Reckless

by Shannon Drake

  “Wine, whiskey, beer, water,” Alfred Daws checked off.

  “Women and song!” David finished, teasing.

  Innocent words. Hunter longed to give him a left cut to the jaw.

  He refrained and looked up at the sky. “Fierce weather ahead,” he said to Brian.

  “Do you believe so?” Allan asked, looking at the sky and frowning. “It looks good to me!”

  Two hours later, out at sea, Hunter’s forecast was proved correct. The ship was being tossed about in the sea as if it were a toy of the gods. Again, everyone retreated to a cabin.

  Except Kat and him.

  She stood on deck by the rail. Watching her, arms hugged about her waist, hair flying wickedly in the wind, he was tempted to leave her alone in what seemed like a moment of true happiness.

  He could not. He approached her and said, “It’s too rough out here today, even for a mermaid.” He took her arm gently.

  She looked as if she would argue, then seemed to realize that he was not trying to ruin her pleasure, but was sincere.

  She nodded.

  They went below decks to their room. Apparently, in the crowded ship, they had the only parlor. Princess Lavinia and Lord Avery were there, playing gin. “Children, sit down, join us!” Lavinia commanded. “We’ve ordered a meal. You can eat, can’t you?” she demanded of Kat.

  “Actually, I’m quite hungry.”

  “Thank the Lord! Hunter should never have a mealy-squealy bride,” she announced. “Gin!”

  “Lavinia, I daresay—”

  “Jagger, don’t you dare say! I do not cheat at cards!”

  Lord Avery gazed at Hunter. “Have you checked the cabin thoroughly?”

  “I have, sir.”

  “Interesting crew we have here,” Lavinia said, shuffling the cards.

  “Oh?” Kat said.

  “Mmm. Jagger, do you remember all that went on with young Daws? No, no, before that. With old Daws! I am trying to remember. Isabella came from a good-enough family…grandfather had some sort of a title. But she was a rash young thing, and it was suspected that she was after Daws, despite the fact that he was years older. She would have been barely out of her teens then! And, of course, he didn’t marry her. He married Lady Shelby, daughter of that French count, didn’t he, Jagger?”

  “Um…I’m sure I don’t remember all this, Lavinia.”

  “Lady Shelby gave Lord Daws his heir, Alfred, and they thought he would lose her then. She managed to kick around for several years, though! Then, of course, she did die, and Daws married Isabella…and died soon after!”

  “Then, of course, we’ve young master Robert Stewart!” Lavinia murmured, passing out the cards, picking up her hand. “Do pay attention to the game, Jagger!” she admonished.

  “Any skeletons in his closet?” Hunter asked lightly.

  “Um…well, he’s from an illegitimate branch of the family, but he is related to the royal Stewarts, of course. There was some minor nonsense about him at school. Nothing much. Oh, there’s our dear young David. The fourth son! Not much promise there, I’m afraid, Jagger, since your daughter is so fond of the lad. Then again, it would be harder to find a more prestigious or influential peer than his father. The man quite has the queen’s ear, and has Parliament and the prime minister twisted round his finger. And as to money…well, his father could bathe in the stuff on an hourly basis.”

  “That’s crass, Lavinia.”

  “Do forgive me, Lord Avery!” she sniffed, using his formal title. “We are among friends and family. I’m but stating the truth.”

  “There’s Allan. Allan Beckensdale,” Kat said.

  “Allan, of course. Good fellow. I heard from a little bird that he’s helped many a friend out of gambling debts. A hard worker at university, excellent reports from all his professors.”

  “Would you say that any of the others had a grudge against David for any reason?” Hunter asked her.

  Lavinia looked down her nose and past her spectacles at him. “Jealousy? He is the leading contender for Margaret’s hand, is he not, Jagger?”

  “I had thought so,” Lord Avery said, looking at his hand. “Aha! Gin!” he cried.

  “Are you sure, Jagger. Can you even see your cards?”

  “Good Lord, woman!”

  “Ah,” Lavinia said, looking up. “I believe supper has arrived.”

  Supper had indeed arrived. Chicken in herbs, winter vegetables, fresh-baked bread. The meal was excellent. They were barely through it when he noticed Kat trying to contain a yawn. His heart went out to her. It didn’t harden with the anger he was all too quick to feel.

  “My love,” he murmured, touching her arm. “I’m sure our guests will not mind if you retire early.”

  Startled, she sat up straighter, looked around and then admitted, “I am exhausted.”

  Lord Avery stood instantly. “Young woman, get to bed.”

  “Good night, dear!” Lavinia told her. She didn’t rise. Kat bent to kiss her cheek. Lavinia hugged her warmly.

  Hunter had stood, naturally. He walked to her side, kissed her cheek. “Good night, my love,” he murmured.

  She stared at him, and he knew that she considered his use of the word love to be pure mockery. He met her eyes, refusing to look away. She nodded and departed through the connecting door.

  When the door was closed behind her, Lavinia leaned toward him, tapping him on the hand with her perfectly manicured nails. “You don’t deserve her!”

  He ignored that, leaning close to his great-aunt. “Lavinia, can you think of any reason anyone would want to hurt Kat?”

  She arched a brow, then sat back, thoughtful. “She has no great riches of her own…although, of course, she is now married to you!”

  “Other than that,” he said dryly.

  “Perhaps she knows something…can do something…oh, good heavens! I don’t know, Hunter. Why? What is going on with this expedition? Rocks falling when they haven’t moved for centuries!”

  “I don’t know,” Hunter said.

  “And an Egyptian asp in a room in Rome!” Lavinia said.

  Hunter stared at Lord Avery. “I have only spoken to Lavinia,” Lord Avery said defensively. “And she is your great-aunt!”

  Hunter sat back, shaking his head. A decanter of brandy had been delivered with the meal. He poured a measure for himself and Lord Avery.

  Lavinia cleared her throat.

  “Aunt Lavinia! I do beg pardon!” he said, and poured her a measure, as well. She sipped the brandy, nodding at him. “Nephew, I will keep my eyes open. And my sight, at a distance, is most excellent. And even up close…well, I do have my spectacles! There is little that I ever miss.”

  “I’m sure,” Hunter said.

  Not long after, they all departed for their respective cabins.

  Hunter locked the door to the hallway, then entered the bedroom. The darkness was almost complete. He let his eyes adjust.

  He walked to the bed and looked down. His heart caught somewhere in his chest, ceased to beat. She was beautiful, and so vulnerable as she lay there. Her eyes were closed, and her breathing even. She slept, and seemed to do so with peace and ease.

  Even in the darkness, the burst of hair that splayed over her pillow burned with deep radiance. He suffered, watching her, and for a moment, wondered what he had done.

  How hard was it to love someone, as he loved her, and know each day that he was only a substitute for what she wanted?

  How hard to hide the truth of his feelings, for pride would never allow him to show them.

  Then he exhaled, turning away.

  And what would it matter if he could not keep her safe from whatever danger threatened?

  No. That was not a question. He would give his life to keep harm from befalling her.

  So thinking, he disrobed silently and slid in beside her, keeping his distance, staring at the ceiling, praying that the rocking of the ship would soon allow him the mercy of sleep.

  Chapter 14

>   “MY DEAR LORD! IT IS EGYPT!”

  Kat stood on deck, her happiness at their arrival so complete that she smiled at Hunter with pure joy. There was nothing of any other emotion.

  He smiled back, enjoying her enthusiasm. Camille, too, was thrilled. She looked at Kat, wide-eyed, exuberant. “I’m here, we’re here!”

  “Let’s hope you’re both so pleased when we’re sweltering in the desert and the sand is whipping into your eyes,” Brian said laconically.

  “Oh! I shall love the sand and every minute of it!” Camille returned.

  They all stood about talking, pointing, excited, as they came nearer and nearer the shore.

  Kat noted, however, that David seemed thoughtful and silent. His mood seemed quite strange to her. But it was no act, for he had kept a distance from the others, just watching.

  At last they were alighting on Egyptian soil, and soon they were all excitedly, buying little pieces of fabric, fruit, bangles, various little pieces of art, fake and real, from the vendors who thronged the area where the ships came in. There were people everywhere.

  “Wait until you see Cairo,” Hunter said, smiling, his hand on her shoulder.

  “Well, I must wait, I suppose. We have another train ride.”

  “Indeed, we do.”

  And on the train to Cairo, there was more excited talk, everyone expressing amazement that they had finally reached their destination. The train brought them to the station where again, there were vendors everywhere, but carriages awaited them, and soon, they arrived at Shepheard’s Hotel.

  Nothing could have prepared Kat for their arrival. Many others besides their group had arrived on the train, too, though she knew that Lord Avery, Brian and Camille, and Hunter would draw the most speculation, the greatest flurry of whispers.

  Staff came running out to assist them as they arrived, a general manager bowed over and over again to the group, welcoming Hunter, Brian and Lord Avery back, welcoming the others for the first time. Their boxes, trunks and multitude of crates were gathered from the cart that had followed their coaches, and they had to move past the hundred or so curious onlookers who dined on the patio so that they might settle into their rooms.

  Before they could pass completely, though, someone called Hunter’s name.

  “Why, Sir Hunter MacDonald! You’ve made it.”

  Hunter stopped. Kat’s arm had been looped through his, and she naturally stopped, as well. “Arthur!” Hunter exclaimed. He turned to Kat. “Come, dear, meet a friend. We’ll be right along!” Hunter called to the others.

  “I’ll see to your paperwork,” Brian called back.

  Curious, Kat accompanied Hunter. The table they approached was in the shade, and the fellow at it was wearing a white casual suit and hat. He was middle-aged, a trifle stout, and wore a mustache. There was something familiar about him.

  He rose. “Why, Hunter! Who is this?” the man asked.

  “Arthur, my wife, Katherine. Kat, Mr. Arthur Conan Doyle.”

  She gasped and was instantly horrified at her lack of propriety. She quickly closed her mouth and stared at Hunter. “Seriously. I told you, we are old friends. I have written a few books myself,” he said.

  She looked from him to the man who had invented her favorite character and written so many excellent stories. “Forgive me!” she said softly. “I simply cannot tell you what an honor it is to meet you!”

  He smiled, a pleasant fellow, and indicated that they take seats. “My dear, I’m flattered. And thrilled. Just don’t tell me that you are lamenting the death of Holmes, or I think I shall scream.”

  She shook her head. “I have no intention of telling you anything. You are the writer.”

  “I like this girl!” he told Hunter.

  “I’m rather fond of her, as well,” Hunter murmured dryly.

  Kat didn’t care. She was sitting at a table in Cairo with Arthur Conan Doyle.

  “I’d heard you were down here,” Hunter said. “And your wife?”

  Doyle sighed softly. “The weather is better here. You’ll see the dear girl soon enough. How long are you in the hotel?”

  “Lord Avery is staying on here the whole time. We’ll keep our rooms throughout, but I’d like to set up at the dig site by tomorrow.”

  “Then you must join us for dinner tonight,” Doyle said.

  “Oh, yes!” Kat exclaimed.

  Hunter smiled. “I believe my wife has spoken. Since that is to be the case, let’s please do get into the rooms now, Kat. We’ll have to spend some time preparing for the move tomorrow.”

  “Of course,” Kat said.

  Arthur Conan Doyle stood as they departed, arranging to meet at eight. There was a restaurant where the view of the pyramids at night was incredible, and they would go there.

  She was walking on air as they made their way into the lobby, where their keys were waiting. The pleasant man behind the desk stopped them when they would have continued on.

  “Sir Hunter, there is a telegram for a Miss Adair.”

  “That is me!” Kat said, awed. “I mean, it was me,” she said quickly.

  “We’re newlyweds,” Hunter explained.

  The man nodded, smiling, and passed over the telegram. She looked at Hunter, her eyes wide. “I’ve never received a telegram before!”

  “You should read it,” he suggested.

  Her fingers shaking, she opened the envelop. “It’s from my father! He misses me but wants me to know that he and Eliza are doing very well… Oh! And they’re on their own,” she said, flushing with pleasure. “Apparently, Lady Daws went to France to transact some business.” She sighed with relief.

  “You apparently don’t care much for her.”

  Kat couldn’t help but smile. All of the threats that Lady Daws had heaped on her meant nothing now. Thanks to Hunter.

  “She assured me that—” Kat hesitated “—as soon as I was home from this journey, she’d see that I was sent to a strict school on the continent!”

  “Well, she has no power over you now,” Hunter said.

  “No, but…I am terrified that she will marry my father!”

  Hunter was silent. They were both aware that could still happen. He didn’t try to tell her otherwise. “I don’t believe she would have done so before,” Kat murmured. “Not when he was poor. But his world has changed so since you introduced him to Lord Avery.”

  “There is always a price to pay,” Hunter said softly.

  “Well, at least, for the time being, she is in France. And Papa is working on commissions—he has too much work, actually. Of course, he can’t finish the portrait of Lady Margaret for Lord Avery until we return. Oh, Hunter! He must be doing very well. We never could have afforded to send a telegraph before!”

  “He deserves the recognition,” Hunter said. “But, now, if you wish to accompany the Doyles to dinner, I have much to do.”

  Their rooms were just a half flight up from the lobby level and down a hallway. Their luggage had been delivered and neatly aligned. Emma had been there briefly, for some things were already unpacked.

  Inside the room, Kat turned to him again. “Arthur Conan Doyle!”

  “Would that I were he!” Hunter murmured. “I have never seen such excitement from you.”

  “Oh, but you don’t understand. Sometimes I would be with my father when he was working, and I would lose myself in the stories. I think he is brilliant!”

  “He is a fine man.”

  Hunter reached out and touched her face, wiping something from it. “Soot of some kind,” he told her. “Well, we’ll be in sand to our ears by tomorrow.”

  “It has been a long trip, leaving the ship…the hours on the train. A bath would be lovely.”

  “Take a look in the bedroom, dear. This is Shepheard’s, after all.”

  There was a lovely bathtub. Kat filled it, anxious to wash away the grime of travel. She should have felt tired, but she did not. In fact, she had never felt so alive as she had in the past few days.

  A
s she lay in the tub, she couldn’t help but wonder if the timing right then was convenient, and if her husband might be interested…

  But then she heard commotion from the outer room and knew that he was busy. She could only pick up bits and pieces of what was being said, but apparently, Brian was with him, and they were arranging for camels and horses for the next day. She stepped from the tub. Tomorrow, she would turn into the best assistant and secretary.

  Wrapped in a huge snow-white towel, she walked to the window. A sense of wonder filled her again.

  There, on the horizon, were the three great pyramids. She was really in Egypt.

  And she would be happy to pay the price of being here. Tomorrow.

  Tonight, she was dining with Arthur Conan Doyle.

  There was a soft tap at the door to the hallway. Curious, Kat walked to it. “Yes?”

  “It is Françoise, from housekeeping, my lady.”

  She opened the door. The girl who stood beyond was beautiful. She had the exotic look of an Egyptian, with her black hair and dark eyes. Her dress was English, a simple blue-gray gown adorned with an apron. She carried a handful of white towels.

  “Please, come in,” Kat said.

  The girl entered, heading into the bathroom. When she came out, Kat was by the window again.

  “Good evening,” she said, ready to exit. “And if you need anything…”

  She was behaving, certainly, as she had been taught. Not to annoy the guests, simply to serve them.

  “Actually,” Kat said, “I would like some help.” She pointed out the window. “Which is which, please. I’m on expedition, but I’m really frightfully ignorant of so very much. Would you be so kind?”

  The girl moved to the window to join her. She was shy, it seemed, but seeing that Kat was serious, she pointed. “There…as you can see, the largest, that is the Great Pyramid of Khufu, or Cheops. There, and there, the pyramids of Khafre and Menkaure. Khufu ruled about twenty-five hundred years ago, at the pinnacle of power during the time of Egypt’s Old Kingdom. Some believe that the Sphinx was part of his complex, but—” she shrugged “—the scholars remain in debate about that.”

  Kat stared at her. The girl seemed especially articulate and well educated.