Daughter of the God-King

by Anne Cleeland

  With a frisson of anticipation, she could feel her color rise. “Completely—a few bruises, is all.”

  Smiling down into her eyes, he suggested in a low voice, “Then perhaps we could walk in the courtyard and leave the players to their game.”

  The hotel had four wings that surrounded a central courtyard; surely there could be no objection to an unattended stroll so close to hand. “Let me inform Bing.” Having relayed the information to her compliant companion, she took his arm.

  “You will need your parasol, I think,” he warned. “It is quite hot.”

  Pleased by his protective attitude, she assured him she would return in a moment, and ascended the stairway to the second floor. Walking swiftly down the hall to her room, she inserted the key and entered to walk across to the closet where her parasol was housed. With a gasp, she drew up short. Berry stood on her balcony, leaning on the rail and smiling at her through the open French doors.

  She had to laugh with delight at the feat. “How on earth did you do that?”

  Tilting his head, he disclaimed, “I prefer not to disclose my secrets.”

  Inferring that he had leapt between balconies, she was impressed. Nevertheless, he shouldn’t be here and if he were caught she didn’t like to think of the scandal—not to mention Bing would not be so compliant in the future. “I believe you are uninvited,” she chided in a teasing tone, smiling so that he knew she wasn’t offended.

  Instead of heeding her, he approached to stand very close. “Send me away, then.” Placing his hands at her waist, he pulled her to him and bent his head to gently kiss her mouth.

  Her pulse beating erratically, Hattie hoped they couldn’t be seen from the street, although she was too paralyzed with exultation to do anything about it. It was clear he had seized upon this opportunity to take advantage—now that Bing was otherwise occupied—and she struggled with her conscience for a moment. It wasn’t a fair fight, with his warm, probing mouth upon hers—and her conscience didn’t win. Only for a few moments, she promised herself; then we will descend to the courtyard for a decorous stroll.

  Sinking into the bliss of sensation, she pressed her hands against his chest as he deepened the kiss, slanting his mouth against hers and pulling her closer to him with one arm while the other hand rose to caress the side of her face. As though she had done so a hundred times, her arms went around him and she was beyond concern—it was so natural and right, as though they had been slated to be together from the first—the attraction that drew them together was elemental; unstoppable.

  With escalating heat, he broke away from her mouth to kiss the side of her face, her throat, her neck—no easy feat as he was so much taller. Surrendering to the heady sensations, she raised her chin to allow his delightful mouth full access to her neck, feeling his fingers move along the base of her throat with a feather-light touch.

  “Daniel?”

  Hattie froze in horror. Berry paused, then straightened up and turned toward the sound without any show of discomfiture.

  “Do I interrupt?” The young woman who watched them from the balcony next door was amused. She was blondly beautiful, tall, and dressed in the first stare of fashion.

  “Mademoiselle Blackhouse, allow me to introduce Mademoiselle Eugenie Leone.”

  Hattie wished the ground would open up beneath her. “How do you do?” she stammered instead.

  “Not as well as you, I think. When you have a moment, Daniel.” With a twinkling eye, the other woman disappeared from view.

  Mortified, Hattie turned to gaze up at him, and he laid a gentle finger on the tip of her nose. “I should go,” he said softly, his tone tender.

  “Yes.” This much seemed evident.

  She had the impression he wanted to tell her something, then thought the better of it. “May I exit through the door?”

  Still struggling to recover her equilibrium, she agreed, “That would be more in keeping, I suppose.”

  They walked across the room, his hand once again resting on the small of her back. “If you would return to Mademoiselle Bing, I will be there directly.”

  “Certainly,” she replied, trying not to betray her continuing embarrassment.

  She detected a gleam of amusement in the brown eyes as he paused to gently kiss her mouth. “We will continue our discussion at another time—yes?”

  “We shall see,” she equivocated, not wanting him to believe she was as malleable as she had proved thus far. He chuckled as he made his exit, not deceived by her show of coyness.

  Hattie closed the door behind him and leaned against it in acute distress. To be discovered in such a compromising position—she held her breath for a moment to see if she could hear raised voices next door, but heard nothing. Mademoiselle Leone is not what she seems, he had told her, but one certainly could believe they were on intimate terms if she was looking for him in his room—and she had called him “Daniel,” which was equal parts interesting and infuriating, as Hattie had never been offered his name, and certainly one would think she had earned the right. Although it probably wasn’t his true name, which was apparently as much a secret as the wretched mummy’s. I don’t understand any of this, she thought a bit crossly—and it is so annoying that we are constantly being interrupted. Brought up short, she took herself in hand; you have no business allowing such liberties—exercise some restraint, for the love of heaven.

  She then ruined the effect by wishing she had at least one low-cut gown in the manner of Mademoiselle Leone’s—Hattie’s décolletage was just as impressive.

  Chapter 20

  The new arrival joined them at breakfast the next morning, and Hattie was given an opportunity to study the unflappable Mademoiselle Leone, who was entirely French, with a vivacious and charming manner. She also made a point of openly flirting with Berry, which Hattie took in good part as the other girl was witness to Berry’s preferences, and could be forgiven for her pique. If the newcomer thought to get a reaction out of Hattie she was to be disappointed, particularly because Berry’s hand kept finding hers under the table. But when the gentleman bent his head to Hattie his murmured words were far from lover-like: “Did you mention our concerns to Mademoiselle Bing?”

  Hattie responded in the same low tone. “Yes. Bing will release no secrets.”

  “Eh bien, what is it you two speak of?” Eugenie interrupted with a pretty pout, tapping her silk fan on Berry’s wrist. “Napoleon’s horse?”

  Berry turned and responded with a few rapid words in colloquial French that Hattie could not follow but which caused Eugenie to subside into silence, pouting. Interesting, thought Hattie as she turned to speak with Bing so as to cover the awkward moment. I believe Eugenie works for Berry—or at least she answers to him, and I believe he wishes me to be aware of this; I wonder what her role is in these events. For that matter, I wonder what my role is—other than to produce the missing strongbox and bear a striking resemblance to the god-king’s daughter. She met Berry’s glance for a moment. And to convince this gentleman that a bachelor’s lot is inferior to other options available.

  “Mademoiselle Bing,” said Berry, “I wonder if Mademoiselle Leone and I may be allowed to escort Mademoiselle Blackhouse to the British Consul General’s offices today; if we are to travel to Thebes there are certain arrangements that must be made and I believe it will expedite the process if the Blackhouse daughter is present.”

  “Wouldn’t you rather visit the French consul?” asked Hattie. Considering he was pretending to be French, he should at least make the effort.

  But he explained patiently, “It would be best if you were the supplicant—your heritage is a powerful influence.”

  Bing saw the wisdom of this. “Very well—if Miss Blackhouse has no objection.”

  Hattie very much appreciated that Bing always made it clear that Hattie decided her affairs for herself. “Where is the consulate located?”

  “In Old City, by the Nile—it is probably best to go as soon as we can make ready so as to avoid
the midday sun.”

  “Willingly,” agreed Hattie, who then had another notion. “As I will be taken care of, Bing, perhaps another attempt to visit the pyramids is in order—could you send a note ’round to Mr. Hafez?”

  Bing was enthusiastic and expressed her desire to make the visit even if Hafez was unavailable. “I asked the desk clerk, who tells me there is nearly always a daily group making the tour and that I may join in with no difficulty.”

  “Who is this Mr. Hafez?” asked Eugenie, her porcelain brow knit.

  Hattie explained, “The Minister of Antiquities—he and Miss Bing have found in each other a kindred spirit.”

  In reaction, the other girl seemed surprised and cast a swift glance at Berry, who did not meet her gaze. “I see,” she offered in a doubtful tone.

  “Where do you hail from, Mademoiselle Leone?” This from Bing, whom Hattie suspected was attempting to turn the subject from her relationship with Hafez.

  “Martinique,” the young woman replied, her blue eyes guileless.

  Intrigued, Bing raised her brows. “Indeed? I understand the Empress Josephine hailed from Martinique. Are you acquainted with the family?”

  “Indeed,” the girl replied in an arch tone, and Hattie entertained a suspicion that she was mocking Bing, which seemed rather unkind.

  “And you are acquainted with Captain Clements, I understand.” Bing persevered with what to Hattie seemed admirable patience.

  “C’est vrai,” the beauty agreed, laughing at the memory. “He was so kind as to abduct me, once; but as I was very much in need of an abduction, I forgave him.”

  “Admirable,” offered Bing in a neutral tone, and asked no further questions.

  But Hattie was made of sterner stuff and took up the mantle. “And how are you acquainted with Monsieur Berry, mademoiselle?”

  Her eyes dancing, Eugenie turned to him and asked, “Shall I say?”

  “No,” he answered without hesitation.

  “I cannot say.” She smiled and shook her golden curls. “But be assured it is nothing scandaleux.” Slyly, her eyes slid to Hattie, who could feel herself color up and did not dignify the implication with a response.

  “Mademoiselle Leone will accompany us to Thebes,” Berry announced as though the girl was not trouble personified. “She has never been.”

  “No, and I look forward to it above all things.” Smiling up at him, the Frenchwoman wound her arm around his in a provocative manner.

  “It will be a new experience for Miss Bing and myself, also.” Hattie was unaffected by the other’s attempt to get her goat—this particular goat was hers. She could almost feel sorry for the girl; it must be very annoying to a beauty of Eugenie’s caliber to have to cede the field.

  But Eugenie’s beautiful brow puckered in confusion. “Surely you have visited Thebes before?” She glanced at Berry in puzzlement.

  Wondering why the woman would seek verification from Berry, Hattie assured her, “No—I have never been.” She tamped down the resentment that always threatened to rise when she thought of her long exile in the wilds of Cornwall—there was no point to it; her parents were no longer persons to be resented—they were persons to be recovered and buried.

  “I believe,” Bing said into the silence, “that Mr. Hafez intends to accompany us, also.”

  “Très bon,” murmured Eugenie, examining her nails with a satisfied smile.

  “We shall have quite a group, then.” Hattie wondered crossly if every stray guest at the hotel was going to latch on to their expedition; every addition undoubtedly meant fewer opportunities for Berry to kiss her neck—not that she should allow such liberties in the first place—but it was all very annoying.

  “Shall we meet in the lobby in an hour’s time?” asked Berry, rising.

  Taking their cue, the breakfast party broke up and Hattie retreated with Bing to their room to prepare for their respective outings. Hafez sent an acceptance with gratifying promptness and Hattie teased her, “Pray do not elope with him, Bing—I insist upon standing up with you at the church door.”

  Bing displayed her dry smile as she pinned her veiled hat carefully to her head. “I do not think it is I who is slated to receive an offer, Hathor.”

  Disclaiming, Hattie teased in a light tone, “Alas for any such hopes; the beautiful Mademoiselle Leone has entered the lists.”

  “You may be certain of him,” Bing assured her with a nod toward the mirror. “His gaze is drawn to you, especially when you are unaware.”

  Finding this revelation very satisfactory, Hattie said only, “It is early days yet, Bing—we shall see.”

  Taking up her parasol and her notebook, Bing made ready to depart. “I hope to return for dinner, Hathor, if all goes as planned.”

  “I shall hear of your adventures at that time, then.” Hattie closed the door and prepared for the proposed outing to the consulate, trying to decide if she could pretend she forgot her kid gloves, which were uncomfortably hot. As she was thus engaged, there was a soft knock at the door. Smiling, she took a quick assessing glance in the mirror, pinched color into her cheeks, and opened the door with her best smile.

  Instead of the expected visitor, however, she beheld a message boy from the front desk. “Miss Blackhouse? You have a visitor at the desk who begs a moment of your time.”

  He handed her a card upon which was inscribed a name Hattie did not recognize. She debated for only a moment, and decided there was no harm to it; her attacker could not possibly have come to call upon her and she would certainly be safe in the hotel lobby.

  Accompanied by the boy, she descended to the desk only to recognize the young clerk from the solicitor’s office waiting at the desk for her and smiling nervously. “Miss Blackhouse,” he stammered. “I hope I do not intrude.”

  “Not at all,” she assured him, offering her hand. “How very pleasant to see you again.” She hid a smile—he had taken pains with his appearance and was dressed in what she imagined was his best suit of clothes.

  Indicating the wrapped parcel on the counter, he offered, “I took the liberty of bringing your books.”

  As she had already indicated she was not looking to house them, Hattie correctly surmised this was an excuse to call upon her. Unsure of how to handle such earnest devotion, she was loath to snub him—he was far too young, being approximately her own age. “Does your employer know of your errand?”

  “No,” the young man admitted. He leaned toward her to confide, “He has been out of reason cross ever since your visit, and is often from the premises.”

  “I have done you a favor, then,” observed Hattie, and he laughed as though she had said something very amusing.

  Making a visible effort, the young man gathered up his courage. “Perhaps—perhaps you would be available to go out walking this evening, Miss Blackhouse.”

  Anticipating just such a question, Hattie shook her head with feigned regret. “As tempting as the invitation is, I’m afraid I am constrained by my parents’ disappearance—I cannot be seen to participate in such an enjoyable pastime.”

  His face fell but he nodded in understanding. “I hadn’t thought—I beg your pardon.”

  “It is quite all right,” she said sincerely. “I do appreciate the offer.”

  There was a pause while the clerk came to the realization he would have to withdraw. “Perhaps some other time—you have my card? Please do not hesitate to contact me if any assistance is needed.”

  “I will indeed,” Hattie agreed, and threw him a bone. “I imagine I shall visit your offices in the near future, to address this difficult situation.” She sincerely hoped not; the solicitor was what Robbie would have deemed a curst rum touch.

  Plucking up with this thought, the clerk bowed his way out and Hattie was left to eye the package, debating what to do with it. She could check it at the desk, but she then decided that as her things had already been thoroughly searched—and more than once—there was no harm in secreting it in her room. That way, at her first op
portunity she could open it and see what the fuss was all about.

  After placing the package in the bottom of her wardrobe amongst her shoe boxes, she fetched her hat and her parasol and returned to the lobby to meet up with Berry and Eugenie, now assembled and waiting for her. As she greeted them and reluctantly pulled on her gloves, Hattie noted that the two were never found in idle conversation with each other, in rather the same way Captain Clements and Berry never made idle conversation. They are all in this spying business together, she thought, and need not be convivial; it must be rather a relief—not to have to wear a polite mask with each other. Indeed, she had the impression that Berry was carefully monitoring what Eugenie said to Hattie, as though ready to rebuke her at a moment’s notice.

  As they exited through the lobby doors, the ladies immediately hoisted their parasols against the bright sun and Hattie adjusted the straw brim of her hat so that it sat lower on her face. The maneuver also allowed an opportunity to take covert inventory of the Frenchwoman’s attire—Eugenie held a silk-embroidered parasol and the frivolous confection that passed as a hat had nothing to do with blocking the sun and everything to do with complimenting the contours of her lovely face. She will stop traffic, thought Hattie with sincere envy. I shall watch and learn—although to his credit, Berry appears unimpressed and once again has his hand on my back; he will leave a permanent print there if he is not careful.

  Even though it was morning, the heat was already oppressive as they threaded their way through the crowded street. Berry procured a transport cart and they were underway, headed to Old City where the consulate was located.

  Eugenie waved a languorous fan and addressed Berry. “Have you enough money about you, Daniel? We shall need it for our journey, n’est-ce pas?”

  “I have.”

  Unfolding her wrist with a flourish, the girl displayed a soft bundle of bills in her hand. “As do I.”

  Hattie stared in surprise that Eugenie would brandish such an amount. Amused, Berry took it from her. “I will keep it, if you please.” He glanced at the other girl with a shake of his head. “Try not to bring attention to us, Eugenie.”