by Cheryl Bolen
Her brows elevated. "I'm sure you could, but I hate to think of the damage to your white cravat."
Daphne giggled. "My sister's right, Mr. Maxwell."
He possessed enough good humor to chuckle along with them.
"I believe after dinner I shall read to you," Rosemary informed Maxwell. "It's awfully difficult to read with the use of only one hand."
After dinner, the four of them gathered in the drawing room, with Rosemary quietly reading a book on the Koran to Maxwell while Jack and Daphne played chess. Jack would bet a pony Maxwell would rather be playing chess, but the man was too bloody polite to Daf's manipulative sister.
Daphne kept watching Rosemary and whispering to Jack how profoundly grateful she was that her sister had been rescued. Her divided concentration helped Jack to victory. With an unprecedented lack of disappointment in her defeat, Daphne quickly turned her attention to her sister. "Rosemary, I'm sure that book is fascinating, but you really must go to bed now. You couldn't have slept much last night, and I can tell by your eyes that you're tired. You mustn't ruin your eyes as I did mine."
"Forgive me," Maxwell said to Rosemary. "I had almost forgotten about your ordeal of last night. You really must get a good night's rest."
"And please realize, dearest love, that you will truly be safe tonight," Daphne told her.
Jack thought of the previous night's drugged soldier. Who could have been responsible for adding laudanum to the port? Lord Beddington, to Jack's knowledge, hadn't been by the soldier's campfire. Arbuthnot had, but he could not have known which of the soldiers would be on duty that night, and none of the other soldiers had been drugged.
There was also the fact that Beddington'd had nearly a hundred men to do his bidding—just in Gizeh. Could he not have had one of his servants administer the opiate?
This damned investigation was proving to be as fruitless as a eunuch.
* * *
At breakfast the following morning—much to Maxwell's consternation—Rosemary insisted on feeding him.
"I assure you, my lady, I'm capable of holding the coffee cup up to my lips with my left hand."
She nodded. "You may drink your coffee without my assistance, but I'll be right here to cut up your eggs and to assist you in any way I can."
He rolled his eyes. "You really mustn't feel as if you're indebted to me."
Daphne's eyes sparkled. "Being one's savior is a heavy burden, to be sure, Mr. Maxwell. I daresay my sister will spend the rest of her days following you around like a lap dog."
"I hope you jest, my lady," Maxwell said.
"My wife jests."
There was a knock upon the breakfast room door, and Jack bade the person enter.
A middle-aged British man dressed in lime-green livery came into the chamber and stood just inside the door. "I've brought a note from me master, Lord Beddington, to Lady Daffie Dryden." His brow hiked, he looked from Daphne to Rosemary.
"I'm Lady Daphne."
He crossed the room and handed it to her. The note was written on very high quality paper bearing the Beddington crest of a lion's head shield. She broke the seal, unfolded it and read. Then she looked up at Jack. "His lordship has invited us to dinner."
"We shall be delighted to attend," he said to the servant.
"Does we include me and Mr. Maxwell?" Rosemary asked.
"Indeed it does." Daphne turned back to the servant. "Thank his lordship for extending the invitation. We look forward to seeing him this evening."
Once the servant was gone, Daphne turned to her husband. "We must think of something we can do tonight to draw out the truth."
His lips formed a tight line. "A man who has already murdered twice will evade the truth to his dying breath."
Daphne brightened. "Perhaps one of us—after eating—can use the pretext of visiting the necessary room to search his lordship's house for the Amun-re mask or for something that connects him with Prince Singh."
"Mr. Maxwell certainly will not!" Rosemary said. "He's already endangered his life once—and besides, he's not to move his arm."
Daphne could barely suppress a grin as her amused gaze met Jack's. "And I shan't allow Rosemary to, either. She's been through far too much."
Jack scowled. "Your plan, my dearest, has as much merit as a lunatic's ravings. Do you know how bloody many servants Beddington has?"
"You're not to curse in front of my maiden sister."
"Forgive me, Lady Rosemary." Jack had a difficult time remembering to censor his use of bloody. Too many years living among men.
"Our Papa uses that word all the time," Rosemary said. "And Mama is forever chastising him in the exact same manner as Daphne just chastised you."
Jack folded his arms across his chest and drew a breath. "One woman's already been murdered, and Rosemary almost killed. I'll not have any of us exposing ourselves to such potential danger."
Daphne pouted. "You're not going to be the one searching his house, either."
"I keep thinking about what the Pasha told us about the Amun-re mask ending up in Constantinople," Jack said.
Maxwell nodded. "Where it was said to sell for a very great price."
Jack's gaze locked with Maxwell's. "The Pasha doesn't strike me as a man who would make up such a story."
"I have read that the Orientals don't have the same reverence for truth as there is in Western culture," Rosemary said.
"But I daresay Jack's right about the Pasha," Daphne said. "Remember, the Pasha was the first to point to an Englishman."
A puzzled look crossed Jack's face. "I admit, right now, no one appears guiltier than Lord Beddington, but I'm still having the devil of a time believing the man capable of such evil—especially given his vast wealth."
"Perhaps the source of his wealth has been depleted," Daphne suggested. "If only Papa were here. He would know."
There was another tapping at the chamber door, and once again Jack bade the person to enter.
At first Jack thought the uniformed newcomer was one of their nine soldiers still in British military regimentals. Then he realized the man standing before them was considerably more handsome than any of the men who had accompanied them on this trip, and his uniform was not that of a House Guard. Tall and well-muscled, the youthful officer's uniform was spotless. His Hessians were so well polished he could have seen his face in them. His white gloves were immaculate.
Jack had met this man before. In London.
It was Captain Cooper, Rosemary's idol.
Chapter 16
The spoon Rosemary was holding in her hand dropped midway to Maxwell's mouth. Her eyes widened. Her heartbeat roared. This was a dream come true. From the moment she'd set foot on Egyptian soil she had fantasized about Captain Cooper being stationed in Egypt.
And now here he was in the flesh.
Her admiring gaze traveled the glorious length of him in his military splendor. Her profound admiration of him remained unchanged. No man had ever worn a uniform better. He was as tall as Jack and built rather in the same exceedingly masculine manner. But where Jack was dark, Captain Cooper's hair was blond, and his eyes were blue.
"My dear Captain Cooper," Daphne exclaimed. "What brings you to Cairo?"
He moved into the room. "My regiment's been at Fort Rached these six months past, and several of the fellows I serve with had an urge to see the pyramids."
Jack offered him a chair, and Daphne offered food. He took the former and refused the latter.
"Then you'll be going to Gizeh today?" Daphne asked.
He shook his head. "I've no desire to see the pyramids. I'm sick to death of Egypt and its heat and its silly clothing and those annoying Calls to Prayer. I cannot wait to return to good old England."
"You mustn't speak ill of Egypt, Captain," Daphne said, her eyes sparkling with mirth. "My sister, Lady Rosemary, is enamored of all things Oriental."
It was then that his eyes met Rosemary's. "Then I daresay I shall have to alter my opinion."
Her
heartbeat fluttered. There was no mistaking it. He had flirted with her. It was actually—she hated to admit—the first time he had ever flirted with her. She lowered her lashes bashfully as a gentle smile lifted her mouth.
"Captain," Jack said, "I should like to make you known to our traveling companion, Stanton Maxwell, who is England's most eminent expert on Orientology."
The two men stiffly greeted one another. "Pray, pay no attention to Dryden," Mr. Maxwell said. "I'm merely a student of the Orient who has much more to learn."
Rosemary admired Mr. Maxwell's humility. She knew without a doubt that in spite of his youth, Mr. Maxwell was the most well-informed man in England on all things Oriental.
"You may have read Mr. Maxwell's book, Travels Through the Levant," Daphne said. She could not have seemed more proud had she been Mr. Maxwell's doting mother.
Captain Cooper's brows scrunched. "I'm not precisely sure where the Levant is. How fortunate you all are to have so knowledgeable a man in your company." His head turned toward the entrance. "Why in the devil are there British soldiers in tents in front of your hotel?"
"There wasn't enough room in the European hotel for them," Daphne said.
Jack nodded. "Lady Daphne and I were charged by the Regent to undertake a commission for him, and he insisted that a small detail of House Guards accompany us to ensure our safety. I daresay that decision was made to alleviate Lord Sidworth's fears for his daughters in exotic foreign lands."
Captain Cooper's gaze met Rosemary's again. "And I suppose—being enamored of all things Oriental—Lady Rosemary had to join your traveling party?"
She smiled at him. "How clever you are, Captain." Though, deep down, she did not think him very clever. Who did not know where the Levant was? And how could an Englishman pass up the opportunity to see the pyramids in person? Had he taken leave of his senses?
Nevertheless, his desire to see her as well as his magnificent presence made her feel like a princess.
"So what do you plan to do in Cairo?" Daphne asked him.
"I confess, I'd heard of your party, and I said to myself, by Jove, you've got to sail down—or up, whatever the case may be—to Cairo and pop in to see Lady Rosemary Chalmers."
He remembered me! Truth be told, Captain Cooper had never given Rosemary much indication that he was anything more than minimally aware of her existence, which was understandable, given his supreme popularity with all the maidens at Almack's.
And now she had a clear field! To think, he'd traveled at least five days down the Nile just to see her!
"Should you like to procure a room here at our hotel?" Jack asked.
"By Jove, I would."
"If there are no vacancies," Daphne said, "I suppose you could double up with Mr. Maxwell—if that is agreeable to you, Mr. Maxwell?"
Mr. Maxwell set down his coffee cup. "Quite," he said, nodding.
Rosemary had been unable to remove her gaze from Captain Cooper's physical perfection. "This is a wonderful surprise, Captain. We must take you to the bazaar. You can procure perfumes and silks and any manner of things to take home to your mother and sisters at a fraction of the cost they'd be in England."
"I expect one would have to have a dragoman present to barter for one," the Captain said.
"Our dragoman is on another commission at present," Rosemary said, "but since Mr. Maxwell speaks Arabic, he can converse with the shopkeepers for us."
Captain Cooper eyed Mr. Maxwell. "I say, old fellow, what have you done to your arm?"
Mr. Maxwell shrugged. "A little cut."
"It most certainly was not a little cut!" Rosemary protested. "A dagger nearly severed his arm."
"Mr. Maxwell sustained his near-mortal injuries," Daphne said, "rescuing my sister after she was abducted by . . . white slavers."
Captain Cooper's brows shot up, his mouth gaped open. Mr. Maxwell spit out his coffee. Jack glared at Daphne.
Why had Daphne gone and fibbed about white slavery? Rosemary supposed she did so to mask the truth about their clandestine investigation. But why slavery? No one would ever want an earl's daughter for a maid. She was indolent, untidy, and had not the least notion of how one would go about cleaning anything.
Jack coughed. "My wife has a fanciful imagination."
"Was Lady Rosemary abducted?"
"Oh, yes," Rosemary answered. "The two men were beasts." She turned to Mr. Maxwell. "Mr. Maxwell had to kill one of them whilst rescuing me."
His mouth still gaping open, Captain Cooper addressed Mr. Maxwell. "You own a sword?"
Mr. Maxwell nodded. "When one travels in the Orient, one must be armed."
"He has a pistol, too," Rosemary said. "That's what killed the vile man who abducted me."
Captain Cooper turned to Jack. "And where were you, sir, while Maxwell was saving your sister?"
"I was with him—fighting off the other man."
"Did you kill him, too?"
Jack frowned. "No. In fact, he got away."
"It's disgusting how these Arabs have no respect for women," said Captain Cooper, avoiding eye contact with both Daphne and Rosemary.
"Unfortunately, the man who got away was British. A deserter who'd once served under me," Jack said.
Captain Cooper scowled. "Pity you didn't kill him."
Because of the captain's presence, Rosemary allowed Mr. Maxwell to feed himself—provided he use only his left hand. She did so for two reasons. First, she did not want to diminish Mr. Maxwell's masculinity in front of the supremely masculine Captain. Secondly, she did not want the supremely handsome Captain Cooper to think Mr. Maxwell had captured her affections. Nothing could be further from the truth. He was merely her rescuer. Certainly not her lover.
Captain Cooper cleared his throat. "I say, would it not be better that you don't go about telling people about Lady Rosemary's brush with . . . white slavery?"
"It's not like I actually had to mop floors or iron petticoats."
Captain Cooper's eyes narrowed, a questioning look on his flawless face. Mr. Maxwell coughed. Jack glared at Daphne.
"We do hope we can rely on your discretion, Captain," Daphne said.
Why was her sister beaming so?
"Oh, yes, quite so."
* * *
How proud Rosemary was to walk through the bazaar on the arm of Captain Cooper. All eyes went to the handsome officer in his well-fitted red coat adorned with gold medals and epaulets. How she wished her friends back in London could see her with last Season's most sought-after man.
She took care that Mr. Maxwell was on her other side so that he could interpret for them with the various shopkeepers. "I am fairly adept at translating," he told them, "but I daresay I know nothing about the value of the merchandise—or about bargaining."
She sighed. "That was one area in which Habeeb earned his salary."
"Would you object if we went to the antiquities bazaar?" asked Daphne, who, along with her husband, trailed behind the trio, followed by half a dozen House Guards.
"I should be most interested in going there again," Rosemary said. She would never tire of looking at old papyrus scrolls or brightly painted sarcophaguses—or was that sarcophagi? "Tell me, Mr. Maxwell, which is correct—sarcophaguses sarcophagi?" She had yet to ask the man a question he could not answer.
"While you will hear both, I believe the correct form for the singular is sarcophagi."
"What in the devil is a sarcophagi?" Captain Cooper asked.
"It's a rather fancy word for a rather fancy coffin," she replied.
"You have likely seen hundreds in English churches," Mr. Maxwell told the Captain. "Any stone coffin-sized box that has a person's effigy on top is a sarcophagus. In Egypt, the sarcophagi can be highly ornamental."
"How I dislike it when spellings change—words like fungus becoming fungi," Captain Cooper said. "It's enough to make one wish to strangle the person who came up with all the ridiculousness, is it not?"
"It certainly can be perplexing," she agreed.
"Not so perplexing when one has Mr. Maxwell at the ready. The man is a walking library," said Daphne.
Rosemary turned back to watch her trailing sister and nodded. "He is indeed."
"Never heard of someone being a walking library," Captain Cooper said. Under his breath he muttered, "What man would want to be a bloody library?"
Rosemary elbowed him for his insensitive remark.
On the way to the antiquities bazaar, they stopped at the same stall where Rosemary had previously purchased perfume. Captain Cooper was interested in procuring two bottles.
"If you like the fragrances I purchased, I can tell you what we paid for them. I thought it was exceedingly fair, but I can take no credit for it. I owe my satisfaction to our dragoman's bartering," Rosemary said.
"If Lady Rosemary vouches for their quality, I know my mother will be ecstatic with them." Their eyes met. Her heartbeat accelerated.
It took all three of them to negotiate the sale with the perfume seller, but in the end, Captain Cooper happily walked away with two bottles of Rosemary's favorite perfume.
Ten minutes later, their group strolled along the most opulent street in all of the bazaar, their destination the gold-pillared shop at the end of the lane. Ahmed Hassein's establishment.
The two huge sentries wearing fez hats stood on either side of the entrance, but their master was not within. An assistant rushed to greet them in French. While he was speaking with Jack and Daphne, Captain Cooper whispered to Rosemary, "Just another reason why I hate Egyptians. They must revere the foul Frenchies for it's the only other language they're willing to speak."
"You speak French, do you not, Captain?" she asked.
He frowned. "I do not, nor will I ever. I hate the French even more than I hate the Egyptians."
"It would seem a soldier who must represent the empire all over the globe should be more tolerant, my dear Captain," Rosemary said. She was afraid Mr. Hassein's assistant may have heard the officer's disparaging remarks.
Like all the Egyptians they had met, the assistant wore a turban, flowing robes, and sported a bushy beard. "You are the Englishmen who visited with Ahmed Hassein before?" he asked in French.