“I know what the damn word means, Hartleigh.”
He pulled off the pirate hat and those blue eyes bore into her. “Do you? Because I get the sense that your childhood wasn’t hugs and roses.”
She folded her arms across her chest. “I survived.”
“You did. Admirably. And I think you deserve at least a little bit of what you missed out on. Now, do you want to pretend you’re my sworn enemy storming my ship, or are you the governor’s daughter who I’m holding for ransom?”
“I’m the captain.” Sabine strode across the room, eyeing the ropes that ran up the walls. Perhaps if she removed her spectacles they might actually resemble a ship’s rigging.
“That’s not how this works,” Cliff sighed.
“We’re in the midst of a terrible storm. Waves crash against the hull, tossing us up and down. We’re struggling to pull down the sails before they’re ripped apart.”
A smile tugged at his mouth. “Is ‘pull down’ a technical term?”
“I command airships, okay? They don’t have sails.”
She yanked on a rope, expecting it to cause the floor to tilt or set the bed rocking, like the hanging bed in the airship room. A jet of water shot down from the ceiling, slamming into the right side of Hartleigh’s face. He let out an indecorous yelp.
“What the hell was that?”
He looked so funny standing there, dripping, his eyes wide with shock. Sabine laughed. “The storm, apparently.” She tugged on another rope and water spurted out from a second hidden nozzle. It splashed at Cliff’s feet, splattering his boots and trousers. Another laugh escaped her lips. She might have called it a giggle except she wasn’t the sort to giggle. Definitely not. She reached for a third rope.
He darted toward her, his hand clamping down on her wrist. “Oh, no you don’t. It’s my turn to get you all wet.”
Sabine shivered. His tone hadn’t suggested innuendo, but her body went as hot as if he’d whispered huskily in her ear. The heat of his fingers singed the delicate skin of her wrist. Dammit, why was he standing so close to her? The slightest movement and…
She wobbled, just a bit, and her back collided with his chest. She heard the hiss of his sudden inhalation, felt him twitch against her. His grip slackened, but he didn’t move.
“Sabine,” he breathed.
Do something. Step away from him or yell at him. Move, dammit.
“Sabine, tell me you don’t want this and I’ll go away. Or tell me you do and I’ll kiss you until neither of us can see straight.”
“We already can’t see straight. Eyeglasses, remember?” Her voice was low and breathless. Why? Why did he make her melt like this? Why did she sink into him with every word he spoke?
His lips found her ear. “I remember. Yours are simple. Pretty. Shall I awkwardly slide them off you while I nibble right here?”
He sucked on her earlobe and her body surrendered. He made her laugh and tremble at the same time and she had no defense against such a tactic. Maybe he was right. Maybe she needed him to slake her lust.
Her fingers dropped from the rope and she turned to kiss him, winding her arms around his neck. The collar of his coat and part of his right sleeve were soaked through, but he didn’t seem to notice anymore. He moved toward the bed, pulling her along with him, not breaking the kiss.
Sabine drifted across the room, too intent on the hungry, insistent pillaging of his tongue to heed where she was going. The backs of her legs collided with the bed and she would have fallen onto her rear if it hadn’t been for his arms around her.
“More?” he asked. His lips skimmed across hers. “Please say yes.”
“Yes.”
“Thank God.” He lowered her to the bed and straddled her, his thighs pressing against hers as he bent to nuzzle her neck. “I’m going to kiss you everywhere.”
His hands brushed along her hips to her waist, moving toward the little silver clasps at the front of her corset. She pushed his arms away. Not now. No explanations. Only kisses.
He sat up. “Or maybe not?”
“No. Yes.” Ugh. Her stupid mixed-up brain. “Kiss me,” she clarified. “But not… there.” She waved a hand over her torso.
Cliff kissed along her jaw up to her ear and sucked on the lobe again until she shivered. “Here?”
“Mmm.”
He nudged her legs apart with one knee, his hands settling on her thighs. He paused a moment, then began to tug her skirts higher.
“There?”
“Yes.”
Her skirts bunched around her waist. Warm hands ran over stockinged calves up to bare thighs. He tugged her drawers down, exposing the curls of dark hair above her sex. Sabine lifted into his touch, sighing her pleasure at the stroke of his fingers through her wet folds.
He slid down between her legs, his mouth following the path that his hands had traversed. His fingers dipped inside her.
“All the way up there?” he murmured.
“Yes. God, yes. Kiss me, Hartleigh.”
“Cliff,” he corrected.
“Cliff,” she repeated, obediently. She’d use any name he wanted, as long as he didn’t stop. He could don that pirate hat again and call himself Le Duc for all she cared. His tongue found her sex at last, and his name morphed into a blissful moan.
Sabine wove her fingers into his thick black hair, keeping his head pinned in place. God, but the man had talent. This was no perfect, professional excavation. It was a wild, enthusiastic treasure hunt, and she couldn’t say which one of them was racing to claim the prize.
He teased her clit, curling his fingers inside her, stroking that spot that made her squirm. Her body strained, tighter and tighter, each tiny suck and nibble pulling her more taut, until she hovered nearly at the breaking point, her fingers clenching in his hair, her head tipping back as she let out a groan of agonizing delight.
“Yes! God, Cliff. I… Oh…”
She snapped. The ecstasy of her orgasm swept away all rational thought, the tension inside her unwinding until she was a spent, sated puddle of pleasure.
Her eyes slid closed. Her wildly humming heart began to slow. The soft fabric of the bedding cushioned her, coaxing her into a blissful doze. When was the last time she’d been so relaxed? She couldn’t remember, but today she would revel in the sensation.
“Damn, but you’re gorgeous,” a low voice rumbled.
Sabine stretched, blinked. “Cliff?”
Cliff! Her plan! She bolted upright. She had completely lost control of the situation. Succumbed to his intoxicating touch. But it was over, right? She ought to be satisfied now.
Cliff sat at the foot of the bed, grinning at her as he polished his spectacles with a handkerchief. Sabine’s eyes swept over him, little quivers running through her body at the memory of his hands and lips on her. His ardent gaze caused an unexpected burst of shyness, and she tugged her skirts down.
“Why aren’t you undressed?” she asked. They were stuck with his plan now, and for it to succeed his needs also required satisfying. Yet he seemed in no hurry. He simply sat there, smiling at her. “Don’t you want to finish things?”
He donned the eyeglasses and tucked the handkerchief away. “I was enjoying watching you enjoy yourself.”
“I see.” Sabine adjusted her clothing, reaching for her discarded drawers. “Well, get on with it. Unfasten your trousers at least, so I can return the favor.”
He slid off the bed and rose, but made no effort to undress, instead folding his arms across his chest. “Are you having regrets?”
“No. It was nice.”
He grunted. “Nice.”
Exquisite. Rapturous. Stupefying. She wanted to do it all over again, and more. She would never suppress her lust while he still looked at her with that heated blue gaze. They needed to finish the job and as quickly as possible.
“Exceptional,” she clarified. “I will do my best to reciprocate.”
“No, thank you.”
Sabine rocked back in shock.
“What?”
“I wasn’t fishing for favors. I don’t want to be a duty to perform. I want you to want it as much as I do.” He started for the door. “I’ll head downstairs to settle our bill. Take all the time you need.”
She watched him disappear out the door, not quite believing what she was seeing. When the door swung closed, she flopped onto her back, staring up at the ceiling. What had just happened?
“What in hell is wrong with you, Clifford Kinsley?” she wondered into the silence.
26
Mummified Cat, Egypt
Cliff stared at the two identical labels beside the two small, wrapped bundles. He wasn’t seriously going to have to smash through a glass case at a public museum and desecrate an ancient sacred animal, was he? He glanced around the room. The Hunterian Museum in Glasgow was quiet this afternoon. It was empty save for him and Sabine. He trailed a finger over the glass. Maybe there was a latch somewhere to open it.
“Hartleigh!” Sabine called from the next cabinet over. “Get your ass over here. I’ve found it!”
Cliff turned slowly. That may have been the most words she’d spoken to him at one time since they’d left the brothel the other day. The flight to Glasgow had been long, silent, and awkward. They’d stayed overnight in a secluded cove somewhere along the English coast. Cliff had spent the whole time helping Lola hunt for insects to feed to Lucas and trying to ignore Amy’s furious ranting about not going home.
Sabine made a brusque gesture at the exhibit in front of her. “A cat mummy.”
“Yeah.” Cliff walked to her side, his jaw clenching at the way she shifted away from him. He peered at the artifact. “There are two more like it over there.”
“What?”
He shrugged and pointed. Sabine rushed over to the case Cliff had been examining, scowling at it with hands on hips. “Scheiße.” She tapped her foot in irritation “We’ll have to unwrap all of them.” She tapped on the glass, walked back and forth in front of the case, then paused to look around. “That chunk of rock should work.”
The “chunk of rock” was a section of an old tablet, covered in ancient writing. Cliff leapt in front of it, throwing up his hands.
“Whoa, whoa. You can’t go smashing things all over the place. This is a museum! These are historic artifacts!”
“Stolen artifacts,” Sabine huffed. “The mummies didn’t walk here. Someone swiped them from a tomb and pretended he wasn’t as much a thief as I am.”
“Uh…” Cliff gaped at her a moment. “You have a valid point.”
“Of course I do. I’m a treasure hunter. I’ve sold to museums myself. I know how it all works.”
“Fine. But regardless of the methods of acquisition, people still come here to study these objects and learn from them. If you destroy them, you’re destroying knowledge.”
“Hartleigh’s cat mummy is a fake.”
“The other two aren’t. They meant something to someone. Think how Lola would feel if she’d carefully mummified her beloved spider and placed it in a tomb, only to find out that some treasure hunter was going to come around and tear it to pieces like it was trash.”
“The cat owners are dead.”
Cliff looked at the ceiling. “Come on, Sabine. Have a bit of heart. It’s not a weakness to care about other people.”
She flinched. “You don’t know anything. I don’t have a heart, okay? Now give me that rock or I’ll smash the case with my elbow.”
“I’m going to fetch a curator and ask which mummy is ours. Don’t smash anything while I’m gone or they’re likely to arrest you.”
He started toward the entrance, leaving her behind. She would have plenty of time to snatch the mummies and run if she wanted to. She could race back to her ship and fly away without him, cutting him out of the mission and claiming the Heart of Ra for herself. But she wouldn’t. It would mean either kidnapping Lola or abandoning her in Glasgow, and Sabine wouldn’t do that. She might strive to present herself as a hard, unfeeling pirate, but she was so much more underneath. She had passion. She had affection. And she had a world of pain that Cliff didn’t understand but longed to kiss away.
Near the front of the museum, Cliff found a balding man squinting at an open case, muttering to himself.
“Suppose it will have to do,” the man sighed.
Cliff wasn’t sure what the trouble was. The display of taxidermied fish looked perfectly fine to him. He cleared his throat and the man spun toward him.
“Oh! Didn’t see you there, young man. What can I do for you?”
Cliff held out a hand. “Clifford Kinsley, Duke of Hartleigh.”
The curator’s eyes opened wide, but he shook Cliff’s hand. “Welcome to the Hunterian Museum, Your Grace. Such a pleasant surprise to have you here. I am Geoffrey Campbell, collections specialist. How can I be of service?”
“My predecessor left an extensive collection of artifacts, and it has been left to me to ensure they are relocated to suitable homes. As part of this process, I am verifying some of his donations, making certain the correct artifacts are indeed at the places listed in his records.”
“Ah, yes. Sensible. I can see you are a great lover of antiquities yourself, Your Grace.”
The comment caught Cliff off-guard, and it took him a moment to realize this was the sort of task he ought to have people doing for him. The curator had interpreted Cliff’s personal involvement as a sign of his enthusiasm for the subject.
“His Grace is extraordinarily passionate about antiquities,” Sabine said from somewhere behind him. “He adores museums. Goes out of his way to preserve artifacts and protect knowledge.”
Cliff didn’t turn around or acknowledge her sarcasm. “Mr. Campbell, please allow me to introduce my assistant, Miss Sabine Diebin. Miss Diebin is an expert in the acquisition and sale of ancient treasures, and is helping me with the cataloguing of my collection.”
She made a tiny sniff of disdain, barely loud enough for him to hear.
“Now, according to the records left by the eleventh duke,” Cliff continued, “he made a donation to this museum of a mummified cat. Unfortunately, it appears that three such objects can be found here, and I saw no identifying information to tell us which was the duke’s cat.”
“Oh.” Campbell paled. “Oh, the cat. Oh, dear.”
“Has something happened to it?” Had they gotten mixed up? Would they have to tear apart all three mummies after all?
“I am so sorry, Your Grace, but that particular mummy was a fraud. A fake. It was no more than a modern replica of the ancient mummies, and, consequently, worthless. It pains me to have to disappoint you, but I hope you understand that this sort of thing can happen to even the most cautious of collectors.”
Cliff’s entire body went rigid. Had the museum disposed of the piece? After all this time, after evading kidnappers and gun-toting schoolteachers, were they going to be thwarted by a fraudulent cat?
“Of course I understand,” he replied, covering his inner turmoil with politeness. “You have my thanks for informing us. This is not the first of the pieces to be other than what it seemed. I’m afraid the duke’s mind was not as agile late in life as he may have preferred. Perhaps you might tell us what has become of the piece?”
“Oh, it’s in storage. We have a room full of artifacts we can’t display.”
The tension drained from Cliff’s body. The clue hadn’t been destroyed. “I’d like to see it.”
He didn’t ask, just stated. He was getting better at this duke thing. He only had to pretend that everyone he met was an employee, waiting for him to assign them a task.
“Certainly, Your Grace. It would be my pleasure to show you. Please follow me.”
Campbell led them through the museum and down a staircase into a dimly-lit basement stuffed with boxes, shelves, and cabinets. He stopped beside a pair of wide cabinets with narrow drawers, frowning at them.
“Your cat should be in one of these, Your Grace,” he said. “I cannot remember the
exact location. You are free to look around. If you wish to take the artifact with you, you may. Now, if you will excuse me, I must resume my work on the exhibits. I will return to see how you are getting along when I have finished. Enjoy your visit, Your Grace.” He bowed and scurried for the stairs.
Sabine began to yank open drawers. “Bugs. Rocks. Broken bits of pottery. So much junk.”
Cliff stared at a drawerful of highly colorful butterflies. “I think these are rather beautiful, actually. Someone cared enough to arrange and label them quite precisely. Gives me hope for finding our mummy.” He reached for the next drawer down and opened it. “Or not.”
The drawer had been crammed full of small mummies. A quick count told him he’d located a full baker’s dozen. Cliff couldn’t tell whether they were all cats or not, but all thirteen were approximately the same size, and none looked any more or less fake to his eyes.
Sabine swore. “Aren’t they labeled at all? I suppose we’ll have to start unwrapping.”
Cliff held up a hand. “Give me a minute. Why are you so impatient today? We’ve had no trouble since leaving Switzerland. If no one is chasing us, why the hurry?”
“I want this over. Don’t you?”
“Ah. Is it me you’re eager to get away from?”
“Unwrap the damn mummies, Hartleigh.”
Cliff nodded. He was beginning to understand her. Any time she felt uncomfortable, she fell back on what she knew best: giving orders.
He removed one mummy from the drawer and looked it over. A small, handwritten tag had been affixed to the underside. “‘Number 4518. Mummified cat. Cairo, Egypt. Collector: Morton Sykes Abernathy.’ Not our mummy, apparently.”
One-by-one, they flipped over the mummies and read the tags, until Sabine let out a triumphant, “Aha!”
“Found it?”
“‘Donor: Duke of Hartleigh.’ And it’s even labeled as a fake. How systematic of them.”
She hiked up her skirt and drew her dagger, giving Cliff a brief glimpse of that perfect thigh he’d kissed and caressed only days ago. He wanted her now, in the museum, maybe on the floor or up against the cabinets. She’d haunted his dreams the past two nights. Even her standoffish behavior couldn’t diminish his desire. He’d seen her in an unguarded, happy moment, and he wouldn’t be satisfied until she embraced that side of herself. Preferably while embracing him.
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