Sir Lawrence had invited thirty or so others to join them for the evening. Most of the gathering was European, primarily British, and there were nearly as many ladies as gentlemen. They stood or sat at tables arranged along the edges of the courtyard. The female dancers performing were clothed in baggy trousers and sheer veils, embellished with gold-colored coins. Off to one side, sitting on the floor, a small group of musicians accompanied them with flutes and drums and a type of lute. While the gyrations of their hips and the graceful, erotic movements of their limbs might well prove shocking to another woman, Olivia found it all quite extraordinary. The rhythm of the music was intoxicating, reaching into one’s very soul.
“I wonder how difficult it might be to learn such a dance.” She glanced at Sterling, sitting beside her, who didn’t appear to be watching the dancers at all although how any man could fail to do so was beyond her. Indeed, Sterling looked as if he were anywhere but here, anywhere, no doubt, but Egypt. “I think it’s quite wonderful, don’t you?”
“Very entertaining,” he said in a clipped tone.
She raised a brow. “You’re not enjoying this?”
“It’s rather, well, improper don’t you think?”
“Welcome back, my lord,” she said wryly.
“What?” His gaze jumped to hers and abruptly realization dawned on his face. He ran a hand through his hair. “My apologies.” He smiled a rather halfhearted smile. “Is this better?”
“If one likes the pretense of a smile, it’s still no more than adequate.” She studied him curiously. “You have been as tense as a wound spring all evening. Whatever is the matter?”
“Nothing,” he said quickly. “I am impatient to be on our way. And I do wish Sir Lawrence would make up his mind. There’s nothing more to it than that.”
“I realize you have no desire to linger here; however, it seems to me, that if Sir Lawrence wishes for us to stay, it would be in our best interests to stay. My fate is very much in his hands, you know. Besides, as I have never been to Egypt, I am finding everything quite fascinating and most enjoyable. As, I believe, is your mother.” She bit back a grin. Enjoyable was something of an understatement when it came to Millicent. She was as fascinating to watch as the native dancers.
“Yes, of course,” Sterling murmured.
Odd he didn’t bat an eye at the mention of his mother’s enjoyment of their stay in Egypt. Or rather her enjoyment of their host.
“It was most thoughtful of Sir Lawrence to provide entertainment for this evening, don’t you agree?”
“Yes, of course,” Sterling said again.
She studied him curiously. She had no idea what was on his mind, but it certainly wasn’t her conversation or the entertainment. “I’d say he was a very thoughtful man.”
“Quite,” Sterling said under his breath.
“And something of a catch as well.”
“No doubt.”
“Your mother could do far worse.”
“Certainly.”
Why, she’d wager he wasn’t paying attention to a single word she said. “Did she mention that she intended to purchase a camel and bring it back to London?”
“Fine idea,” he said absently.
“She thought your garden would be an excellent place to keep a camel.”
“Excellent.”
Olivia tried not to grin. “Although she insists that if one has a camel at hand, one should use it on occasion. For rides and the like.”
“Indeed.”
“In the park.”
“Where else?” he murmured.
What on earth was wrong with the man? She followed his gaze. He appeared to be keeping a cautious eye on the other side of the courtyard, where his mother sat beside Sir Lawrence, obviously enjoying herself. Off to one side, a wizened turbaned man waited patiently, a large, round, cloth-covered basket at his feet. A snake charmer if she wasn’t mistaken. How delightful. She glanced at Sterling. Although he didn’t seem the least bit delighted by anything.
She tried again. “Dressed as an Egyptian dancer.”
“Cer—” His gaze snapped to hers, his brow furrowed. “What did you say?”
“I said your mother was going to ride through the streets of London on a camel practically naked.”
He stared without comprehension, as if she were speaking a language he had never heard of. “When did she decide that?”
She burst into laughter, noted the disapproving frowns of those guests closest to them, and lowered her voice. “What in the world is the matter with you?”
His gaze slid to his mother and back to her. “Nothing. Really. Not a thing.”
“That was the most unconvincing answer I have ever heard.” She frowned at him. “Has something happened I should know about?”
Sterling hesitated. “No.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Nonetheless . . .” Sterling’s gaze slipped away again.
“I insist on knowing . . .” She gasped. “Good Lord. You’re afraid—”
He jumped to his feet, grabbed her hand, and fairly dragged her into the house, ignoring more than a few curious glances cast in their direction. He didn’t slow down until they had reached a side parlor. At last he released her hand.
“First of all, I am not afraid of snakes. They simply make me uneasy.” He paced the room. “Not snakes in general, mind you. Admittedly, there is something about Egyptian snakes . . .” He ran his hand through his hair. “Given Cleopatra and the gentleman with two fingers and the preponderance of snakes in Egyptian antiquities and, well, one could certainly see how a small boy . . .” He stopped in midstep and glared at her. “There now, you know. Are you happy?”
She stared at him. “You’re afraid of snakes?”
“Egyptian snakes,” he corrected. “And ‘afraid’ is not the right word. Cautious in regards to the vile creatures perhaps, but not afraid.”
“I didn’t think there was anything you were afraid of.”
He gritted his teeth. “I am not afraid.”
She ignored him. “Only Egyptian snakes?”
“I am cautious about any number of things, but yes, Egyptian snakes in particular do elicit a heightened sense of caution. Rightfully so, I might add. And now, thanks to you, here I am in Egypt, land of snakes, a country I have thus far managed to avoid. With snakes in the garden, the possibility of snakes in my room, and a man with snakes in a basket right outside those very doors!”
She snorted back a laugh.
He narrowed his eyes. “This is not funny.”
“No, of course not.” She tried and failed to keep her amusement in check. “Tell me, Sterling, have you ever encountered an Egyptian snake?”
“Not yet!” he snapped. “But apparently I shall do so shortly when this”—he gestured at the courtyard—“entertainment continues.”
“I see.” She nodded. “It’s the snake charmer you were staring at then, not your mother.”
“Why would I be staring at my mother?”
“Because she is paying far and away too much attention to Sir Lawrence. When I said you were afraid—”
“I am not afraid!”
“I thought you feared your mother’s growing attachment to Sir Lawrence.”
“Yes, well, as annoying as that is . . .” He again ran his hand through his hair. “She is perfectly capable of making her own decisions.”
“Did you know you only do that when you’re upset?”
“I am not upset. I simply am not fond of feeling as if . . . as if . . . everything—life if you will—is out of my hands. I am the Earl of Wyldewood. It’s my responsibility to make certain things go as they should.” He paused. “Do what?”
“Run your fingers through your hair.”
“I do not . . .” He hesitated, his hand halfway to his head, and huffed. “Habit, I suppose. I am only vaguely aware of it.”
She considered him for a long moment. It was obvious, at least to her, that he was indeed afraid of snakes. She wasn’t overly fond
of them herself although she had no idea why he specified Egyptian snakes. “I’ve found the best way to conquer one’s fears is to face them.”
“Have you indeed?” He met her gaze directly. “And have you done so? Faced your fears?”
“You’re trying to change the subject, Sterling. We’re not talking about me.”
“Perhaps we should. Have you faced your fears?”
“In the past, yes,” she said firmly. “And I learned to do what was necessary.”
“What about now? What about this very minute? Have you faced your fears?”
She shrugged. “At the moment, my only fear is failing to meet the stipulations of my late husband’s will. Of not getting the inheritance that is rightfully mine. And I admit, I have not faced that because I have no intention of failing.”
“Is that truly your only fear?” His gaze bored into hers, as if he were looking for an answer to a question he hadn’t asked.
She stared back at him. No. “Yes, of course. What other fear might I have?”
“None, I suppose.” He shook his head in what might have been mild disgust, but she couldn’t be sure. “As for your one and only fear . . .” He blew a long breath. “Sir Lawrence has agreed to give you the jar if I agree to convince my mother to extend her stay here.”
“I see.” She shook her head. “Given how you feel about your mother and Sir Lawrence—”
“I have changed my mind.”
“Have you?” she said slowly.
“Not that I wish to see my mother involved with the man, but, other than the fact that I did not like his overly friendly manner with her, he is not as objectionable as he might otherwise be.” He closed his eyes briefly as if praying for strength. “They have both spoken to me.”
“Oh?” She raised a brow.
“My mother wishes to . . . “ He paused. “She pointed out that my father has been dead for ten years, a very long time to be alone.”
She caught her breath. “A lifetime.”
He heaved a resigned sigh. “I see no reason not to encourage my mother to do something she more than likely is inclined to do anyway.”
“You’re willing to leave her here?”
“It’s not what I want, but if that’s what she wants.” He shrugged. “She sees a . . . a possibility, if you will. One she wishes to explore further. I cannot deny her that. She has lived much of her life for her family. If she now chooses to live for herself, it seems the least I can do is ease her path.”
She nodded. “By encouraging her to stay.”
“By encouraging her to follow her heart.” He smiled. “As she has always encouraged me.”
“You are a good son, Sterling Harrington.”
“Yes, I am,” he said in a dismissive tone. “Now, shall we return to the festivities?”
“I see no need to do so.” She shrugged. “I really have no desire to see the snake charmer.”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely.” She nodded. “In truth, it sounds rather unnerving to me.”
“And you don’t think a snake charmer is one of those sights of Egypt one must see?”
“Not at all.” She scoffed.
“Nonetheless.” His eyes narrowed. “We shall see this one.”
“Sterling, it’s really not necessary—”
“Oh, but it is.” He offered her his arm. “Shall we.”
Regardless of his fears, the man was determined. She smiled and hooked her arm through his. “If you insist.”
“And I do,” he said firmly, and escorted her back to the courtyard.
The dancers had finished, and they were able to take a seat close to the entertainment although she thought it might be a tad too close for his comfort or hers.
The snake charmer uncovered his basket, lifted the lid, and began something between a song and a chant, gesturing with a wand as a conductor might direct an orchestra. The snake rose from the basket as if mesmerized, swaying to the rhythm of the man’s chant.
Certainly there was no real hazard. The snake charmer had no doubt been practicing his art most of his life. Still, even to one not especially terrified of snakes, there was an element of perceived danger. Obviously part of the appeal of this type of entertainment. One couldn’t help but wonder if the tenuous connection between man and reptile might break at any moment and the snake strike out at the nearest warm body. She was right. It was decidedly unnerving. While the rest of the gathering watched the snake and its master, she kept her gaze locked on Sterling.
A casual observer would have said the earl appeared to be enjoying the dance of man and serpent. Aside from a certain tension around his eyes that would only be noted by someone paying close attention, she would have wagered her entire inheritance not another soul would so much as suspect the Earl of Wyldewood was afraid of anything, let alone snakes. But, of course, that was his nature, part and parcel of who and what he was. Even long ago, when his life was simpler and his responsibilities few, he had never really shown his feelings. Except to her, and even then not fully.
Still, his demeanor was admirable and in many ways courageous. It might seem a silly thing. That a man like Sterling would be afraid of snakes—Egyptian snakes she amended. It was as well strangely endearing, knowing there was an irrational chink in this man’s cool collected façade. To watch him sit there and fight that fear twisted her heart, and she wanted nothing more than to lay a comforting hand on his arm. Not that he would acknowledge that comfort. After all, the man wasn’t scared, he was simply cautious. In spite of his words, fear, even if absurd, was a crippling emotion.
And who knew better than she? Olivia hadn’t been entirely truthful when she’d said she’d faced her fears in the past. She’d done no more than accept the terror her late husband provoked as a part of her life and did what was necessary to avoid annoying him. She’d learned quickly that defying the man, pitting her will against his, was futile. Fear for her life kept her from overt defiance. She made her list of desires and dreamed of what she would do when she was free, but she’d never truly faced them or him. And eventually, she had triumphed because she was here and whole and sound. She was free, and he was dead.
Now, her only fear was that she would fail to finish her late husband’s collections. Fail to achieve her independence and the means to start her life anew. Scarcely worth considering as she had no intention of failing.
She continued to study Sterling, and the oddest thought occurred to her. Soon, they would be one-third of the way to success, which should have made her happy rather than pensive. Now, staring at the earl’s composed, handsome face, she couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps her greatest fear wasn’t that she would fail but perhaps that she would succeed.
Even the pistol Sir Lawrence had indeed placed in Sterling’s bedside table wasn’t enough to ease his mind. He tossed and turned restlessly through the long night, and when he did sleep, his dreams were filled with snakes. Serpents rising out of hampers and crawling across floors and curled in shoes waiting to strike. Snakes surrounding Livy, advancing on her. Her calling to him for help. Begging for him to save her. Asking for his assistance again.
He stared at her, in the midst of a floor so solidly covered with reptiles it moved as if alive. But he was unable to take so much as a single step toward her. Frozen with the kind of fear that lodged in his throat and knotted his heart and held him helpless in its grip. He struggled to break free as the creatures slithered inevitably closer to her. He knew what he had to do. He could not fail her again. And he would not allow all the snakes in Egypt to keep him from her. Finally, he burst free of the invisible hands that held him and raced toward her.
And her scream ripped through the predawn silence.
Fourteen
Sterling bolted upright in bed.
Livy!
That was no dream! He leapt out of bed, yanked the table drawer open, grabbed the pistol, and sprinted for the door. He jerked it open, grateful that it was nearly dawn and while still dark,
it was not the black of night, and raced down the hallway toward her room. Snakes no doubt. He had overcome his fear in his dream to save her, and he would not fail to so now.
He flung open her door, expecting to see snakes covering the floor. Instead a shadowy figure stood frozen midway between the bed and the window. At once, he remembered the intruders in her house and her father’s words of warning. His jaw tightened. In the dim predawn light, he could make out Livy’s form against the headboard. “Livy!”
“Sterling!” Terror sounded in her voice.
The figure leapt for the window.
“You there, stop at once.” Sterling’s command resounded in the room.
The figure didn’t pause.
“Stop I say. Make no mistake, I will shoot.” Still, he hesitated. The thought flashed through his mind that this could be a house servant who had stumbled into Livy’s room inadvertently. Regardless, he had been warned. Sterling raised the pistol and fired well above the shadow’s head.
The shot reverberated through the house. The figure froze, and nothing at all happened for a second or a lifetime then a crash sounded. A huge chuck of ceiling collapsed, burying the intruder. Dust choked Sterling’s throat and stung his eyes, blinding him for a moment.
“Sterling!”
He heard Livy scramble off the bed and in less than a heartbeat she was in his arms.
“Good God, Livy.” He held her close. “Are you all right. Did he—”
“No, no, I’m fine.” She clung to him. “I woke up and there was someone . . . All I could think was that whoever had broken into my house had followed us here. Dear Lord, Sterling, if you hadn’t—”
“I know.” His arms tightened around her. “The thought occurred to me as well.”
“What in the name of all that’s holy . . .” Sir Lawrence stepped into the room, tightening the belt of his robe around him. A servant, a step behind, handed the older man a lamp and the light illuminated the scene.
A large section of the ceiling had crashed to the floor, pinning the intruder, or what could be seen of him, under the plaster.
“Bloody hell.” Sir Lawrence surveyed the room, then looked at Livy. “Are you hurt?”
Desires of a Perfect Lady Page 17