“Lilith.”
She caught a surprised glint in his eyes. “Yes.”
“I know all about it. Stafford told me.”
“The American?”
“His mother was English,” she defended.
“I wasn’t critiquing your choice, dear.”
“He’s not my choice. He’s my friend. And … he’s a good man, Father. But don’t tell him I said so. He’s ridiculously arrogant.”
“Arrogance doesn’t keep a man alive in his line of business,” her father said.
Olivia stopped. He had a point. She would think on that later and come up with a new flaw for the man. At the very least he was a bit of womanizer. And he was still half-American.
“I digress. The symbol,” she said. “When I was able to steal the cone again, I showed it to Stafford—”
“Steal it again?”
She sighed. “Long story, Father. Anyway”—she pulled out the cone to show him—“he recognized the symbol. It is used to represent a goddess named Lilith.”
Her father nodded. “Her followers used it as well. It’s at the entrance to the tomb and inside the first chamber. We stopped trying to get any further. At least, I did.”
“Why?”
“Did Stafford tell you the prophecy part of this ancient myth?”
Olivia shook her head, quizzical. “Just the two sisters. One kills the other, and Lilith kills them all until balance is restored to the earth.”
“The prophecy predicts that the balance will be restored when the correct sister makes the sacrifice,” her father explained. “Then once again, her family will retain wealth and power to control the earth.”
“But that makes no sense. They’re all dead. And the sacrifice was the deal of the lord of the underworld, not Lilith’s. She destroyed any possibility of restoring balance.”
“Descendants of the sisters survived,” her father said. “Or so it is surmised. This librarian might have been one of them. And might have the treasure from that realm hidden in the tomb—or a map to the treasure’s location.”
“And what? Hidden the location in the astrolabe?”
“Exactly.”
“What do you hope to find, then?”
“I no longer hope to find anything. I only wanted to put the funerary key back where it belongs and lock the entrance to stop anyone else from entering. It is meant to be left alone. Lampley wants to continue. He is hoping to make up his investment in treasure. He does not want to accept that those buried here had very little treasure entombed with them. He rests his hopes on this sealed chamber of the librarian.
“I know he sent someone to get the star cone in England. If so, he might be behind Meggie’s death. Five have died since we tried to enter the librarian’s tomb, including Queensbury. Lampley has invested as much as anyone else, but with more to lose. I thought he would be forced to leave by now, but he has held on. When he returned after his last trip, it was with funding and a new investor—one who is backing him specifically.”
Olivia absorbed all her father shared, relieved he seemed to be the same man. “But what of your motives, Father? You cannot put the cone back and expect no one else will try to enter. There will certainly be others.”
“Let them come,” he said. “We can only guard the entrance while it is our turn to do so. There is something there we are not meant to disturb.”
“But what about finding the ancient scrolls, or any number of artifacts that could add to our current body of history?”
“I don’t deny the thirst for discovery is strong, but not when the past can kill you. I would like to have a future, my dear. I have been unable to leave camp for some time. Lampley has made me an imprisoned guest until he can figure out the ‘best course of action.’ I want for nothing but freedom. Strange how it feels when that is taken. I have learned new lessons in my old age.”
Olivia started to ask another question, when they were interrupted by Hugh Lampley. “Lord Merryvale,” he said. “Our new partner has arrived.”
“Indeed?” Her father spoke with a hint of resentment. “That is timely.”
“Curiously, he’s asked to meet you, Lady Olivia.”
A chill went down Olivia’s spine and she looked at Hugh alarmed, dread filling her. Stafford had warned her, hadn’t he? Her mouth went dry as the desert. “What is his name?”
“Sir Jason Moreau,” he said.
“Son of a Moor,” she cursed, getting up.
“No, French,” Hugh corrected.
She shook her head and for once didn’t bother to explain. Moreau was their new investor? What did the bastard want? And more important, what would he do now that he’d found her?
Chapter Twenty-One
Samuel squinted at the heavily armed new arrivals. There was a swarthy man, clearly the money, accompanied by a larger, tough-looking Egyptian squad leader, who took command of the small troop.
Lampley greeted them. Something did not seem right about it. Lampley’s posture turned defensive. Warning hairs tingled on Samuel’s neck when they went to Merryvale’s tent. He took the opportunity to find his men.
Nathan waited with Kelley and the others, none of whom looked happy.
“Don’t like it, Captain,” Nathan said, arms folded, feet planted firmly.
“Neither do I. Kelley, take two men and a guide back to town. Let Andersen know what’s up. And find Riad. We’ll need his help to even the playing field if things get nasty. We’ve enough to camp for a week, but I want to leave as soon as possible. I’ll send my sister and most of the group back tonight. It’s going to be a little harder getting the professor away.”
“Got it, Cap.”
“And, Kelley,” he said. “If no one shows up tonight, consider the situation hostile.”
The four had already mounted when Lampley called to them.
“Go.” He swatted Kelley’s horse, and the four men raced to the edge of the oasis.
Lampley shouted to the guards, and Samuel had to give Lampley credit for the well-trained men. They responded instantly, ten of them forming a barrier and raising their guns. Samuel leaped to his mount and followed, hoping to avert disaster. Lampley was fast on his heels.
A warning shot was fired into the sand, and his men stopped.
“Gentlemen, really! We’ve not even finished lunch,” Lampley said, catching up to them.
“Ain’t hungry, mister. Got duties back in town and want to spend my night with a willing woman, not a buncha sandmen,” Kelley said.
“Of course,” Lampley agreed. “However, I’m afraid no one leaves without an escort. It’s too dangerous. Many groups have become lost in the desert with just one wrong turn.”
“That right?” Stafford said. He pulled a compass from his pocket and tossed it to Kelley. “Don’t worry. They’ll be fine.”
“I’m afraid I must insist.”
“That bein’ the case, we accept your escort,” Kelley said. “Who will be joining us?”
“Ahh.” Lampley raised his trigger finger and shook it in the air. “There’s the problem. You see we are a bit short of escorts at the moment.”
Stafford took a deliberate look around the small fortress’s worth of men. “Is that right?”
“Yes.” Lampley heaved a sorrowful sigh indicating the men. “They are all wonderful guards, but always losing their way.”
“My guide is more than willing to risk the danger. But thank you for your concern,” Samuel said.
He motioned for his men to leave.
The guards raised their guns again.
“Please let’s not make this uncivilized, Mr. Stafford.”
“Holding people against their will is uncivilized.”
“It most certainly is.” Lampley pulled a gun and aimed it him. “Kindly join your friends at luncheon or I will shoot you in some part of your body that will be very uncomfortable to bear this far from medical help.”
“Gladly, Hugh. It’s nice to see your true colors again.” Samuel nodded
to his men. His sister stood waiting to see the outcome, pensive but no doubt ready for action. He waved to indicate all was well.
“Who are the newcomers?” Samuel asked.
“Our new investor,” Lampley said. “Sir Jason Moreau.”
Surprised, Samuel yanked his reins too hard.
“You know him?”
Samuel shook his head negatively. “Should I?”
Lampley shrugged. “Just assumed all you rich sort knew each other. Be warned.” Lampley gathered his reins. “He’s brought his own men. And they don’t appear nearly as tolerant as I am.” He spurred his horse, returning to the luncheon group.
Samuel joined the group. Olivia came to him, her face tense, her eyes bright silver icicles.
He took her hands. They were unnaturally cold.
“That man is Moreau.”
“I know,” he said.
“He wants to talk to me,” she said. Then she blurted a stream of undecipherable words he took as insults. He pulled her to him and held tight, rubbing a hand over her back to calm her trembling, and pressing his lips to her forehead.
“Are you leaving?” she mumbled pathetically against his chest.
“No.” He leaned back to look her into her eyes, wanting to tell her how much he loved her. “It seems we are to be guests of Lampley and Moreau for a short while.”
“Stafford—”
“I know. You’re worried. You should be. But it’s going to be all right.”
“Promise?” She stared back, wanting a nod of confidence that he could make everything normal again.
He couldn’t promise that exactly. “I promise not to leave you—willingly.”
Her eyes glistened with moisture. “Oh, Stafford—”
“Hush, Olivia.” Her irises softened to a magical cloudy gray. “Hush.” He leaned down and brushed her lips with his, a thumb caressing her soft cheek as he gently held her face in his hands. Slowly he deepened the kiss, losing awareness of everything but her. Nothing mattered but keeping her safe, and his heart ached at how her fantastic adventure was about to end.
She gently pulled free and smiled. “I won’t be afraid as long as you are with me.”
He started to grin when suddenly fingernails dug into his arm. It was his sister. She didn’t release him. Her lips smiled, but her eyes were furious—and frightened.
“That was incredibly stupid, brother.”
“I couldn’t help myself.”
“Try,” she hissed. Her other hand held a small plate stacked with food. To Olivia she said, “Eat every bite of this or so help me I will shove it down your foolish throat myself.”
“Allie, don’t.” Samuel knew why she was worried. It was for him. Not herself. She did not want their enemies injuring him to manipulate Olivia. “They will use us regardless.”
“You needn’t give them a target.” To Samuel’s dismay, his sister’s sharp green eyes flooded with tears. She spun away and bumped into her husband. “Will you please tell them this is no time for ardent interludes!”
Her husband snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her forcibly to him. She tried to push against his chest, but he wrapped another arm around her shoulders and secured her before dipping his head and kissing her thoroughly. “My darling, this is the most important time for ardent interludes. But I agree we must keep our wits about us. Go make a snack for Samuel.”
Worthington had a way of managing his sister. Alex nodded. After she left them, Worthington explained, “She’s been emotional lately.”
“It could be the heat, Your Grace. She really should take off her coat. It might help.”
Worthington nodded. “I’ll tell her. In the meantime, what do they want?” He indicated the men behind him.
“I don’t know, but we are about to find out,” Samuel said.
Merryvale, Lampley, and Moreau approached. Only Lampley smiled—a little too much to be natural. Moreau did not look dangerous, but Samuel knew from experience not to believe a person wouldn’t murder you just because he had kind eyes and a friendly grin. Moreau had neither of those qualities, but everyone had their own strategic style. He’d only to figure out Moreau’s.
The man was of average height and had a slender build. His mustache was black and trim and curled sleekly at the ends. Aside from dark, expressionless eyes reminiscent of a shark, Moreau appeared to exude warmth and sincerity.
Samuel wanted to spear him.
“My lady, I’m so thankful you made it to your father safely,” Moreau said.
“Indeed,” Stafford said.
“You must be Captain Stafford.” Moreau held out his hand. When Samuel didn’t take it, the man reached for one of his arms. “I heard about your run-in with corsairs when my ship was in Algiers. It was the talk of the town. A miracle you survived it.” He turned to Olivia. “My dear, you’ve had a terrible time of it. You must travel home with a proper naval escort. It cannot be allowed otherwise. I was right behind you. A shame you were not with me.”
“Your concern is touching, Sir Jason,” Olivia said. “Thank you. I’m sure you are right.”
“But you were lunching. Forgive me. Mr. Lampley wants to show me the catacombs. Perhaps you will join us after you are properly revived.”
“It would be a pleasure, sir,” Olivia said. “Excuse us.” She bowed her head properly and stepped away.
Samuel followed her. “That was damned strange,” he said in a strained whisper.
“It took the wind out of my sails,” Olivia whispered back. “What do you think he is up to?”
“No good,” he said. “Moreau could not get you one way, so he’s joined the expedition to have you cooperate another way.”
“I suppose we play along?”
“For now, but I don’t trust any of them a bit. And Olivia …” He stopped her to study her next reaction. “I’m not so sure where your father stands.”
“With us,” she said. “I spoke to him. He wanted to leave as well. Lampley left orders to hold him at camp. That’s why your sister couldn’t contact him.”
She put her hand protectively over the funerary cone. “I want to go in, Stafford. That’s the pain of it. But we can’t let Moreau get anything that’s inside. That would be highly iniquitous.”
“Then we need to make sure we get out of the tomb alive,” he said.
“Stafford,” she said, a look of panic on her face. “I had not even considered the alternative.”
“Consider it, love. This is not going to be an easy afternoon.”
* * *
Standing at the entrance to the tomb, Olivia recognized the magnitude of the moment—the fulfillment of a lifelong dream. It should have been the most thrilling day of her life. It turned out to be, but for different reasons.
On one hand, her heart pounded with excitement. What would they find? What would they learn? This day could change her life forever.
On the other hand, Moreau had his own aggressive-looking men escorting them, her companions were weaponless, and priceless treasure and knowledge could possibly fall into the wrong hands. She breathed in to control the increasing palpitations. Yes, it was an uncertain situation at best. Olivia adjusted her leather bag and water pouch.
They assembled outside the wood-supported opening—Stafford, his sister, the duke, and the Riedells. Elizabeth looked wary but protective. Riedell kept hold of her hand, equally protective. Lampley had arranged a number of soldiers to escort them. Kelley and their men waited not far from the entrance, and Olivia lifted a hand in farewell.
“Friends, any weapons?” Lampley said it with a smile.
“You’ve already disarmed us,” Stafford said.
“I meant the women.” Lampley’s eyes sharpened on the duchess. All eyes turned.
Worthington stepped in front of her. “My wife is pregnant. Anyone who touches her is a dead man.” He said it low and threatening. Olivia believed him.
His wife gasped with shock, touching his arm and drawing his gaze.
“You knew?” It was a hushed whisper of surprise.
The duke grabbed her hand, sudden understanding dawning on him for all to see. “You are?”
“Yes.”
“Alex,” the duke said on exhale, pulling her close.
“Joshua,” she cried softly.
And then they were in the most passionate embrace Olivia had ever witnessed. She waited. Then looked around. Then back.
Still in the embrace.
Olivia finally turned away, embarrassed. The others stared, dumbfounded. Even Moreau was stupefied.
Stafford cleared his throat. Olivia looked at him, surprised that for once he looked uncomfortable. It seemed he still was not accustomed to his younger sister’s being married. He cleared his throat again. Olivia heaved a sigh and went over to them, poking the duchess firmly in the back of her shoulder and enunciating into her ear. “No ardent interludes. Remember?”
The duke lifted his head. Vows of love were proclaimed. Olivia got testier. Love! If love made you lose your mind in the midst of life-threatening danger, she could well do without it! Granted, Moreau hadn’t officially threatened them yet, but he was making it difficult to fight back should there be disagreement.
The duke once again stood in front of his wife. Only this time he was brutally harsh, his expression mercilessly cold. “As I said, anyone who touches my wife is a dead man.”
Olivia swallowed with shock. She hadn’t recognized this trait in the duke. Guards stepped back, recognizing the danger. Moreau nodded to Lampley.
“Your Grace,” Lampley said to the duke. “Will you do the honors?”
The duchess lifted one leg for the duke and he discreetly removed a gun. Lampley handed it to one of his men and they prepared to leave.
Moreau stopped them. “Your reputation precedes you, Your Grace. I know you have at least one knife on you.”
The duchess smiled beguiling. “Two actually.” She lifted her other ankle for her husband. “Remarkable how people have nothing better to talk about.”
Lampley accepted the knives, shaking his head. “Shame on you, Your Grace.”
She shrugged. “I like to be prepared.”
Lampley laughed. “Excellent. If no one else is bearing arms, let us proceed.”
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