His erection throbbed in silent demand, but he held her in his arms. His fingers threaded through her hair, fanning the silken strands over the pillow.
His heart pulsed with a longing he might never sate. He could never get enough of her. If he lived a hundred lifetimes, he’d never tire of kissing her sweet mouth, of touching the satin of her skin. Of loving her.
He adored her, more than he’d ever cherished anything in his life. There were no words that might adequately express the emotions that filled him when he held her close to his heart.
And so, he made love to her with his body. With his soul. Until they both lay sated and spent. Somehow, deep within, he knew this was truly only the beginning. Nothing—not time, not distance—would ever change that. Without even trying, she’d claimed a piece of his soul.
Damnable shame he was not fated to be with her. Soon, he would have to leave. He’d return to his existence. And she…she’d go on with her life.
He knew that. In the long run, it would be for the best…
But that didn’t change one immutable fact.
He loved her.
Chapter Twenty
The morning sky was a deep gray, tinged with shades of pink and gold. Peering from the bay window in her study, Alex took it all in. Somehow, everything seemed different, though she knew nothing had changed. Nothing, that is, other than her relationship with Benedict.
He’d loved her so tenderly the night before. Every touch. Every kiss. Every word he’d murmured in her ear had seemed designed to bring her to a level of bliss unlike any she’d ever known.
She hugged her arms to her chest, sighing as a little shiver of memory swept over her. Even now, she felt the tiny aftershocks of sensation, the embers of a passion more powerful than she’d imagined possible. Her hunger for him seemed a flame that might never be extinguished.
There had been no promises nor vows. No declarations of love. Somehow, no words had been necessary. She’d cherished the tenderness in every press of his lips to hers.
He loved her. Just as she loved him.
But she was not a fool. She knew better than to believe that love would be enough. She must content herself with the here and now. A future with Benedict was by no means guaranteed. A demanding restlessness filled him, a drive to achieve more than his competitors, to accumulate a fortune that might rival an industrialist’s wealth. Would that unflagging ambition come between them…again?
He’d left her bed in the wee hours of the night. As it was, they’d likely created quite a stir. The guards prided themselves on their discretion, but they would feel a duty to report the hour at which Benedict had arrived as well as the time when he’d departed. With any luck, the security detail would believe that they were simply discussing the details of the investigation.
She smiled to herself. Not likely, especially given the flush she’d no doubt borne on her face upon exiting Benedict’s carriage. It would not have taken a brilliant detective to deduce they’d enjoyed more than a rigorous debate on the way home from Mr. Stockwell’s blasted ball.
As she stood at the window, relishing the new day and the peace that filled her heart, she spotted one of the guards, a tall, lean fellow with a shock of blond hair, eyeing her in return. She tugged her dressing gown around her, snugging up the sash.
Turning from the window, she walked to her desk. Was it possible that she might proceed through the day with this feeling of lingering contentment? It almost seemed a shame to get down to work.
But she had tasks to complete. They would not wait. She had to begin the search for the map.
Glancing through the journal Professor Stockwell had left in her care, she skimmed over his notes. Had she missed a vital clue? If he’d entrusted her with something so crucial as the map, the professor would have found a way to let her know.
A sigh escaped as she set the notebook aside. Earlier, she’d tested the pages for a heat-responsive ink. Perhaps further examination was in order. She was certain the Colton Agency would possess more sophisticated means to detect some sign of a hidden message.
“Will you be having tea this morning?” Mrs. Thomas asked, peeping into the room.
“Yes, that would be lovely.”
“I’ve brewed a pleasant blend this morning. Would you care for lemon?”
“Why, yes,” Alex replied as she reached into her top drawer for the last letter she’d received from the professor.
Yet again, she read the missive. Was there a word she’d overlooked that might have been a hint? A clue? Anything that might set her on the right path?
The housekeeper returned with a silver tray bearing her tea. To the left of a china cup decorated with blue and pink flowers, she’d placed two slices of lemon. A buttery scone sat to the right of the beverage.
“Thank you,” Alex said, taking a bite of the biscuit. The flavor melted in her mouth. Heavenly. Almost as delectable as Benedict’s kisses.
She reached for the tea and took a sip, then squeezed a bit of lemon juice into the cup. She tasted the hot beverage, savoring the earthy flavor.
Her gaze lit on the lemons. An image of Jennie as a girl flitted into her thoughts—her sister, composing a message with a mixture she’d concocted from lemon juice.
The letter.
Good heavens, she had not thought to test it.
Taking care to protect the missive, she exposed the stationery to the heat of the teapot.
Nothing.
As with the pages of the professor’s journal, no letters appeared before her eyes. No mysterious symbols. Nothing to indicate even the slightest hint as to the map’s hiding place.
Unless… Had the professor written a secret message on the back of his letter?
She flipped over the leaf.
And then, the bit of heat told the tale.
Before her eyes, images and symbols materialized. Expertly drawn, the faint markings reflected the professor’s tidy script.
Good heavens, she had not uncovered a clue to the map’s whereabouts.
She had discovered the blasted map.
…
“Might I suggest the gray tie this morning? I expect it would complement the dark circles under your eyes.”
Roderick affected a somber expression, the dour set of his mouth posing a contrast to the flagrant insolence of his remarks. The man positively enjoyed seeing his employer in a state of dishevel.
“An excellent suggestion,” Benedict replied, taking the neckwear from the butler’s hand. “And Roderick, make a note that I should begin the search for your replacement upon the morrow.”
“Very good, sir,” Roderick replied, sarcasm dripping from his words. “Perhaps then I will enjoy a proper night’s sleep without fear of being roused before the blasted rooster crows.”
“You had no reason to awaken. It wasn’t as if I expected you to greet me at the door, pistol in hand.” Scowling, he looped the tie around his neck and tied a four-in-hand knot. “Devil take it, man, I thought you would take my head off my shoulders.”
“Never,” Roderick replied. “After all, an employer must possess a head in order to authorize my weekly compensation.”
“I would certainly believe that to be the case,” Benedict said. “In all seriousness, I do not expect you to roam about this place like a half-addled sentry.”
“Believe me, sir, I am not up and about at the stroke of four as part of a well-thought-out plan. You have been dealing with unsavory sorts, blokes who attract the attention of the Colton Agency. Did you believe that has escaped my notice?”
“I cannot blame you for feeling a bit…jumpy. But next time, I would appreciate being able to enter my own home without staring down the barrel of your revolver.”
“I’ll have you know I am a crack shot,” Roderick said with a touch of pride.
“Still, do take care not to aim that gun at me. The sight of it was like a pail of ice water thrown in my face.”
“Point taken,” Roderick replied. “I take it you hav
e rekindled your…friendship…with Miss Quinn.”
“Not that it is any of your bloody affair, but yes, I suppose one could say that.” Benedict smiled despite himself.
“She is a lovely young woman. I have always held her in the highest regard,” Roderick said.
“That’s good to know I have your approval.”
“Miss Quinn would make a suitable viscountess. Of course, that is only one humble servant’s opinion,” Roderick said.
“I had not taken you for a matchmaker,” Benedict replied drily. But damned if the notion did not possess a singular appeal. Not that he could entertain the idea. Not now. Possibly not ever. Alexandra deserved a far different life than a man like him could offer.
“Merely an observation,” the butler said. “The lady is a cut above the usual husband hunters you’ve encountered.”
“You will get no argument from me on that.” Benedict regarded his reflection in the mirror. He’d freshly bathed and shaved, but the lack of sleep showed on his face. Not that he cared. He would sacrifice sleep seven nights a week if it meant spending the hours with Alexandra in his arms, her soft murmurs and moans of pleasure like a sonata to his ears.
“Shall I bring tea? A potent blend, preferably,” Roderick said, his implication clear. “Or would coffee be more to your liking?”
“Coffee,” Benedict replied. “A spot of cream and a lump of sugar as well.”
He’d acquired a taste for the stuff while working with a team of Americans near the pyramid at Giza. While he’d never preferred the taste to tea, he needed the more powerful brew to substitute for energy this morning. If he had his guess, the day would be long. He had to be alert and focused.
Roderick made his way down the corridor. The doorbell sounded.
Bollocks. Benedict scowled. Who the hell could that be? He was not expecting visitors.
He scowled at the thought. He would have much preferred to reflect on the night before and get to work, not deal with more questions from Colton or his underlings.
The sound of Roderick’s voice as he answered the door made it to Benedict’s ears. The other voice was unfamiliar. He could not make out the man’s words, but the butler’s stilted responses made it clear the visit was not a social call.
Closing the door behind him, he headed to the entry hall just as Roderick escorted the man to the front parlor.
“A courier has arrived,” Roderick said, his forehead furrowed in what seemed a blend of curiosity and irritation. “He says he will only deliver the message to you.”
“Good enough.”
Benedict stepped into the room, observing a scrawny young man dressed in clean, serviceable clothing. His boots were scuffed yet polished, his attire in keeping with a well-off family’s household staff. Was he one of the Quinn family’s coachmen?
The youth paced back and forth over the carpet. Much more of that, and he was likely to wear holes in the pile.
“Lord Marlsbrook,” he said, stopping in his tracks. “I’ve come bearing a message from Miss Quinn.”
The simple statement set him back. “She sent you here?”
“Yes, sir,” the young man said. “She says I’m to give this to you and no one else. She instructed me to await your reply.”
“Very well.” Benedict accepted the envelope, broke the wax seal, and perused its contents. The missive was brief and to the point.
Success.
He rubbed his jaw, processing the revelation. Professor Stockwell had not misled him. The man had not been confused. He had not made an attempt at deception.
Stockwell had stated the truth.
And now, Alexandra had recovered the document.
She had the blasted map.
Bloody hell, she’d found it. He’d always known she was clever. And curious. He’d counted on those qualities to lead her to the map.
Suddenly, a fist twisted in his gut. Had she left herself vulnerable to an even greater danger?
Had she uncovered a document that would put her very life at risk?
God above, had he made a monumental miscalculation?
By hellfire, there was nothing to be done about it now. He would ensure the map did not wind up in the wrong hands.
Once he took possession of the document, the killer’s focus would shift to him. With any luck, she would no longer be a target.
He could take the danger upon himself. He would do that—and more.
Alexandra meant the world to him. He would do anything to keep her safe.
Whatever it took, he would protect her.
Chapter Twenty-One
A blanket of gray clouds darkened the sky as Benedict guided his phaeton to Alexandra’s brick townhouse. The residence had once served as the Quinns’ London home, though the family preferred to spend the majority of their time at their expansive country home. In the last several years, Alex’s sister and brother had gone their own way. Jennie had entered into marriage with Colton while Jeremy pursued his research at Oxford. But Alexandra had nurtured her roots in the city she loved. London suited her, with its museums and libraries and sense of history, its magnificent architecture and culture.
Through the years, she’d ventured to Egypt on several occasions. He’d gotten wind of her presence in Cairo at times, but she’d taken pains to avoid him. Or so it seemed. Not that he’d attempted to meet with her. Still enveloped in his self-disgust at the way he’d treated her, he’d acted the coward. He’d been a fool to cast her aside as though she’d meant little to him. Nothing could have been further from the truth.
He’d adored her.
Blasted shame he was unworthy of her.
Even now, he had not told her the reasons that had compelled him to leave. With little more to offer her than passion and a blasted title that did not even impress her, carving out a future with Alexandra by his side was well out of reach. She deserved better than the likes of him, better than the life he could offer her. The sooner he left, the more promising her prospects for finding a suitable match would be.
Within days of bidding her farewell, he’d set off for Egypt. And now, his work there was nearly finished. He’d made his fortune. He’d done what he’d set out to do.
Just one more tomb—one more cache of antiquities, and he would be done.
Lightning crackled overhead, a fitting punctuation for his mood. It wouldn’t be long before rain would drench the city. The threatening charcoal sky fit his somber state of mind. By all rights, he should be elated by the news Alex had conveyed with one simple word. If the map did indeed lead to the tomb of the lost princess, the treasure would provide ample funds to complete the restoration of his estate. He would never have to pillage another tomb. At that point, he could join the ranks of Stanwyck and Alexandra’s father, Sir Peter Quinn, exploring tombs for the satisfaction of the hunt, ensuring the artifacts were preserved for the sake of history and culture, rather than trading them to fill his coffers.
As he approached Alex’s red-enameled door, her housekeeper peeped out and let him in without fanfare. “Lord Marlsbrook, please, do come in.”
Was it his imagination, or had Mrs. Thomas managed to infuse his name with a faint undercurrent of contempt? The matron eyed him with a look that could best be deemed suspicious. She had not warmed to him, not in the least. Not that he blamed her. Anyone close to Alex would not find it in their heart to approve of a rogue like him.
God only knew he did not want to hurt Alexandra. Hadn’t he already scarred her tender soul? She was not like him, hardened to the core. How unfortunate that he would inflict the pain of a broken heart on her not once, but twice.
By hellfire, he hadn’t wanted it to go this way. If only the professor had not viewed Alexandra as a suitable guardian for the map. The man should’ve trusted him. After all, he’d relied on him to save Alex from the danger that Stockwell had somehow triggered.
But he’d known better than to provide Benedict with the means to getting his hands on an ancient treasure.
S
ome temptations were simply too inviting to resist.
Few would turn away from a fortune in gold and relics.
If only he’d been stronger…he shouldn’t have kissed Alexandra’s sweet mouth.
He shouldn’t have touched her.
And God help him, he shouldn’t have taken her to bed.
He should not have fallen in love with her.
If only his desire for her had been simple lust. To his very core, he craved her scent and her kiss and her touch. He would never willingly hurt her.
If he were a man of greater integrity, he would take the map and turn it over to Stanwyck.
Or better yet, toss it into the fire.
But he was weak.
Too weak to deserve a woman like Alexandra.
He needed to locate that treasure.
Only a fool would forgo such a rare opportunity. He would be a wealthy man. He’d never have to worry about money again.
What a damnable shame he couldn’t go through with it.
He would reclaim the map. After doing so, he would honor Stockwell’s legacy. He would search out the tomb. He would unveil its riches. And then, he would see to it that the artifacts were entrusted to the Cairo Museum.
For once, he would not betray Alexandra’s faith in him.
He had to be the better man. Even though he could only have her for a few stolen nights—sweet, tender rendezvous that could not lead to a life together.
It isn’t meant to be. She deserves far, far better than the likes of me.
“Hullo, Benedict,” she said. She came toward him, flashing a tempting little smile. With a flick of her wrist, she motioned him into her study.
He paused before the settee. As long as he lived, the image of that plush, comfortable settee and the sound and feel of the love they’d made on it would linger in his memory.
Blast it, a fresh rush of desire careened through his veins, nearly enough to break down his resolve to treat her with patience. Would she believe him an utter heathen if he closed the door behind them and claimed her again and again, right there on that velveteen-covered sofa? Or would she savor every passionate kiss, responding in kind with that delicious mouth?
When a Lady Desires a Wicked Lord_Her Majesty's Most Secret Service Page 18