“I didn’t mean to drop that bottle!” Amber cried. “I don’t even like this stinky old room!”
“Oh, please, Lady Amber”—Brianna rolled her eyes at the dramatics—“you honestly don’t expect me to buy those tears, do you? For someone who is a holy terror, I expect more courage from you.” Brianna clicked the key in the lock, then turned to face her adversary. “No one is going to save you, no matter the screams of pain and agony that they hear.”
Amber had backed against the desk, and Brianna tossed the quirt on a wooden chair. “You aren’t going to strike me?”
“Why?” Brianna set her fists on her hips. “Would that keep you out of this darkroom? Or save that poor frog in the greenhouse? Is that the attention you want? If I can’t make them notice me one way, then I’ll do it another.” Brianna knew the type. She’d looked at that woman every day in the mirror for twenty-two years. “How old are you?”
“Eleven.”
“When I was eleven no one would have captured me.” She held out her hand for the doll Amber clutched feebly to her chest. Reluctantly, the girl parted with her precious treasure. “Your uncle James gave you this?”
Brianna examined the frilly ruffles and curls. Michael had given her the doll after one of his trips into the village. “What’s her name?”
A shrug of her shoulder told Brianna that she hadn’t been named yet. “It usually takes me months to name something, too,” Brianna said. “I haven’t even named my horse. Names are special.”
Implied permanence.
“I named my cat Sam.” Amber studied the toe of her slipper. “Sam is the name of the man who clips the grass. He always runs my cat away with a rake. So I named him Sam and dress him up in ribbons.”
“That will show him, won’t it?” Brianna crossed her arms. “Do you want me to leave Aldbury Park? Is that why you’re doing the things that you do?”
Amber wiped the back of her hand across her nose. “Everyone always leaves,” she whispered; then her eyes narrowed as if Brianna had tricked her into revealing something about herself she didn’t want to share. “And you can’t make me be nice to you. I put vinegar into Lord Chamberlain’s milk this morning. I’ll do the same to you every day.”
“I hadn’t thought about vinegar.” She set the doll on the chair. “Is that the worst you’ve done?”
“I put ants in my last governess’s bed.”
Brianna was unimpressed, and it showed.
Amber slanted her a glance. “What about you?”
“I guarantee that whatever you think up, I can think up a lot worse. You do not want to go to war with me, Lady Amber. There are spiders and snakes in this world that put our English species to shame. You’ll never get another decent night’s sleep as long as you live, wondering if you might find something beneath your pillow. Think about that the next time you decide to disobey me.”
“What kind of spiders?”
Brianna walked to the desk. She reached into the bottom drawer and pulled out a box. Inviting her young protégé to sit on the floor, she carefully removed the lid. “What I’m about to show you can never leave this room without my permission. These are mine and I will cut off the hands of she who disobeys my edict.”
Reluctantly, Amber watched as Brianna laid out her photographs. Her mouth dropped opened. “Yes,” Brianna said. “Those are dead people. Mummified after being buried in the desert.”
“They’re real live dead people?” The girl’s voice held awe.
“Real enough. I was in that tomb. Along with this…” Brianna showed her a picture of the black scorpion she’d taken. Scorpions weren’t really considered spiders, but that was merely a matter of specie semantics at this point. “One hit from that tail and you’re gone.”
“Vanished?”
“Dead.”
“Oh…” Amber brought the photograph closer. “Did it suck out all the blood from that mummy person?”
Brianna thought about spinning some tale of bloodsucking spiders, but decided Amber probably didn’t need to be that terrified. Besides, the tale paralleled too closely the nightmare in her life. “Mummies always look shriveled. They died thousands of years ago. The desert preserved them. Like pickles in vinegar, except better.”
Amber wrinkled her nose and flipped to the next photograph. It was of Christopher and Alex on the back of a camel in front of the giant pyramid in Giza. A solar eclipse framed the pyramid. It seemed an eternity ago that she’d taken that photograph. Six weeks before they’d left on the caravan. She had not yet met the infamous El Tazor or even suspected how much her life was about to change.
And something squeezed her heart.
Now she was living in England, married to a duke, chasing down a precocious eleven-year-old, her hard-fought independence swallowed by Michael’s shadow and his world. Certainly, if she were the root of his problems, he was the core of hers. For Brianna was flummoxed that she could be so intimate, so completely in love, with a man who could divorce himself so easily from his family, his affections, and her heart.
Amber started asking questions about the strange clothes in the photograph, what a pyramid was, why someone would build such a thing just to bury a person. Who sat on the camel?
The girl was a natural font of curiosity just begging to find focus. Acutely aware that no one had knocked down her door yet, Brianna leaned over the photograph. “That’s my brother and sister-in-law,” she quietly said. “Your uncle James wore clothes like that when he was in the desert. You should have seen him.”
“Do you think Uncle James likes me?” Amber suddenly asked.
“I think he likes you very much. He didn’t give me a doll.”
“Papa said that Uncle James once loved Mama and that’s why he left and never came back.” Her lashes lowered over her eyes.
“I think it was a lot more than that, Amber. And it wasn’t fair that your father said that.”
“I want Uncle James and Mama to be together like a family.”
“Don’t you think I love your uncle James, too? Don’t you think that we could all be a family?”
Amber flipped through two more photographs of veiled women at the central fountains, the crowded suks, a pair of camels, and a family of cats that she’d taken in Christopher’s stable. Amber’s hands stopped.
“I have a soft heart for cats,” Brianna admitted. Except for sentimental value, the picture was artistically worthless.
“I like cats, too.” And it seemed with those simple words that something inside Amber smiled. Cat lovers always shared special ties.
“Sam and I are good friends,” Brianna said. “Especially when I carry catnip in my pocket.”
Amber laughed. It was a beautiful laugh. The girl’s bow-shaped lips tilted, her eyes sparkled, and suddenly, capturing a precocious eleven-year-old hadn’t been so bad after all. Packing up the photographs, Brianna said, “If you want to do something fun, then I’ll teach you how to take pictures and even develop the plates.”
“You will?” Amber helped close the box lid. “Like these?”
“But I don’t allow children near my camera or in my lab. So, if you decided to do this with me, it would be as a young woman, my assistant.”
“Mama doesn’t think I’m a woman.”
Brianna laughed. “Nonsense. What do mamas know? As your aunt, I say that you can be a young woman if you choose to be. I also say there’s a time and place to play. And my closet or my lab isn’t either of those.”
“Yes, Aunt Brea.”
Brianna lifted the box, prepared to return them to the desk, when her gaze froze on a spot over Amber’s head.
Michael stood with his shoulder propped in the connecting doorway to the adjoining room. She didn’t know how long he’d been standing there listening, his arms folded, a restless silhouette framed by the splendor of Aldbury Park in the window behind him. Her heart raced.
For the last three days the entire front page of every newspaper had been filled with the story about the
early morning raid on a dockside warehouse that had netted a coup in priceless antiquities and stolen goods. The operation had been touted a monumental testament to the skills of the government agencies involved.
She had not known when he was coming home.
Michael’s gaze moved to Amber. His heavy cloak shifted around his calves. “Your mother will be at the house in about fifteen minutes,” he said.
Amber’s small face brightened on an exclamation. She’d climbed to her feet and was halfway out of the room when Michael stopped her. His gloved hand went to her chin. “I have something for you,” he said, withdrawing a tin of chocolates from his pocket. “But you’ll have to keep them a secret from your mother and promise not to eat them all in one sitting.”
“Thank you, Uncle James!” Amber grabbed her tin.
When she was gone, Michael turned back into the room, gray eyes laced with the mists that hovered at the cusp of every dawn. His hair was almost blue-black in the daylight surrounding him. Brianna stood unmoving. “Do you have any other surprises in your pocket?”
“I might.” His tall form filled the doorway. “What is it your heart desires, Brianna?”
She was gawking at what her heart desired, her emotions on her sleeve, visible even for a blind man to see. The breeze coming from somewhere downstairs tugged at his long woolen cloak. She supposed that he wore new clothes and boots. While in London, he would have finished his fitting with the tailor. Everything about him had changed, and with that thought, Brianna knew a deep-down fear that his acceptance in the ducal realm would come at a high price to her. But then, she had always known the power of the establishment, the ever-present status quo, as it were. Yet, she wanted him to succeed.
“Brianna…”
He took a step toward her before Brianna realized that she’d not moved; then she dropped her box and at once was in his arms. He was kissing her soundly, his lips rasping over hers, his body sending vibrant warmth spilling through her veins. His hands slid into her heavy hair, tilting her face to the provocative warmth of his body.
“Is it true?” she asked shakily when he finally pulled away and her lips and cheeks were flushed.
His parted lips came back down on hers. “That I missed you?”
“Did you?” She searched his silvery eyes.
His hand splayed the small of her back. “Every day.”
Brianna laughed. He would have been too busy to notice her absence, but she liked that he said it anyway, and knew a decadent thrill at the words. “You should have given warning of your return, sir. Will you tell me about London?”
He told her a little, briefly sketching the events that led to the warehouse raid. Charles Cross worked with the consul general in Cairo. She’d only known that he was leaving Cairo and that he hadn’t been on the Northern Star, at least according to the manifest.
“Our government had an arrangement with the khedive to help stop the pilfering of Egypt’s national treasures,” Michael said. “That was his job in Cairo. In London, he set himself up as an antiquities dealer.”
“Then if I had tried to sell him the amulet, he’d have arrested me.” Brianna leaned into his chest. “I only want this to be over.”
“We’ll talk about everything at the house.” Michael wrapped his arms around her. The top of her head brushed his chin. “Though I don’t agree with your means, I would be remiss if I didn’t tell you that this case wouldn’t have broken without you.” The gentleness in his voice surprising her, she stood iron-locked by her need of him. “You’ve been busy at this lodge,” he said, stepping back to admire her state of dishabille.
She inspected a broken nail rather than meet his assessing stare. “Did you think that I wouldn’t be?”
“Bloody hell yes,” he laughed, “I forgot to warn you that my mother was on a rampage.”
She frowned her displeasure at him. He’d conveniently forgotten to warn her about many things. He seemed to be in surprisingly good spirits despite his offish London experience, and when he asked her to show him around her lab, she did. Later, leaving Mr. Freeman with the cart and horse for Gracie, Brianna started with Michael out of the yard, intending to walk back to the house. A black horse stood outside the picket fence, its reins carelessly lashed to a branch, as if the rider had been in a hurry to dismount. Michael had brought the stallion with him from London.
He lifted her into his arms. “The carriage should be at the house now.”
“Your shoulder—”
“You’re not that heavy.” He held her against the wall of his chest. Her legs draped his arm, her white petticoat feathering around her like a bridal gown. “Indeed, you’re somewhat fluffy.”
“You rode all the way from London on horseback?” She laughed.
“Only the last mile.”
“How did you know I’d be at the lodge?”
“I went to the house first.”
He set her on the saddle, then dark gloved hands grabbed the reins and he swung up behind her, setting her half across his lap. The horse pranced sideways. At a nudge from Michael’s knees the bay leaped into a gallop, and they were suddenly running across the open field. The wind snatched away the red ribbon in her hair, setting the tresses free, and she was laughing as she leaned back and looked up at the blue sky.
Canary yellow flowers bloomed in the fields, scenting the air with a honeyed sweetness. When Michael had left almost three weeks ago, the trees had still been bare, the roads muddy. Today the air was fresh and pure. Sunlight had turned the fields gold. Like the color of desert sand against the stark blue sky.
Field workers gaped at them as they passed. Up at the house, where she’d set the staff to cleaning soot and dirt from the windows, the servants had turned to watch the horse carrying her and Michael through the field of yellow flowers. He held her against him. She didn’t want to see him as the conqueror who’d practically imprisoned her these last few weeks, but he’d chosen his ground with the skill of a soldier, and Brianna burrowed her cheek against the warm woolen collar of his coat.
She wanted to hear more about London. His silence on the subject worried her. Mostly she wanted to hold him like this. “You are fortunate I’m in a generous state of mind, your Grace.”
He touched his lips against her hair. “I hope so, because we have guests.”
With a gasp, Brianna twisted around to the drive.
“Lord and Lady Bedford,” he said. “They rode back with Caro.”
The couple stood beside the carriage, watching them. Six fine blacks, harnesses still jangling, pawed the ground. Brianna recognized Caroline’s brother. Standing beside him, his wife raised her parasol, a frivolous piece of frippery that brushed the top of her wide-brimmed hat.
“They’ll only be here for tonight,” he promised.
“Oh…” Brianna wriggled from his pawing. “What must they think?”
He reined in the horse, spraying gravel as he came to a halt beside the blacks that stood before the carriage. “That I want to take you upstairs and ravish your naked body”—he kept her trapped against him with his arm, his other hand gripping the reins—“with my mouth.”
“And without a doubt you’re indecent, your Grace.”
But the flash in her eyes had been warm and generous as he eased her from the horse.
“Your Grace.” A stable attendant stood waiting to retrieve the horse.
Michael flung a leg over the saddle and slid to the ground, his gaze briefly touching the two men standing next to the carriage. Finley had given him his best. But it was his wife who commanded his attention.
Leaning his forearms on the saddle, Michael watched her hurry toward their guests, the pleasant sway of her skirts redolent of his mood as he admired her shapely derriere beneath the length of her hair, and he knew a sudden contentment to be home.
Chapter 22
“You shouldn’t sit there, Aunt Brea,” Amber stoically informed Brianna. “The grass is wet.”
“Wonderful.” Brianna stood. T
he back of her dress was wet.
“Donald tried to dump a glass of cider on me.”
“Double wonderful.” She swiped at the back of her gown. She wore a dress of green silk stripes, and hoped it would hide the stain. “I should probably stand here until my skirts dry.”
“You shouldn’t let them bully you, Aunt Brea,” Amber said with all the awareness of a young adult.
Brianna turned her head. “What makes you think I’m being bullied?”
“Because you’re over here hiding with me.” She’d lowered her voice to a whisper, and it took Brianna a moment to realize that she’d stepped into the middle of a game of hide and seek. “You’re going to give me away, Aunt Brea. I don’t want to be it again.”
“Oh.” Brianna stepped away from the tree.
She stood undecided, looking around at the faces of those mingling nearby. She welcomed the breeze. Children played in the grass off to the side of the makeshift polo field where she and Michael had come today to celebrate the spring festivities. Nearby, musicians played for a high-stepping jovial group of young people quite lost to the jaunty tune of pipes and lutes. It was a day for merrymaking and Brianna had walked among the tents selling wares and spice cakes.
She had traveled with Michael to Wendover yesterday to partake in the seasonal celebrations that came with the warmer weather. Almost overnight, the clime had warmed. Flowers bloomed. The trees sprouted green. In the midst of this enormous change, Brianna had begun to feel a strange quickening inside her. Twice this week she had awakened queasy. That morning, Gracie literally dragged her out of bed. Now she didn’t feel well, and thought it might be best that Michael take her home. She wanted to go back to Aldbury. To the bed that she shared with him.
She could see her tall husband among the men gathered at the keg. She let her gaze linger on him. He wore a sapphire waistcoat and white shirt. Black trousers shaped his long muscular legs and clung to his taut waistline and hard narrow hips. The dying light of the afternoon revealed the whiteness of his teeth as he laughed at something the man beside him said and lifted the pint of ale to his lips. She realized Michael was watching her over the rim. He smiled at her from behind his glass, a glance she shared, and she felt her mouth answer in kind. He never let her out of his sight for long, she realized.
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