by Olivia Drake
Yet Miles found her desirable.
A delicious shiver coursed through Bella, for she found him very desirable, too. There, she’d admitted it. Miles tantalized her—and not just in the realm of the physical. He stirred her curiosity, too. He kept himself as closely guarded as these artifacts, and she sensed there was much more to him than he showed the world. How she would love to uncover all of his secrets …
No! Spending more time in his company would be the height of folly. She had to put Miles out of her mind and concentrate on her mission to hunt down the treasure map. That meant finding a way back into the storeroom where he’d forbidden her access.
And if he caught her again, what would he do to her? Foolish or not, she could scarcely wait to find out.
* * *
“Miss Jones appeared to be limping a bit,” Helen said as they headed down the corridor. “Did she hurt herself?”
“Yes.” Miles spoke curtly, recalling how Bella had refused his assistance. She was the most stubborn woman he’d ever known. And also the most intriguing. He had never before realized how stimulating the ordinary scent of soap could be …
“What happened to her?” Helen asked.
Miles intercepted her sharp glance. He hoped to God she hadn’t guessed that he and Bella had just been caught up in the most erotic nonembrace of his life. “A piece of stone fell on her foot.”
“Ah!” Helen’s lips curved in an arch smile. “That explains it.”
Miles found her reaction unsavory. It would be just like her to revel in someone else’s injury. But today he didn’t want to contemplate the strange workings of Helen’s mind. He would rather reflect upon what had just happened in the drawing room.
He felt almost cheerful as they entered his study. The encounter with Bella had vented a portion of his pent-up frustration. He had enjoyed trading wits with her, watching those animated blue eyes react to his suggestive comments. His touch on her face had caused her expression to soften. Even as she’d vehemently denied wanting to kiss him again, her gaze had flitted to his lips.
Yes, Bella desired him, though maidenly scruples stopped her from admitting it aloud. Clearly, she was determined to keep him at arm’s length. He was sorely tempted to test that resolve.
Miles had always avoided virgins. He had no interest in marriage, so what was the point? His women were the sort who tumbled into bed at a snap of his fingers. They could be had for the price of a few coins. Pursuit had never been necessary. Whores were always there, always available, an efficient and straightforward means of satisfying his lust.
Now, however, he found himself relishing the prospect of the chase. He wanted to tease Bella, to flirt with her, to stir her desires. Her wit and intelligence made him curious to learn more about her likes and dislikes, her childhood and her years abroad.
But he had no intention of taking her to his bed. None whatsoever. He had made a firm decision about that, and he wouldn’t relent. Bella Jones was merely a novelty to him, an enjoyable pastime. As soon as she supplied the information he wanted about Sir Seymour, Miles would send her on her way.
“There must be something quite interesting in those papers,” Helen said lightly from her chair across from him. “I do believe you’ve forgotten my presence entirely.”
Miles hadn’t even been aware of sitting down behind his desk. Or staring at the loose pages of the hieroglyphic dictionary spread across the polished mahogany surface.
He leaned back in the leather chair and regarded his cousin-in-law. She made an angelic picture, the mint-green gown a perfect foil for her fair features. But he wasn’t fooled. As usual, Helen had some busybody purpose for wanting to speak to him.
She was damned lucky he felt magnanimous today, or he’d already have sent her packing. “I was thinking about all the work I have to finish,” he said. “So tell me what you want and be quick about it.”
She worked her face into a pouty expression, one that she’d no doubt practiced in front of a mirror. “I’m only here to help you, Miles. You see, I’ve been considering the situation you’re in, and I’m very concerned for you.”
“Situation?”
“Yes. With Miss Jones living here. I realize that you felt obligated to hire her, given her father’s connection to the family, but—”
“I was not obligated,” he corrected in irritation. “I needed a job done, and she is doing it for me.”
Helen pursed her lips. “But you must realize that it’s highly irregular for a lady to live in the household of an unmarried gentleman. People are already talking.”
“Let the snobs gossip, it means nothing to me.” He gathered a few of the papers into a sheaf. “Now, if that’s all you’ve come here to say…”
She leaned forward, her hands clasped in a virtuous pose. “Please, Miles, I beg you to consider how your behavior reflects upon Oscar and me. That is why I would like to offer the perfect solution. Something that would be best for everyone.”
“And just what might that be?”
“I am proposing to act as chaperone to Miss Jones. Oscar and I can move into Aylwin House for the length of her stay, and then there will be no hint of impropriety.”
Miles snorted. He could think of nothing more irksome than bumping into her and his foppish cousin every day. “Good God. You can’t be serious.”
“I am, indeed. Only think of Miss Jones. Do you care so little for her reputation?”
“I doubt she’ll be entering society anytime soon.”
“But when she leaves here, she may seek a post as a governess among the ton. She won’t be hired if you’ve allowed her good character to be ruined.”
Miles narrowed his eyes. Helen was too selfish to make altruistic gestures. She had to have a reason to keep a close eye on Bella; he doubted she’d inconvenience herself for fear of gossip. Did she view Bella as some sort of threat? The most logical answer jolted him. Nothing could strike greater terror into Helen’s social-climbing heart than the prospect of losing her chance to become a duchess someday. She must fear he meant to propose marriage to Bella. That he might sire a son to usurp Oscar’s place as heir to the dukedom.
For an instant, his blood heated at the notion of claiming Bella as his own, having her in his bed, making love to her each night for the rest of his life. But he rejected the notion at once. His life was already arranged exactly as he wanted it. He had no need for a wife. Especially a headstrong one who would be constantly underfoot, reorganizing his artifacts and disturbing his concentration.
And despite Helen’s accusation, he hadn’t allowed Bella’s reputation to be harmed. Bella had asked to be housed under his roof. It had been her choice, not his.
He pushed back his chair and stood up. “The answer is no. Miss Jones is not a guest here but an employee. As such, she requires no chaperone.”
Helen’s expression turned petulant. “Well!” she said huffily. “I don’t believe you can see what is going on right under your nose. Men seldom do.”
“See what?”
“Isabella Jones has designs on you, Miles. A woman can tell these things in other females. And from the way she looks at you, it is quite clear she is angling for an offer of marriage!”
Miles bit back a dark chuckle. So he’d guessed right about Helen’s purpose. “Poppycock.”
“It’s true, I swear it. She’s extremely crafty—only look at how she insinuated herself into your household. Being so plain-faced, she will no doubt be forced to concoct a ruse in which to trap you into wedlock. Be forewarned of that!”
If only Helen knew, Bella had fended him off with a knife.
“Bella, plain?” he mocked. “Rather, I would say she has fine blue eyes, a pleasing smile, and a handsome figure. Should I ever choose to court her, it is no concern of yours.”
Helen paled. “Court her? Why, she was raised among savages!”
Miles had had quite enough of the woman’s smug commentary. He pointed to the door. “Better a savage than a meddlesome gossip,” he
said. “Now, begone with you!”
Chapter 14
The following morning, Hasani entered the drawing room with a large package in his arms. His robes swirling around him, he walked briskly forward and laid down the parcel on a crate. “His Grace asked me to deliver this to you, Miss Jones.”
Bella had been sorting through a box of miscellany. Her eyes widening, she hurried to him. “For me? But what is it?”
“I do not know. His Grace went out himself this morning to purchase it.” The Egyptian valet waved his olive-skinned hand at the parcel. “He said you were to open it at once.”
Mystified, she untied the string and tore away the paper. Inside lay a generous length of white silk. With a sigh of pleasure, she stroked her hand over the soft fabric. “Oh, how lovely!” She glanced at Hasani to find him watching with polite curiosity. “Yesterday, I suggested to the duke that the scarabs should be displayed on a piece of cloth like this. How kind of him to remember.”
“Kind” seemed too mild a word. Bella felt stunned and amazed that Miles had listened to her. It gratified her to think that he might truly support her proposal to exhibit his artifacts to their best advantage.
“Such a plan is most admirable,” Hasani said, his face warming in a smile. “I have long believed that even damaged treasures such as these deserve to be honored. Perhaps I might bring some tables down from the attic for your use.”
“Thank you, that would be most helpful.” She tapped her forefinger on her chin while glancing around at the piles of broken statues and other bric-a-brac. “I shall have to think about how to make room for the tables.”
Hasani bowed. “I will leave you to your work, then.”
“Please, wait,” she said as he turned to go. “If I might ask you a question.”
Bella had been mulling over her mission. She had assumed the treasure map was in the storeroom attached to Miles’s study. But what if she was wrong? What if it was hidden in another location?
“I would like to identify all of the items in this room,” she told the Egyptian. “Do you know if there are files somewhere describing them? Or paperwork relating to the expedition? Surely someone must have written out notes or lists before the articles were shipped to England.”
Hasani gave her a keen look. “Have you not checked the archives, then?”
“Are you referring to the place where the duke keeps the papyri?” Bella asked cautiously. “I was told not to enter there for fear of damaging the ancient documents.”
“No, there is another chamber. Come, I will be happy to escort you there. If now is a convenient time, that is.”
“Of course! That would be perfect.”
As she fell into step beside him and they went out into the grand passageway, Bella couldn’t believe her luck. Her hunch had proven correct. The map didn’t necessarily have to be stored with the papyri. It might just as easily be tucked in with old notes and shipping lists. And since Miles had not forbidden her to enter the archives room, she would be free to search to her heart’s content.
All of a sudden, she realized they were approaching the arched entry to the west wing. Her steps faltered and Hasani looked inquiringly at her. “Is aught amiss?” he asked.
“I’m afraid His Grace may not approve of me entering his private quarters.”
Hasani gave her a slight smile. “Then you will be relieved to know that the archives room is right here.”
He proceeded a few more steps to a closed door directly opposite the entry to the west wing. Wrapping his fingers around the brass handle, he swung open the white wood panel and politely allowed her to precede him through the doorway.
Bella walked inside to find herself in a long chamber as large and spacious as the blue drawing room. Murals of cavorting nymphs and satyrs decorated the high ceiling, and panels in shades of green and gold covered the walls. Clearly, the space had once been used as some sort of reception room under previous dukes.
Sunshine poured through the tall windows and illuminated the many rows of dark oak cabinetry. So this was where the Egyptian archives were kept, she thought in rising excitement. All of the paperwork related to the long-ago expedition to the Valley of the Kings had been filed right here. There appeared to be quite a lot of drawers, enough to keep her busy for days. Why had she not thought of asking about the records sooner?
Then she noticed that the chamber was divided into two distinct areas. The filing cabinets took up only half the space. The other half, at the far end of the room, had open shelves stacked with numerous long packages that appeared to be wrapped in strips of linen. One of the swathed bundles had been propped upright within a man-sized casket. Its form was eerily human.
Her heart jumped. Were those … mummies? The swaddled remains of ancient pharaohs?
She was about to ask Hasani when he abruptly pushed past her without an apology. His attention was fixed on something beyond her, and an icy mask of fury had replaced his pleasant expression. The sudden ferocity of his countenance chilled her to the bone.
What had wrought the change in him?
In a whirl of white robes, the Egyptian flew toward the far end of the chamber, and Bella felt compelled to follow. She quickly realized what Hasani had seen.
In front of one of the windows, a man was leaning over a wooden table on which lay one of the mummies. He was slowly unwrapping the linen strips that bound the body. Bella recognized his balding head and stocky form, the ill-fitting brown coat and sloppy trousers.
Mr. William Banbury-Davis.
“Stop!” Hasani commanded. “Stop what you are doing at once!”
Banbury-Davis lifted his head, annoyance on his bulldog face. He brandished a pair of shiny tweezers in one hand. “Why the devil are you shouting?” Then he glanced at Bella and gave her a brief, disgruntled nod. “Miss Jones.”
His fists clenched at his sides, Hasani stalked straight to him. “You are not to unwrap any of these mummies unless I am present to supervise.”
“Oh, bosh. I’m the scholar here, not you. Besides, Aylwin has granted me permission to work in this room for a few days.”
Hasani stared coldly at him. “You have misunderstood, then. His Grace would never cede my right to oversee the process. These are sacred remains and they must be blessed before being unwrapped.”
Banbury-Davis grunted a sound of skepticism. “What, do you fear the consequences if you fail to mutter your mumbo jumbo over it? As if Ra or Anubis might curse us all!”
“Perhaps you would prefer that I summon the duke to determine which of us has authority here.”
The two men stared at each other for a few moments. Dust motes danced in a beam of sunshine, a benign contrast to the palpable tension in the air. Then Banbury-Davis tossed down the tweezers and stepped back. “Just get it over with, then. And for pity’s sake, don’t take all day.”
The Egyptian stepped forward and placed both of his hands, palms down, over the wrapped face of the mummy. Bella watched in fascination as Hasani bowed from the waist in a pose of supplication. With his head bent, she could clearly view the stylistic eye tattooed on the back of his neck. But she couldn’t quite make out the words he spoke, foreign words uttered in a musical murmur.
A little shiver raced over her skin. She was reminded of an image she’d seen chiseled on a granite stela in the ballroom, the depiction of a religious ceremony with a pharaoh. Hasani might have been an Egyptian priest performing an ancient ritual.
* * *
Many hours later, trudging up the staircase to the east wing, Bella felt pleasantly weary. She had enjoyed a productive day in the drawing room and had worked late, forced to stop only by the loss of light at dusk. In her arm, she carried a sheaf of papers from the archives.
After the brief altercation with William Banbury-Davis, and the subsequent blessing of the mummy, Hasani had grown calmer. He had regained his natural friendliness and had escorted her to the section of cabinetry that contained the shipping lists. He had gathered the appropriate p
apers for her and then shut the drawer. Having no excuse to linger, she’d left him and Mr. Banbury-Davis to their work.
Bella fully intended to return to the archives in the dark of night. She itched to conduct a thorough search through all of the records. And she certainly didn’t wish to do so under the watchful eyes of Hasani or Mr. Banbury-Davis.
Or the Duke of Aylwin.
Reaching her floor, she started down the long, shadowed corridor. Twilight shrouded the windows at either end, but she could still see her way through the gloom. As she walked, a sense of isolation settled over her. How peculiar to reside in the same house with Miles and yet not encounter him the entire day. She had not seen him since the previous afternoon when he had pressed her up against the wall and told her how much he burned for her.
The memory caused a throb of pleasure deep inside of her. She didn’t understand how he could have such a powerful effect on her. He was far too domineering and forceful. Yet he had given way to her wish to reorganize the artifacts. He had even gifted her with the white silk on which to display the scarabs. And he had agreed not to seduce her without her consent.
Not that she would ever grant him such permission, of course, for nothing could come of this attraction she felt for him. He would never offer marriage, and she would never allow him to ravish her. If he was expecting her to initiate their next kiss, he’d have to wait until he was as ancient as those mummies in the archives.
No, she must concentrate on finding the map. Then she could claim her half of the pharaoh’s treasure from Miles, go home to Oxford, and resume her quiet life with Lila and Cyrus. All of the wild, inappropriate passions inside her would soon be forgotten …
Nearing the door to her bedchamber, Bella suddenly spied a movement in the gloom ahead. A wraithlike figure flitted through the shadows at the end of the passageway.
It hovered there for a moment, whitish and insubstantial. A faint unearthly moaning drifted down the corridor. Then the figure glided onward and vanished as swiftly as it had appeared.
Bella stopped dead and blinked. Gooseflesh prickled down her spine. What had she just seen? Nan had claimed this floor was haunted, but Bella had scoffed at the notion of ghosts.