Secrets of a Proper Lady

by Victoria Alexander

  “And?” he said in a low tone rich with meaning.

  “And,” she drew a deep breath and disregarded any thought of caution. “And I like the way you look at me as if you had a hunger only I could satisfy. I like the dark richness of your eyes and I like that I have to look up to gaze into them, and when I do I feel as if something inside me is melting. I like the sound of your laugh and how I know you’re near even when I’ve yet to see you.

  “And I liked how when you kissed me, the rest of the world vanished.” She met his gaze firmly and steeled herself against the effect of the dark heat of his eyes. “And how in your arms I felt as if I were exactly where I was supposed to be.”

  He smiled slowly. “I would say we know a lot about each other, Miss Palmer.”

  “Perhaps we do, Mr. Lewis.”

  “Although there is always more to learn.”

  “Indeed.”

  “It might take a great deal of time.” He paused. “Years perhaps.”

  “That is a great deal of time.” If he was about to say what she thought he might be about to say, time had run out. She drew a deep breath. “Mr. Lewis.”

  “Miss Palmer,” he said at the same time, then nodded. “I’ve come to a decision—”

  “I really should tell you—”

  “I think it’s only right—”

  “Before we go any further—” She stopped. “If we’re both going to talk at the same time we shall never get anything resolved.”

  “And there is much to be resolved,” he murmured. “But perhaps this is not the place or the time.”

  She glanced around at the stone figures still keeping their secrets after thousands of years of silence. “Perhaps not.”

  “I know you’re reluctant to allow me to call on you. I assume that’s because of your position in the household.”

  “Yes, well, my position does make things a bit awkward,” she said under her breath.

  “Nonetheless, I will call on you tomorrow.” His decided gaze met hers. “Frankly, I’m tired of whatever game we’ve been playing.”

  “Really?” She forced a weak smile. “I’ve thought it was something of an adventure. I’d hate to see it end.”

  “Yes, I suppose it has been and I too hate to see it end. However, it strikes me that the very best of adventures are often just the beginning.” He smiled and offered her his arm. “But enough talk of the present. I suspect you know a great deal more about all of this than I.”

  Her eyes widened. “All of what?”

  “The statues, the sculptures, the remnants of ancient Egypt.” He studied her curiously. “What did you think I meant?”

  “I thought you meant all of this as it pertains to…to the nature of adventure, in which case perhaps I do.” She groaned to herself. How could an intelligent woman sound like such an idiot? “Not to ancient Egypt although I probably do know a great deal about it.” She paused. “And to modern Egypt itself of course.”

  “Then, Miss Palmer,” he paused in a solemn manner, “would you do me the very great honor of becoming”—she stared up at him, he grinned down at her—“my tour guide?”

  For the longest moment their gazes locked, then she smiled slowly. “I should be delighted, Mr. Lewis.” She took his arm and indicated the closest sculpture. “Let us then begin here. This colossal head was found in Karnak and is believed to be that of Thothmes the third…”

  For the next few hours, Cordelia led him through the galleries devoted to Egyptian deities and royalty. They passed sphinxes with human heads or heads of hawks or lions. They wandered through the room devoted to Lycia and saw the Xanthian marbles. They debated the differences between Egyptian sculpture and the more refined style of the Greeks. All in all, Cordelia couldn’t remember the last time she’d had such an enjoyable morning. Warren’s questions were intelligent, his observations astute, and his sense of the absurd most amusing. It struck her that they were indeed well suited for one another. Not that it mattered.

  Today she and Warren had wandered through the past. Tomorrow she was certain he wanted to talk about the future. Which left only tonight for her to straighten out this mess, to confess all, to tell him there was no future. And someone was going to be hurt. Her heart twisted at the fear that she might possibly break his heart.

  And twisted as well at knowing that his heart would not break alone.

  When, on occasion, one finds native customs to be distasteful to English sensibilities, remember, gentle traveler, that you are a guest in a foreign land and keep your opinions on such matters to yourself.

  An English Lady’s Traveling Companion

  Chapter 12

  My Dear Lady Cordelia,

  I have obviously offended you and for that you have my apologies. Indeed, your point is well taken and while I cannot wholeheartedly agree with you, I do accept that your perspective and mine are shaped by our respective histories and surroundings. Out of a misplaced sense of loyalty, I chose to emphasize the clashes between our countries rather than the ties that bind us together. For that I must ask your forgiveness.

  Our similarities are far more significant than our differences. Indeed, we have a great deal in common…

  Cordelia sat in her carriage a few doors down from the house Warren resided in with Mr. Sinclair and gathered her courage. She absolutely could not allow him to call on her. Between Hodges, Aunt Lavinia, Sarah, and now Will, someone would surely tell him the truth before Cordelia had the opportunity. And as bad as this was, that would make it all much worse. No, Cordelia had to tell him and she had to tell him now. It could be put off no longer.

  A tall, dark-haired man left the house and she realized this must be Mr. Sinclair. He was indeed handsome enough, she reluctantly admitted to herself. Well, if she had to marry a pompous, arrogant ass, he might as well be attractive. Still, his last letter had been surprisingly conciliatory in tone. She supposed it was possible that Warren was right. The man might well be as apprehensive about this marriage as she was. It would be two weeks until her family returned from Brighton and she had to meet him in person. Hopefully, by then she would be able to accept her inevitable fate.

  Tonight she had to do what she’d already waited far too long to do. She had to face as well the fact that she was in love with Warren Lewis. Madly, passionately, and irrevocably in love. And now, she had to say goodbye.

  She could indeed reject marriage to Mr. Sinclair and her family’s fortune would be damaged but probably not ruined. But her family—her father—had given her everything she had ever wanted. Her father had made it possible for her to travel. In many ways he had given her the world. The least she could do in return was ease the lines of worry from his face, the resignation in his eyes. Such were the obligations of a daughter or an adult or a princess.

  Now, she had to tell Warren the truth before he found out from someone else.

  Her driver assisted her out of the carriage. She stepped up to the front door and knocked. It was entirely improper to arrive sans chaperone, but what difference did it make now? Propriety was the least of her concerns. She was about to tell the man she loved she wasn’t who he thought she was and she was going to marry someone else to boot. His employer as well as his friend. In a few minutes, he would no doubt detest her, her heart would break and it was entirely her own doing.

  A butler opened the door and she forced a pleasant smile. “I should like to see Mr. Lewis if you please.”

  The butler cast an appraising glance over her, obviously judged her to be of quality, and ushered her into the foyer. “I am sorry, Miss. Mr. Lewis is not here.”

  She frowned. “Are you certain?”

  “Quite certain. He left through this very door not more than two minutes ago.”

  “Two minutes ago, you say?” She stared at the butler. “The gentleman who left was Mr. Lewis? Mr. Warren Lewis?”

  “The only Mr. Lewis in residence here.”

  “You’re certain it wasn’t Mr. Sinclair? Could you possibly be confused?”


  The butler sniffed. “I am never confused, Miss.”

  “And no one else has left? In the last few minutes, that is?”

  “No one has come or gone, Miss.”

  A horrendous thought occurred to her. Surely she was mistaken. “Is Mr…. Sinclair here?

  “Yes, Miss, he’s in the office.”

  “Tell me.” She lowered her voice in a confidential manner. “Does he resemble Mr. Lewis?”

  “They share a similarity of height and build and coloring. They could indeed be brothers, Miss, yes.” He inclined his head toward her and matched his tone to hers. “Although I have it on very good authority that not all Americans look alike.”

  “That is good to know.” She thought for a moment. Surely, this wasn’t possible. “But does Mr. Sinclair look like a pirate?”

  The butler’s brow arched. “A pirate, Miss?”

  “Does he have a scar.” She touched her forehead above her right eyebrow. “Here?”

  “Yes, Miss, he does.”

  “I see.” Shock stole her breath. The man she knew as Warren Lewis was actually Daniel Sinclair? Daniel Sinclair? The man she was supposed to marry?

  “Miss?”

  Her pirate was the pompous, arrogant ass? He’d been deceiving her all this time? Lying to her? He was indeed an ass as well as a pirate.

  “Are you ill, Miss?” Cautious concern sounded in the butler’s voice. “You look rather pale.”

  “Do I?” she murmured absently, barely noting his words.

  Warren or Daniel or whoever he was had kissed her! The nerve of the man! He’d kissed her, and worse, she’d kissed him never knowing she was kissing Daniel Sinclair. She’d thought she was kissing Warren Lewis. Nice, honorable, honest Warren Lewis.

  And who had Daniel Sinclair been kissing? Not the woman he was expected to marry. Oh no, he’d been kissing another woman entirely. He’d been kissing Sarah Palmer. The cad! The beast! Why, Cordelia’s indiscretion in kissing a man other than the one she was supposed to marry wasn’t nearly as significant in comparison. The fact that she’d been just as deceitful as he was scarcely worth mentioning. She was furious. Incensed. Outraged.

  “Are you feeling better now, Miss?”

  “What?”

  “The color has returned to your face.” The butler frowned. “But perhaps you would like to sit down?”

  “Thank you, but no, I’m fine,” she said firmly and realized it was true. Apparently, anger of this magnitude brought with it an amazing sense of calm. All the better to absorb her discovery and consider the repercussions.

  Good God, she’d fallen in love with the right American after all! What a shame that now she’d have to strangle him with her bare hands.

  She drew a steadying breath and cast the butler her most pleasant smile. The very one she used on porters and doormen and hotel managers that never failed to provoke excellent service. “And you are?”

  “Gilliam, Miss.”

  “Well, Gilliam, would you be so good as to inform Mr. Sinclair that Miss Palmer is here to see Mr. Lewis.”

  “Of course, Miss, but Mr. Lewis isn’t here.”

  “I know that and you know that and Mr. Sinclair probably knows it as well, but what he doesn’t know is that I know. And I think the fact that I do know should remain our secret.”

  He stared for a moment. “As you wish, Miss.”

  “And do try not to look surprised by anything you may hear.

  “My dear young woman, even in a household of Americans.” Gilliam sniffed. “I never look surprised. If you will excuse me.” With that, he crossed the foyer to a closed door, knocked and let himself into the room.

  Cordelia wished she could have just a fraction of his composure. She would need it. The implications of all of this were still hard to grasp.

  Not only could the princess have everything she wanted, the princess would have everything she wanted. The commoner had turned out to be a prince after all. But there was a price to be paid for said transformation. She wasn’t entirely sure what it was yet but like so many of her smashing ideas in the past, she was confident inspiration would strike just when she needed it most.

  Gilliam returned to the foyer. “Might I take your hat and wrap, Miss?”

  “Yes, thank you.” She untied the ribbons of her hat, handed it to the butler, slipped off the short mantle, hesitated, then removed her gloves.

  Gilliam nodded and passed everything to a footman. “One moment, please, Miss.” He returned to the door that obviously led into the office, failing to close it completely behind him. She stepped closer.

  “Brown, sir,” Gilliam said on the other side of the door apparently in response to a question. “I can certainly tell blond from brown and Miss Palmer’s hair is definitely a dark brown.”

  Warren—or rather Daniel—asked a question Cordelia couldn’t quite make out.

  “Green, sir,” Gilliam added. “Definitely green. Quite unique, sir.” He paused. “I’m not sure I’ve seen the ocean before a storm, sir.”

  Cordelia moved away from the door. Warren—Daniel—was obviously asking about the hair and eye color of the woman asking for Mr. Lewis. Why on earth—

  At once the answer struck her. The real Sarah’s hair was blond and her eyes were brown. But Warren—Daniel—would have no way of knowing that unless…

  Unless he’d met the real Sarah Palmer. Which meant he knew who Cordelia really was!

  Angry indignation swept through her. This was worse than she’d thought. The question now was how long had he known? And what was she going to do about it?

  Gilliam returned to the foyer, ushered her into the office, then closed the door behind her.

  Warren—Daniel, she had to start thinking of him as Daniel—started toward her from behind a desk across the room. He had discarded his coat, his shirt was open at the neck, and he looked both relaxed and delicious. Except for the surprised and vaguely apprehensive smile on his face. “Sarah, what an unexpected pleasure.”

  At once she realized what she had to do. What she wanted to do. And what would serve him right.

  “Warren!” She flew across the room and into his arms.

  “Sarah,” Daniel murmured, just as her lips met his. Surprise turned to pleasure and desire. Immediate and intense and damn near irresistible. Her lips were warm and full, her kiss most enthusiastic. He gathered her closer and for a moment lost himself in the absolute delight of having her in his arms. The heat of her body against his, her lips pressed eagerly to his own. He’d wanted her from very nearly the first moment they’d met. Now—

  Now, this was a huge mistake. What was he doing? What was he thinking? No, he wasn’t thinking at all, which always got him in trouble. He gently untangled her arms from around his neck and stepped back, catching her hands in his.

  “Co—Sarah,” he said firmly and reminded himself to call her Sarah even though he’d started thinking of her as Cordelia. He’d had a devil of a time this morning keeping her names straight. “This isn’t really proper behavior, is it? Aside from the fact that you shouldn’t be here. Alone.”

  “Oh, Warren, Warren, Warren.” She sighed deeply and fluttered her lashes at him. “I think we’re far past concerns of propriety, don’t you?”

  “I don’t see why,” he said cautiously.

  “Goodness, Warren, nearly every time we have met it has been in secret.” She did have a point.

  “Even so, it has always been in a public place. One could argue that there wasn’t anything the least bit improper with our…encounters.” God, he sounded stuffy. Obviously he’d been in England far too long.

  She leaned toward him. “Rather a shame, don’t you think. Warren?”

  “What do you mean, a shame?”

  “Oh, I think you know what I mean, Warren.”

  He stared down at her. “Why do you keep saying my name like that?”

  “I like saying your name. I like the way it rolls off the tongue. Warrrr.” She drew a deep breath after the fir
st syllable and exhaled slowly with the second. “Rennn.”

  He swallowed hard. He’d never imagined a simple name could sound so provocative.

  “Indeed, I like your name. No, I adore your name. Warren.” She fairly sighed the word. “It’s a wonderful name. Strong and masculine and honest. Did you know it means loyal in German? Exactly like the man himself.”

  “It’s just a name like any other name. Like…like Daniel. Daniel is a nice name. And Daniel means…” He had no idea.

  “It means God is my judge. In Hebrew.” She smiled in an innocent manner. Too innocent. It was more than a little frightening.

  “I would think that ultimately God is everyone’s judge,” he said slowly.

  “Then we should probably all be called Daniel.” She cast him a brilliant smile. “Although, I daresay, it might be rather confusing. Daniel Sinclair, Daniel Lewis, Daniel Palmer, Daniel here, Daniel there, Daniel everywhere you look. Why, one could call out Daniel in a crowd and everyone would answer.”

  He smiled in spite of himself. “That’s ridiculous.”

  “But amusing.” She pulled her hands from his, rested them on his chest, and sighed up at him. “Still, I do like loyal so much more than wrath of God.”

  He frowned. “You said it meant God is my judge.”

  “And once he’s judged no doubt there will be hell to pay.” She patted his chest for emphasis then turned away. “Although I suppose one name is just as good as another.”

  “Shakespeare thought so.” When in doubt, fall back on the tried and true. No one was more tried and true than Shakespeare and at the moment, no one more in doubt than Daniel himself. No matter what she called him. “‘What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.’”

  “You’re resorting to Shakespeare? My goodness, my unexpected appearance must have you more ill at ease than I thought.” She grinned. “I find it charming of you. But if you wish to invoke Shakespeare…” She shrugged. “He said any number of things usually appropriate to the occasion, whatever that occasion may be. Let me think.” She paused and tapped her forefinger against her chin. “‘Love all, trust a few. Do wrong to none.’ From All’s Well That Ends Well. Or ‘No legacy is so rich as honesty.’ Again from All’s Well that Ends Well.” She raised a brow. “Well?”