by Devon, Eva
“True,” he agreed. “But we must check my study at once. I fear something is missing.”
“Of course,” she agreed, though she wondered what he might have in his study which someone would wish to steal.
Together they rushed down the stairs and into the dark foyer. Their steps clattered over the marble.
What could possibly have gone missing that would cause him such alarm, she wondered.
In the time that she had known him, she’d never seen him so concerned.
Usually, while gruff, he was in control and always certain of his actions. Now he seemed to be questioning if he had been foolish in some way, mumbling under his breath what an idiot he had been.
It was most remarkable.
She’d never seen him in such a state.
They rushed into his study.
She stopped, horror washing through her.
The room had been ransacked. Papers were everywhere. Books thrown on the floor. She let out an expletive, then sucked in a breath.
“Devil take it,” she said more moderately. “How could anyone do such a thing?”
“Someone who’s looking for treasure would happily do this,” he replied.
“You don’t keep treasure in your office!”
“So you think,” he ground out before wiping a hand over his face.
“Do you not trust me then?” she queried. Did he have some secret nook that she was unaware of where he kept prized items?
Surely not.
“Of course, I trust you, Pippa,” he sighed. “But you must understand. I haven’t had time to tell you everything yet.”
“Of course,” she replied, understanding his explanation. The man was a veritable font of details and knowledge. It would take at least a year for her to become acquainted with all the details of his work. “Pardon me.”
“No need for pardons at such a moment.” He drove a hand through his hair and winced. “But you see, you have not yet quite deduced that a treasure has been under your nose this entire time. It is not a treasure in a traditional sense. Not something that the average person would even consider.”
“What has gone missing?” she asked, trying to make sense of what he was saying.
He scowled and crossed to the table that bore his maps. “You see this map,” he said, pointing to the one on top. “The one that you looked upon with so much excitement?”
“Yes,” she replied, most confused. Why would anyone steal a map of Egypt?
“Well.” He closed his eyes for a long moment, then pulled back the top map. “Under it is this.”
He looked positively beleaguered as he revealed the far simpler piece of parchment.
It was a map of hills and valleys, she realized, alongside the Nile. Various marks and small unreadable notations had been placed upon it.
“What is this?” she asked softly, trying to fathom what it meant.
Roxley’s face looked gaunt. “It is a map I acquired from a man in Cairo. It is a map of several of the tombs of ancient Egypt.”
“What?” she cried, the importance of his words hitting her with the force of a blow.
He shook his head at his own mistake. “You see, people from here will insist that they discover the tombs, but they will not,” he gritted. “They have already been discovered by the people who live in Egypt. The local men know that they’re there and they, some of them, are enterprising souls. I can understand why. And some are selling the information to various explorers. Some of the explorers are forcing them to share their knowledge. And I managed to get this map in the hope of keeping it away from some truly ruthless-minded English treasure hunters.”
“Westmore,” she surmised, her heart sinking.
“Yes,” he confirmed, his shoulders slumping slightly. “Westmore.”
“You mean if he obtains a map like that, then he will be able to. . .”
The full horror of it dawned upon her and she lifted a hand to her mouth.
“Exactly,” Roxley confirmed. “He will go to these tombs, open them without any sort of thought for preserving the history in them, dig them out, and bring the contents back to London to show anyone he possibly can.”
Dismay filled her and it was a deeply unpleasant feeling, for she understood the enormity of what he was saying.
Over and over again, he had made it clear that he found the taking of treasures away from Egypt absolutely appalling. He had brought some because he was interested in studying them, but he seemed to be racked by guilt by it every day.
“Here I am,” he growled, “in England, trying to preserve things, and I may have made things worse.”
“Don’t say that,” she insisted, wishing to comfort but doubting he’d allow it.
“Why?” he barked. “When it’s the truth. I’ve been an utter fool.”
“No, you haven’t,” she said vehemently. “Perhaps you are a bit of an idealist.”
“Don’t say things like that,” he ground out. “I am not some ninny-headed idealist. I’m simply a fool.”
She bit her words back.
He was, in fact, an idealist, whether he liked it or not.
He had a marvelous view of history and a glorious hope for things in the future. But he did seem to think that he could, in some way, stop the looting of Egypt.
She doubted it, for she understood the nature of humans. The nature of men like her father, who were out for anything that they could get.
And unfortunately, if there was treasure, treasure hunters would go, and Westmore certainly sounded like a treasure hunter to her.
She stepped up to the table and gently touched the map. “So he has not gotten it.”
“I think he has,” he whispered tiredly.
“What do you mean?” she asked. “You are showing it to me now.”
He sucked in a rough breath. “I made a copy. I was practicing cartography, and I sketched it out on a smaller piece of paper. I had it slipped between these two maps.”
“You made a copy,” she echoed, the weight of it falling upon her.
“Don’t say it like that,” he sighed, already clearly crushed by his own guilt. “As if I’ve committed some crime.”
“You haven’t,” she assured quickly, realizing the only course was pragmatism and not lamentation. “Of course not. It isn’t what I meant to imply, but it is gone.”
“Yes,” he confirmed.
“Could it not be somewhere else?” she offered hopefully. “Might you have slipped it in with some other papers?”
“Do not say such things. You know how I am.”
“Yes, you’re most unorganized,” she pointed out.
“Pippa,” he protested.
“It’s true,” she countered. “I have made things much easier for you, and you know it. Could you have misplaced it?”
He shook his head. “Have you seen anything like it in an odd place?”
“I confess not,” she allowed.
She had not seen such a paper anywhere and, given the break in, it did make sense that it had been taken.
“Tomorrow, we shall go to Westmore and we shall demand it back,” Roxley proclaimed, his hand curling into a fist.
“Do you think he is behind this? Will he confess that he has it?”
“I am certain it is he. He is so jealous of my work,” Roxley growled. “And I have methods to persuade him.”
She was certain that he did. She was most nervous about it, but someone like Westmore would not likely give up such a thing easily.
And she worried that her brave, lovely adventurer was going to get himself into a great deal of trouble.
Still, he was a man who had traveled about the world and she had never even left England. She couldn’t exactly advise him on this point. “May I come with you?”
“No, certainly not,” he bit out. He seemed to search for a reason, any reason she should stay, and suddenly he declared, “You must stay here and protect the house.”
She blinked at the absurdity of his state
ment. “How could I possibly protect the house?”
“Well,” he began.
“You simply don’t wish me to go with you,” Pippa pointed out, folding her arms beneath her breasts.
“Pippa,” he said. “Westmore is a bastard.”
“I still think that I should go with you as your assistant,” she said firmly. “Do you think he would hurt me?”
“Hurt you?” he echoed. “No. No, I don’t think Westmore is that far gone.”
“Then it’s settled. I shall go with you.”
He nodded, his head hanging with disappointment at the turn of events.
“Perhaps we should have a brandy,” she suggested.
“A bloody good idea, that,” he said. “Let’s do it.”
Wordlessly, she went and poured out two snifters, handing one to him. “We shall go to Westmore’s as soon as it is light.”
“You’re being very sensible,” he observed.
She shrugged, taking a sip of the rich beverage. “Mustn’t we be sensible? It is the only thing to do in a crisis, you know.”
At last, his lips parted in a begrudging smile. “How the devil did you become the way you are?”
“Because my father is an absolute mess,” she explained ruefully. “Someone had to always be picking up the pieces he left in his wake.”
“And you became tired of picking up the pieces?” he queried quietly.
She nodded, taking another drink.
“And that is why you ran away from London?”
“I did not run away,” she said, indignant that he should suggest such a thing.
“Of course not. I beg your pardon.”
“Did you run away from England when you went to Egypt because you did not like it here?” she challenged, not quite ready to take the suggestion that she had run away.
“No,” he said. “Neither of us have run away from anything. We are simply intrigued by things that are not what other people are intrigued by.”
“Exactly,” she said, giving a nod. “But I am not certain a visit to Westmore shall result in success. Do you have another plan?”
“There’s only one plan,” he stated, palming the snifter, swirling the brandy in the cut crystal glass. “If Westmore will not give back the map, we must go to Egypt.”
She looked at him, stunned as his words hit her. “We?”
“Oh, yes, we must go at once. I have to warn the various people there who can protect the tombs,” he rushed. “There are several men who make it their profession, you see, to take care of the tombs and occasionally allow artifacts to go missing from them. If they know that Westmore might be coming to loot the tombs, they will be better prepared to stop him.”
“You’re going to take me to Egypt?” she clarified.
“Certainly.” He looked stunned and demanded bluntly, “Why the devil are you even asking? You’re my assistant.”
“Well, I am a young lady,” she felt compelled to remind. “And I’ve never been out of the country.”
He arched a brow and drawled proudly, “Being a young lady has not stopped you from doing other things that other young ladies do not.”
“True,” she said, proud of herself too.
“Are you afraid to leave England?” he asked abruptly.
“Oh no,” she protested, positively eager at the idea of finally taking to the English Channel. “I cannot wait. I will go with you whenever you ask. I am merely amazed, since the description of assistant had seemed to only include work here in England.”
“Pippa,” he said, his face softening. He crossed to her and stroked a lock of her fiery hair back from her face. “You are already more than my assistant. You are my dearest friend. And I think you know it well. Let us not be silly about this. You and I? We have a different sort of arrangement than most.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “And I quite like it.”
“I find that I would not like to be away from you for a very long time,” he said gently, tilting her head back ever so slightly.
“Besides, don’t you wish to see Egypt?”
“I do. More than anything in the entirety of the world.”
“Then it’s settled.”
“Thank you,” she said.
“Do not thank me,” he countered with a shake of his dark head. “It shall be very difficult, and not at all pleasant many days. Traveling to a place like Egypt requires a great deal of stamina. There’s a war on, you know?”
She hadn’t thought of that.
Of course there was a war on.
How the devil were they going to get there? But if anyone could get them there, it was Roxley, of that she was certain.
“Besides,” he said, his voice rough. “I think it’s time I returned to Egypt and stayed. All those bloody Frenchmen cannot be allowed to make a complete muck of this. If sensible people like us don’t involve ourselves, the idiot dilettantes will ruin everything. It will all descend into complete nonsense.”
She hid a smile at that. She knew that in all actuality, he admired several of the French scholars who were working there, but for now, she was happy to think that he might be returning to the country that he clearly loved so well, and that he was going to take her.
Finally, he drew in a long breath that returned his shoulders to their usual indefatigable state. “Come here,” he said. “It’s been a difficult night. And I find that a kiss from you might repair a good deal of it.”
He put his brandy down on the map table. “I don’t wish for a drink,” he said, pulling her into his arms. “I want you, Pippa. You and nothing else.”
“Not even your map?” she teased, sliding her hand up his chest.
“Don’t play unfairly. You know how important that is.”
She laughed. “I do. And truthfully, I would pick the map as well.”
“Of course you would,” he said practically. “It’s why we’re of accord. It’s why I like you. And it’s why you’re my assistant.”
With that, he lowered his mouth to hers and for a brief instant, she wondered if he would always put the map first.
She was fairly certain that he would.
Chapter 16
“Roxley, come in, old fellow. Come in!” called the Earl of Westmore from across the gilded salon.
Pippa was most amazed and immediately put off by the earl’s positively enthusiastic reception.
He was not at all what she had assumed he would be.
The Earl of Westmore was quite a good-looking fellow with blond hair, blue eyes, broad shoulders, and strong hands.
There wasn’t any sort of nefarious or villainous look to him at all. He was dressed immaculately in a blue cutaway coat, cream waistcoat, and matching breeches. It was a simple, functional outfit that hugged his fit frame but was obviously well made and costly.
As he beamed at them, he looked quite gregarious in nature.
Roxley crossed the elaborate pink and green carpet and all but growled, “It is as pleasurable to see you, Westmore, as it is to catch the bubonic plague.”
“Come now, Roxley,” Westmore protested, a charming smile tilting his firm mouth. “You cannot mean such a thing. We have not seen each other in almost a year. Not since Cairo.”
“Twenty years would have been too bloody soon,” Roxley returned.
She looked from her employer to the Earl of Westmore and felt a sharp crackle of energy in the air.
There was something between them that was more than simple dislike.
The two knew each other well, she immediately understood, and as they ventured further into Westmore’s beautiful salon, she wondered if he could truly be as villainous as Roxley said.
Roxley was given to great passion about certain things. Perhaps he had over-exaggerated Westmore’s nefarious attitudes.
She doubted it. He seemed an excellent judge of character, which simply meant that Westmore was a very deceptive fellow.
Westmore gestured for them to come in and sit before his fireplace, which was an enormous a
ffair of carved marble.
And that was when she spotted the stones bearing Egyptian hieroglyphs in the most vibrant hues above the fireplace.
She blinked and sputtered, “Surely the smoke from your fire cannot be good for those. Surely, you’re aware the smoke will damage the paint.”
“Yes. Yes,” soothed the Earl of Westmore. “You needn’t worry—”
“Nor do I think it is wise to keep them in such a precarious place,” she insisted, unwilling to be so easily placated when he was being so cavalier.
“Ah,” said Westmore, his voice thick with condescension. “Your young companion shares your views on the upkeep of historic artifacts. Does she not?”
“Indeed, she does,” Roxley stated. “It is why she is with me.”
“Are you to be married then?” Westmore arched a brow.
“Don’t be a fool,” Roxley retorted. “Miss Post is my assistant.”
The Earl of Westmore blinked slowly, then echoed, “Your assistant? A young lady? How terribly modern of you, Roxley.”
“It’s not modern to hire the most capable person,” Roxley barked. “It is only good sense. It is utter foolishness to judge someone based upon one’s gender.”
Westmore tsked. “Some people believe ladies simply aren’t capable of the stress that gentlemen are. Whatever will you do when you return to Egypt?”
Roxley snorted. “She will come with me, of course.”
Westmore laughed, then realized Roxley was serious. “But ladies, the sun, the heat, the sand,” he pointed out.
She cleared her throat, disliking him immensely. “My lord, you make it sound as if I might melt like a snowman in the sun.”
“My dear young lady,” Westmore drawled with faux concern. “You do not understand the heat of Egypt.”
She rankled at being called “my dear” by a stranger. It was so disdainful and superior, as if he might pat her on the head and send her back to the embroidery in the next moment.
Truthfully, she was almost certainly as capable, or more so, than he in almost any matter regarding Egypt.
“Do I look like a stupid person?” she asked with more force than she had intended. After all, if Roxley thought him an ass, he most certainly was.