“So soon?”
“Perhaps their president dying has left important matters up in the air, and they may need to discuss who will take his place.”
“Regardless, Josephine and that frightful David Manning will be there. I’d love to be a fly on the wall.”
“We have a fly on the wall. Edward will be there. Edith was still making up her mind about attending.”
“I’d jump at it.”
“Even as tired as you are?”
“Perhaps not. Goodness. What a day!”
“It certainly was. It seems every day has been quite a day. I suggest we eat this dinner, then go to bed and get a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow night is the auction.”
Chapter Forty-Five
Weary from the long day, Edith had declined Edward’s invitation to join him at the Egyptian Historical Society’s last-minute dinner. Though he was initially disappointed, as he climbed into his carriage to head off to the event he was glad of it. Without Edith by his side he could focus all his attention on Josephine Mountbatten and her secret lover, David Manning, though their affair wasn’t particularly secret anymore. The gossipmongers were already having a field day conjuring up all sorts of nefarious stories about Josephine and David, and how it might relate to the earl’s untimely death.
The invitation had been sent by Sir Walter Fairchild, the society’s treasurer. It stated the gathering was to honor their highly regarded, deceased president, the Earl of Landenbury, but Edward suspected another agenda.
Both Walter Fairchild and Thomas Salsbury—the secretary—wished to be the new president. Edward knew they would spend the evening trying to win favor with Samuel Mountbatten’s widow. The poised, elegant, and rich American woman came and went with alarming irregularity, and there was no telling how long she’d be in town. They had to seize the opportunity while they could!
Edward’s upscale neighborhood was home to many nobles, and the drive to Lord Fairchild’s grand home was a short one. As the carriage rolled through the gates, Edward counted eight coaches. It appeared Walter had invited only those members he considered important. Edward couldn’t help but wonder why he had been included.
Climbing from his carriage and walking up the steps, the butler escorted him into the drawing room and announced his name. A footman immediately appeared with champagne glasses on a silver tray. Edward had just lifted one to his lips when Walter Fairchild strode up to greet him.
“Edward, delighted to have you here.”
“I’m delighted you invited me. I didn’t realize the group would be so intimate.”
“I’ll hold a second memorial and invite all the members in a week or so. This is for the group who showed the greatest interest in the Statue of Kharute. Samuel was so enamored with the piece I thought this would be a unique way to honor him.”
“Ah, yes, I understand.”
“We’re just waiting for Lady Mountbatten and her American friend, David Manning, then we’ll move into the dining room,” Walter said, then pausing, he lowered his voice, and added, “Isn’t it dreadful news about Roger?”
“Roger? I’m not sure what news that might be.”
“You don’t know? He’s ill, old chap. Terribly ill.”
“He is? It must be the shock,” Edward remarked, wondering if Malcolm and Connie had heard. “You know he and Lord Mountbatten were close friends.”
“Yes, they were, but Roger is suffering from something else entirely. A mystery sickness. His father was here earlier today full of questions, most of which I was unable to answer. Apparently Roger has been babbling gibberish about the Statue of Kharute, and of all people, the fugitive Constance Clifford. Not only that, he seems to think Malcolm Mead is some sort of pagan. I know Mead has a reputation of sorts, but he’s hardly some sort of pagan?”
“Strange.”
“You’re friends with Edith Whitby, aren’t you?” Walter asked.
Edward suppressed a smile. Now he knew why he’d been invited.
“I have known Edith for many years. As a matter of fact, I wanted to bring her tonight.”
“What a shame she couldn’t come,” Walter commented with a frown. “She might have been able to shed some light on Roger’s bizarre chattering.”
“I doubt it.”
“She and Malcolm Mead are virtually brother and sister,” Walter said earnestly. “Why don’t you have a chat with her? See if Malcolm has mentioned the missing statue, or that Clifford girl. You never know.”
“When I see her next, I’ll ask her, but I doubt she’d confide in me about Malcolm. Edith is very loyal to him. After all, he did save her life.”
“Ah, yes, true, quite true. I don’t suppose you’ve heard anything about the statue, have you?”
“I wonder if it’s even still in London,” Edward replied vaguely.
“Quite,” Walter said, nodding agreeably, then darted his eyes up. “I say! Would you look at that!”
Turning around, Edward caught his breath.
“Lady Josephine Mountbatten and Mr. David Manning,” the butler announced.
As the room fell quiet and Josephine made her dramatic entrance, like everyone else, Edward stared blatantly at the guest of honor. Though dressed from head to foot in a black, glittering, figure-hugging gown, her shoulders were brazenly bare, as were her upper arms down to the glossy satin gloves at her elbow.
But Josephine hadn’t stopped there.
Her eyes were strikingly lined with black pencil, imitating Cleopatra’s famous makeup, and a golden cobra sat around her head, its fanged mouth open in the center of her brow. Even her dark hair matched the Egyptian queen, shining and straight, falling to her shoulders.
“By Jove,” Walter grunted. “Have you ever seen anything like her?”
“I can’t say I have,” Edward replied, then realized the man had been talking to himself.
As Walter left to greet his guest of honor, Edward spotted David Manning. Shunning the champagne, he was moving quietly toward the drinks cabinet, apparently quite happy to let Josephine bask in the limelight. Casually walking over to join him, Edward arrived as David lifted a decanter marked Malt Whiskey, and poured a hefty amount into a cut crystal glass.
“Hello, Edward,” he said without looking up. “I know I should wait for a butler or footman or some other wretched servant to do this, but I’m not a patient man. Besides, I know how much I want.”
“Hello, David. How is Josephine dealing with the loss of her husband? It must have come as quite a shock.”
“Not really,” David said coolly, raising his drink and taking a swallow. “He was the most uptight guy I ever met. Walked around with a stick up his ass. A heart attack was inevitable. I saw it coming the first time I met him. I told Josephine he wasn’t long for this world, and I was right.”
Controlling a compelling desire to punch the obnoxious man square in the middle of his arrogant face, Edward was saved by the sound of the dinner gong.
“Oh, goodie,” David said, gulping his drink. “It’s feeding time.”
David’s uncouth behavior had been no different at the society’s meetings, but the members had gone out of their way to be hospitable, and not just because of their inbred civility. He’d been a friend of Samuel Mountbatten, the president. With David’s attachment to Josephine, Edward expected the groveling would continue.
“You don’t like me very much, do you, Edward.”
The question took Edward by surprise, and he needed a minute to consider his answer.
“Your silence speaks for itself,” David said with a chuckle. “You Brits. Why don’t you just say what’s on your mind?”
“David, I barely know you,” Edward replied diplomatically, “but I do not find your lack of manners amusing.”
“Is that right?”
“Yes, David, that’s right, now if you’ll excuse me I’m going in.”
Joining the other guests in the adjacent dining room, Edward took his seat next to Thomas Salsbury, the society’s se
cretary, pleased to see David was a distance away at the opposite end of the table. Soup was served, which Edward devoured, but was followed by trout, his least favorite fish.
He picked at the flesh around the bones, then laid down his silverware and glanced toward Josephine. Though she was seated next to Walter’s wife, the captivating American woman was staring at her plate wearing an odd expression, and paying no attention to her hostess. Edward had attended many dinners at which Josephine had been a guest. Unlike her lover, she had always been the epitome of grace, yet she was blatantly ignoring Lady Fairchild.
A strange feeling rolled through the pit of his stomach.
Narrowing his eyes, he studied Josephine intently.
Her hand suddenly clutched her throat.
“Walter!” he exclaimed, jumping to his feet. “Quickly. It’s Josephine. Something’s wrong!”
The table fell into silence.
All eyes darted toward her.
She coughed.
Then coughed again.
Her face contorted, then abruptly pushing herself up from the chair, she frantically waved her arms.
“Do something!” David yelled, jumping to his feet. “For God’s sake, someone do something. She’s choking. Get a doctor. For Chrissake, get a goddamned doctor!”
But Edward was already bolting around the table, and scooping her into his arms, he raced to the drawing room.
“Open the door!” he shouted. “Now!”
A nearby footman hastily stepped up, and with David and Walter hurrying behind him, Edward hurried her to the nearest couch, but she’d already fallen limp in his arms.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured, placing her gently on the sofa cushions. “She’s gone.”
“She can’t be!” Walter exclaimed, panic crossing his face. “I’m sending for the doctor.”
As Walter marched off to dispatch a footman, David stood beside the couch staring down at her, his brow deeply furrowed, his hands stuffed in his pockets.
“This damn country,” he snarled. “It’s nothing but rain and manners. A woman has just died, and dinner is still going on in that room as if nothing’s happened.”
“They have no idea she’s passed away,” Edward said quietly, “and I’m sure everyone is deeply concerned.”
“Serving fish with damn bones,” David sputtered, then walked swiftly to the dining room door and pushed it open. “She’s dead. Josephine is dead from a fucking fish bone!”
As the diners stared at him in shock, he abruptly turned, strode back through the drawing room, into the foyer, and out into the night.
* * *
David’s histrionic announcement brought the party to an abrupt end. With Lady Fairchild deeply shaken from the tragic event, Edward stayed with Josephine while Walter took his wife to bed. One of the housemaids arrived with a blanket, and laying it over Josephine’s body, he lowered his head in a quick, silent prayer. With nothing more to be done, he moved into the foyer to wait for the doctor’s arrival, and found Thomas Salsbury about to leave.
“Where’s the butler?” Edward asked as Thomas buttoned up his coat.
“He had to go downstairs to comfort the cook. The poor woman must be in a dreadful state.”
“What a disaster. Makes me wonder what the bloody hell is going on, if you’ll pardon my language. First, Monty’s heart attack, Roger has become horribly sick, and now this.”
“I know what’s behind it,” Thomas suddenly whispered, staring up at Edward with bright blue eyes distorted behind his thick glasses.
“You do? Please, tell me at once,” Edward insisted, astonished by the man’s claim.
“Come over here,” Thomas muttered under his breath as he grabbed Edward’s arm. Moving into a corner, and taking a deep breath, he whispered, “I haven’t told anyone about this, but... it’s the other curse.”
“What other curse?” Edward asked, disappointed Thomas had nothing substantial to report.
“The Statue of Kharute. It has more than one curse. One of the Egyptian workers who came back with the expedition told me. The second curse is written on the statue itself, under the base. I saw the hieroglyphics the night we were all there. When I ran into him at the museum on another trip I asked him what they meant. That’s when he told me. I’ve been scared to death ever since.”
“Thomas, there’s no such thing as a curse.”
“If I was to tell you what it is, you’d believe me. You would! After everything that’s happened, you would! I haven’t mentioned this to anyone.”
“Why not?”
“I’m not sure,” Thomas muttered with a frown. “I just haven’t, but now I want to.”
Edward studied the nervous little man. He was anxious to share his secret. Hoping it would help to calm him down, Edward placed his hand on Thomas’s arm, and nodded his head.
“It’s all right, Thomas. You can tell me.”
“You don’t mind?”
“Not at all. I’m interested, truly.”
“I can’t repeat it word for word, but here it is. If you hold the statue and you have a dark, evil heart, it will curse you to a horrible death. If you hold the statue and you have a loving, pure heart, it will bless you with great happiness and a long, prosperous life.”
* * *
David Manning had been too angry to sit in the confines of the Mountbatten carriage for the short trip back to the house. He also needed to think, and he couldn’t do that with the damn thing rattling across the cobblestone streets. Josephine’s death could not have come at a worse time. He’d miss her, but he had neither the time nor energy to surrender to any pangs of sadness. He had a more pressing matter to deal with. The auction!
It was the following night.
He didn’t know how high the bidding might go. He had some cash with him, but Josephine would have made up any shortfall.
“Samuel must have left money lying around somewhere,” he muttered as he approached the house. “I need to search every damn cabinet, and there’s that safe behind that paining. I’ll bet there’s some in there. I wonder if Partridge knows the combination.”
He trotted up the front steps, and as if by magic, the door opened and the butler appeared.
“I don’t know how you do it,” David exclaimed, walking inside.
“Do what, sir?”
“You butlers. You always seem to be at the door just when—whose suitcases are those?” David added abruptly, seeing slightly battered luggage in the middle of the foyer.
“Mine, sir. I’m leaving.”
“Leaving? But it’s late. And where the hell are you going?”
“My train is departing early in the morning and I wish to be close to the station.”
“You can’t just leave. Who the hell is going to take care of things?”
“I cannot possibly say, sir. Goodbye.”
“This is crazy,” David shouted, then lunged at the door to block Partridge’s path. “Wait!”
“I no longer work here, sir. My letter of resignation is on Her Ladyship’s desk.”
“Hang on just one minute,” David said urgently, pulling his wallet from his inside coat pocket and withdrawing several bank notes “Here’s one hundred pounds.”
“If you’re asking me to delay my trip—?”
“No, nothing like that. I just need one piece of information.”
“Very well, sir. What would that be?”
“The combination to His Lordship’s safe. The one behind the landscape.”
Partridge paused.
“Dammit, man, you’re leaving. Why do you care? Besides, Her Ladyship won’t be back. She had—well—a mishap at dinner.”
“A mishap, sir?”
“Yeah. The woman’s dead, so she can’t fire you, and you’re taking off anyway. Do you know the combination, or not?”
“Yes, I know it,” Partridge replied slowly, staring at David with wide eyes. “I’m sorry to hear such sad news.”
“I don’t have time to think about it.
What’s the combination?”
“I’ll tell you, though I’m not sure the safe contains anything of value,” Partridge murmured, delicately lifting the notes from David’s fingers. “Do you wish to write it down, or can you remember the numbers?”
“I have an excellent memory. What is it?”
Partridge slowly recited the combination, then picked up his suitcases, and with David holding the door open for him, he walked outside and into his new life.
“Blasted butler,” David grunted, striding into the office and moving straight to the painting.
Finding the button and popping the latch, he spun the dial, then moved the lever. The door opened. There were various documents, but no cash.
“Dammit to hell!” he yelled, slamming the small metal door. “Shit. Maybe I should just take my gun and steal the damn thing.”
Chapter Forty-Six
Waking with Connie still wrapped in his arms, Malcolm breathed in her sweet, feminine fragrance and relished the feel of her naked body next to his. In spite of the pending auction, and the grave circumstances swirling around them, he’d slept long and deep.
A smile crossed his lips.
Connie would soon be out in public buying a wedding dress with her head held high. Happy plans would be made, and all those who had scorned her would be eating crow.
“Good morning,” she murmured, shifting in his arms.
“I’ll show you a good morning,” he replied huskily, his cock hard and hungry.
Rolling her on her back and resting on top of her, he pushed her legs open with his, grabbed her wrists and held them above her head.
“Tell me what you want,” he whispered, his lips pressed against her ear.
“Your big member inside me.”
As she’d panted her response, she tried to squirm beneath him, but the weight of his body had her imprisoned. Moving his hips and letting his cock find its way to her entrance, he thrust forward. She gasped, then closed her eyes as he offered up the slow, powerful strokes she’d come to love, but abruptly releasing her wrists, he slid his hands beneath her and clutched her bottom.
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