by Olivia Drake
“That isn’t the worst of it,” she admitted. “You see, the letters have vanished. I can’t find them anywhere.”
His jaw clenched. “The devil you say!”
“I’m very sorry, Your Grace.” Bella had hoped the confession would lift a burden from her, but instead she felt small and miserable. “I put them in my bedside table for safekeeping. But when I looked for them earlier, to return them to the storeroom, they were gone.”
“You misplaced them.”
She shook her head emphatically. “No, I distinctly recall securing them in the drawer. I’ve searched throughout my bedchamber and they’re nowhere to be found.”
“They can’t have walked away on their own.” He strode toward her. “Blast it, move aside. I want to look for myself.”
Bella turned around, opened the door, and preceded him into the bedchamber. Clearly Miles doubted her word, and she felt compelled to prove herself.
Thick shadows cloaked the corners of the room, veiling the chairs by the hearth and the large four-poster bed. The draperies had been drawn over the tall windows. The only light came from the dying embers of the fire—at least until Miles strode inside with the candelabrum.
She hastened to the bedside table and opened the drawer. “See? There’s nothing here. The letters are gone.”
He came closer so that the candlelight spilled into the empty space. “You’re certain this is where they were.”
“Absolutely. I was reading them in bed before I went to sleep. Then I tied them up with string and put them away here.”
Miles leaned forward to glance behind the table. “Who would have taken them? I presume no one comes into this room but your maid.”
Bella considered telling him about the ghostly robed figure she’d spied at the end of the corridor. That had been a person, she was sure of it. But in his present fit of temper, Miles likely would accuse her of being irrational.
She watched as he set the candelabrum on the table and then hunkered down to peer under the bed. Gazing down at his broad back, she felt anxious to win back his goodwill. If only he could be as relaxed and charming again as he’d been over dinner … “I questioned Nan, but she swore that she never saw any letters. She wouldn’t have looked in this drawer, anyway. I’ve no reason to doubt her word—”
“Here they are.”
Miles reached under the bed and withdrew the packet of letters. He brushed off a few wisps of dust that clung to the edges.
Bella blinked, scarcely able to believe her eyes. “How in the world did they get under there?”
He rose to his feet. “Perhaps you only thought you put the letters into the drawer. If you went to sleep with them, they could have slipped out of your fingers and fallen beneath the bed.”
Stunned, she took the little packet from him and turned it over in her hands. All of the letters appeared to be present. But the explanation didn’t fit her memory. She hadn’t gone immediately to sleep after putting the letters away. She’d sat up against the pillows, puzzling over the identity of the Marquess of Ramsgate and reminiscing about her father …
All of a sudden, Bella noticed something odd. “I tied a bow in the string,” she said. “But this one is knotted.”
Miles gave a dismissive shake of his head. “If you were weary enough to fall asleep with them, then you can’t be so certain how you secured them.”
But she was certain. She’d taught Lila and Cyrus always to tie loops since knots could be difficult to undo. Was it possible that someone had taken the letters? And after reading them, had placed the packet under the bed to fool her into thinking she’d dropped it there?
Yes, it was conceivable. But who would have done so?
Hasani?
The Egyptian might have been the robed figure. Yet having worked in this house for many years, he’d have had ample opportunity to read the letters. It made no sense for him to wait until now to do so. And why would he have been poking around in her bedchamber, anyway?
Bella kept those uneasy speculations to herself. Miles still looked angry, his mouth compressed and his eyebrows lowered. He was already provoked by her for having borrowed the letters. She certainly didn’t wish to add fuel to the fire by voicing suspicions of his longtime valet.
She clutched the small packet to her bosom. He was no longer the warm, appealing man who’d shared a meal with her; he had reverted to being the chilly, remote Duke of Aylwin. She ached to restore the camaraderie between them. If only she knew how.
“I’m sorry for taking the letters without your permission, Your Grace. I swear I had no idea at the time that Papa had written them to you.” Taking a few steps, she stopped directly in front of him. “I suppose you’ll be wanting them back now.”
She held out the packet, but he made no move to take it. He gazed down at her with an intensity that made the very air come alive. “Keep them,” he said. “They mean more to you than they do to me.”
“But you’ve saved them all these years. You surely must have done so for a reason.”
“Whatever the reason, it no longer matters.” His gaze dipped to her bosom. “Especially when I’ve more important things on my mind.”
A thrill skittered over her skin, as if he had reached inside her bodice to caress her bare flesh. His eyes held a raw desire that called to her deepest feminine yearnings. In a silken growl, he added, “I shouldn’t be here, you know. It isn’t proper. You surely must realize how unseemly it is to invite a man into your bedchamber.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Bella could see the large bed, the pillows plumped and the covers turned down invitingly. What would it be like to shed her clothing and lie naked in his arms? To let him do with her as he willed? To engage in all manner of wicked acts?
A flush suffused her. She mustn’t wonder, she mustn’t even think such forbidden thoughts. “I don’t recall inviting you,” she said tartly. “Rather, you barged in here without my permission.”
“Ah, but you opened the door. And that is an invitation to tempt even the most scrupulous of gentlemen.” He brushed his forefinger over her lips, making them tingle. “However, I’ve no wish to face your dagger again. So I’ll bid you good night.”
Leaving her all atremble, he started toward the bedside table to fetch the candelabrum. Just as swiftly, Bella realized his trick. Miles had skillfully employed seductiveness as a distraction. He had done so to stop her talking about the letters.
She couldn’t allow him to get away with it. Not when the letters provided her with the perfect excuse to delve more deeply into his past.
She darted to him. “Your Grace, wait, please.”
He turned, one eyebrow cocked in a cool expression. He appeared impatient to be away. To return to his isolated cell where he could guard his secrets like the artifacts that he hoarded.
Bella caught hold of his wrist. Before he could do more than frown, she pressed the packet into his large hand, folded his fingers around it, and held them closed.
“You must take these letters,” she insisted, tilting her head back to meet his gaze. “It’s clear from reading them that Papa was very important in your life at one time. And he did love you, Miles. Else he wouldn’t have taken the time to answer your questions, to give you advice, to speak up for you.”
His eyes looked as black and hard as obsidian. “You know nothing about it.”
“I know what I read in these letters. Papa cared enough to convince your father to let you go on the expedition. He did his best to help you whenever he could. Please don’t let your resentment of him poison those memories.”
A muscle clenched in his jaw as he glowered at her. The resurgence of his anger swirled between them like a dark entity. Only the faint ticking of the clock on the mantel broke the silence.
He abruptly wrenched away from her and stalked across the bedchamber. His steps sounded sharp, wrathful. He proceeded straight to the fireplace.
In a flash of horror, she comprehended his purpose. He intended to burn the le
tters.
With an anguished cry, Bella darted after him. Too late. He hurled the packet down onto the grate. Tiny flames flared up from the embers to lick at the folded seams of paper.
She didn’t stop to think. She flung herself to her knees and plucked the letters from the fire. The string-tied packet tumbled onto the marble hearth. Hot orange teeth chewed at the edges of the letters. With the hem of her gown, she beat at the blaze, desperate to extinguish every trace of it.
A hand seized hold of her upper arm. His hand. “For God’s sake, Bella! Your gown will catch fire.”
She shoved him away. “Leave me be! What is wrong with you? These are Papa’s letters!”
A ragged sob caught in her throat. Sitting back on her heels, she frantically examined the packet. The edges were blackened with soot, as were her fingers. But the letters were mostly intact. She had saved this precious link to her late father.
Without warning, a shudder shook her from head to toe. It racked her with the horrid need to break down and weep. She wouldn’t do it, not in front of him. She gritted her teeth to stop the tears that seared her eyes.
The warmth of a supporting arm came around her back, and she flinched. “Go,” she said, refusing even to look at the duke. “Get out. You shouldn’t be here anyway.”
“I won’t touch the letters if they mean so much to you,” he said in a tone of quiet command. “But come, you may have burned yourself.”
All of a sudden, Bella felt too drained to quarrel. Clutching the charred packet, she allowed him to help her to her feet. His arm encircled her waist as he guided her into the darkened dressing room.
While he took the candelabrum and set it near the washstand, Bella tucked the letters into her pocket. If the duke noticed, he made no comment. His touch was impersonal as he picked up her soot-blackened hands, one at a time, and examined them in the light of the candles.
He no longer appeared angry, only somber and unsmiling. A lock of dark hair had tumbled onto his brow, and she wanted to reach up and brush it back. She despised the urge—no, she despised him.
“The letters are mine now,” she snapped. “You’ve forfeited any right to them.”
His dark gaze flicked to hers, then back to her hand. “Yes.”
Of course he would concur, she thought bitterly. He hadn’t wanted them anyway. She had been too naïve to accept that, too intent on making him open up and talk to her.
As if he ever would.
He picked up the pitcher that Nan had left earlier and poured water into the china bowl. “I don’t see any blisters,” he said, “but I’ll need to wash off the ash to be certain.”
“I’m perfectly well. Nothing hurts.” Nothing except her very soul, which smarted from his odious action. Attempting to burn the letters had been despicable. It had been a knife thrust aimed at her papa.
Miles loathed her father. And now she finally knew it was hopeless to convince him otherwise.
“Put your hands in the water,” he said. “Please.”
Bella complied. She needed to clean off the soot anyway, and she felt too heartsore to resist. As she dipped her fingers, the cool liquid soothed her skin. There was something calming about the simple act of washing up.
She reached for the cake of lavender soap, but the duke took hold of it first. He lathered his own hands, then caught one of hers and began to cleanse her fingers, one at a time, gently rubbing away the blackness. “Tell me if you feel any pain.”
Bella compressed her lips and averted her gaze to the dressing table where she pinned up her hair each morning in front of the oval mirror. She had no wish to speak to him any further. Let him play nursemaid if he liked. It would not soften her animosity toward him. She had learned tonight just how intractable he could be.
If she was pained by anything, it was the need to depart this house. He had made it intolerable to stay here even one more night. But there was the missing map to consider. The map that Papa had told her about on his deathbed.
Find Aylwin. Find the map. You have half the pharaoh’s treasure.
For her father’s sake, she must be steadfast in her efforts to claim the pharaoh’s treasure. Hasani had mentioned the search for a lost tomb rumored to contain fabulous riches, gold, and jewels. Once she located the map, she and her siblings might have to travel to Egypt to unearth the treasure.
If so, she would find a way to do it without the Duke of Aylwin. She welcomed the prospect of never seeing him again.
He washed her other hand, and then used a linen towel to pat it dry. Turning her palm over, he examined the pads of her fingers. The sensation of his light touch on her skin lit an unwanted spark of pleasure deep within her womb. It was so profound, so startling that for a moment she couldn’t breathe.
She wrested her hand free. “Stop fussing. It isn’t necessary.”
With that, Bella stalked past him and left the dressing room. She wanted him gone. Gone so that she could snuggle in bed and hug the pillow in the hopes of banishing the empty ache inside herself. It was foolish to feel distraught over his ill opinion of her father. The Duke of Aylwin meant nothing to her. Nothing at all.
He followed her into the bedchamber, placed the candelabrum back on the bedside table, and then folded his arms across his chest. His solemn gaze bored into her. “I’m sorry, Bella,” he said in a gravelly tone. “What I did was wrong. I should never have tried to destroy your father’s letters.”
“No, you shouldn’t have. But it’s over with and done. So you might as well depart.”
But he didn’t depart. In a somewhat agitated fashion, he frowned and went on, “My conduct was childish. I behaved like an angry thirteen-year-old. Probably because my animosity toward your father is rooted in my childhood.”
Bella said nothing. How could she argue with that? It was true.
Casting a moody look at her, he planted his hands on his hips and began to pace back and forth. “As you gleaned from the letters, I didn’t always despise Sir Seymour. For a time, he was more a father to me than my own sire. He gave me the attention, the guidance, and—and yes, the love that a boy needs from a father. He was always ready to listen, even to the most trivial questions, without the constant criticism that I received from Aylwin.”
His candid words tugged at Bella’s heart. Miles was talking to her. Without her prodding him. She had not thought him capable of doing so.
But she wasn’t ready to soften. She leaned against the bedpost, reaching behind to grip her fingers around the carved wood. “That’s the way Papa was,” she said. “Always cheerful, always helpful. It’s hurtful when you denigrate him.”
“Of course. Yet … do try to see it from my perspective. He departed when I needed him most, when I was grieving over the murder of my father. I was left to sort it all out with a near-stranger…”
“William Banbury-Davis?”
“Yes.” With a grimace, Miles glanced away. “The man was competent enough, but I scarcely knew him. It was a difficult time in my life.”
Bella reluctantly imagined him as an adolescent, younger than Cyrus, forced to face circumstances that would be strenuous even for an adult. It must have been a huge undertaking to decide which artifacts to purchase, and to make arrangements to ship them back to England. All the while, he’d had to cope with the loss of his father.
And hers.
She released the remnants of her anger in a sigh. There was no denying her father’s culpability in the matter. “I don’t know why Papa did what he did. We’ll likely never know.” She softened her tone. “But Miles, you really must forgive him. Otherwise, the ghosts of the past will continue to haunt you.”
He stared at her, his eyes opaque, hiding his thoughts. “If only it were so simple,” he muttered. “It’s myself I can’t forgive.”
“What do you mean?”
Miles didn’t enlighten her. He strode to the wall of windows and pushed aside the draperies. Flattening his palms on the sill, he stood there in silence, staring out into the
blackness of night.
As if he had forgotten her presence.
Chapter 18
Bella told herself to leave him be. Let him keep his secrets. They were none of her concern. Yet the turmoil she sensed in him called to her heart. She crossed the bedchamber and stopped a short distance from him. Then she folded her arms and waited to see if he would speak.
His face in shadow, he cast a slight glance her way. “It’s not just your father’s disappearance that has weighed on me all these years,” he said roughly. “There’s something else, too. Something I’ve never told anyone.”
“Oh?” she murmured.
She warned herself not to expect any confidences. There was no reason why he should share his secrets with her. She’d read his private letters without permission. She’d been caught twice poking through his papers. Worst of all, she was the daughter of the man he despised.
And if she’d learned anything tonight, it was that the Duke of Aylwin was not a man to be forced, persuaded, or cajoled. By his own admission, he’d never spoken of the secret to which he referred. That meant he trusted no one at all.
Not Hasani. Not Banbury-Davis. Not his cousin, Oscar Grayson.
Miles kept his thoughts and emotions tightly locked inside the surly façade of a beast. And like a caged beast, he snarled at anyone who dared to venture close to him.
Why? What could be so terrible as to make him withdraw from life? She wanted to know, but wouldn’t ask. He would either tell her—or not.
He hissed out a breath. “You asked me earlier if I’d ever quarreled with my father. I did, just once. After I’d been in Egypt for nearly a year, he decided it was time for me to return to England to attend Eton College. I objected quite vigorously.”
“Of course. You were studying real history on-site instead of reading it from a textbook.”
The ghost of a chuckle came from the darkness that shrouded him. “That was precisely my argument, too. I was vehement in my protests. For the first time in my life, I’d found the courage to stand up to Aylwin. I wanted to stay in Egypt, I told him, I intended to stay. I’d never seen my father so furious as he was that evening.”