by Lara Temple
‘Hell, it feels like I have at the moment and he’s about to exact payment.’
Sam fisted her hands in his coat and raised herself on tiptoe, brushing a butterfly-wing kiss to his tense mouth.
‘Brilliant, Edge. Magical. You make people happy. Revel in it.’
He groaned and hauled her against him, his mouth capturing hers in a kiss that coaxed out her soul all over again. For a long moment afterwards they stood in the dark, their breathing slowing, his hands moving gently on her back. The words in her heart hovered inside her, but she held back. Edge had enough on his mind at the moment. Finally he pressed a light kiss to her lips and stepped back.
‘So you won’t mind if I tell them you are the illustrator?’
Her heart hiccoughed and she laughed.
‘I said I am proud of your work. I’m dreadfully embarrassed about mine. What a hypocrite I am.’
‘So you are. You are lucky you are adorable. And talented.’
‘But we needn’t say anything about me. After all, no one knows...’
‘True, but the fact remains that though you keep referring to them as my books, they are our creation. I refuse to stand there taking either all the credit or the blame. We shall face our fate together.’
Sam nodded, her throat too tight for words.
* * *
In the end it was so much easier than they anticipated. The moment Edge gave his name at the door Mr John Soane, a grey-haired man with a long face and dark, sleepy eyes, strode forward with evident pleasure as if there was nothing at all irregular in appearing uninvited at his soirée.
This was no small intimate evening and no regular town house. At least two dozen people were milling about a series of connecting rooms, talking, admiring and basking in the hundreds and hundreds of artefacts and works of art and architectural oddities that made this much more museum than home. Most congregated in a domed room which stood at a crossroads between entrance, drawing rooms and exhibition rooms. It was called the breakfast room, but had nothing to do with breakfast as far as Sam could see.
She saw and knew Edge did, too, the moment his name registered with the guests Mr Soane introduced them to—the shift from politeness to dazed realisation and then avid interest. At least on the surface Edge remained far calmer than she did once he introduced her and her role in the books. At first she turned as red as the wall hangings and mute as a landed fish, but then she realised she’d been right—even these stuffy scholars loved Edge’s books.
Her own discomfort eased as she watched accredited scholars try to remain stoic while expressing their enjoyment of the books. Soon Edge was deep in a discussion with a group of antiquarians about his use of local mythologies and the interweaving of the new scholarship on Egyptian history and language. The more detailed the discussion became, the more Edge appeared to relax and once he even smiled at a comment by a distinguished-looking woman with greying hair and kind brown eyes comparing his High Priest Jephteh with Imhotep.
Half Sam’s pleasure was watching Edge in his element. Here, surrounded by intelligent discussion and men and women who valued the same things he did, she remembered how he had been back in Egypt. Bab el-Nur and the Carmichaels’ home in Cairo were often full of visiting antiquarians and scholars and she’d always envied Edge the ease with which people gravitated to him, despite or perhaps because of his reserve.
They would listen to him and wait upon his opinions and simply shine when he showed any sign of approbation. She thought it was because there was nothing feigned about his generosity—Edge always managed to pinpoint that achievement or characteristic which made a person stand out from the crowd.
She’d been convinced he’d done that for everyone but her, but of course she’d been wrong—he’d been protective but always appreciative of her drawing skills and he’d never belittled her intelligence. She’d wanted more, but that had been wholly her fault.
She still wanted more. She wanted Edge to trust her, to want to share himself with her. To care for her. Far more than care...
It was too soon and too complicated to expect anything more from him. She would have to watch herself and her greediness. Step by step. First—help him find Rafe. Then, perhaps a house. A life in common...
She watched as he lowered his head towards the woman, still smiling as he listened. He could be so attentive when he wished, make you feel utterly visible. Utterly real. If they found a trace of Rafe here or not she was so glad they came. She wanted more of this for him—friends with shared interests, Edge relaxed and smiling and alive. Even if she could not give him everything he needed herself, she wanted to see him like this with others.
Mr Soane leaned towards her suddenly.
‘Come, Lady Edward. There is something here I think a talented illustrator like yourself will appreciate. Do you mind if I steal your wife for a moment, Lord Edward?’
Edge’s gaze caught hers, shifting immediately from his interest in the conversation to the protective awareness she’d never valued in the past. She smiled at him and followed Mr Soane into the exhibition rooms. She had barely time to absorb the dizzying abundance of artefacts on walls and stands when they entered a smaller room at the end which was filled floor to ceiling with prints and paintings. Her mouth fell open as Mr Soane unlatched a fastening on the wall to reveal a cupboard that opened like pages of a book, each one covered with dozens of framed prints.
‘This...this is marvellous!’
‘I didn’t have room for them all, as you can see, but I could not bear not having them on display. A fine compromise, don’t you think, Lady Edward?’
‘A brilliant compromise. Oh, look at this one of the Parthenon...’
‘Ah, if you like that, then you will appreciate the one of Meteora by the same artist...’
Sam utterly forgot her discomfort as Mr Soane shared his treasures with her. When he was called away by another guest she remained in the room, happily imagining one of her sketches, perhaps of the Citadel of Cairo or the temples of Karnak, gracing these walls.
‘It is spectacular, isn’t it?’
Sam turned at the voice. A pretty young woman in a pale lavender gown, her unfashionably short hair dressed even more simply than Sam’s, stood in the doorway. ‘You are Lady Edward Edgerton, are you not?’
Sam’s nerves danced back into attendance and she wished Edge had come with her after all.
‘Yes. I’m afraid you have the advantage of me, Miss...?’
‘Miss Osbourne.’
Sam also wished she possessed Edge’s ability to keep his face an utter blank. She could feel her features vainly struggle not to reflect anything of what she was feeling. It was hopeless. The woman’s intelligent hazel eyes were fixed on her and she gave a little nod that Sam felt did not bode well for Edge’s plans to extract information from her about Rafe.
‘Are you here because of me?’
‘I beg your pardon?’
She sighed. ‘I knew the moment I saw Lord Edward that he must be closely related to Mr Grey. He did mention a brother and if that is the nature of their relation I conclude he did not see fit to share his true name with me. But that is hardly the point. If you are here by coincidence, I apologise, but if you are here on my account, pray tell him to stop interfering. I do not need to be watched like a newborn lamb. He has done enough already.’
Sam fingered the latch on the fantastical cupboard and counted out her breath, registering facts. The woman’s skin still had the warm colour of prolonged exposure to the sun and she looked to be Sam’s age or little older.
‘The Greybournes are a stubborn lot. They mean well, though,’ Sam said.
‘So I have noticed on both counts. Truly I am grateful for his help thus far, but there is nothing more to be done at this point. And if he is indeed that... Disappearing Duke everyone is gossiping about, clearly he has his own affairs to see to.’
> A sour note entered her voice and her brows drew together and Sam gathered the soft-spoken Miss Osbourne had a temper. Good. Sam hoped Rafe had received a lashing from it. She very carefully stepped out on to the quivering ice.
‘I find that Edge... Lord Edward has a fixation with seeing things through. Perhaps his brother suffers from the same weakness?’
Miss Osbourne snorted indelicately.
‘That is putting it very mildly, but I made it clear to him I am not proceeding in my search. I am grateful for his help—I know I might not have succeeded in returning to England without him and I certainly would not have succeeded in convincing that unctuous Mr Pettifer to honour his debt to my father on my own. But I could have found a companion’s position without his interference. Mrs Phillips might have agreed to employ me as a favour to Mr Soane, but she might very well yet decide to find someone who is not accosted on the streets at night by a giant with no manners and a dubious sense of humour. She almost saw him speak to me in the square the other day.’
Sam took another careful step.
‘Are you quite certain there is nothing more to be done?’
‘Since I believe my brother suffered the same fate as my father and I do not believe in the occult, then, yes, dead is dead.’
Miss Osbourne’s gaze fell from hers for the first time. She was fiddling with the cupboard’s other latch and she set it swinging, like a little golden pendulum.
‘Would you or your husband please try to impress upon him that there is nothing more to be done? Now Papa’s debts are settled, any further digging into my brother’s activities risks doing more harm than good. Now I had best return to Mrs Phillips before her argument with Mr Thorpe regarding the true nature of Medusa comes to blows.’
Sam searched for something, anything that might yet keep her, but it was Miss Osbourne who stopped at the doorway.
‘I do hope he keeps out of trouble. He was very kind and helped me, though I was nothing but trouble for him. I hope to repay the favour some day, though I cannot see how.’ She hesitated and rushed forward again. ‘I dare say you will think it forward of me to say so, but I do hope you and Lord Edward are working on another book. I cannot tell you the pleasure they gave me while... Never mind. Thank you for listening to me, Lady Edward.’
Sam resisted the urge to stop her and went to find Edge instead.
* * *
‘What did Miss Osbourne tell you?’
Sam gave a squeak of alarm, her hand fisting against her chest as Edge spoke behind her.
‘Edge! How on earth does someone your size tread so stealthily?’
‘I don’t. You were lost in thought. That was Miss Osbourne, wasn’t it? I heard you talking and decided not to interfere.’
‘Very clever of you. Yes, she—’
‘Not here. Come with me.’
Just outside the room he led her up a spiral stone stairway with barely enough room to accommodate his shoulders. On the upper floor she stopped short at the sight of a full-size statue of a man with his arms outstretched, draped in nothing more than a robe and a clearly contrived fig leaf drawing attention to, rather than distracting from, his nether regions.
Edge glanced back at her, frowning as he saw what she was staring at.
‘Stop gawking at Apollo. Over here.’
‘I will gawk if I want to. I am merely comparing points of interest. He doesn’t look as strong as you and you are far more handsome and larger...but he is passable.’
Edge took her arm, his frown fading and more than just a shade of smugness about his mouth. Once past the statue Sam gave a gasp of delight as they looked down into the open space of the Sepulchral Chamber below. It was even more impressive from above, though the sheer number of statues, urns and architectural elements was dizzying, allowing the eye no rest. Above them was another domed skylight and she leaned on the railing, looking up into the night sky. Except it wasn’t the sky—the indigo velvet of night and the golden stars were just reflections of the candles along the walls, an illusion of openness.
‘Careful.’ Edge moved towards her swiftly, his hand resting on hers, warm and firm. ‘I don’t know how sturdy the railing is.’
‘It would be embarrassing if I landed in a heap in the middle of all the antiquities, wouldn’t it?’
‘It would be...memorable. Come along.’
‘Do you know where you are going?’
‘I think so. He said it was directly above...ah.’
The buzz of voices from below muted as he closed the door behind them. This room wasn’t crammed with statues, but with temples. A central structure supported dozens of models of Greek and Roman temples in wood or plaster or stone. The walls were covered in glass-fronted bookcases and even the windows were decorated with odd-shaped panes reflecting the quivering gold of the candles and for a moment Sam was flung back to that night in the desert, standing on her rock with Edge beside her.
God, she wanted to be back there, with him.
Edge remained just inside the doorway, watching her.
‘Well? What did she say about Rafe?’
Of course. Rafe was all that mattered.
She repeated Miss Osbourne’s words as best she could and watched him assimilate them.
‘So they were searching for her brother. Interesting. Anything else?’
‘No. I don’t believe she was lying about not knowing anything about Rafe’s whereabouts. She is quite nice. I like her.’
He gave a little snort of derision, as if liking someone was a ludicrous proposition at this juncture.
‘No one else here appears to know anything about Rafe. They are naturally curious about the Disappearing Duke, but no one showed the slightest sign of guile when his name arose. As for Miss Osbourne, I can easily see Rafe offering his assistance if she found herself separated from her rather eccentric relations in Egypt. But if what you said is correct, whatever Miss Osbourne’s connection with Rafe, it might now be over.’
He went to the window, tracing a rounded pane of glass with this finger. She stood beside him and traced the other rounded pane, stopping when she realised she was copying him. Not that he noticed.
‘At least you know he is alive and well. Perhaps you should trust him about the rest. It sounds like he has never failed you yet.’
‘I am not worried about him failing me. I merely wish...’ His lips compressed further.
‘Stop being so Edge-ish and keeping everything inside. What do you wish?’
He turned his head and smiled, but it lasted only a moment, slowly fading away as his eyes settled on hers. The room shrank to the size of those miniatures, her skin tight and tingling, she could even feel her breasts firming, readying. Her lips parted because there wasn’t enough air. How did this happen so quickly? Each time it struck faster, harder. If it became any more acute she would start melting in the middle of the street if he merely took her arm.
‘We should leave.’ His voice was rough, or the pulse thudding in her ears made it sound so.
Yes, she wanted to say. Yes, we should leave and go into that tiny copse in the cold night air and you will pull up my skirt, your warm, rough and soft hands on my thighs. His hands pressed on her cheeks now, his fingers hard against her temples and cheekbone.
‘Sam. You can’t look at me like that and...’
‘And what?’
‘God, this isn’t the place. Outside in the square wasn’t the place, the blasted Pettifer hall of horrors wasn’t the place. What the devil is wrong with me?’
‘I am, evidently.’ She tried to make light of it, but though his grip slackened, his fingertips moving gently along the curve of her cheek, the heat in his eyes was still mostly angry. She licked her lips and with something between a growl and a groan he turned away, wandering from miniature to miniature as he moved safely behind his battlement again. Eventually he stopped, pic
king up a statue of a horse and balancing it in his palm.
‘Rafe gave Jacob a horse just like this. He told me it was in recompense for the one he took from my room after I was sent to Egypt with Poppy. Guilt is a strange beast.’
Sam reached for the opening he offered.
‘You and Rafe became close after your marriage?’
‘Very. He said we were very close before I was sent away, but I can’t remember. When he returned from school that year and was told I was gone he was furious with me, as if I’d left him behind on purpose. In his mind I was living his explorer’s dream while he remained trapped in a life of prohibitions and punishments. It took him years to realise I had had no say in the matter. We both presumed the other was the lucky one. When he paid a duty call at Chesham after Jacob was born we were both prepared to thoroughly dislike each other, but it was as if we’d never been apart. In the end he stayed most of the next two years with us.’
‘Does he know why you were sent away?’
He shook his head, still focused on the horse.
‘No. He said no one spoke of it, or of anything much at Greybourne for that matter. Absurd that we both envied the other, isn’t it?’
She slipped her hand into his. ‘I never would have given my child away, no matter what.’ She flushed a little at the childishness of her words, waiting for him to toss them out with the rest of her gestures, but after a moment of stillness his fingers threaded through hers, slowly rubbing the back of her hand. Then he raised her hand, brushing his mouth along the base of her palm.
‘I know you wouldn’t. You are like...’ He dropped her hand immediately as if he’d been stung and she glanced at the doorway, thinking he’d heard someone approach, but there was nothing.
‘What is it?’
‘Nothing. Nothing. Time to leave.’
* * *
The transition from the sparkling clutter of Mr Soane’s house to the dark silence of the square was disorienting. Sam held her cloak about her and shivered though it was not cold. Edge was a dark monolith moving by her side, his profile silvered by the gas lamps lining the road.