“With a belly like his I was pretty sure he liked to eat.” She giggled.
Alex grinned and opened the last door on the right. “It is not much, but a least you do not have to share it with a bunch of terrible smelling men.”
Kassie entered the room. Besides a mesh hammock there was a single three legged stool, a tarnished wash basin and a chamber pot. “It is better than waiting for Basille to turn me over to the earl.” She gave Alex a false bright smile which she knew he would see through anyway.
He set down her small trunk of clothes and possessions. “I will come and get you in time for the evening meal. Do not unpack—we head out tomorrow before dawn.” He squeezed her hand and left, shutting and locking the door behind him.
She sat on the stool. At least Alex would look out for her, and she would get to finally see what took place on an archaeological dig. Cohen had promised to explain the process to her one day. He promised to take her on a dig in Sicily. She wondered where Sicily was, and then realized she had not even asked where the professor’s crew was going. Well, wherever they were headed, she would be away from the earl and get to see another land. It was an intriguing situation…
* * * *
A key scraped in the lock. Kassie steeled herself against the intruder as the door swung open, letting out a soft exclamation of relief when Alex smiled at her from the threshold. “Sorry to lock you in, but it is for your own good.”
Kassie nodded. “I understand.”
Alex gave her a grand bow and offered her his arm. “May I escort you to dinner, Lady Everton?”
She returned his smile and took his arm. “You know, ‘tis not proper for a lady to have a male friend.” When he looked down at her and frowned, worry lines etched in the corner of his eyes, she grinned and squeezed his arm, “but I am glad you are my friend, Alex.”
“As am I, to have you as a friend, my lady.”
They entered the museum dining hall. The room was crowded with men and even a couple of women, sitting, eating, and talking. A few looked up as they entered and gave her curious, but friendly, looks. Alex led her to two empty seats and pulled one of the chairs out for her. She sat and looked down at the simple silver place setting in front of her.
“Bonjour, Mademoiselle.”
Kassie looked up into the kind eyes of a middle aged man.
He smiled. “I am Perrie Chanapelle.”
Kassie looked at Alex.
“Perrie, is one of the dusting team.”
She smiled. “I am pleased to meet you, Mr. Chanapelle. I am Kassie … Everton. What is a duster?”
“Please call me Perrie. Dusters are the people who sweep the dirt off any pottery, bones, or other artifacts that we find.”
Alex leaned forward. “This is my sister’s first time on a dig.”
A servant came along and set a large pot of soup on the table in front of them. Alex ladled some into her bowl, and she smiled her thanks.
“Did you not take her with on any of your trips with Comté Ashton?” Perrie helped himself to a platter of biscuits.
Kassie’s heart twisted at the mention of Cohen’s name.
Alex shook his head. “She was married at the time to…” he looked at her and cleared his throat, “to an earl. Since her husband’s death, she has been rattling around in that big empty mansion so I suggested she come along with me.”
Perrie looked surprised, but if he doubted the story, he refrained from saying so. “Pardon me, Lady Everton, for addressing you in an improper manner.”
Kassie smiled. “No apology is necessary. Please, call me Kassie, the title belonged to my husband, not me. I am as common as you and Alex.”
The young man smiled, and Kassie decided she liked him. He seemed genuine.
“So, Kassie, tell me how you managed to convince that nip cheese marplot, Professor Braun, to allow a woman on his expedition?”
“I complimented his collection, offered to catalog his findings, and share a few of my husband’s secrets.”
He threw back his head and laughed; his rich baritone was a welcome distraction. “You are a clever one, Kassie, to be sure. The only thing Braun likes better than crowing about his findings is eating.”
Kassie laughed. “I did mention to him I can cook.”
“You are a deep little minx.” Perrie roared with laughter.
“Thank you.” She turned her attention to her soup.
Perrie furrowed his brows. “You were not married to Earl Everton, by chance?”
She choked on her spoonful of soup. No matter where she hid, the earl would find her.
“I am sorry. Your husband’s recent death must be still painful for you.” He handed her his handkerchief.
Kassie patted her mouth with the clean linen. “Recent death?”
“I heard about the fire last month. Dreadful business it was. Is it true he left all of his blunt to the butler?”
It was as if something slithered down her spine. She shuddered and swung her gaze to Alex as she fought to catch the breath that fled her lungs at Perrie’s words. Dead? The earl is dead? Am I finally free? Perhaps Perrie is mistaken.
Alex reached over and took her hand. “My lady, are you all right?”
She looked at Perrie. His gaze flickered back and forth between her and Alex, his brows pinched together with concern. She fought to control her voice and look as if she knew the news all along. “You heard about the earl’s … I mean my husband’s death?”
He nodded.
Free at last. Alone. The words tumbled around in her befuddled mind. She hardly noticed Alex help her to her feet. The words he spoke to Perrie made no sense to her shocked senses. The room spun, everything blurred. She was aware of walking, and then the next thing she knew she was in her room. The route they took to get there she could not fathom. Alex seated her on the stool. She recognized the concern in his eyes. “It is over,” she whispered, almost afraid to say the words out loud. “He is dead. I am free.”
He nodded and forced a glass of brandy to her lips. Where and when he had gotten it she could not recall. The first mouthful burned and she sputtered, but she downed the whole glass.
Alex set it on the floor as she leaned back against the wall, letting the soothing brandy take effect. “I am free, Alex. I do not have to run anymore. I can marry…” she let her voice trail off at the thought of Cohen. “I can marry if I wish to.”
Alex brushed a tendril of hair from her forehead. “Oui.”
She sat up. “I can go home Alex, home to my mama and papa.”
“You will go?”
Kassie nodded. “I still have a little money left, enough perhaps to buy passage back to England.”
He nodded. “You rest. I will see to your passage.” He stood, kissed her hand, and left.
Kassie stared at the door as it closed behind him. What will I tell my parents?
Chapter Twenty-Four
Cohen shaded his eyes from the relentless Sicilian sun. It was only noon and already the heat on the hillside was almost unbearable. He swiped his arm across his forehead to wipe away the sweat trickling down, stinging his eyes. Another couple of hours and he would call a halt to the excavation for the day. Leaning back over the tablet, he returned to sweeping the loose bits of debris from the exposed part of its surface.
Perhaps he should return to France. His heart just was not into the hunt for exotic treasures anymore. He missed Lucca. With a sigh, he dropped the brush into the dirt beside the relic and got to his feet. A local Sicilian boy wandered barefoot through the rows of workers, carrying a water pail. Cohen waved to him, and the boy hurried in his direction. He stopped in front of Cohen and looked up with a gap toothed smile. Cohen ruffled the boy’s hair and reached for the dipper hooked on the edge of the pail. He lifted it to his mouth, swallowing the fresh water in greedy gupls. Once he drank his fill, he removed his hat and poured a ladle full over his head. The delicious coolness was refreshing.
He flipped the boy a coin and ruffled his ha
ir again. The boy gave him a huge grin, mumbled something in his native tongue, and hurried away. Cohen smiled as the boy continued his rounds. Perhaps it was time to go home. His assistant could oversee the rest of the dig. His thoughts returned to his own son. Would Lucca be crawling or talking yet? Have I already missed those important first steps and words?
With little enthusiasm he surveyed the campsite below the hill. Militia exited his tent with her arms full of dirty shirts to wash. Even from here he could see the provocative sway of her lean brown hips under her flowered skirt. He tried to forget Kassie in the arms of the buxom dark-haired beauty, but it had not worked. Like an untried school boy, his desire wilted and died before he even got her undressed.
Slapping at a fly buzzing a lazy circle around his head he realized he could not forget Kassie. He looked everywhere for her, but she had vanished like a drop of rain in a desert. Cohen shoved the hat back on his head and made his way down the hill. The dig had not brushed Kassie from his mind as he hoped it would.
He entered his tent and paused a moment to allow his eyes to adjust to the dimness. Tossing his hat on top of his clothes trunk, he wandered to the only chair and flopped into it. His restless gaze landed on the brandy decanter in the middle of the folding table, so he picked it up and poured himself a drink. He raised the glass to his lips and allowed the sweet fiery liquid to slide down his throat. The drink satisfied him in a way water could not. If he drank enough he could fall into a dreamless slumber, a muted sleep, where visions of Kassie’s sensuous pale limbs and hair would not intrude.
Raised voices outside of his tent caught his attention. The men were excited about something when they spoke in such a fevered pitch. Shadows of men flickered across the tent flap. What was going on? He stood and crossed to the entrance, flipping the flap open. Men were running from the campsite, down the dusty dirt road toward town.
Stepping from the tent he caught the arm of one of his workers. “What is going on?”
“The camp on the other side of the hill has had a cave in,” the man said, shaking off his hand and following the others.
Cohen jogged along behind. When he crested the top of the hill, clouds of dust choked his throat and eyes. Holding his handkerchief over his mouth and nose, he scrambled down the embankment to the base of the other encampment.He searched the chaos for the professor and found the man standing by the entrance to the collapsed cave, shouting orders, his white beard tinted red from the volcanic dirt. “Is there anyone in there?”
The professor gave him a grim lipped nod. “Two of my men are trapped.”
“What can my men and I do to help?” Cohen placed his hand on the man’s shoulder.
“We need to shore up the entrance before we can try to dig them out.”
Cohen turned and gestured to one of his men who had followed him. “You, go back to our dig and bring back all the unused supports you can find.” When the man nodded and hurried back the way he had come, Cohen turned to the professor. Together they helped place the wooden beams brought to them into strategic positions around the opening to the cave.
An hour later the supports were in place, and the digging started. Cohen organized the men into shifts of four men, each digging until they were tired, and then the next shift taking their place. It was almost dark when Cohen took his turn. He scraped the dirt with a trowel into a bucket until it was full, passed it to the man behind him and filled another. His muscles began to scream in protest by the time his trowel broke through the last barrier of debris. Tossing his tool to the ground, he signaled for the man behind him to pass forward a lantern. After lighting the wick and turning it up he slid the glass back into place. With careful deliberation he eased his way through the narrow opening, coughing as handfuls of loose dirt slid from the top of the cave and showered down upon him. The dust swirled around the lantern, changing the yellow light to red. The results were shifting shadows that transformed the dark into eerie visions.
Cohen waited until the dust settled enough to see the sides of the cave, and then continued inching his way forward on his hands and knees. “Devilish scrape you have gotten yourselves into. Rattle on lads, so I might find you.”
“Here, sir.”
Cohen was relieved to hear an answer. “How many there?”
“Two of us sir, one hurt.”
He kept creeping forward until the forms of two men took shape from the shadows. “What is your name?”
“Jacques, sir.” The young man gestured to the man lying across his legs. “The other is Forchette.”
Cohen held the light up with a start. “Alex?” Even in the murky light he was sure it was his former crew member. The man did not move or respond.
“Are you hurt, Jacques?”
“My arm, sir, it pains me.”
Cohen pressed his lips together and thought for a moment. He held out the lantern. “Take the light and lead the way back to the entrance. I will follow behind with Alex.”
The young man nodded, easing out from under his prone companion and took the lantern. As he crawled back in the direction of the cave’s mouth, Cohen grasped Alex under his arms and dragged him along behind. The young man moaned. “Alex?”
He coughed, “Oui.”
“I will have you out of here soon.” Cohen said a silent thanks the man was still alive.
“Comté Ashton?”
Cohen smiled at the disbelief in Alex’s voice. “Oui.” He looked behind, relieved to see the light from the entrance. A couple more feet and helping hands pulled the men from the tunnel. Cohen sprawled on the ground outside the entrance. Someone handed him a damp handkerchief and a canteen. He wiped the grit from his face and took a long drink to wash the dust from his throat.
“Comté?”
Cohen looked over at Alex who was being lifted onto a stretcher.
Alex stared at him wide-eyed. “Are you alive or have I died?”
Cohen chuckled and clasped the man’s hand. “As you can feel, I am very much alive.” He let go of the man’s hand as two men lifted the makeshift stretcher and headed to the physician’s tent.
The professor helped him to his feet. “A debt I owe to you, comté.”
“Do you have anything stronger than brandy to drink at your camp?” Cohen smiled.
The man smiled back. “Oui.”
Cohen clapped him on the back. “Good, share a bottle with me, and we will call it even.”
“Ashton!”
Cohen turned around to see Auggie making his way toward him through the crowd. “Forton, you old devil! I did not know you were in Sicily.”
Auggie clapped Cohen on the back and grinned. “It seems we are all after the same treasure, eh?”
Cohen nodded.
“Ye look like hell.” Auggie frowned.
“Your waistline is the only thing that has changed my friend.” Cohen grinned.
“Fudge,” Auggie ran a hand over his protruding belly, “‘Tis all the kick these days. The maids love a man who kin appreciate a fine table.”
“I hope by maids you mean my sister.” He winked.
Auggie sobered. “I came across a hellish sea to speak with ye on that, Ashton.”
Cohen nodded, “Come on, we were just about to go have a drink.”
They had just finished their second glass of rum when Cohen was summoned to the physician’s tent. Auggie followed.
Alex lay on a cot in the corner, his head wrapped in a thick bandage. He waved Cohen over to his bed. “Comté Ashton, I must speak with you.”
Cohen went to his side and laid a hand on his shoulder. “We can talk later, rest now.”
Alex shook his head. “No, no. I must know what happened, how you are alive.”
Cohen pulled a chair up beside the bed and straddled it, leaning his arms across the back. “There is not much to tell, I survived the shipwreck, drifted out to sea, and was finally picked up by a merchant ship.”
“We all thought you were dead. Mr. Forton, he took Lady Everton back to your
family in France.”
“I know. Unfortunately by the time I found out Kassie was alive and came looking for her, she was gone. I searched for her for months, but I could not find any trace of her—”
Alex waved his hand to interrupt his explanation. “But Comté, I know where Lady Everton is.”
“Where? Where is she?” Cohen stared at him, not believing his good fortune.
“She has gone home to England.” Alex beamed.
Cohen frowned, his joy at finding Kassie floundering under the weight of their new predicament. “Now what am I to do?” He stood and paced back and forth beside the cot. “Napoleon has violated the peace treaty and declared war again on England.” He shook his head. “Why did she not stay in Marseilles? If I sail to England under a French flag, my ship will be blown to pieces, and if I sail under a British Flag, I do not stand a chance of making the English coast line.”
Auggie looked thoughtful. “Perhaps a Scottish vessel can make the journey.”
Cohen shook his head. “England calls Scotland a friend, but you would not make it past Napoleon.” He looked up as Alex cleared his throat.
“Perhaps, Comté Ashton, I may be able to offer a solution.”
Cohen lifted an eyebrow. “What say you?”
“Perhaps the solution is simpler than you think.” Alex grinned, and then flinched. He put his hand to his head. With a sheepish smile he continued, “What say we sail through Napoleon’s army flying our French flag then hoist the British flag when within sight of England?”
Cohen sat down, leaned his arms across the back of the chair, resting his chin on his hand. He pondered the idea. Can I fool the British Army into thinking I am still a citizen of England? It just might work … except for one thing. He looked at Alex. “There is only one problem, how do I explain a French speaking crew?”
“It is simple, Comté, we teach the crew English.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
“Mathew Lamb! Quit throwing rocks at Mary or I will fetch a willow switch!” Kassie stamped her foot to emphasize her threat.
The Cracksman's Kiss Page 17