For the Duke's Eyes Only

by Lenora Bell

  “What brings you to the Louvre, my lady?” asked Beauchamp, in an insinuating tone of voice that clearly implied that she was here to see him.

  “I wanted to show His Grace the new gallery. I’ve been reading to him from your excellent catalogue. It’s quite an accomplishment. Over seven thousand new pieces.”

  “Over four thousand from your Mr. Pepper’s collection alone. The British Museum turned him down, I hear. Said his collection was too expensive. King Charles was happy to pay the ten thousand pounds he asked.”

  “It was our loss,” said Indy.

  “You had to purchase something to replace all the pieces plundered by that marauding despot and then returned to their rightful owners,” said Raven, though he was supposed to keep quiet.

  Beauchamp raised his eyebrows. “And what of your Lord Elgin’s marbles? Clearly they belong back in the Parthenon.”

  “Perhaps,” said Indy, darting a questioning glance in Raven’s direction. “Will you be hunting for the missing pieces of the Rosetta Stone when you return to Egypt this year?”

  “What would I want with the dessert when the main course is in the British Museum?” asked Beauchamp.

  “My mistake,” said Indy. Clever how she’d turned the conversation to the stone. “It would be marvelous if the stone could be made whole.”

  “Marvelous,” agreed Beauchamp, though he didn’t sound enthusiastic about it. “I hope you’ll allow me to give you a personal tour? I want to show you around my new collection.”

  Indy placed her hand on Beauchamp’s arm. “I’d be delighted.”

  Overly whiskered, pompous windbag. Raven stewed as the man waxed eloquent about this sarcophagus and that collection of weaponry.

  Beauchamp was probably considered to be a handsome man. He was nearly as tall as Raven, with dark hair and dark eyes. He wasn’t of Indy’s social status, but he was a brilliant linguist.

  She seemed quite happy leaning on his arm.

  He’d instructed her to flirt with Beauchamp, but did she have to hang on his every utterance? It was twisting his gut into knots. She never had told him whether she’d accepted Beauchamp’s offer, or not.

  Beauchamp touched her arm and Raven saw red.

  Indy laughed at something Beauchamp said and Raven nearly crashed his fist into a display case of ancient golden tableware.

  Enough. He sidled closer to Indy. “Have you heard the news?” he asked Beauchamp. “We’ve set a date for our wedding. We will be married as soon as possible.”

  The astonishment on Beauchamp’s face was nearly enough to counter the displeasure on Indy’s fair visage.

  He was cocking everything up. He was supposed to keep quiet and slip away unobtrusively. But he couldn’t just stand there and let Beauchamp slobber all over her.

  Indy glared at him. “Sometimes one does wish for a little more privacy.” She deliberately took Beauchamp’s arm again and they walked away, leaving Raven trailing behind like a bloody attendant.

  Now Raven was wishing he’d used his usual methods to make Beauchamp talk. He could have cornered him on his way home. Placed a hood over his face so he couldn’t identify Raven. He would have asked him questions about Le Triton’s involvement with the Louvre, and given Beauchamp gentle . . . nudges . . . if he didn’t answer.

  It would have been so much easier, and far more satisfying.

  He must stop being so possessive of Indy and make his escape to search the premises, though he was nearly positive the stone was with Le Triton. He was about to leave when a guard approached and whispered something in Beauchamp’s ear.

  A look of consternation crossed his face. “I’m afraid I must leave you, my lady. Please do enjoy the exhibit.” He hurried away with the guard.

  Indy rounded on Raven, her eyes flashing. “I can answer my own questions, thank you very much. And what was all that about? Did you have to be so rude to him? You were like a dog marking your territory.”

  “He was the dog. He was practically slobbering on you.”

  “He was being a gracious host. It’s a good thing this is only a charade—I would never tolerate being overly protected in such an odious manner. Now you’ve lost your chance to search.”

  “Beauchamp didn’t leave in the direction of the area where newly arrived antiquities are stored.” Raven pointed to the arched doorway in the center of the wall. “The loading area is through there. We can still search, but we’ll have to be careful.”

  “How do you know where to search?” she asked.

  “I studied the architectural plans for the building last night.”

  Raven kept a watch for guards as he guided her down a corridor toward the courtyard where packages were received.

  The heavy metal door swung open with a loud groaning sound. There were guards on the outside, patrolling the courtyard, but the large storage room was unoccupied.

  When his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he saw that there were several large crates, one of which was sitting on rollers so as to be easier to pull up the ramp. Sarcophagi and crates were piled everywhere.

  “Everything’s in the process of being classified,” Indy whispered.

  A guard passed in front of one of the outside windows.

  “We must hurry,” whispered Raven.

  “There.” Indy pointed to the large wooden crate near the outer door. They moved soundlessly, stepping in tandem to the unopened crate.

  The problem would be prying it open without making too much noise.

  Raven searched the room and found a metal pry bar. Indy wrapped her shawl around the metal edge to muffle the sound. He wedged the bar under the lid and pushed with all his might.

  The creaking sound of the wood pulling away from the nails seemed deafening, and Raven hoped the guards outside couldn’t possibly hear the noise unless they opened the door.

  The lid came free and Indy helped him lift it off and set it to the side.

  The crate was filled with shavings of wood. He brushed them away, digging downward. “I feel something solid.”

  She thrust her arm into the shavings and found his hand. He guided her hand to the edge he’d found. “Rough,” she said. “Not smooth like a sculpture.” She continued her exploration.

  “Raven.” Her eyes caught his in the dim light, gleaming like a twilight sky. “There’s an inscription carved into the surface. I think this could be the stone!”

  Chapter 14

  Indy traced the jagged edge, her breath catching. What a triumph it would be to find the stone so swiftly.

  Raven dug deeper into the wood shavings, piling them to one side of the crate.

  Her heart raced. A black edge emerged. Black basalt.

  She brushed wood shavings away and leaned over the edge of the crate, sticking her nose close to the stone so that she could read the inscription.

  “Well?” Raven asked. “Is it the stone? Don’t keep me in suspense. We must hurry—there are guards outside and they could decide to patrol the room at any moment.”

  She traced the hieroglyphic for Ptolemy. “It could be the stone,” she said.

  “Really?” he asked incredulously.

  “Could it really be this easy?”

  “Obviously we make a good investigative team. Me and you. Not you and Beauchamp.”

  She smiled. “I’m getting the feeling that you really don’t like Monsieur Beauchamp.”

  “He stole the stone.”

  “We don’t know that for certain yet.” She brushed away the shavings to reveal more of the inscription. “It could have been sent to him without his knowledge.”

  “Hogwash! Don’t defend that pompous windbag. I’m going to see that he’s brought to justice for this.”

  “Calm down, Raven. We don’t know all of the facts. Let’s uncover the rest so I can make a thoroughly informed identification.”

  They brushed away more of the shavings.

  The search could be over. She could translate the name of the temple. It was all so thrilling and wond
erful. So why wasn’t her heart lifting with joy?

  Because this means you won’t have an excuse to spend time with Raven.

  She stroked her hand across the surface of the stone, pushing deeper, and then . . . the stone ended. Far too abruptly.

  “It’s not big enough,” she blurted.

  “What do you mean?”

  “It can’t be the stone. It’s not long enough.”

  His hands scrabbled faster, clearing away the shaving.

  The stone ended abruptly in a jagged, blunt edge. “You’re right,” he said, his face falling.

  “It’s only a fragment of a tablet.” She sat down with a thud on the wooden lid of the crate. “It’s not the Rosetta Stone.”

  Raven placed a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry. I know you need the stone for your research.” He turned back to the crate. “Could it be one of the missing pieces from the stone?”

  She perked her head up. “It could be, at that.” She examined the tablet, tracing the blunt edge. “It might be the right shape. If it’s a missing piece, then Beauchamp has even more of a motive for stealing the rest of the stone. And it would explain why a replica was placed in the museum. He could have been arrogant enough to think that no one would discover the deception.”

  Raven’s gaze searched the room. “But there’s no other crate big enough to house the stone.”

  “Back to the hunt,” said Indy. “We can—”

  A loud bell alarm sounded. Indy jumped. “They know we’re here. They’ve raised the alarm.”

  “Don’t panic.” Raven helped her replace the shavings and the lid. She took his hand and they raced for the door.

  “There’s no one here,” she said, scanning the corridor.

  She heard the sound of footsteps but they were running away from them, not toward them.

  No one tried to stop them or arrest them for trespassing.

  A guard raced by but he paid them no attention. The clanking of the alarm sounded again.

  “What’s happening, do you think?” asked Indy.

  “I’ve no idea but they’re not after us.”

  “Thank heavens.”

  They returned to the Egyptian gallery not a moment too soon. Seconds later, Beauchamp walked through a door with a stricken expression.

  “Victor, what’s wrong?” asked Indy.

  “You’ll have to leave now, Lady India. Your Grace. The entire museum is being shut down. The police are on their way.”

  “Why, what’s happened?” she asked.

  “I’m not sure I can tell you until the authorities have completed their search.” There was a coldness about his demeanor now, a reserve that hadn’t been there earlier.

  “Why don’t you tell us, perhaps we can help?” said Raven.

  “Something’s gone missing.”

  “Something important?” asked Raven.

  “Priceless and irreplaceable. Now if you’ll excuse my haste, I’ll escort you out.”

  Indy had noticed something earlier. “Could it involve the chair? The one with the blue lion’s-paw feet?”

  Beauchamp stopped abruptly. From his reaction Indy could tell that she was right.

  “Mon dieu, how could you know this?” asked Beauchamp.

  “Because she’s very clever,” said Raven.

  “I read your description of the chair and noticed it was missing from the exhibit. I thought perhaps you had it out for repair,” she explained.

  “A chair?” asked Raven. “You’re so upset about a chair?”

  “Not just any chair,” said Beauchamp. “A three-thousand-year-old Egyptian chair, preserved in nearly perfect condition in the chamber of a tomb. One of our most popular displays at the moment because its lines are so close to the fashionable Directoire style with its feet and curved roll back. The chair proved to be a powerful curiosity. This is quite a blow for the museum. And . . . it’s not the only item missing.”

  “Who would steal from the Louvre?” asked Indy. “And for what purpose?”

  “That’s a very good question.” Beauchamp’s eyes traveled over Raven’s face challengingly. “Why would anyone want to gloat over another’s misfortune?”

  “We won’t tell anyone,” said Indy.

  “Please don’t,” said Beauchamp.

  “You have our word.” Indy inclined her head.

  Beauchamp nodded distractedly and hurried away.

  As they left the Louvre, Indy spoke in a low whisper. “It can’t be Beauchamp. Why would he stage that whole episode? The chair went missing and he was completely surprised.”

  “Then why did he lie about the missing piece of the stone? He said he wasn’t keen to find it.”

  “I can’t be certain that’s what we uncovered. It looked like a shape that might be right but the lighting was low and . . .”

  “Don’t sympathize with that puffed-up buffoon.”

  “What’s he ever done to you?”

  “Nothing, I don’t like his attitude. I don’t like his smarmy smile and the familiar way he put his hand on your arm.”

  “I put my hand on his arm.”

  “Well, I didn’t like it.”

  “You don’t own me.”

  “I told him we were to be married and he still placed his hand on the small of your back to steer you. And don’t say he didn’t. I saw it clear as day. Don’t ever become his lover. You can do much, much better.”

  “Oh I suppose you would be a better choice.” She said it angrily, but the second the words left her mouth she wished she could take them back.

  “As a matter of fact, yes. Beauchamp would probably require a guidebook and a map to find your . . . uh . . . never mind.”

  “The pearl in my oyster?” she supplied.

  He snorted. “Not the euphemism I would have chosen, but yes.”

  “And you’re such a masterful lover.”

  “It just so happens that I am. The world’s best.”

  “Of all the arrogant . . . you’re a jackass, you know that?” she sputtered.

  They marched side by side, separated by a gulf of tension. Their world order restored. Slinging barbs and innuendoes.

  He declares himself to be the world’s best lover. She calls him an arrogant arse.

  “I think you’re wrong about Beauchamp,” said Indy as they walked back on the rue du Fauborg Saint Honoré. “I think we can safely cross him off our list. Whoever stole the stone was the same one who stole the lion’s-paw chair.”

  “The odds are good,” he said grudgingly.

  “So what else has been stolen? That’s the question. We should find out whether anything else is missing from other museums in other countries. This could point firmly in the direction of your antiquities thief, Mr. Le Triton.”

  “Or not,” said Raven. “It could be anyone, really. Especially the Russians. We’ll be able to make subtle inquiries at the diplomatic event tomorrow evening.”

  “What event?”

  “Didn’t I tell you?”

  “No, you did not.” She stopped walking. “What event?”

  “Sir Charles is hosting a small gathering of diplomats tomorrow and I said you and I would attend.”

  “Well thank you for accepting the invitation without telling me about it.”

  “It slipped my mind.”

  “I’ve nothing to wear to an affair of state.”

  “It’s Paris. You can purchase something ready-made.”

  “A duke’s sister does not wear ready-made,” she said disdainfully.

  “Then have a seamstress make you something.”

  “Overnight?”

  “I’m relying on you to gather intelligence on our suspects.”

  She walked in silence for a few moments, resentment simmering. If she was attending an affair at Sir Charles’s house tomorrow evening there was no point in moving to a lady’s school or hotel. “I suppose I could make a new list of suspects and we could start crossing them off tomorrow,” she said.

  “That’s the sp
irit.”

  When they arrived back at the house, Lucy was waiting in ambush. “Oh there you are! I have a surprise for you. Madame Victoire is here to garb you for the soiree tomorrow evening!”

  A slender woman in an elegant jet-black silk dress came forward. She curtsied to Raven. “Your Grace, it would be such an honor to dress your future duchess.”

  “She also has several sketches for your wedding costume,” Lucy enthused. “And don’t worry, there are still mounds of frills, just artfully arranged.”

  Raven grinned at Indy. “Problem solved, my dear.” He turned to Madame Victoire. “Lady India was just bemoaning her lack of a suitable gown to wear tomorrow and I said she should purchase something ready-made.”

  “Ready-made,” huffed Madame Victoire. “Certainly not. I do have a dress made already, but I will modify it entirely to suit your queenly figure, my lady. And as for the wedding costume, I have several sketches already complete. If you’ll perhaps consider a softer gold instead of the canary . . .”

  “I’ll leave you ladies to your work,” said Raven, making a hasty departure.

  Traitor. Leave the ladies to their work. Frills and silk and stitches. But she did want to look her best tomorrow. For intelligence-gathering purposes, only, of course. Not because she wanted to see Raven’s jaw drop when she appeared at the top of the stairs.

  She’d be a femme fatale, as the French said. My Lady Spy.

  She’d use all the weapons at her disposal.

  Raven didn’t even bother to attend supper that evening.

  During the meal, Indy had asked where he was and Lady Sterling had said the gentlemen had gone out. From the resigned way she said the words Indy understood that Lady Sterling’s husband abandoned her quite frequently in the evenings.

  He and Raven were probably visiting gaming houses and bawdy houses, doing all manner of foolish things that could expose their secret. Raven thought she was the indiscreet one? She was going to give him an extra-sharp piece of her mind when he returned.

  Some partnership.

  Indy paced up and down her chamber, peering out the window from time to time to see if any carriages had arrived. When she wasn’t pacing, she made lists of suspects and marked up the map of Paris that she’d brought with her on the journey.