When a Lady Desires a Wicked Lord (Her Majesty's Most Secret Service)

by Kingston, Tara

  He lifted the tumbler to his lips and took a drink. “The man was convinced his actions had marked you for death.”

  “Marked me for death?” She scoffed. “Professor Stockwell does not believe in curses and superstitious nonsense.”

  “The danger has nothing to do with a curse—it has everything to do with greed and a thirst for power.” Benedict reached out for her, his touch gentle on her shoulders, seeming to want to comfort her. “Stockwell knew this. He was desperate to protect you. But he couldn’t stop the killer. He couldn’t even save himself.”

  Chapter Three

  Alex clasped Benedict’s arms and struggled to stay on her feet. Without warning, the world upended beneath her feet. Her knees wobbled, threatening to buckle beneath her. She’d maintained her composure in the face of fear. Even the hideous sensation of the brutish intruder’s hands upon her flesh had not shattered her dignity. But now, the implication that Professor Stockwell was dead barreled into her like a rampaging beast, threatening to trample what was left of her resolve.

  Benedict held her lightly. Surely he knew the devastating impact of his words. In less than an hour, her quiet, fulfilling existence had been shattered. She’d endured threats and a foul brute’s violence, and she’d discovered that her unexpected champion was none other than the one man she’d sworn never again to trust. And now, Benedict stood before her, declaring her mentor and friend—a good man without equal—no longer lived.

  No, she raged silently. Professor Stockwell cannot be dead.

  If only a penetrating sadness did not radiate from Benedict’s gaze. She might believe it all a brutal lie, if not for the devastating pain in his eyes.

  “The professor… He has been killed?” Even as she uttered the question, she knew the truth.

  Benedict nodded gravely. “Damn it, Alex—I’m sorry.”

  Tears welled in her eyes, hot and bitter. She held them back, even as a few escaped and streamed down her cheeks. Blast it, how she hated to weep in front of anyone, much less this man.

  “When—when did it happen?” she managed through the searing pain in her throat.

  “I received a telegram upon my arrival in London. He died in the field, at Luxor.”

  She choked back her grief. “The intruder…he also killed the professor?”

  “No, I don’t believe that was the case. Rooney was sent after you.” His voice went low and raw with anguish. “Someone else led the professor to his death.”

  “How can this be?” she murmured. “I received a letter from my dear friend Lady Stanwyck. She and her husband dined with Professor Stockwell in Cairo just last month. She would have mentioned if he’d given any indication…any hint he was in danger.”

  “The Stanwycks were likely not informed of the situation. Stockwell was hesitant to trust anyone.”

  Alex gazed up at him. “Yet the professor put his faith in you?”

  A frown pulled his dark brows together. Immediately, she regretted the words.

  Benedict’s arm coiled around her waist, steadying her. Damn the man for knowing how her knees tended to quiver when she experienced a shock to the nervous system.

  “He knew the truth,” Benedict said. “I swore I would not let him down.”

  “Desperate times, and all that rot,” she said, forcing back a wave of tears. Grief sliced through her like a dull blade. “How…how did it happen?”

  “My knowledge of the circumstances is sparse. Supposedly, he took a fall in his quarters. He suffered a head injury.” Pain infused his low tones. “The authorities believe it was an accident. But I know better.”

  “An accident?” She choked out the words. “Perhaps that is the truth. It might have been a horrible mishap.”

  Slowly, Benedict shook his head. “The authorities and the leader of the expedition have no incentive to view it as anything other than an unfortunate chance of fate. If the truth were written on the walls, they would refuse to see it.”

  “I am devastated to think that I will never again confer with the professor on the meaning of a symbol or the significance of an artifact.” A fresh wave of emotion threatened to erupt. She swallowed hard, reining them in. “But you must understand how incredible this all sounds. There is no conclusive reason to believe his death was the result of a deliberate act.”

  “He had good reason to be afraid. At this point, we all do.” Benedict cupped his palm against her cheek. Time in the field had roughened his fingertips, leaving their texture slightly coarse, stirring a delicious tingling over her skin. Why did the sensation appeal to her so?

  “You are determined to frighten me,” she said, though she did not pull away from his touch. “Why?”

  “Stockwell knew he could trust me. I must ask you to do the same.”

  “Trust you? Why in heavens would I do that?”

  He cocked a brow. “I just saved your life. I’d say that’s a start.”

  “While I am grateful for your assistance, whether or not I should put my faith in you remains a matter for debate.” Alex studied his face, searching for the truth in his eyes. “In any case, it occurs to me that we must notify the police. We certainly cannot leave Mr. Rooney, if that is indeed his name, trussed up in my study.”

  Again, he shook his head. “Notifying the authorities would be a very bad idea.”

  His softly spoken words triggered a sudden wariness. “We must summon a constable. It goes without saying.”

  “The police are not equipped to deal with this situation.” Benedict moved to the window. Slipping the curtain aside, he peered into the night.

  She trailed his steps, standing an arm’s length from his broad back. “Did you hear something?”

  “No. Not yet.”

  “Do you believe you’ve been followed?”

  He turned to her. A mask seemed to have dropped over his features, revealing little of his true feelings. “There’s no time to explain. Not now. I’ve got to get you out of here.”

  She folded her arms over her chest. “I am not going anywhere with you.”

  “Rooney may have an accomplice. It is unlikely that he worked alone. I don’t intend to stay long enough to find out.”

  “And I thought you’d developed a sense of courage.”

  “Courage?” He scowled. “What in blazes would lead you to that conclusion?”

  She dragged in a low breath. “You offered a fine imitation when you confronted that thug.”

  “I acted out of necessity, not some outdated sense of honor.” Benedict looked as though the very word pained him. “Now, I need you to tell me where it is, Alex. The map—it must be secured.”

  “I know nothing about a blasted map. Do you doubt my word?”

  “If you had it, would you tell me?” His brows quirked as if to punctuate his query.

  “Of course not,” she replied without a flicker of hesitation.

  “An honest woman—I’ve always adored that about you.” His eyes flashed with what seemed genuine appreciation. “But that does not help us now, does it? Stockwell was clear that he’d placed the map in your custody. He also entrusted you with an amulet—the Pharaoh’s Sun. Legend has it one is useless without the other.”

  Her heart stuttered. As she suspected, he did know of the ancient pendant. Did he think to convince her to hand it over to him?

  Hiking her chin, she steadied her voice. “I must ask you to leave.”

  His eyes held hers. “I cannot do that.”

  Once, a very long time before, she’d yearned to hear him speak her name. But now, the gravel-edged notes rang hollow against her ears.

  “I am not asking you—I am telling you to get out of my home. Now. You have no business here.”

  “You’re wrong, Alexandra.”

  She slipped her hand into her pocket. Her fingers closed around the Sharps. With any luck, he would not question whether or not the gun was loaded.

  “If you came for the amulet, I’m afraid you’ve wasted your time.”

  A muscle
in his jaw clenched and released. “I did not come for that bit of metal. I came here for you.”

  She wanted to look away from his penetrating gaze, but she held her ground. Slowly, she slid the gun along the folds of her skirts, holding it at the ready. “If that is the case, you’ve done what you came to do. I require no further assistance from you.”

  “If you feel the need to defend yourself against me, might I suggest you locate another pen?” His attention dropped pointedly to the pistol in her hand. “We both know that weapon’s not loaded.”

  “That seems a rather bold assumption.”

  He slowly shook his head. “I know you shot Rooney. I assume you would have pulled the trigger a second time after the first round failed to cut him down.”

  The confidence in his eyes intrigued her. “How can you be so certain?”

  “I smelled the gunpowder in the air. And it’s a known fact that the bloke wears body armor. I have connections who make it a point to understand their enemy.” His mouth quirked at one corner. “You had courage, taking him on with that puny gun. You’ve always been fond of that little pistol.”

  “It was a gift…from my brother. He believes a woman should be capable of defending herself.”

  “Ah, of course. He is a protective one, isn’t he?”

  “As a brother should be, I would think.”

  Lamplight glimmered against the burnished strands of Benedict’s close-cropped hair. Warm rays danced over the planes of his face, highlighting the white-ridged scar on his chin, just to the left of his full mouth. The mark precisely matched the breadth of her brother’s emerald ring. Peculiar, how that small flaw made his classically handsome face all the more appealing.

  Balderdash. She banished the all-too-inconvenient thought. She knew better than to consider anything about this man other than the way he’d cast aside everything he loved to pursue the wealth he’d coveted.

  “Much as it galls me to do so, I must agree with him. A woman like you…it is imperative that you know how to deter a threat. But in this case, you’re outmatched.”

  “Do you think to intimidate me?” She squared her shoulders. “Or is this an attempt to frighten me into surrendering the Pharaoh’s Sun?”

  “Alex, I am not the one you should fear.”

  “Am I to believe some latent sense of chivalry sent you running back to London?”

  Back to me.

  “Chivalry is dead. I’ve no desire to be a hero. But that doesn’t change the fact that you’re in danger.”

  “And you expect me to go with you?” The very notion was absurd. “While there’s a trussed-up man lying in my study, no less?”

  “Yes.”

  “Alex, I cannot do that.” She fashioned a bland expression. “Whatever would my housekeeper think in the morning? Mrs. Thomas is due to return from her holiday first thing tomorrow. What a shock to the nervous system that would be.”

  “I don’t give a damn about what the housekeeper thinks. Blast it, you’re as stubborn as ever.” He dropped his hands to his sides. Was that a hint of a smile curving his full mouth at one corner? “I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t point that gun at me.”

  “As I recall, you hypothesized that the weapon lacks ammunition. Odd, how the sight of it disturbs you.”

  “Knowing you as I do, I would not doubt you had managed to reload it.”

  “Might I suggest an easy solution to any concern you might have for your well-being.” She steadied her voice. “Leave.”

  He closed the distance between them. His large, warm hands closed over hers. “Give me the pistol.”

  Behind her, fabric rustled by the window. Benedict threw a glance toward the curtains.

  “It would appear we have company,” he murmured as he released her.

  Pulling in a breath, Alex pivoted on her heel, careful not to turn her back to him. God only knew why he was really here. Who could say to what lengths he’d go to get his hands on what he wanted?

  The plush green velvet curtains shimmied, then parted.

  A plump ball of ebony fur strolled out, pausing for a sleepy stretch.

  “Good heavens, Nefritiri,” she said with a little gasp. “You gave me quite a fright.”

  The long-haired cat sauntered up to Benedict. Narrowing her golden eyes, the creature seemed to flash a scowl. Good. Alex certainly didn’t want her pet taking to him. Not again.

  “The old girl’s still with you, I see.” Benedict crouched low, rubbing the cat behind its ears. The feline purred contentedly, traitor that she was.

  Longing twinged in Alex’s heart. She’d thought the feeling had died an inglorious death, but how very mistaken she’d been. With that hint of a rasp in his smooth, deep voice, Benedict could charm the most sophisticated of women. What chance had she, of all people, stood against him? She’d been so naive. Preferring to devote her time to unraveling the message contained in a hieroglyphic tablet and exploring ancient structures under a desert sun rather than filling her dance card in London, she’d been unprepared for his seductive appeal. Even her blasted cat was not immune to Benedict’s sly smile. Did he still possess the ability to drive her to a blissful madness with a mere brush of his lips against hers?

  Letting out a sigh, she steeled herself against the yearning, fortified herself against her mind’s rebellious wonderings.

  “She’s a loyal one… At least, I thought she was.” She placed the gun on a polished mahogany table.

  Benedict rose, standing more than a head taller than her. “You must listen to me.” He bent his head down, his breath grazing her lips. “You must understand—even after all this time, you are the only one I can trust.”

  Trust. The word reverberated in her heart. How very ironic. Again and again, he’d uttered the word.

  Seeming to read the questions in her eyes, he went on. “I must confess, my motives in coming here were not entirely noble.”

  She extricated herself from his light hold. “So, you did come after the amulet.”

  “I won’t deny it. But I also needed to protect you.” Benedict reached out to her, sweeping a stray curl from her brow. “At first, I failed to understand the nature of the danger. Stockwell had tried to tell me what he feared…”

  Alex recalled the passages on the professor’s last missive. “He’d devoted his life to studying and preserving artifacts. After all those years, tales of superstition and legend must have seeped into his thoughts.”

  “In the beginning, I would have said the same thing. But now, I understand—there’s a force at work here, something I cannot begin to explain.” Benedict’s mouth was a grim line. “Alex—you may be my last chance.”

  Chapter Four

  Benedict had anticipated the shock that filled Alexandra’s golden-brown eyes. But he had not expected her to study him so intently, as if his words were clues to some puzzle she intended to solve.

  “What the devil do you mean?” Her mouth settled into a perfect bow, as it always did when she mulled a cipher she could not readily decode. “It’s evident you have involved yourself in something quite dangerous. Benedict, tell me what it is you’ve done… Why is this happening?”

  “That question requires far more time for discussion than we’ve got. For now, I’m keeping my focus on the obvious. There is a man lying in your study who came here tonight in search of a map…a map that leads to a treasure someone wants badly enough to kill for.”

  “That vile man did not succeed. The threat is over.”

  “You’re wrong. It has only just begun to pursue you.”

  “To pursue me? There’s no need for melodrama.” Concern flickered in Alex’s eyes. “If Professor Stockwell were here, he would tell you that you’re exhausted from the journey. That’s the only explanation for this…shift in your thinking. This is all rather sudden. And rather…out of character.”

  “It goes without saying I do not believe the whispers of a curse. But the threat against you originated in Egypt. Rooney is a pawn. He is not in con
trol.”

  “What is it that you are trying to tell me?” Her tone seemed designed to coax a response from him. “I need to understand.”

  Bollocks, this was harder than he’d expected. How did one go about describing a menace his own rational mind could not fully comprehend?

  “When I explain, you may believe me quite mad.” He raked his fingers through his hair, shoving the unruly strands from his forehead. Her gaze trailed his movements. Of course she would read the gesture correctly, seeing through the small motion to the tension roiling within him.

  The faintest hint of a smile lifted the corners of her lips. “I’ve questioned many things about you over the years. Your sanity was not one of them.”

  “Stockwell told me of the danger. But I dismissed the warnings. That was a mistake.”

  “Expeditions can be fraught with peril,” she said, her words measured and abundantly logical. “Excavation of a tomb carries substantial risk. Some hazards can be predicted. Others cannot be anticipated. You and I…we understand the danger.”

  “When Stockwell summoned me, I initially said the same thing. He sent for me after the second death. When he tried to explain his belief that a malevolent force was at work, I thought the man had spent too much time in the field. I reasoned his work had taken a toll on him. Coupled with the fact that two respected colleagues he’d considered friends had been killed under circumstances that could best be described as bizarre, it seemed understandable that he’d allowed the legends to get the better of him.”

  Alex nodded solemnly. “Professor Baker and Lord Carruthers were good men. I once had the opportunity to work on a translation with Cedric Baker. His expertise with ancient languages was unparalleled. I grieved their deaths. But the circumstances—though highly unusual—were not suspicious.”

  Benedict considered his words carefully. He’d no desire to upset Alex with the most disturbing details of the so-called accidents. But she had to understand the danger she faced.