Messenger and are eager to meet her. They did not dine at the hotel tonight but we arranged to gather here in the small dining room shortly after ten. That charming Mr. Chalmers arranged it for us. Wasn’t that thoughtful of him?”

  “Mr. Chalmers is nothing if not thoughtful.”

  “It provides the perfect excuse for bidding good evening to Mr. Wallace.” She smiled in a smug manner.

  “Brilliant, Lady Blodgett.” He grinned. “You and your friends never fail to amaze me.”

  “What a lovely thing to say, Harry.” She took a step toward Sidney’s table then paused. “But I much prefer devious to brilliant.” She cast him a sly smile and took her leave.

  Harry was still chuckling when she reached the others. Their ploy appeared to work perfectly and within a few minutes the older ladies and Sidney had excused themselves and left the ballroom. Perhaps devious was indeed the right word.

  He toyed with the idea of retiring for the evening himself but knew he wouldn’t get a moment’s rest as long as the medallion was in Sidney’s possession. Not that he was concerned that she might be in any kind of danger. Still, as Lady Blodgett pointed out, it was best to err on the side of caution. Besides, it did seem to him the successful conclusion of their adventure called for a celebration. What better way to celebrate than with champagne? The woman did like champagne. Why not bring a bottle to her room? He could bring his writing for her to peruse later as well. Not that he wanted to but it would be cowardly to flee from her opinion.

  And should a shared bottle lead to something more... She
was a widow, after all, and had quite enthusiastically returned his kiss. He had no intention of seducing her but if one thing were to lead to another...

  A few minutes after midnight, he knocked softly on her door, champagne and glasses in one hand, his writing tucked under his arm. He’d never been the least bit nervous about an assignation before but this was different. This was Sidney. The woman who had outraged him with her less-than-accurate writing, even if her actions tonight were very much like something the character in her stories might do. The woman who had brought him back to Egypt. The woman who might possibly be working her way into his heart. No woman had done that, ever. He had thought no woman ever could.

  He knocked again, louder. No doubt she was already fast asleep. Even he was feeling the tiring effects of the long day. As much as he wanted to pound on her door, that would awaken any number of other guests. He had no desire to encounter Wallace in the hall or anyone else. There was as well the slim possibility that he had completely misunderstood Sidney’s response to his kiss. Although he wouldn’t wager on that. He had kissed enough women to know when one shared his desire.

  Still he couldn’t quite disregard the idea. Sidney was unlike any woman he’d ever known. He slipped the twenty-odd pages he’d brought with him under her door and started toward his room, his stomach twisting in what? Disappointment? This was certainly not the first time an anticipated liaison had not come to fruition although it had been rare. But what if he was indeed mistaken? What if what he was feeling was not mutual? What was he feeling?

  Good God, she’d turned him into some kind of sniveling mass of indecision. A creature mired in confusion and overly concerned with feelings of all things. He’d never been like this with a woman before. No doubt all that effort to behave like a gentleman, like an earl, was to blame. Or possibly the blame could be placed on Sidney. Or even on Egypt. He had no idea. He had never liked unanswered questions. He much preferred knowing where he stood and what exactly was going on but apparently his head was now filled with endless questions and few answers. And feelings!