Lady Travelers Guide to Deception with an Unlikely Earl

by Victoria Alexander

  “Finding lost cities?”

  She raised a brow. “I see you’ve already spoken to Mr. Nazzal.”

  “I have.”

  “Excellent.” Her eyes sparkled. “Then there’s less for me to explain. Although we have some time.” She frowned thoughtfully. “I do want to be here when the others return. The fewer people who know about this, the better I think. Erring on the side of caution and all.”

  “I’ve heard that.”

  “First—” she fetched the medallion from the desk and handed it to him “—you might want to look at this.”

  “Given you appropriated the thing the moment I found it, I certainly would.”

  “You needn’t be so indignant about it.” Amusement sounded in her voice. “Oh, but I forgot. You don’t trust me.”

  “You shall have to work on that,” he said under his breath. He turned the disk over in his hand, noting the engravings on both sides. It really was an exquisite piece. Hard to believe it was probably thousands of years old. Sidney was right. While the design on one side was perfectly centered, the engraving on the other definitely looked like it was only a small part of a larger design.

  “And do sit down.” She nodded toward the sofa. “This is rather complicated.”

  He cast a skeptical look at the sofa.

  “I assure you, it’s much more comfortable to sit on than to sleep on.”

  “It couldn’t possibly be worse,” he muttered but sat anyway.

  “This is all very exciting but I don’t want to repeat myself so why don’t you tell me what Mr. Nazzal told you.”

  “Very well.” He studied the medallion for a moment. “He said because of the notches, you thought this was part of a larger piece. And looking at this, I tend to agree. They serve no other purpose but to hold the medallion in place.”

  She nodded. “Good.”

  He turned it over. “He also said you think when this medallion is joined with the larger piece it could reveal the location of Itjtawy.”

  “Isn’t it exciting?” She sat down beside him.

  “Very, but you’ve made some assumptions here that may not be warranted.”

  “Have I?” She smiled in a distinctly superior manner. “Oh, I don’t think so.” She took the medallion and placed it on her palm. “On this side we have hieroglyphics that seem to indicate the name of the queen consort of Amenemhat II, or part of her name at least. Right here—” she pointed to a symbol on the medallion “—that says ‘great royal wife.’ Well, more or less. It’s always difficult to be entirely precise with hieroglyphics. As you know, this particular king is rather obscure—”

  He didn’t but he let it pass.

  “—and nothing yet discovered has given any name at all for any of his wives, as he would have had more than one.”

  “But if that’s the name of a queen wouldn’t it be in a cartouche?” As all royal names were contained in a cartouche. Anytime he’d run into hieroglyphics bound by an oblong border with a bar on one end indicating how it should be read, it had always signified royalty.

  She shook her head. “That’s true of kings’ names, but queens’ names weren’t written in cartouches until at least a century or two after Amenemhat II.”

  “Go on.”

  “If indeed this side reveals the name of Amenemhat II’s queen,” she said, flipping the medallion over, “this side might well indicate where the city her husband ruled from can be found.”

  Her reasoning actually made sense but was rather far-fetched.

  “Well? Aren’t you going to say something?”

  He chose his words with care. “I think you may be jumping to conclusions.”

  “You would be right. However...” She grinned with sheer satisfaction. “There’s more.” She thrust the medallion into his hand, fairly leaped off the sofa, crossed the room to the desk and returned with an old book. “This is my grandmother’s journal. Her last journal actually.” She resumed her seat and opened the book. “She and my grandfather spent most of their lives in Egypt searching for tombs and antiquities and, well, knowledge. It’s my understanding that they were modestly successful and highly respected.”

  “Nazzal said something about your grandparents but he didn’t mention a journal.”

  “I didn’t know my grandparents, they died when I was very young. Lost at sea on their final voyage to Egypt.”

  “My condolences.”

  “Thank you, but as I said I never knew them. In fact, I didn’t know anything about them at all until I met Aunt Effie. She was a very dear friend of my grandmother’s. When my grandparents would go off on another expedition to Egypt, my grandmother left her journals with Effie, in the event something happened.” She grimaced. “And of course it did.”

  “Again, I am—”

  “It’s quite all right, really. You needn’t continue to offer your sympathies although it’s nice of you to do so.” She patted his hand in a comforting manner, and continued. “In the last journal, she writes about a small cache of artifacts, no more than two dozen separate items, they stumbled onto near Dahshur.”

  He drew his brows together. “A tomb?”

  “No, a cave. It appeared this collection of items had been hidden eons ago. Probably by tomb robbers who, oddly enough, never returned.”

  “So it remained for hundreds, possibly thousands of years,” he said thoughtfully.

  She nodded. “For whatever reason—and grandmother’s journal is unfortunately vague about this—they put the cache back where they found it, intending of course to return on their next trip.”

  “But they never made it back.”

  “No and when I saw the medallion the other night, it struck me that it looked very much like one of the relics Grandmother wrote about. She listed all the objects in great detail and made drawings of some of them, those she considered most significant. She believed they were from the tomb of Amenemhat II’s queen.” She opened the journal and turned to one of the last entries. “This is a sketch of a rectangular piece, a pectoral I believe, a sort of necklace or breastplate—”

  “I know what a pectoral is.”

  “Of course you do. Sorry,” she said absently. “Now look right here...” She tapped a section of the drawing. “That circular area? It’s not very detailed and it’s a bit faded but it does look to me very much like the medallion we have.”

  Harry placed the medallion on the page next to the drawing. “It does seem to match.”

  “There’s another drawing—” she turned the page “—here that matches the back although the ink is both faded and smudged and not distinct enough to provide any real information.”

  “Even so, there is a resemblance.”

  “Exactly.” She turned another page. “And here is a drawing of the cave itself. This rocky outcropping looks somewhat like a sitting camel, don’t you think?”

  “No.” He paused. “Perhaps.”

  “Now all we need to do is find the rest of the piece and that could lead us to the location of Itjtawy.” She snapped the journal shut.

  “Possibly.” He held out his hand. “May I see that?”

  “Certainly.” She handed him the book.

  He leafed through it. Was it possible that these journals of her grandmother’s were the inspiration for Sidney’s stories?

  “It’s one of the last entries.” Impatience sounded in her voice. “Just think—we can follow in my grandmother’s footsteps.”

  “Not your grandfather’s?”

  “Not really.” Sidney waved off the question. “Aside from the occasional comment—the kinds of things one says about a husband I suppose—Grandmother rarely mentioned him. Her journals are her story not his. From what she wrote—and from what Effie has said—she was not the sort of woman to faint away at the first sign of danger.” She paused. “Although she did have a fear
of snakes.”

  “As do many of us. And there are far worse footsteps to follow in I suppose.” He found the right page and studied the drawings, trying to ignore that distinct sense of mounting excitement he’d always had when he had been on the trail of an important find. Those days were behind him. “Or perhaps it would be better to turn this all over to Nazzal.”

  “Are you mad?” Disbelief blazed in her eyes. “This is the opportunity to uncover history.” She jumped to her feet, snatched the book from his hands and waved it at him. “To ensure my family’s legacy. To finish my grandmother’s story.” Sidney met his gaze directly. “Furthermore, I can think of no better way to prove to you that I am not a fraud than by finding a lost city.”

  Maybe he should tell her now that was no longer necessary. Would she still want to continue then? Admittedly, the idea of finding something this important was almost irresistible. The old Harry Armstrong wouldn’t have hesitated. He got to his feet. “Sidney—”

  “It seems to me you might have something to prove as well.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “I have nothing to prove.”

  “Don’t you?” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Daniel said you were well known among Egyptologists—which is not the same thing as being an Egyptologist—”

  “I’ve never cared much for titles.”

  “—and I am very well versed in every exhibit, every lecture, and very nearly everything else that involves the study and discoveries of Egypt both past and present. Yet I have never so much as heard your name.”

  “I’m not sure why that matters.”

  “Perhaps it doesn’t. But you spent years here, you lost a dear friend, and, as far as I can tell, have received no recognition for your work whatsoever. Why, you’ve never even been invited to join the Egyptian Antiquities Society.”

  He stiffened. “You don’t know that.”

  “Before we left London, I checked the membership list and neither your name nor your uncle’s is on it. Which brings up another point. Until your uncle wrote his vile letters to The Times I had never heard of the Earl of Brenton. And while I don’t know them personally, I am familiar with the names of most of those supporters of expeditions or enthusiasts of Egyptian history and archeology. Which leads me to believe his letters were at your urging and the only reason for trying to discredit my work is to lessen competition with your own.”

  He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear more. “About my uncle—”

  “It’s obvious you feel responsible for your friend’s death. Writing about your adventures in Egypt—and I did read those pages you left for me—would keep his memory alive and provide him, and you, with the recognition you’ve been denied but probably deserve.”

  “You’ve given this a great deal of thought.”

  “I would be a fool not to. You and your uncle are trying to ruin me.”

  “I don’t want to ruin you,” he said slowly. “Frankly, I really wasn’t thinking about you when this whole mess started. And you’re right. I do feel responsible for Walter’s death. And yes, I was thinking about my own work and my own legacy but more than that—” he met her gaze firmly “—Walter and I and Ben made a contribution here and I wanted it acknowledged. Not really for myself although I will admit that was indeed part of it.” It was difficult to put into words. He blew a long breath. “I didn’t want Walter’s life to have been for nothing. He had no family to speak of, there’s no one left to remember him except me and Ben. I didn’t want him to fade from the world as if he was never here.”

  She stared at him for a long moment. “That’s rather noble of you.”

  “I can be noble.”

  “I’ve become quite fond of you, Harry Armstrong, in spite of your uncle.” She shook her head. “Was that a mistake?”

  He grinned. “Probably. But it’s a mistake I’ve made as well as I’ve become more than merely fond of you.” He stepped closer, took the journal from her hand and set it on the desk.

  “Oh?” She stared up at him. “How much more?”

  “A great deal more.” He pulled her into his arms.

  She gazed up at him and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Why, Harry Armstrong, are you finally going to kiss me when it isn’t out of mere necessity?”

  “My dear, Mrs. Gordon, I’m afraid you’re mistaken.” He pulled her closer against him. “It was never out of mere necessity.” With that he pressed his lips to hers.

  The oddest sense of inevitability and with it acceptance swept through him at the feel of her lips against his. The taste of her, the scent of her invaded his senses and wrapped around his soul. A kiss would not be enough. A day, a year, a lifetime would not be enough. He wanted this woman in his bed, in his life, by his side for the rest of his days. Her mouth opened to his and he savored the taste of her—warm unknown spices and adventures yet to come. Her body pressed against his and his blood pounded in his veins.

  She gasped. “Harry.”

  “Sidney.” He fairly sighed her name, wrenched his lips from hers and feathered kisses along the line of her jaw.

  “Harry!” She pushed harder. “There’s someone at the door.”

  “Ignore it.” He kissed the side of her neck, just below her ear. She shivered in his arms and his muscles tightened.

  “I would dearly love to, Harry.” Her voice had the most delightful breathless quality. “But we can’t.”

  He groaned. “Why not?”

  “Because that might well be another piece to our puzzle.”

  He raised his head and looked down at her. “What? Now?”

  “So it would seem.” Her eyes sparkled.

  “I’d be willing to forgo a lost city right now for time together if you are.”

  “Goodness, Harry.” She reached up and nibbled the lobe of his ear. “We might be able to have both.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  “GOOD DAY, MR. NAZZAL.” Sidney ushered the Egyptian into her room. Her voice was steady, her demeanor serene and she was confident there was no outward sign of the kiss she and Harry had just shared. Nothing to indicate her insides were quivering with what was probably sheer, undeniable desire. Good Lord, if Nazzal hadn’t arrived when he did Harry could have had her right there on the floor. Or she could have had him. For a woman who had not yet lost her virginity, she was more than eager to do so now. It seemed it just took the right man—and the right kiss—to turn a woman who had never given a great deal of thought to longings of the flesh into someone who could think of little else. Undeniable desire was apparently quite a powerful thing. Perhaps it would fade, was no more than a momentary peculiarity, although she doubted it. Pity, there were other pressing matters to attend to first. “I didn’t expect you quite so soon.”

  “Good afternoon, Mrs. Gordon, Harry.” Mr. Nazzal nodded a greeting to Harry then addressed Sidney. “I found our quarry much more quickly than I had expected and I knew you were eager to proceed.”

  “Wonderful! I don’t know how to thank you.” Sidney beamed.

  “Oh, but you do,” Mr. Nazzal said with a smile. “Are you ready?”

  “I just need to get my hat and gloves.”

  “I beg your pardon,” Harry said, obviously a bit disgruntled. Perhaps that’s what happened when undeniable desire was indeed denied. She bit back a grin. “What does he mean—you know how to thank him? And where are you going? Don’t think for a minute you’re going anywhere without me.”

  “Goodness, Harry, we didn’t expect you to be here, did we, Mr. Nazzal?”

  “In truth, I suspected he’d be here,” Mr. Nazzal said.

  “That’s right.” Sidney’s gaze slid from one man to the other. “The two of you had a little chat without me.”

  “I assure you, Mrs. Gordon—”

  “Sidney, it really wasn’t—”

  “It’s of no consequence.” She waved them qu
iet. “Harry, I never intended to do this without you.” She drew her brows together. “Well, actually I had intended to do this part without you until I saw you lurking in the streets rather than enjoying a day on the Nile.”

  Mr. Nazzal snorted in amusement and tried to hide it with a bad pretense of a cough.

  “Yes, well, good. I am part of this now, you know, and I do not intend to be left behind,” Harry said firmly then paused. “Where are we going?”

  “Whenever my grandparents were in Egypt, they employed the same man—a Mr. Bishara—to serve as guide, interpreter and general superintendent.” She picked up her hat and stepped to the wall mirror to adjust it. Aside from a slight flush in her cheeks—which was rather becoming—there was no evidence at all that a few minutes ago she was more than willing to throw herself into bed with Harry Armstrong. She pushed the thought aside. Now was not the time but later... “He managed all their trips, expeditions and digs, arranged transportation and hired workers. They trusted him implicitly. They had a long and beneficial relationship for nearly a quarter of a century.” She turned toward them and pulled on her gloves. “According to Grandmother’s journal, he was with them when they found the cache of artifacts in question. He was charged with drawing a map and marking directions, some way to locate the cave again. It was the sort of thing he did routinely.”

  Harry glanced at Mr. Nazzal. “Don’t you see any problems here?”

  Mr. Nazzal shrugged. “I am an eternal optimist.”

  “Then let me spell them out.” Harry ticked the points off on his fingers. “First—this must have been a good thirty years ago. You don’t even know if Bishara is still alive.”

  “He is,” Mr. Nazzal said. “He is old but still breathing.”

  “And we are going to see him.” Sidney nodded. “Now.”

  “Then let me rephrase—you don’t know that he’ll be able to remember any of this.”

  “We don’t know that he won’t. It’s a chance well worth taking I’d say.” Sidney sighed. “Really, Harry, is all this explanation necessary?”

  “Yes,” he snapped.