Was she really so unattractive? Harry said men always wanted to see naked women, but he’d been all too able to resist the temptation of seeing her, hadn’t he?
Hester sighed and punched her pillow. Not that she wanted him to look at her. Still, it would be nice to be thought of as an attractive woman for once, instead of an annoying, over-educated harridan.
The sun had barely risen when she was awakened by one of the local boys talking urgently to Harry. She pulled on a shirt and her split skirts and emerged from the tent.
“Are you sure?” Harry asked.
The boy nodded vehemently. “Yes. It is the lady’s man, Suleiman, calling for help. I hear him.”
“Where?” Hester demanded.
The boy pointed to the remains of the Roman fort at the opposite end of the oasis. “There. His voice comes from the ground.”
Hester glanced at Harry. “There are several chambers below ground and tunnels to direct the water. He could have fallen into one of those.”
Tremayne nodded grimly. “All right, let’s go.”
He rose, and Hester saw him withdraw two pistols from beneath his bedroll, check them, and stuff them into the waistband of his breeches at the back. He shrugged into his jacket, tugged on his boots, slung his leather satchel across his body, and set off in the direction the boy had indicated.
Hester pulled on her own stockings and ankle boots—after checking them for scorpions—and hurried after him. She was out of breath by the time she caught up with him. His long legs seemed to eat up the ground and she had to hurry to keep pace.
“Suleiman?” she shouted as they neared the ruins. They stopped and listened and were rewarded by a faint moan. “Over there. He sounds hurt.”
They clambered over a waist-high wall and rounded a corner, but the figure they encountered was not Suleiman. It was Drovetti.
Hester heard Harry curse. He stepped in front of her, shielding her with his body, but not before she caught sight of the wicked-looking pistol the Italian had leveled at Harry’s chest.
“Good morning!” Drovetti said cheerfully. “I regret to do this to you, my dear, but I must insist that you give me that necklace. Emperor Bonaparte has been seeking it for a long time, you see, ever since he became aware of the legend. He is sure it is his destiny.”
“Napoleon’s safely locked up on Elba,” Harry said coolly. “I fought for two years to make sure of it.”
Drovetti smiled. “You haven’t heard the news? The emperor has escaped his island prison. Even now he marches toward Paris to rally his faithful troops. With the power of Serqet, all Europe will bow to his glory. He will be exceedingly grateful—and generous—to the man who brings it to him.”
Hester took a step forward and placed her hand on Harry’s back. His muscles jumped at her touch, and he tensed as she slid her hand down and wrapped her fingers around the butt of one of the pistols.
“Don’t do it,” he said slowly. He shook his head in a vehement denial, but whether it was directed at herself or Drovetti, Hester didn’t know.
Drovetti chuckled with almost childlike glee, and Hester realized with a start that he was quite mad.
“Oh, I’m afraid I must,” he said cheerfully. “Signora Morden, please do not try to use the pistols Tremayne has behind his back. I will not hesitate to shoot him. And you,” he added softly, “if you do not do exactly as I say. Now, I want you to pull them out and place them on the ground. Slowly.”
With a sigh of defeat, Hester did as she was told. She placed the pistols in the dirt then straightened to stand beside Tremayne. He tried to shove her behind him again, but she held her ground. She would not let him take a bullet meant for her.
“Perfect.” Drovetti smiled approvingly. He motioned with the barrel of the pistol toward her throat. “Now. The necklace.”
Anger heated her blood as Hester began to unfasten the chain. To her distress, it was a struggle to release the clasp, but then, suddenly, it came free. “You are nothing but a common thief,” she said scathingly. “A cheat and a blackguard.”
Drovetti gave an elegant shrug. “I’ve been called far worse. Now, toss the necklace to me.”
Hester was tempted to hurl it at his head, but she was too afraid of him firing the pistol and hitting Tremayne. She threw it in a graceful arc and Drovetti caught it neatly in his free hand. It disappeared into the inner pocket of his coat.
He motioned them back toward a doorway in the wall, set with an open iron gate. “Down there, if you please.”
Stone steps descended into darkness, and Hester shuddered but complied. Harry followed, backing away from Drovetti until they were both several feet lower than him. The Italian smiled as he closed the gate and secured it with a padlock.
“See how noble I am,” he said. “I’m not even going to shoot you. Someone from the village will miss you eventually and come looking—although not before I’m far away from here. I paid that young lad handsomely to forget he’d seen you. It might be a day or two before you’re missed.” He chuckled and tipped his hat. “Addio.”
Tremayne leapt toward the gate and rattled the bars as soon as Drovetti’s footfalls faded, but to no avail; the metal was firmly implanted in the stone, and the wall was in an unusually good state of repair. There wasn’t even space to climb up over it or squeeze beneath it. With a sigh of frustration, he turned and sat on the top step and rested his elbows on his knees. “Bugger.”
Hester silently agreed. “Do you really think Napoleon believes in the power of the necklace?”
Harry shrugged. “I don’t know. Even if there’s no truth to the legend, there’s power in believing in something. If Bonaparte’s convinced it’s his destiny to win, it’ll give him an edge. Confidence can make all the difference in a battle.” He raked a hand through his hair. “Bloody hell. I hope Drovetti was lying about his escape. I’ve wasted two years of my life at war. I’m sick to death of it.”
Hester glanced uncertainly down the steps. “Where do you think that goes?”
Harry opened his satchel and withdrew the tinder box and a candle. “We might as well find out. There’s no getting out this way.”
The steps descended belowground and turned into a cavern-like cellar of impressive size, the lower part of which was filled with clear turquoise water. A small amount of light filtered in from somewhere below, sending undulating reflections across Tremayne’s handsome features.
Hester glanced around in interest. “This must be some sort of cistern.” Her voice echoed around the vaulted arches of the ceiling. “The Romans built a whole series of underground aqueducts around here to channel water for irrigation.”
Tremayne sent her an amused glance. “You seem to be spending quite a bit of time in wells and watercourses this week, Lady Morden. Look on the bright side; at least you’re not trapped down here alone. You have the pleasure of my charming company.” He looked around, holding the candle aloft. “It’s rather picturesque.”
“It is not picturesque. It is wet. And dank. And probably rat-infested.”
“Oh, come. Look at those lovely gothic arches.” Tremayne wiggled his eyebrows. “Here we have a barrel vault.” He pointed out over the water. “And that, there, with a cross in the center, is a groin vault.”
“I don’t care what kind of vault it is,” Hester said irritably. “If it rains, we shall likely be drowned.”
“You said it never rains here,” he reminded her. “If it does, you’ll have to kiss me.”
She shook her head then frowned as he handed her the candle, sat down, and started pulling off his boots. “What are you doing?”
“There’s an entrance down there. Under the water. I’m going to see if it’s a way out.” He placed his satchel aside and stripped off his jacket. For one breathless moment she wondered if he was going to remove his shirt, too, but he clearly decided against it, and she experienced an irrational moment of pique. He lowered himself into the clear water, swam forward a few strokes, and then dived under the sur
face.
Hester held her breath as she watched him swim towards the lighter section. It seemed to be extremely far down. She let out a moan of dismay as he disappeared completely. Good lord, where had he gone? Was he drowning down there? Had he abandoned her?
Tense moments later her heart almost burst with relief when he reappeared. His head broke the surface, and he took a deep lungful of air. “It’s an exit, all right.” He grinned, treading water. “But it’s quite far down. How well can you swim?”
“Tolerably well. But I’m not sure I can hold my breath for as long as you can.”
He pulled himself out onto the side next to her, like a dripping merman. His shirt was almost transparent. It sucked and molded to his chest and arms with distracting precision, and Hester glanced away, suddenly hot.
“You can do it,” he cajoled. “I’ll guide you.”
She shook her head. “Why don’t you swim through, go back to the village, and come back with a way to open the gate? I’ll stay right here and wait for you.”
“No time for that. I’ll be damned if I let Drovetti get away with stealing our necklace.”
“My necklace.”
“Oh, all right, your necklace. We need to get after him as soon as possible.”
Hester couldn’t fault the logic of that. “Oh, very well.”
She followed Tremayne back up the steps and watched as he pushed his boots, satchel, and jacket out between the bars of the gate. He turned and sent her an expectant look. “What are you waiting for? You can’t swim in those skirts. Take ‘em off.”
Hester glared at him. He was correct, of course; the extra fabric would become waterlogged and make swimming impossible, but the thought of undressing down to her shift and stays in front of him was mortifying.
He reached out to unlace the front tie of her shirt, but she batted his hands away. “I can manage without assistance, thank you!”
He shrugged and sent her a wicked grin. “Just trying to be helpful.”
He went back down the steps, presumably to give her a little privacy, and with a growl of resignation, she made short work of stepping out of her split skirts and shirt. Warm air swirled around her bare legs, exposed to the knee by her short cotton shift, and she glanced down in despair at the ridiculously feminine item.
Before she’d come to Egypt she’d purchased the most beautiful French undergarments—sheer as gossamer and trimmed with lace. She’d told herself it was practical, because of the heat, but she’d always experienced a deliciously feminine thrill whenever she pulled the material over her skin. She’d never thought anyone would actually see her in them.
Now, as the sun heated the bare skin on her shoulders and the curve of her breasts above her short stays, she realized how very immodest they were. Still, Harry Tremayne probably wouldn’t even bat an eyelid. He’d doubtless seen far more attractive women in far less.
Hester descended the stairs. As expected, Tremayne only spared her a brief glance before he looked away. He was already back in the water, and she lowered herself down next to him with a little shiver at the cooler temperature. Her shift ballooned up around her waist, and she shoved it back down to protect her modesty.
He glanced round at her, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Ready for an adventure? There’s an arched tunnel down there, very short, with an iron grate like a portcullis. You need to swim beneath it—there’s a gap of about two feet. Just follow me.”
Hester nodded. Her heart was already beating urgently against her ribs. Tremayne took a deep breath and dived below the surface, and Hester did the same.
The water was incredibly clear. Kicking her legs, she followed him down toward the patch of light. Her ears popped. He disappeared under the stone archway, and she saw him wriggle his way beneath the metal grill he’d described. Once he was through, he turned in the water and beckoned her forward, extending his hand.
Her lungs were beginning to burn. She caught hold of the metal spikes and started to swim beneath them, but her back scraped on the jagged metal, and she felt the material of her stays catch—and hold. An involuntary moan escaped her mouth, and she expelled a surprised batch of bubbles.
She opened her eyes wide and started to thrash wildly. Oh, god, she was stuck and running out of air. Never had she wanted to suck in a breath more, but there was water, water everywhere and she would drown if she inhaled.
And then, suddenly, Harry was there. His palms cupped her cheeks, holding her head still as his eyes met hers through the clear water. He looked calm, determined. Capable. Before she could fathom what he meant to do, he tilted his head and sealed his mouth over hers.
Her lips parted in surprise, and to her amazement she felt him breathe into her mouth, pushing air into her lungs. It was a most peculiar feeling. She inhaled what he exhaled, and the unbearable tightness in her chest eased.
The world steadied. Harry withdrew his mouth, sent her a satisfied nod, then reached behind her and tugged at her stays. They came free with a sudden jolt, and he grabbed her hand and kicked his legs, propelling them both to the surface.
They emerged with great gasping breaths, sucking air into their lungs. Harry let out a wild whooping cry of triumph, and Hester began to laugh, gasping and spluttering in disbelief.
They were only twenty feet from the bank. They hauled themselves out of the water onto the sandy beach and collapsed, panting, on their backs beneath the swaying date palms. Hester’s chest was rising and falling rapidly, and she rolled her head to the side to find Tremayne in no better condition. A grin split his face as he looked back at her.
“That does not count as a kiss,” she rasped unsteadily.
He chuckled, then coughed, then laughed again. “Your face! I’ve never seen a woman so surprised. And of course it doesn’t count as a kiss. When I kiss a woman I don’t want her thinking she’s about to die. Unless it’s from pleasure, of course.”
The look he sent her was pure wickedness, and Hester felt a flush suffuse her entire body. She belatedly recalled that she was only wearing her shift and stays. A shift that, like Tremayne’s shirt, had presumably been rendered practically transparent.
A glance down her body revealed her worst fears. Her legs, stomach, and even the valley between her thighs were clearly visible. She sat up with a gasp and plastered her hands over her breasts.
Tremayne chuckled again at her mortification and clambered to his feet then offered her a hand up, which she ignored.
“Come on, Morden. It’s not as if I haven’t seen a naked female before. I swear I’m not about to molest you. Let’s go get our clothes.”
Chapter 9
When they returned to the village, it was to discover that Drovetti had indeed already left. The locals reported him taking the trail back toward Alexandria.
Harry followed Hester into her tent and stopped dead, staring aghast at her belongings. “Good God. How much luggage do you need, woman?” He strode to a packing chest containing her portable medicine kit and writing slope and shook his head. “How long will it take you to pack all this up?”
“A few hours, perhaps? I usually have Suleiman to help me.”
Harry groaned. “I don’t suppose you’d consider leaving it and—”
“You suppose correctly. I’m not going anywhere without my maps, or my clothes, or any of my belongings. Those charts are Uncle Jasper’s life’s work. I’m not simply—"
“Drovetti already has a good hour’s head start on us. We don’t stand a chance of catching him unless we leave right now.”
“Yes, we do.”
Harry raised a skeptical brow. “Oh really? How?”
“We can take a short cut.”
Harry sank down onto the edge of her cot and ran his fingers through his hair. “A short cut,” he repeated dryly.
Hester rummaged through the pile of papers on her desk and found the one she sought. “Yes. Drovetti’s following the old trade route through the desert. It’s not very direct. It meanders back and forth, keepin
g to lower ground.”
She unrolled her map and beckoned him forward, pointing with her finger. “Uncle Jasper and I charted several Berber caravan routes which cut through the hills. If we take one of them, it will considerably shorten our journey. We can catch up with Drovetti and steal the necklace back before he reaches Alexandria.”
Tremayne stared down at the paper and nodded slowly. “And you’re certain this is accurate enough not to get us lost? The maps we used in the army were always promising shortcuts to somewhere or other, and what looked like a nice mountain path usually ended up being an impassable goat track or a rocky stream instead.”
Hester shot him an offended look. “Of course I’m certain. This is the most up-to-date map ever produced of the region.”
Harry gave a resigned sigh. “All right, then. Let’s get packing.”
In the end, it took them less than an hour to stow everything away. Tremayne proved astonishingly efficient. Hester spoke to one of the locals and arranged for the larger, nonessential items such as her campaign desk, writing slope, portmanteau, tea set, rugs, and several trunks of clothes to be conveyed to the home of Sir Henry Salt, the British Consul in Cairo.
She retained only a single change of clothes, Uncle Jasper’s charts, and her medicine kit, which she secured neatly in saddlebags on the back of her mount.
Tremayne eyed the animal with intense dislike.
“A camel? Must you be so eccentric? What’s wrong with a horse, for goodness sake?”
Hester patted Bahaba’s wooly cheek. He had ridiculously long eyelashes, like a girl.
“This is Bahaba. He’s incredibly stubborn and impossible to control, but despite his irritable nature, I’m quite fond of him. He’s dependable. And he’s not a camel. He’s a dromedary. He has one hump, see. Camels have two.”
Harry patted the arched neck of his horse, and the animal tossed its head proudly and shivered under the caress. Its dark coat had a velvety sheen in the sunlight, and its muscles twitched with restrained impatience. Hester had to admit that the animal was a great deal more attractive than smelly old Bahaba.
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