by Monica Burns
With a sigh, he closed his eyes and leaned his head against the seat’s cushion. Never had his English heritage ever felt like such a yoke as it did now. And all because he’d denied his Bedouin blood. A sudden longing for the freedom of his gambaz swelled through him.
The flowing garment enhanced one’s ability to move so much easier than the form-fitting fashions of London society. It wasn’t just the freedom of movement he missed. There was an unfettered liberty he enjoyed under his Bedouin title. In the Sahara he had license to be himself.
Always torn between two countries and cultures, he knew more about prejudice than most people. It was one of the reasons why he refused to marry. Even if a woman were willing to look past his bloodline, his lifestyle was a difficult one. Living on the edge of polite society for half a year and the other in the beautiful, but harsh desert would be a difficult existence for a woman used to the comforts of the civilized world.
A sudden desire to be free of his English birthright surged through him. If he hadn’t given his word to his grandfather, he’d have discarded the responsibilities and title of Viscount Blakeney long ago. His oath was the only thing that kept him here. Since the age of ten, he’d spent six or more months in England each year. First Eton, then Cambridge had occupied his time, then he’d spent successive winters working at the British Museum.
But it was when he returned home to the Sahara that he experienced true happiness. As a member of one of the Sahara’s oldest Bedouin tribes, his knowledge of the desert, its people and past made him a valuable resource to the British Museum. He couldn’t count the number of times his work with the Museum had saved him from the tedium he found London society to be.
Unfortunately, even that haven was no longer sacrosanct. Merrick was becoming tedious and disagreeable in their working relationship. The man was so firmly entrenched in rules and regulations he threatened the Museum’s expansion into the area of Egyptology.
The carriage came to a halt, and Altair stepped out of the vehicle with no clear decision as to what he should do where Alex was concerned. Entering Blakeney house, he went to the study and poured himself a stiff drink. The liquid burned the back of his throat.
A quiet cough behind him announced his butler, Marshall. “Forgive me, my lord, but a message was delivered for you earlier.”
Turning around, Altair picked up the note from the salver Marshall held. With a nod of dismissal, he broke the wax seal and unfolded the parchment. The message was short, but succinct. Merrick wanted to know if there was any credence to Alex’s theories. Damnation, the bastard was going to try to steal the discovery out from underneath her.
The paper crackled as he balled it up in his fist. Merrick was a fool to allow his prejudices to color his perspective. If Alex did know how to find Per-Ramesses, the Museum would do well to look past her gender because the results might well be the find of the century.
A smile curved his mouth. It had been entertaining to see her storm Merrick’s castle in an attempt to persuade the man to her way of thinking. She’d been polite and forthright despite the man’s condescension, but like most people, even she had a limit. When she’d bluntly insulted the man in Coptic, he’d found her audacious response amusing and interesting. Coptic was a difficult language to master, and she knew it well.
The memory made him grin before he frowned. He still hadn’t made up his mind what to tell her. Decisions were never difficult for him, and he found his indecisive behavior annoying. Well, whatever he decided didn’t change the necessity of honoring his agreement to lead her out to Khatana-Qantir. He might have agreed to the arrangement thinking he was dealing with the professor, but he’d given his word. There was no going back. But it was the excitement charging through him that made him uneasy. Almost as uneasy as the thought of Alex Talbot’s lush, sensuous body.
Chapter Three
The fetid smell of London’s docks assaulted Altair’s nostrils as he stepped from his carriage. In front of him, the wharf was a frenzy of activity. His muscles tensed with excitement. He was going home. Sheikh Altair Mazir was going home.
No more playing the role of Lord Blakeney for another six months. No, that wasn’t true. Unless he told Alex the truth, he’d still have to play the role for her benefit. Blast, why couldn’t he make a decision about this?
The reasons were far more complicated than he cared to delve into. At the moment, not telling her seemed the lesser of two evils. Especially given his interference in her travel plans this past week. She’d be livid if she figured out he was responsible for the change in her transportation arrangements. Learning Lord Blakeney and Sheikh Mazir were one and the same would only make matters worse.
His gaze focused on the Moroccan Wind. The sleek, three-mast schooner looked swift and sturdy. The sight of her pleased him. He’d purchased the ship specifically to handle his small trade expeditions to and from Cairo, as well as Morocco.
From where he stood, he saw Alex’s softly rounded figure pacing the ship’s deck. His body stirred in response to the sight of her. Damnation. What was wrong with him? He’d seen attractive women before—Alex Talbot was no different.
But she was. His body tensed and tightened every time he got near her. Even in his dreams, he lusted after her. Those dreams had turned his desire into a constant physical ache. Watching her now, he recalled some of the things he’d done with her luscious body in his dreams. The hedonistic memory hardened his cock immediately.
Shoving his erotic fantasies of her into the back of his head, he frowned. Lust wasn’t the only thing that drew him to Alex. She’d aroused his primal instincts as well. His friendship with the professor was a compelling reason for him to protect her. But it was more than that.
The need to protect her from harm went deeper. It touched a primeval part of him he’d never experienced before. Instinct, not logic, dictated his actions where she was concerned. Even the possibility of her scorn hadn’t made a difference in his determination to watch over her.
Scowling, he studied Alex with narrowed eyes. The ethnic slurs society had always directed at him no longer cut deep as they once had. It had been years since he’d allowed himself to feel anything about the opinions of others. Caroline had taught him that hard, but important lesson. The way she’d left him had made him realize his mixed blood was an insurmountable barrier. He could never trust a woman to love him for who he was, not what he was. A half-breed.
Even if Alex didn’t bear any prejudices, keeping her at arm’s length was the best thing to do. But that would be far from easy. He growled a noise of frustration. He should never have given his word to guide the professor and his party to Khatana-Qantir in search of Per-Ramesses. It’s what had gotten him into this mess in the first place.
Content to study her from afar for just a bit longer, he folded his arms across his chest and watched as she directed the loading of her luggage onto the ship. A bundle of energy, she’d led him on a merry dance this past week as he’d tracked her movements. It hadn’t been an easy task getting her passage switched from the Corinthian to his own ship.
The Corinthian’s captain had balked fiercely at parting with two passengers and their supplies. The man’s resistance had forced him to trade a profitable Calcutta cargo for an agreement to transfer Alex and her friend to the Moroccan Wind. Then again, he could honestly say the man had more than earned his fee considering Alex’s reaction to losing her passage.
Tucked away in a darkened doorway across from the Corinthian’s berth, he’d seen Alex’s fury when the captain informed her of the change in plans. Although he’d been too far away to hear what she was saying, her body language had been easy enough to read. God help him if she discovered he’d arranged the switch. She would definitely not take kindly to his attempts to keep her safe and out of trouble.
Shrugging slightly at the thought, he wondered if Professor Talbot had ever considered his daughter headstrong. He could i
magine the headaches the man must have experienced if that were the case. Obstinate, independent and forthright, the woman didn’t hesitate to make her wishes known.
She was also determined to succeed in her quest. Her thoroughness in arranging her trip convinced him that she and her father had considered as many contingencies as possible for their journey, except for one. The professor’s death.
The fact that he would never have the honor of meeting Alexander Talbot in person saddened him. Their correspondence had been a pleasant one, and he’d readily agreed to guide the man’s archeological party to Khatana-Qantir. When he’d confirmed his agreement last month, he’d done so thinking the letter writer was the professor, not his daughter. Knowing he’d agreed to lead this expedition without knowing the man was dead was a source of irritation. Bedouin hospitality and his sense of honor decreed he had no choice but to abide by his commitment. And something told him Alex Talbot knew that and had counted on it.
Like a feather stroking his skin, the strange accent of her voice filtered its way into his senses. His mouth went dry as her American inflection tantalized and excited him. Grimacing, he shook his head.
He needed to end this fascination he had for the woman. The last time he’d experienced a similar stirring of emotion, he’d paid dearly. Even if he were foolish enough to let a woman into his life, she’d find his nomadic lifestyle taxing. Living on the fringe of English society was almost as difficult as the challenges of his desert existence.
Any woman who cared for him would have to suffer both. He could easily give up England, but love of family and home would never allow him to give up the desert. It didn’t matter anyway. He’d yet to meet a woman willing to accept him for who he was and not his heritage. From aboard ship, Alex’s odd-sounding accent stroked his senses again as she chastised one of the sailors.
“No, no. Those trunks are to go in my cabin. I don’t want them in the hold where water might get at them.”
“But miss, there’s no more room in your cabin. Where will you sleep?” The raspy voice of one of the sailors was a direct contrast to Alex’s silky one.
“Surely there’s another cabin on board I can use.”
“No, miss. It’s best we put the trunks below.”
Altair sensed a battle brewing and crossed the quay to stride up the gangplank intent on suppressing a mutiny. “It’s all right, Sully. Put the trunk in Miss Talbot’s cabin.”
“Aye, my lord.” The sailor nodded respectfully and moved away.
Spinning around to face him, Alex brushed a stray lock of golden-brown hair out of her face, tucking it behind her ear. From where he’d stood on the dock, she’d only been visible from the shoulders up. Now, seeing her up close, his body reacted immediately to her appearance.
Good God, had the woman taken leave of her senses?
She wore her male garments with an easy-going confidence that astounded him. A beige pair of trousers, tucked into black riding boots, hugged her shapely legs to the point of distraction. It was clear she wasn’t wearing a corset, and the white lawn shirt she wore sent his mind reeling.
Perspiration molded the material to her skin, the shirt clinging to the voluptuous curves of her breasts. His initial reaction was a desire to pull her close and cup the round softness of her. Taking his time, he’d unbutton her shirt until he’d freed her lush breasts and could suckle her. The thought of doing so tugged at his groin, and it was only through sheer willpower that he didn’t reach for her at that very moment. Even more amazing was how she was unaware of the havoc her appearance was wreaking on his body.
Were all Americans this mad? If Lord Merrick were to see her now, the man would see to it that anything she found at Khatana-Qantir would never see the light of day. Credibility for a woman in the archeology field was almost impossible to achieve, but it called for decorum, not blatant defiance of social standards.
Not a single board member of the British Museum would take her work seriously if they saw her dressed like this. Not to mention what the crew must be thinking. He watched a grizzly sailor walk by her with a leering grin on his face. The man needed to keep his eyes front.
“You there,” he snarled at the sailor. “Keep your eyes and your head on your business.”
Blanching from the scathing order, the sailor bobbed his head. “Aye, my lord.”
The man scuttled off, leaving Altair to glare after him. He’d have to instruct Balfour to make sure the men knew they weren’t to go near Alex. As for him, he needed to stay as far away from this woman as he could. And that was going to be far easier said than done.
His gaze flashed back to her face, which was flushed with exertion. Hazel eyes sparkled with excitement and her full lips beckoned him like forbidden fruit. It was a lovely mouth. Tempting him to taste her. She looked delicious enough to eat, and the thought of doing so made his groin tighten with lust. Crimson suddenly crested high on her cheeks, and he allowed a small smile to curve his lips.
“Lord Blakeney, this is a surprise. Have you come to see us off?”
“Not exactly.” He shook his head at her puzzled frown. “I told you I’d find someone to escort you to Egypt, and I have.”
“Well, where is he?”
“Right here.” He folded his arms and quirked an eyebrow as he waited for her reaction.
“You?”
“I could think of no one else better suited to help you succeed in your search for Per-Ramesses.”
“But I…you can’t possibly be serious.” Consternation furrowed her forehead.
“Does this mean you’re refusing my services? If so, I’ll ask the crew to start removing your luggage and supplies.”
“What are you talking about?” She narrowed her gaze at him, fingers splayed over her hips as she rested her hands on her waist. The movement jutted her full breasts out toward him, and he swallowed hard.
“The Moroccan Wind is my ship, and it’s the only one headed for Egypt in the next four weeks. If you wait for another ship, you’ll find the desert all the more treacherous at the beginning of summer.”
Amusement forced him to bite the inside of his cheek as she glared up at him. Manipulation wasn’t a pleasurable pastime for Alex Talbot. He would need to be more subtle in the future or he would likely have a miniature sirocco on his hands. The idea of taming that storm shot a bolt of anticipation through him. He immediately crushed the thought.
“How many dialects of Arabic do you speak, my lord? Sheikh Mazir is a Berber, how do I know you can communicate with him?”
Not for the first time, the irony of the situation wasn’t lost on him. The only communication problems Alex Talbot would have with Sheikh Mazir would be if she didn’t do as he instructed. He’d made a mistake not telling her who he was in the beginning, but the bridges were in flames behind him. What alarmed him was his desire to avoid earning her anger and contempt. Disturbed by the knowledge, he narrowed his gaze.
“I’m fluent in a number of different Arabic dialects and more than capable of conversing with your Sheikh,” he snapped as he sent her a cold look. “So unless you’re ready to give up this quest of yours, I suggest you hold your tongue.”
A stunned expression clouded her face as she stared up at him, her eyes wide. Without saying a word, she turned and walked away. Her silent response made him grimace. The hurt in her wide gaze made him believe she was far more vulnerable than he’d realized. About to follow her, he drew up short when he sensed someone approach him from behind.
“My lord, we should be done loading the cargo within the next hour, shall I give the word to set sail?”
Turning to the captain, he nodded. “That will be satisfactory, Captain Balfour. I’m eager to see whether we can beat the Bint-el-Nil’s eight-day record.”
“Aye, my lord.” The Captain grinned. “I was hoping you’d ask me to test this lady’s capabilities. I look forward to doing so.�
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“Then what do you say to a wager? A bottle of my finest brandy if you make it to Cairo in seven days.”
“And if I make it in six, my lord?” The older man grinned again.
Laughing, he clapped the master sailor on the shoulder. “Then you’ll have earned a case of the prized drink.”
“Done.” The captain shook his hand then strode away with the rolling jaunt so typical of mariners.
Alone again, Altair instinctively turned his head and searched for Alex. Disappointed when she didn’t materialize in his line of sight, he sighed and headed toward his cabin. Alex Talbot didn’t care what he thought. The woman had one goal in mind and that was to discover Per-Ramesses. He rubbed his neck muscles in a weary gesture. Something told him the journey he was undertaking would be far more difficult than he could ever imagine.
“I couldn’t believe it. He just stood there and calmly informed me he was going to be our escort to Cairo,” Alex exclaimed.
The heels of her shoes echoed her aggravation as she paced the floor of the cabin that doubled as the ship’s salon and dining room. Even more annoying was the sound of the pink silk evening gown she wore at Jane’s insistence. Glancing down at the simplicity of her dress, she emitted a disgruntled sigh. At least she’d been able to convince the dressmaker to take off all the ruffles and fripperies that had originally covered the gown. When they set out for Per-Ramesses she was foregoing any type of dress whatsoever.
Why couldn’t she be brazen and wear men’s clothing all the time? Because you know how that behavior would be viewed, Alexandra Talbot. It was difficult to forget the appalled look in Lord Blakeney’s eyes this morning when he’d seen her dressed as a man. But there had been another expression on his face too. Desire.
The memory of his hot gaze skimming over her sent a frisson of excitement dancing across her skin. The way he’d looked at her on deck had sent hundreds of tiny wings fluttering inside her stomach. And she’d liked it even more when he’d kissed her. The thought of his kiss heated her body. He would be a masterful lover, confident and sure in his ability to please a woman. The image of him naked made her ears burn as dismay shot through her.