Dangerous

by Monica Burns

  “I’ve estate business to attend to,” he growled as he clasped his hands behind his back. “I’ll leave you to your work.”

  Without waiting for a response, he lunged out of the small storage room and into the library, leaving Constance to stare after him in mute confusion. He was all too aware of her gaze on his back as he crossed the floor of the library. Deliberately, he pulled the door closed behind him as he entered the hall. The quiet snap of the door latch made him exhale the pent-up energy surging through him. Damn.

  He’d just made one of the worst mistakes he’d ever made in his entire life. There was only one thing left to do. He needed to return to London—tonight. The moment the thought entered his head, he smashed it aside. No. For three months he’d been searching the city for her. He wasn’t about to let her go that easily. He simply needed to maintain control of his emotions and the situation would handle itself.

  Restraint. A simple word that had applied to him when he’d walked into the library and greeted her. He had been fully in control of his senses for several minutes. It wasn’t until her hand had guided his in turning that damned mirror over that he’d been forced to admit his control was an illusion. With a grunt of disgust, he strode through the hall and out the front door for his morning ride.

  Goliath, a large roan stallion, chomped restlessly at his bit as Lucien accepted the reins from the stable hand. The animal wheeled sharply as he swung himself into the saddle and he welcomed the stallion’s struggle. With a vicious nudge of his heel, he urged the horse into a gallop.

  The sunshine warmed him as Goliath raced away from the keep toward the estate’s pastureland. Bent over the horse’s neck, he rode furiously in whatever direction the animal wanted to go. Fences came and went as they raced across fresh, green fields.

  Eventually, the stallion tired and slowed from a hard gallop to a slow walk. Relaxing in the saddle, Lucien stared out over the lands that were his. A sarcastic grunt of disgust broke past his lips. The estate was his until the day he ended his own life and that of anyone he loved. But he wasn’t going to let that happen. He refused to be like Nigel and dismiss the Blakemore curse. It was real. He’d witnessed the results one time too many.

  First his great-grandfather, then his father and finally Nigel. The madness that destroyed them all ran in his blood too. He would not make the mistake his father and brother had made. Love of a woman had pushed the two of them over the edge. He vowed it wouldn’t happen to him. He refused to give way to emotions that would awaken the insanity inside him.

  The reins cut into his fingers as he tightened his grip on the leather straps. Cruel and horrifying images from the past rose to taunt him. They mocked his determination not to repeat the crimes of his father and brother. With a stoic cynicism he’d developed the day he’d seen the lifeless bodies of his parents on the library floor, he pushed back the memories of the bloodbath flooding his head.

  Grimacing, he shook his head. With his last breath he would resist the madness that drove the Blakemore men to wreak murder and mayhem on the heads of those they loved. He could easily avoid that fate if he remained emotionally detached from his passionate Isis. All it required was for him to maintain control of his senses when he was near her.

  With a snort of disgust, Lucien closed his eyes as he recalled how easily she had distracted him with her sweet lips. He’d been so bewitched she could have demanded anything of him and he’d given it gladly. And God help him, but when she’d taken him into her mouth—

  The memory made him grow hard in the blink of an eye. He wasn’t accustomed to this type of temptation. In fact, he couldn’t remember a single instance of any woman making him as hot as Westbury’s widow did.

  Constance Athelson, Viscountess Westbury—her name conjured up the image of a prim schoolteacher. It reflected none of the passion simmering beneath her composed features. Her fire was that of Isis, goddess over all Egyptian gods. He growled with frustration. No, it was for the best if he thought of her as Constance. That would make it easier to control his lust for her whenever she was near.

  A gentle breeze stirred the thick, wiry mane against Goliath’s neck before it brushed across his fingers in a light caress. Like the invisible wind, Constance was equally elusive. Beneath that serene expression was a woman with mysterious depths.

  She also harbored a secret of some sort. The manner in which she’d left him that night at the Clarendon Hotel had convinced him of that. Whatever had frightened her had made her run from him as though the hounds of hell had been biting at her ankles.

  He grew still in the saddle. She’d been afraid that night at the Clarendon, but her fear had only shown itself in the last few moments of their time together. What had happened to make her so afraid? Concentrating on the last moments before she fled, he tried to remember if he’d said or done something that might have alarmed her.

  Just before she’d raced from the room, he’d kissed her. By most standards it had been an ordinary kiss of passion, but when he’d started to release her, a strange expression had come over her features. He frowned as he remembered her look.

  It had been an expression of shock. He’d seen men die on excavation sites, and the men who’d survived had been in shock afterwards. Constance’s features had reflected the same look of trauma. She’d been immobile for several moments until he’d given her a slight shake. At that moment, she’d cried out and lifted her hands as if to ward off an attack of some sort.

  When her gaze had focused on him it was as if she’d seen a monster. Worse, her expression of horror had twisted his gut in a way he didn’t like. Whatever her thoughts were in those fleeting seconds, they’d managed to terrorize her. She’d been hell bent on putting as much distance between them as she could. Her flight had caught him off guard, and before he could stop her she’d disappeared, leaving him to begin searching London for her. A fruitless search because she’d been at Lyndham Keep.

  “Bloody hell.”

  Goliath shied at the loud oath of frustration, and Lucien turned his attention to keeping the animal from leaping forward. Rubbing his hand over the animal’s neck, he calmed the horse. Satisfied the stallion wouldn’t bolt, he focused his thoughts on Constance once more.

  There was no doubt in his mind that she was afraid of something. And whatever she was afraid of it involved him. That was the most perplexing thing of all. Yesterday, when he’d confronted her in the library, he’d attributed her loss of color to her deception in securing her post. Now he wondered if there wasn’t another reason for her pallor.

  “Lucien.” The cheerful shout echoed out over the pasture, causing him to turn his head.

  The sight of Major Duncan Fenwick riding toward him brought a grin to his lips. He’d not seen his old friend and neighbor since returning from Egypt. Beneath him, Goliath shifted restlessly at the approach of the other horse. Holding the reins with one hand, he offered his other to his friend as Fenwick came to a halt at his side.

  “Duncan,” he exclaimed as the two of them shook hands. “It’s been a long time.”

  “How the devil are you? Your grandmother told me you’d returned from Alexandria more than six months ago, but somehow we’ve managed to miss each other here and in London.”

  “I’m afraid I’ve been kept busy trying to outwit my grandmother’s obvious attempts to marry me off.”

  Laughing, Duncan turned his horse around so they could ride in the same direction, and gave Lucien a friendly slap on the back. “She’ll never give up, old man. Why not give in and make her happy?”

  “I’ll never marry.” He nudged Goliath forward into a sedate walk.

  “Never is a long time, Lucien. What about an heir?”

  “The Blakemore line will die with me,” he muttered fiercely. He intended to deny the fates another bloodbath. Better he lived a life of solitude than fall in love and become a raging, murderous madman.

  “
I hope you haven’t told Aurora that. At her age, news of that sort could have an adverse effect on her health.” Duncan sent him an arched look.

  “My grandmother knows how I feel. She simply refuses to give up trying to change my mind.” He smiled. “I’m willing to wager she could outfox your best military strategist.”

  “I know better than to take that bet.” Duncan shook his head with a smile. “I haven’t forgotten how she managed to nearly thwart my efforts to secure support for that textile bill in the House of Commons.”

  “Grandmother mentioned in her letters to me that you’d been elected MP. Congratulations.” He laughed at the grimace on Duncan’s features. “So how are you adapting to political life?”

  “It’s been interesting, especially when Aurora decides to interfere.”

  Unable to help himself, Lucien laughed again. “You need to learn how to get on her good side, Duncan. Why don’t you come for supper tonight? I can help you mend your fences with Grandmother, and I have some artifacts I brought back with me from Egypt that might interest you.”

  “I accept,” Duncan said with a pleased smile. “By the by, I understand you have a female Egyptologist working for you.”

  Startled by the comment, Lucien tightened his grip on his reins. The action made Goliath toss his head angrily. How the devil had Duncan found out about Constance? He’d not even known she was a woman until his arrival yesterday.

  “Yes. Her name is Lady Westbury.”

  “Westbury.” Duncan frowned. “Isn’t that the name of the chap who died in Cairo a couple of years ago?”

  “The same.” His terse response made his friend turn his head to look at him.

  “If I recall correctly, Westbury was involved with that Standish fellow. The one who’s been trying to buy that papyrus your family’s held for years.”

  “She’s Westbury’s widow.”

  “Interesting.”

  “You say that as if there’s a mystery here,” he said in a cool tone.

  “Well I admit to finding it a bit odd that a woman is cataloging your antiquities.” Duncan sent him an inquisitive look. “We both know it’s a highly unusual occupation for a female.”

  “I didn’t know she was a woman when I offered her the post. I relied on our correspondence and the references she provided me. None of them referred to her feminine aspects. In fact, it wasn’t until yesterday that I discovered the truth.”

  “I imagined you’d sent her packing. I know how you despise being lied to.” Duncan smiled at him.

  “Actually, she didn’t really lie. She simply didn’t inform me that she was a woman. Despite the extraordinary means by which she secured her position, I decided to retain her services. I find her knowledge exceptional, and her work is precisely what I need to ensure my antiquities are categorized appropriately.”

  “And what about her relationship to Westbury?”

  “Get to the point, Duncan.” Irritated, he narrowed his eyes as he met his friend’s contemplative gaze.

  “From what you’ve told me, Standish is a devious sort. You don’t suppose he’s hired Lady Westbury to steal the papyrus do you?”

  “Anything’s possible, but I don’t think the lady in question is a thief,” he said firmly. “And she’s already denied knowing Standish.”

  “I take it the lady is quite attractive?”

  “What the devil is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means the lady was married to a man who was partners with Standish, and she acquired her post in a somewhat devious manner. It leaves the impression that Lady Westbury has the strong potential to be trouble for you when it comes to that papyrus.”

  Irritated by his friend’s astute observations, he glared at the other man. “And you think I’ve not already considered those possibilities? I’m not a fool, Duncan.”

  “I know you’re not, which tells me there’s more to your Lady Westbury than you’re telling me.” There was a glint of mischief in the other man’s eyes as he chuckled.

  “Damn it, man,” Lucien snapped. “She’s my employee, not my mistress.”

  His friend’s obvious amusement was all the more annoying because his statement was already half a lie. When Duncan pulled his horse to a sudden halt, Lucien experienced a sense of relief that his friend’s attention was no longer devoted to teasing him about Constance.

  “This is as far as I go, my friend. If I don’t hurry, I’ll be late for my appointment with Terrence Moore. But I’m looking forward to supper this evening. The usual time?”

  “Yes, eight o’clock. And remember, Grandmother is a stickler about punctuality.” With the subject of Constance receding into the background, he laughed at Duncan’s pained expression. His friend had only been late to supper one time and had been paying the price ever since.

  “I’ll be early,” his friend muttered as he shook Lucien’s hand then turned to ride away. Just before he prodded his horse with his heels, he grinned. “And I want an introduction to the esteemed Lady Westbury. She sounds like a very interesting woman.”

  With that parting shot, his friend rode off, leaving him to grit his teeth in frustration. If the man thought to vie for Constance’s attentions, he was mistaken. He intended to see to it that Lady Westbury had little time to socialize with Major Duncan Fenwick.

  As for the papyrus and its clues to the location of Sefu’s tomb, the only way Constance was going to find the damn thing was if she dared to enter his room. And if she was that bold, he’d be certain to keep her so well occupied, she’d have no time to search for Sefu’s papyrus.

  Chapter Six

  Lucien turned toward the salon doorway as his grandmother entered the room. The soft thud of her cane against the thick Moorish rug on the floor tapped out a simple rhythm as she walked. Beside her, Edward Rawlings served as her escort, his manner solicitous as he seated her in her usual chair. Pleased to see his father’s childhood friend, Lucien stepped forward as the older man turned to look at him.

  With avuncular familiarity, Rawlings took a quick step forward and embraced Lucien in a hearty hug. Pushing him back, the older man’s large hands grasped Lucien’s shoulders as he grinned.

  “It’s high time you returned to the keep, my boy. Aurora’s been as prickly as a hedgehog waiting on you to leave the pleasures of London behind. How are you, Lucien?”

  “Quite well, thank you, Edward.”

  “Aurora tells me you’ve brought back a new treasure stash of Egyptian antiquities.”

  “I did, and did she tell you that I found an unusual statue of Isis?”

  “No, she failed to mention that fact,” he said as he shot a brief look of exasperation over his shoulder at the dowager countess. “So tell me—is it the one? Have you found the goddess?”

  “I’m waiting on my antiquities librarian to study the piece and give her opinion, but I think this statue might be the one.”

  Rawlings’s grin widened as he clapped his hands together. “Capital, my boy. Capital.”

  “The two of you are acting like schoolboys over this ridiculous statue.” Aurora glared at them down the length of her regal nose. “Surely you don’t really think you could have found the right one.”

  Lucien turned his attention back to his grandmother and shrugged. “We’ll know soon enough whether the statue is a fraud or not. I trust Lady Westbury’s opinion in the matter.”

  “I say,” the older man said with surprise. “Lady Westbury? Are you telling me your librarian is a woman?”

  “Yes, and quite competent I might add. She’s extremely knowledgeable.” He’d barely finished his sentence when a flash of color caught his eye and he turned toward the door. As Constance entered the room, he heard Edward choke back a cough of astonishment.

  “Good God, Lucien—” the older man leaned toward him, “—don’t tell me she’s your cataloger.”

 
It was easy to understand the older man’s reaction to Constance’s arrival. She looked exquisite. Suddenly feeling the urge to drink a stiff whiskey, he wheeled away and strode to the sidebar against the far wall. Standing in the doorway of the salon, she’d not only taken Edward’s breath away, she’d made it difficult for him to breathe as well.

  God, he’d been mad to ask her to stay. An ironic thought given the Blakemore tendency to madness. It was becoming clear how difficult it was going to be to keep his wits about him whenever he was anywhere near her. Struggling to regain control of his senses, he poured himself a stiff drink. He didn’t need to look at her to remember how lovely she was.

  Swaths of pleated folds crossed just below her breasts, rising upward to cup her soft, full shape. The sleeves of her gown barely crested her shoulder as the bodice dipped to a low vee. The peach silk of her gown emphasized the soft golden tones of her complexion. Unlike the milk-sop women he’d seen in London, Constance’s skin had a creamy, sun-kissed glow to it. Even the dusky sheen of her high cheekbones added to her exotic charms. She looked radiant, and every muscle in his body was tugging him in her direction.

  Amber liquid splashed into his snifter one more time, and he threw the fiery drink down his throat. It burned its way to his stomach, but it gave him something to focus on besides her. Slowly turning around, he watched in silence as his grandmother introduced Constance to Edward.

  “Constance, let me introduce you to an old friend of the family, Edward Rawlings.”

  “Rawlings? Are you by chance related to Sir Oliver Rawlings?” Constance frowned slightly as she asked the question.

  “My son.” Pride filled the older man’s voice. “The Queen bestowed a title on him for his archeological contributions to Britain. Have you met him?”

  “No, although I believe he’s an acquaintance of my friend, Mrs. Armstrong,” she said quietly.