From Cairo, With Love (Timeless Romance Single Book 1)

by Nancy Campbell Allen

  Martina had already packed Contessa’s trunks, and Valentine was confused when the older woman pulled her away from Max. Contessa spent the next hour talking to her, quizzing her about her goals, desires, family situation at home, whether or not she had any other suitors awaiting her return. Valentine had answered her perfunctorily, but her heart was cracking into pieces.

  She was married to a wonderful man with whom she’d fallen in love, and it was a sham. Something to which he’d have never agreed had he not been drugged. He would have known to question the captain, to ascertain whether or not the man, who did actually marry people in the course of his duties, had realized theirs was a silly joke. She felt naïve and ridiculous, as though she’d entrapped him, although she knew, logically, it wasn’t her fault.

  Contessa finished her litany of questions with a decisive nod and confessed she’d begun the trip hoping to act as a matchmaker of sorts for Val and Max, but certainly had not anticipated such a bizarre turn of events. Her advice was that Valentine give herself some time to decide whether or not she wanted to remain in the marriage and then act upon that decision. Her life was still her own, and in the very worst of scenarios, Valentine could move to Italy and live in Contessa’s splendid mansion in Florence with her family, including the three sons, who would eventually need a bride. She also said that life was much better in Italy for a ruined woman than England. Italians would find her exotic.

  Now Valentine watched as the smaller boats were secured to the large steamship and the process began. She felt a hand at the small of her back and turned to see Max for the first time since Contessa had whisked her from his suite. He now offered her a small smile. “Are you ready to see Egypt?”

  She took a deep breath. She could pretend everything was wonderful, that what she’d come to desire very much in the last several days wasn’t about to be snatched away. “I believe I am.” She smiled and turned toward him, determined to absolve him of any feelings of guilt. He was a noble sort of man and likely felt it in spades.

  “You needn’t worry, Max,” she said softly.

  He leaned down, putting his head close to hers. “What do you mean?”

  “I’ll not keep you trapped in a marriage you never wanted.”

  His brow raised, and his face was very close to hers. “Val, it is not I who am trapped. This ruins all of your plans for your own independence.”

  Of course he would take the noble stance. It was very gallant of him, but what man truly believed a woman should pursue independence over a husband? He was kind, but that level of understanding was something she couldn’t imagine in a man. No, he was offering her the chance to be the petitioner in the divorce and sacrificing his pride in the process. He was also bent on allowing her to believe the marriage was an inconvenience only to her. She supposed it would have been a balm for her offended feminine pride, had that been her only source of pain. As it was, her pride was the last issue at hand—she loved him, and that was the problem.

  “Regardless, we shall make it right as soon as possible.” She patted his chest and smiled, but was stunned when he placed his own hand atop hers when she would have moved away.

  “Valentine.”

  He was so close. His hand still rested on her back, the other clasping her fingers over his heart, and she wondered if he was going to kiss her. She leaned against him, her breathing quickening, and she felt the rapid beating of his heart against her hand.

  “Val,” he murmured. He was an inch from her mouth when a throat cleared behind them.

  Dr. Henry stepped from behind Max, “Not at all the thing to accost your new wife in public, Maxwell.”

  Val winced as Max’s fingers tightened on hers. Her face flamed, and she turned back toward the shoreline. She gripped the railing and missed Max’s scathing and hushed reply to Dr. Henry. Max did not leave her side, however; he moved close behind her, his arms reaching to bracket hers on either side, his hands resting next to hers on the railing. He dipped his head to whisper in her ear, “He is a cad, and I am sorry.” He sighed. “I also apologize for attempting to kiss you in public.” She heard the smile in his voice, then, and it warmed her. “Do you suppose you might forgive me?”

  The corner of her mouth lifted. “I shall consider it.”

  “I am relieved to hear it.”

  Val chewed on her lip as she watched the activity below. “Max,” she said, uncertain and more than a bit mortified, “how shall we handle accommodations, do you suppose?”

  “Mmm. I have given it some thought.” He moved his mouth close to her ear. “If we remain separate, people will believe the marriage was a hoax. To both my eternal gratitude and regret, you stayed that night with me and cared for me when I was ill. So, if we allow people to believe the union was a hoax, your reputation is irrevocably destroyed.”

  She nodded, her eyes fluttering closed, not because she was upset about her reputation, but because his warm breath tickled her ear quite deliciously.

  “If people do believe we are a legally joined couple, but you remain with the countess, they may assume you are already unhappy with me, and we could begin laying the groundwork for your justification for divorce. My only concern, however, is that not enough time will have passed. For the courts to grant your petition they will likely seek proof that you put your best intentions into the union, and that requires at least a little bit of time.”

  She nodded, “It might be one thing to seek an annulment after being married a day or a week, which is more easily granted, but the fact that we were together the night of the wedding implies . . .”

  “Yes.” He sighed and placed a hand on her shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “I am sorry, Val.”

  “Please do not apologize,” she whispered. “We are both responsible to some degree.”

  “Is it any consolation that I am grateful beyond words I didn’t awaken to find myself married to Mrs. Willoughby-Whatsit?”

  Valentine laughed and tipped her head back to see his face, which smiled back at her. He dipped his head and kissed her lips softly, quickly, and she blinked, stunned.

  “All in an effort to appear genuine, of course,” he whispered.

  “Of course.” She swallowed. It was a charade to which she could quickly become accustomed.

  The next several days passed in a blur for Valentine. Contessa had wholeheartedly given her approval to Valentine to share Max’s accommodations. He always booked a suite, first in the hotel in Alexandria (which was, in truth, rather horrifyingly overrun with pests of both the insect and human variety), then aboard the train to Cairo, which meant there were at least two rooms at their disposal. Max slept in the sitting rooms and insisted Valentine take the bedchambers. She felt wretchedly guilty—he was so much larger than she, and the sitting rooms invariably contained furniture not nearly equipped to accommodate his size. He insisted each morning, however, that he’d slept like the dead.

  They spent the bulk of their daytime travel hours with Contessa, who regaled them with amusing stories about her sons, and eventually they kept company with The Trio, as well, although it was painfully awkward at first. Dr. Henry occasionally made an appearance; however, the air between him and Max was so thick with animosity he never lingered long. The three gentlemen had each apologized profusely to Valentine for their part in her current reality, and she assuaged their guilt by insisting she was fine, that everything was fine, and it was all going to be fine.

  But Valentine Baker Maxwell was most definitely not fine. Each passing moment Max said or did something wonderful, something funny, something endearing, he claimed more pieces of her heart. His close physical proximity throughout the day was torture. He sat next to her in the dining car, his hip aligned with hers, body pressed comfortably against her as though he was meant to be there. He held her hand, he touched her back; one time he absently traced her ear with his fingertip as they sat reading side by side in the lounge car.

  There were times when she was laughing with Contessa and she would turn her he
ad, only to see him looking at her. At first he looked away as though she’d caught him and he was uncomfortable with it. After so many times, he quit averting his gaze and simply smiled. Or winked. Mercy, that was the worst.

  By the time the party reached Cairo, Valentine was strung taut with tension she couldn’t define—she was edgy and almost irritable, as though so much time spent in that pretend place was slowly driving her insane.

  He was most certainly going insane. Max figured that if he didn’t kiss his wife soon, he would explode. Being so near her but holding his affection in reserve, pretending to be a doting husband in public but leaving her almost entirely alone in private was going to kill him. She responded to him, and he’d seen overt signs in her, much as he’d seen that first day outside Contessa’s stateroom door, that she would be a loving and passionate wife. But he could not, in good conscience, tie her to him with physical enticement. He would not use her own desires to his advantage, although he wanted to, more than he’d ever wanted anything. They could become physically close, as married couples were, and he knew she would believe she loved him, that they should remain married. She would become confused, and would one day resent him. That would truly kill him.

  They arrived in Cairo at night and made the ten-minute trek by carriage to Shepheard’s Hotel. The city was dusty, noisy, and filled to overflowing with smells and sights that still overwhelmed him despite having visited twice before. Valentine stared openly, absorbing details with the sense of delight and wonder he’d come to associate with her. He’d been irritable when they’d left the train station and piled all their belongings (which apparently included the contents of Contessa’s entire mansion packed into trunks) into carriages and carts and headed for the hotel. One good look at Valentine’s face, however, reminded him this was new and wonderful for her. When he viewed the city through her eyes, he saw everything differently and his temper dissipated.

  Shepheard’s was the hotel in Cairo that catered to Europeans. It was the place to see and be seen, and as a result was an active hub of activity when the group from the train finally arrived. Many of their fellow passengers from the Mediterranean crossing had also traveled the same rails to Cairo, and many faces now checking reservations (made through Cook’s, of course, which had offices right next door) were familiar.

  He secured Contessa’s details, and a host of bell boys arrived to make the trek—thankfully via lift—to her family apartment on the top floor. Max had booked a small apartment for himself, but it consisted of only a bed chamber, a small washroom and toilet. He now glanced out of the manager’s offices where accommodations were arranged and noted his wife standing in the front hall, her gaze on the high columns, the carefully painted relics that mimicked ancient Egyptian findings, and the various seating arrangements graced with large fronds and greenery placed throughout.

  He’d told her they would simply switch to a larger apartment with two bed chambers, but now as he regarded the sympathetic concierge who sadly shook his head, he realized he and Valentine would have to share for the night. Thanking the employee for his help, he gave the man instructions to have his and Val’s luggage taken up to their room, and he went out into the hall.

  Valentine saw him and approached, her eyes sparkling. “Max, this is absolutely incredible! Look at it!”

  He smiled. “It is indeed. I admit, when I am here in Cairo I understand Quincy’s obsession with the ancients.” He paused and took her arm. He began walking with her toward the lifts near one of the wide staircases and wondered how to explain their sleeping arrangements.

  She glanced at him with a wry smile. “Do not feel obligated to shelter me from things you think will cause me worry. We are to share accommodations, are we not?”

  He nodded. “I am sorry, Val. I tried—”

  “Max.” She placed a hand on his arm as they entered the lift and the operator closed the gates. “Please do not worry so about me. I am an adult. I am not one who faints or has fits. You know this about me by now.”

  He nodded and placed his arm around her shoulders. He pulled her close and kissed the top of her head. She wrapped her arm around his waist and gave a little squeeze, and he smiled. When they reached their floor, he tipped the lift operator and took Valentine’s hand, threading their fingers together. It was a much more intimate way to hold a hand, he decided, than simply grasping as one would a small child. He felt the brush of her soft skin against the valleys of his fingers and felt connected to her in a way he hadn’t yet—even having awoken from his illness in her arms.

  His heart thumped, and he felt ridiculous, like a school boy. When they reached their small suite, he tried to unlock the door with one hand because he didn’t want to release her. She laughed softly as he fumbled with the door and removed her fingers from his. His lips twitched, and he glanced at her, “My dear wife, I do believe you have me quite besotted.”

  He opened the door and pushed a switch on the wall. Electric lights had been installed at Shepheard’s.

  Valentine gasped. “Electricity! I’ve seen little of it at home. How marvelous!”

  He smiled and set the key and his other belongings on a small table by the door. “The hotel also boasts superior plumbing with hydraulic technology that draws spent water from baths and waste from the toilets down and away from the hotel.”

  “Modern, indeed. It really is most impressive. Downstairs, just off the hall, I noticed the postal area and telegraph offices. Did you know how quickly the mail packets cross the Mediterranean? I could write a letter now, and it would reach my brothers in a few short weeks.”

  Valentine unbuttoned her cuffs and the top button of her blouse at her neck. She removed her ear bobs and a small bracelet, and fumbled with the clasp of her necklace. Small things, intimate things that a wife did in front of her husband. He swallowed past the sudden and unexpected lump in his throat. He loved her. He loved everything about her, and if he were truly a good man, he must let her go.

  She frowned and bit her lip, the definite signal that she was perplexed, or concentrating.

  “May I help you with that? Or I can request a maid, if you’d like?” His voice sounded gruff, strained, even to his own ears.

  She glanced at him in surprise. “If you would help me please? I can’t seem to undo the clasp.” She moved her hands away as he brushed his against the back of her neck.

  He couldn’t truthfully say his efforts at releasing the clasp would have been any more effective than hers. He finally managed to open the chain, and still holding either side of the necklace, he extended it forward where she took it, her fingers touching his. He placed his hands on her shoulders, and she sighed and leaned ever so slightly back. It took every ounce of resolve he possessed, but he rubbed her arms and let her go.

  “Would you like to clean up first? I assume you wish to after traveling all day?” He removed his jacket and set it over the back of a chair, trying for a nonchalance he was far from feeling.

  “Max?”

  He turned back to her and met her eyes. She was watching him with speculation clearly stamped on her pretty features. He cleared his throat. “Yes?”

  “Contessa gave me some valuable advice the morning after our wedding. She made it clear to me that I still have a choice in the course my life will take from this point forward. That the consequences of certain decisions may not be optimal, but that ultimately it is my responsibility to take action, rather than be acted upon.”

  He had moved his hand to remove his cufflinks and now found himself completely frozen. “Oh?”

  “I do want my cottage by the sea. However, I do not see that such a thing need be mutually exclusive from also having a family.” She took a deep breath, “I have been besotted by you from the moment I first saw you in Venice, and my affection has grown exponentially since then. Perhaps the thing I most regret about our sham wedding is that it is something I wish we had entered into intentionally.” She winced. “And not under the influence of mind-altering substances.”r />
  His lips parted, but he was too afraid to say anything, to move too suddenly, to somehow destroy the moment because if he did, the dream would shatter and dissolve.

  She exhaled. “Having admitted this, however, I would have you know that I do not hold you to this union. Neither of us were looking for it, and the last thing I want is to believe you would remain with me from a sense of loyalty or pity or misguided guilt. The divorce, while not ideal, will not be the end of me, and I’m certain we would both be able to find other spouses, should we choose, at a more appropriate time, perhaps—”

  He moved then, dropping his cuff links to the floor. He approached her swiftly and took her face in his hands. His mouth descended on hers.

  Finally! Valentine was weak with relief as Max kissed her repeatedly, slowly maneuvering her backward until she was against the wall. His lips moved over hers with an urgency she recognized—he was as a man dying of thirst and finally led to water. She’d begun to wonder if her attraction to him outpaced his and with a small feminine thrill, she realized he had held himself apart from her because he truly thought he was acting in her best interests.

  He lifted his face from hers finally, the only sound in the room the mingling of winded breaths. “I do not want another wife. Ever.” He didn’t smile, didn’t laugh, he was as serious as she’d ever seen him. “And you do not want another husband. Am I clear?”

  She laughed, then, and smoothed her hands across his shirt and to his shoulders. “And here, over the last week or so, I’d become convinced you are a man of modern sensibilities. That you fully intended to let me walk away because I wanted my cottage.”

  He raised a brow. “If you choose your cottage, that is fine. But you also are not allowed to ever marry again.” His mouth twitched up at the corners.

  “Oh? Is that so?”

  He winked at her, and she positively melted, deciding it was fortuitous indeed that she stood wedged between him and the wall.