“Up on the hill, in the sand outside one of the tombs. By the fallen pillars.”
“Ah. Temple of Serqet.”
“Serqet?”
The old man regarded the necklace with an odd mixture of reverence and trepidation. “Scorpion goddess. She who stops breath.”
“You mean she was beautiful?” Tremayne asked. “Breathtaking?”
The elder’s laugh was dry and cracked. “No. She steal breath from body. Men die.”
“Oh, well, that’s cheery,” Harry muttered.
“Serqet has power over snakes and scorpions.” The old man eyed the glistening pendant in Hester’s lap as if expecting it to come alive. “She can protect from bite or send scorpion to punish. In the afterlife she gives breath of life to the deserving dead.” He sent Hester a hard stare. “You see other signs of goddess?”
Hester frowned. “Well, we saw a snake. I threw a rock at it.”
The old man nodded, apparently unsurprised. “Omen. Symbol of royalty.”
Tremayne looked highly skeptical. “So this necklace is old? Valuable?”
The old man ignored him and regarded Hester with dark, serious eyes. “You put on?” He mimed placing it around his neck.
“Uh, yes. I did. Briefly. Why?”
His wrinkled brow became even more furrowed. The look he sent her was both sympathetic and grim. “Then curse begins,” he whispered gravely.
A shiver of apprehension raised the hairs on the back of Hester’s neck, but Tremayne couldn’t contain his snort of disbelief.
“Curse? What curse?”
The old man glared at him. “Serqet’s curse. It is written on the stele of Ranthor.”
Harry raised his brows. “And what kind of curse is it? Does the wearer get the attributes of a scorpion? The ability to paralyze their victims? To pinch with deadly accuracy? Does she get a poisonous tail?” He turned to Hester. “You’re not cursed. Except with a sharp tongue and a willful temper, and those you had already.”
The old man frowned at his irreverence. “Serqet was a goddess scorned.”
Harry gave a low laugh. “And ‘Hell hath no fury,’ eh? Oh, believe me, I have plenty of experience with feminine ire.”
“Of course you do,” Hester said irritably. “One wonders who the widows and opera singers of London are fighting over in your absence.”
Harry chuckled. “They’re pining for me already, I guarantee it. But I was thinking of Aunt Agatha, actually. That woman could make a fire-breathing dragon behave. Cross her at your peril.”
The old man ignored their byplay and sent Hester a significant look. “Serqet was betrayed in love. Her bitterness and anger cursed that which you hold in your hands.”
Hester glanced down at the necklace. The silver and gems seemed to glitter malevolently in the thin beams of sunlight that pierced the dark interior of the hut.
“Serqet’s gift holds great power; the power to destroy. The French emperor, Bonaparte, he learned of this. When he came to Egypt fifteen years ago, his greatest desire was to find . . . that. He believed the power of Serqet would make his assault on Europe unstoppable. He sent men far and wide, to all the temples and tombs, to search. I was part of one such team, sent to translate. We had no luck.”
The elder’s face split into a toothless grin. “To think, during all this time, it was here, at my very door!” He shook his head with a wry chuckle but then became serious once more. “But such power comes at a price. All the evils in the world shall befall you now, unless the curse is broken.”
Tremayne snorted. “Lady Morden doesn’t need any help attracting disaster. She’s a one-woman danger zone. Only a few hours ago, I had to rescue her from the bottom of a well—”
Hester sent him a quelling glare, and he wisely let the rest of his sentence taper off.
“How is the curse undone?” she asked urgently.
The old man’s dark eyes twinkled. “Only a love stronger than the hate that fills it can undo the scorpion’s curse. A sacrifice from a true heart.”
Tremayne slapped his palms on his knees and rose. “True heart. Sacrifice. Got it.” He caught Hester’s upper arm and practically dragged her to her feet. “Lovely talking to you, sir, but we’d best be off. Lady Morden’s keen to find her bodyguard, you know. Good day.”
Hester sent the old man a weak smile of thanks as Tremayne bustled her out the door.
As soon as they were safely out of earshot, he said, “What a load of codswallop. You don’t believe any of that curse nonsense, do you? All the evils of the world. Ha!” He squinted up at the sky.
“What are you doing?”
“Checking for imminent peril. A sandstorm, maybe. Or a bolt of lightning. If you’ve suddenly been endowed with even greater powers of destruction than usual, I believe I ought to take cover.”
“You shouldn’t mock,” Hester scolded, tucking the necklace back into her skirts. “He clearly believes the curse is real.”
Tremayne shook his head. “Ancient Egyptian goddesses? Curses thousands of years old? It beggars belief, as old Shakespeare would say.” He started back down the hill towards camp then pointed at a procession of camels and riders that was entering the village. “It seems we have company.”
Hester recognized the dark-haired Italian at the head of the group and gave an audible groan.
Harry peered at her. “Do you know him?”
“Unfortunately, yes. That’s Bernardino Drovetti, a treasure hunter working for the French. The British Consul, Henry Salt, warned me about him. He and Salt are dreadful rivals, each one vying to get their hands on the most interesting artifacts. Drovetti’s reputation is rather unsavory. He mistreats those who work on his archaeological digs. I wouldn’t trust him any further than I could throw him.”
They watched as the procession drew nearer. Drovetti wore a loose, pale linen jacket and a white shirt open at the throat, displaying an alarming amount of chest hair. His face was deeply tanned. He directed his camel toward them, dismounted, and raised his white hat in greeting. He bowed low over Hester’s hand and ignored Harry completely.
“Signora Morden!” he beamed, showing gleaming white teeth. “I am overjoyed to have found you.”
It took Hester a great deal of willpower not to whip her arm away when his lips touched her skin. She extracted her hand from his clammy grip. “I thought you were working over at Thebes, Mr. Drovetti?”
“I was, my dear. I was. But my good friend, Signor Salt, he send me to look for you. He hear of the death of your uncle and was most concerned that you were out here alone.”
Hester sent him a polite smile. “That is very kind of you, sir, but unnecessary. I do not require protection. My uncle’s bodyguard, Suleiman—”
“Has abandoned you,” Drovetti finished with dramatic relish. “Yes! The locals, they tell me of his desertion. Perhaps after the death of your uncle he did not want to work for a female? Or perhaps he is simply a coward.”
Hester stiffened. “I am sure it is neither of those things. It is most unlike Suleiman to go anywhere without telling me. I am concerned.”
Drovetti shrugged. “Forget him. Allow me to offer my protection back to Cairo.”
Harry stepped forward, and Drovetti eyed him with instant dislike.
“She’s not alone. She has me, a fellow Englishman. She doesn’t need your assistance.”
“And who might you be, sir?”
“Harry Tremayne. I’m a friend of the family.”
The Italian gave a stiff, formal bow. “Bernardino Drovetti. Such a pleasure to meet a European in this land of infidels.” His insincerity was almost comical.
The masculine hostility between the two men made Hester want to roll her eyes. Really, they were like two wild dogs, squaring off against one another, fighting over some scrap of meat. Which made her the scrap. That was hardly flattering.
Drovetti stepped back. “I must set up camp before dark. We shall speak again, signora Morden.”
Harry watched the newco
mer leave. The man’s black hair had been slicked back with some kind of oil or pomade. He looked like a greased weasel. Women probably found him desperately attractive, but there was something calculating about his black eyes. They glinted with cunning. Surely Hester wouldn’t be taken in by such a poseur?
Harry had always been an excellent judge of character; the war had taught him how to size up a man quickly, how to discern who would be good to have at his side during a skirmish, and who would turn tail and run at the critical moment. Drovetti, he was sure, was the kind of man who would hide under a pile of bodies and play dead until the fighting stopped.
“I hope you’re not fooled by that oily display,” he said.
Hester laughed, and something inside him eased just a fraction. “Of course not. Come on. Let’s have some dinner.”
Chapter 7
Drovetti reappeared as the sun was setting in a blaze of red behind the mountains. Harry glared at him over the remains of the lamb he’d roasted over the fire, but the Italian didn’t take the hint that he was unwelcome. He strode through the lengthening shadows straight to Hester, his expression curiously intent.
“I hear you had a lucky discovery in the sand?” he said without preamble. “A necklace of some antiquity. May I be permitted to see it?”
Harry stood and moved closer to Hester, but she remained seated by the fire, apparently unconcerned. She reached into her pocket. The scorpion glimmered enticingly in the firelight.
Drovetti let out a long, slow whistle and his eyes gleamed. “What a find!” he murmured. “Quite remarkable, my dear. Middle Kingdom, perhaps?” A muscle ticked in his jaw, and he seemed barely able to contain his excitement. “Such a thing would be the highlight of any serious collection. I will give you a thousand English pounds for it.”
Hester shook her head.
“Two thousand,” he said quickly.
Harry almost grinned at the mulish expression on her face. It was one he was intimately acquainted with; the lady had made up her mind.
“I’m afraid it’s not for sale, Mr. Drovetti. For any price. I’m taking it to my friend, the Bey, to go in the new museum he’s planning.”
The Italian’s face fell, but he seemed to accept the refusal with good grace. “Ah, well. A noble sentiment, my dear. But do tell me if you change your mind. I have a collector who would be most pleased to obtain it.”
He sent Harry a suspicious look, as if warning him to be on his best behavior. Harry sent him a superior sneer in return.
“I bid you good night.”
Harry let out a snort as soon as Drovetti had gone. “That was too easy. Did you see the look on his face? Pure avarice. He wants that necklace, and he’ll do anything to get it, you mark my words. We need to be on guard.”
Hester nodded. “I fear you’re right. Still, forewarned is forearmed, as they say.”
Harry sent her a smug glance. “Ready to admit how glad you are that I’m here?”
“Never. I can look after myself, thank you very much. I’m not such a ninny that I’m going to leave this lying around the place for him to steal.” She lifted the necklace and refastened it around her neck. “There. He’ll find it difficult to steal now.”
She rose, slipped into her tent, and returned with a large linen bathing sheet. “I need to wash. All that scrambling around dusty tombs has left me filthy. I’m going to the oasis. You can stand watch so no one disturbs me.”
She didn’t wait for Harry’s agreement. She simply headed off down the path toward the water. Harry swore under his breath. High-handed little minx. He wasn’t her servant, forced to obey her every command.
And yet he scrambled after her.
At the water’s edge he discovered a set of steps and a low wall had been built to allow easy access. He eyed the inky surface with misgiving. “Aren’t you worried about crocodiles?”
“Don’t be silly. There are no crocodiles in here. Only a few fish, and they’re harmless enough. It’s human interference I’m concerned about. I usually have Suleiman stand guard for me, but you’ll have to do.”
Hester slipped behind a large date palm and Harry heard the ominous rustle of clothing being removed. He experienced a flash of alarm. “You’re not going completely in the water are you? I thought you just meant to wash your face.”
“Of course I am.” Her tone was impatient. “I need a bath. And, ruffian though you are, I trust you’re enough of a gentleman to afford me some privacy and not peek.”
Harry snorted. Her belief in his willpower was clearly stronger than his own. He was a healthy, red-blooded male. Did she really think he could stand with his back to the water the entire time, knowing she was naked or practically naked, right there next to him? Honestly, she would try the patience of a saint, and he certainly wasn’t in that category.
“I bet your precious Suleiman peeks,” he said.
More rustling. Harry tried very hard not to imagine which piece of clothing she was removing now. What was she wearing under that damned too-tight shirt that showed every gorgeous curve? A corset? Surely not; it was too hot for such things. Stays? He imagined her untying the ribbon at the shoulder. Slipping down the cotton of her shift to reveal a creamy expanse of skin. Beautiful, soft, sweet-smelling skin.
His brain went a little fuzzy, and he bit back a groan. He’d been without a woman for far too long.
“I doubt it,” Hester said matter-of-factly, breaking into his erotic reverie. “The poor man’s a eunuch. I suspect he’s not particularly interested in seeing me, or any woman, naked.”
Harry winced in sympathy even as he said, “He’s still a man, Hester. How can you be so naïve? A man will take any excuse to look at a naked woman, whether or not he’s had his bollo—”
“Oh, hush!’ she scolded. “Have you turned around?”
Harry exhaled a put-upon sigh. “Yes.”
He heard scampering footsteps and then the splash of water as she entered the oasis. He crossed his arms over his chest and rolled his eyes upward, praying to whatever gods might be listening for patience.
Clearly the powers that be had decided to punish him by placing a pithy, prickly termagant in his life. And then they’d exacerbated the aggravation by making him want her. He’d prayed his infatuation would fade over time, but the feeling hadn’t abated. If anything, it had grown worse. He’d lusted and despaired over Lady Hester Morden in equal measure for years.
It was almost completely dark now, the shadows deep purple and indigo. But an impossibly large moon and a smattering of stars silvered everything in a pale halo, and Harry ground his teeth and tried not to think of the way the moonbeams would highlight her cheek, her arms, the luscious curve of her breasts.
He’d never seen her naked, of course, but he’d imagined it a thousand times. Water droplets would chase each other over her peaked nipples and down the long slope of her spine. He imagined his tongue following those droplets, licking the wetness from her skin…
His breeches had become uncomfortably tight. He readjusted himself and refused to look. He was no voyeur. No randy youth. He was Orpheus; Eurydice would be dragged back to the underworld if he so much as glanced around. He clenched his fists against temptation.
This, surely, was the most exquisite torture ever devised. If he hadn’t shown himself a bloody hero during the war—and he had a drawerful of medals back home to prove it—then he’d definitely done so now. Hester was like the oasis: a welcome miracle, refreshing and beautiful. And he was parched for a taste of her.
At long last, he heard her leave the water and duck back behind the tree to dress.
“Would you like to bathe?” she asked. “I promise not to look.” There was a teasing laugh in her voice that made him want to throttle her.
He should call her bluff. She’d probably never seen a naked man before. He could just imagine her shock at seeing him in all his fully-aroused glory. She’d probably faint. Then again, Hester never did what was expected. She’d probably just look at him curio
usly and demand what was the matter with him. Wouldn’t that be interesting?
“I’ll do it later,” he ground out.
They’d almost reached the tent, with her complaining about her wet hair, when he stopped in his tracks and ducked down.
“Shh!”
“Don’t you shhh me, you overgrown—”
“Be quiet!” he hissed.
He glanced sideways at her. Her mouth had stalled in a perfect O, and her eyes widened as she finally noticed what he had: the shadowy figure sneaking around the outside of her tent.
He tugged her behind a cluster of date palms.
“It’s Drovetti!” she whispered indignantly. “Why, that sneaky devil! He’s trying to steal my necklace!”
She put her hand up to it, still fastened around her neck, and Harry wondered if she’d taken it off to bathe. The mental image that flashed into his brain—Hester, naked in the moonlight save for the strange, otherworldly necklace, like some irresistible Egyptian goddess—made his blood pound in his temples.
Thankfully, she didn’t notice his inattention. She scowled as Drovetti ducked under the tent flap and went inside. “The fiend! Well, he won’t find anything in there.”
Drovetti clearly came to the same conclusion. After a few minutes he reappeared and slunk off into the shadows.
“I doubt he’ll be back tonight,” Harry said, “but just to be on the safe side, I’ll sleep there.” He pointed to a spot in front of her tent, then went to his saddlebag and withdrew his bedroll. Hester, to his surprise, didn’t argue.
“Thank you,” she said. “I would appreciate that.” She ducked inside her tent then almost immediately stuck her head back out again. “Oh, don’t forget to put your socks over the top of your boots. It stops the snakes and scorpions getting in. Goodnight.”
Chapter 8
It took Hester a long time to get to sleep. She was far too aware of Tremayne sleeping less than three feet away from her, albeit on the other side of the material. She tensed every time she heard him sigh, sniff, or turn over.
The Promise Of A Kiss (Regency Novella Series Book 1) Page 4