What the Dashing Duke Deserves (Lords of Happenstance, #3)

by Sandra Sookoo

  The man’s expression of shock amused him. “I wouldn’t dream of it, Your Grace. No matter that we are in the wilds of Egypt it is no excuse to remove proper decorum. With me at the helm, I’ll keep the expedition running as smoothly as if we were still in London.”

  “Leave off with badgering the butler, Herrick,” Archewyne groused. The irritation in the earl’s voice yanked Crispin from his thoughts. “Let’s get to the business at hand, shall we?”

  “Absolutely. Which is?” It was a rather tricky business to follow the earl’s thought processes at times.

  “Were you fortunate enough to meet with the director of the museum yesterday?”

  The muscles of his stomach tightened. “I was not. the man was absent and one of the other employees didn’t know when he would return. After that, I went to tour some of the exhibits and then found myself distracted.”

  Archewyne frowned. “Did you show the scroll to anyone else?”

  “I did not.”

  “Mention it to anyone?”

  “Again, no.”

  “Very good. What we do should always be kept hidden until needed.”

  “Then that scroll represents an official mission? I thought we were on holiday.” Crispin was never sure when Archewyne was testing him. It was best to remain prepared, especially since he still awaited his first solo mission.

  “Let’s call it a side interest that bears watching until we have confirmation.” The earl nodded. “That being said, you are a King’s agent. You cannot afford distraction.” A hint of admonishment filled the statement.

  Damn and blast. Of course, the bizarre interlude in the museum as well as the marketplace last night would come to light. If he’d learned one thing while under Archewyne’s tutelage, it was that everything, even those innocuous meetings and coincidental happenings, were connected. “I am well aware of that, but something extraordinary and somewhat troubling occurred last night.”

  Immediately, the earl’s attention snapped from the paper to Crispin’s face. He wasn’t one of the best agents for nothing. “Tell me.”

  Quickly, Crispin related the events of last night, including meeting Juliana at the museum and his chase of her through the marketplace.

  “Why do you sound so concerned, Herrick?” The earl finished the remainder of his meal. “Cairo in the winter months becomes Little London, in my opinion. Deuced stupid tourists flock here to press their unwanted and ignorant presence upon the sites, carry away bits of history, and generally become nuisances to those of us who have legitimate work here.” He drained his coffee cup. “Of course you’ll run into someone you know. There is anything nefarious afoot.”

  “I didn’t mean it in that way.” He shoved away is empty plate and gladly accepted a refill of coffee from Alfred. “However, this woman blatantly stole a ushabti from the museum. When I called her out on it, she merely laughed and said it belonged to her.”

  Archewyne rested his intense gaze upon him. “Interesting.”

  “I’d say, which is why I gave chase through the souk.”

  “Wherein you didn’t retrieve the thieved artifact.”

  “Not from lack of trying,” Crispin defended. He frowned. What should I do about her?” When an image of her face swam into his mind, a certain tug to his chest betrayed an interest beyond bringing a thief to justice.

  “Best let her be. There are other things filling your future.”

  Crispin gawked. “So thievery doesn’t warrant closer scrutiny?”

  Archewyne huffed. “It was a ushabti. In the grand scheme, they are truly all over Egypt, and difficult to tell the originals from the fakes. Do you really wish to waste time chasing down something as insignificant as that?” A hint of warning rumbled through the earl’s voice, and that rubbed him the wrong way.

  Why wasn’t he more upset about the crime, when it took very little for him to vocalize against lesser thefts? “I suppose not. However...” He let his words trail off, for what could he say that wouldn’t bring the earl’s ire?

  “Out with it, Herrick.”

  “I knew her a year or so ago in London. Saw her a couple of times in Paris. Perhaps she had legitimate business in both places, for she’s part of the ton, and at one time, I thought we could have perhaps made a go of a relationship...” Damn, but not finishing a sentence was becoming a nuisance.

  Archewyne rolled his eyes. “But?”

  Crispin shrugged. “I’m a duke now, and she’s quite different.”

  “No one is that different.”

  “She is. Her name has changed.”

  “Perhaps she married.” The earl shifted his gaze to his coffee cup.

  “Not that I’m aware of. And she’s changed her hair.”

  “Women do that.”

  “No, I mean the color. She used to be a blonde....” He rushed on before the earl could speak. “What’s more, she seemed surprised when I called her by her first name. No faking that.”

  For long moments, the silence was broken by the chime of a long-case clock in the drawing room. Finally, Archewyne cleared his throat. “That is interesting. She’s the daughter of the Egyptian ambassador to England, you say?”

  “Yes, which is odd because when I knew her, I could have sworn she was the daughter of Viscount Kendall.” Now her false surname made a bit of sense. He stared at his friend. “It’s easy enough to verify with a couple of inquiries.” His chest tightened. “Regardless, the whole business gives me a bad feeling.”

  The earl steepled his fingers beneath his chin. “Which is why you’re an agent.”

  “Who hasn’t been given his first solo mission,” he couldn’t help but remind the earl while a trace of frustration welled within him. He should have already done that. Did the earl not trust him?

  Archewyne grunted but said nothing.

  Crispin heaved a sigh. “Beyond that, I have the distinct thought of wishing to look at art, stare at paintings for hours, tour ancient ruins and pretend I have all the leisure time in the world. That runs at cross purposes of being an agent.” It was a flash of honesty he couldn’t recall.

  That brought the earl’s attention his way. “Exactly. You must decide which one you want over the other, and if you’re fortunate, you can slip in a few of those things alongside it.”

  “This is true.” He nodded. “I have the fortune of a duke to do as I please, but I also have a heart for the people, and I will protect them.” He shrugged. “There are worse things.”

  “Indeed.” Archewyne’s chuckle sounded out of place in the gravity of the situation. “For what it’s worth, this dig should provide you leisure enough, Herrick. Best enjoy it now.”

  “And the alternative? Is there a mission in the offing then?”

  “Only time will tell.” Then the earl narrowed his eyes. “You are here in Cairo and so is Miss Barrington.”

  “Yes.” It was maddening not to know enough to piece together a story. “But not by arrangement.”

  “Does she know that you have this Hebrew text?”

  Shock moved through Crispin. “Of course not. They’re not related, and even if they were, I don’t know if I can trust her just now.”

  “Good instincts.”

  Crispin frowned. What did the earl know that he didn’t? “What should I do about Juliana?”

  “Monitor her movements while we’re in Cairo. Once we return to the Valley of the Kings, I need your full concentration.”

  “I understand. There is one more piece of news.”

  Archewyne shoved to his feet. “Make it quick. I have correspondence to attend.”

  “She invited me to a dinner party hosted by her father—her fake father if I’m correct—tonight at the ambassador’s residence, where she has promised to reveal all. Do you wish to accompany me?”

  A slow grin curved the earl’s lips, but his eyes remained shuttered. “You make it dashed difficult for me to refuse, Herrick, what with all this intrigue floating about.”

  “That’s what I’d hoped f
or.” He stood with a smile of his own.

  “Buck up.” The earl slapped him on the shoulder. “Once we remove from Cairo, things will settle. Threats won’t jump out from inside the tombs, for the dead don’t walk among us, do they?”

  Crispin snickered, though the knot in his gut wouldn’t unravel. “I suppose not.”

  “Quite right. I’ll see you later this evening.”

  When he and Archewyne arrived at the ambassador’s residence that night, awareness quivered along Crispin’s nerve endings while cold foreboding rode his spine.

  While not a glamourous abode, it wasn’t exactly a hovel either. Though he’d escorted Juliana here last night, he’d not been invited in. Now, as he walked down a short corridor side by side with Archewyne, he took in the modest décor and paintings. As they were shown into a drawing room—small by London standards—he was surprised to see English paintings and furnishings filling the room.

  A man he assumed was the ambassador—tall, thin, black-haired if a bit balding, full eyebrows that resembled warring caterpillars—talked quietly near a window with Juliana, who’d donned a gown of peach satin shot with gold thread. Glittering combs flashed in her dark hair as she remained engaged in intense conversation with the man.

  When the butler announced them, both she and the ambassador ceased talking and turned to them with strained smiles.

  “Welcome to my home, gentleman,” the ambassador announced as he moved toward them. “I am Ambassador Khepri. This is my daughter Miss Ana Khepri.” Neither of them batted an eyelash at the falsehood.

  What the devil occurred here? Crispin shot a glance between the two perpetrators, but they weren’t talking. His gut flared, in what the earl would call knowledge that things were about to grow worse.

  “I’m the Earl of Archewyne.” Miles gestured with his head toward Crispin. “That’s the Duke of Litton. We’re in Cairo for a short time, but pleased, nonetheless, to meet you, and at such short notice besides.” While the ambassador talked about the area, the earl elbowed Crispin in the ribs. He whispered, “Go do the pretty and figure out some of the mystery. I’m on holiday and shouldn’t be expected to do the leg work.” A hint of amusement threaded through the order.

  “Right.” How bacon-brained of him to bring this bit of intrigue to the earl’s doorstep. The man was here for one reason only. Crispin broke away and drew Juliana with him. “How are you this evening?”

  “I am well.” The faint scent of jasmine moved through the air with her every movement. “Thank you for coming.”

  He nodded. “You owe me an explanation.” What the deuce was so enormous that she didn’t wish to talk of it on the street?

  “I know, you’ll have it. For so long I’ve kept this knowledge to myself, it will be nice to finally have a confidante.” When she looked at him, he had the devil’s own time attempting to read her eyes. Nothing reflected there. How extraordinary. Then she glanced at the doorway, and a tiny gasp gave away her interest—or discomfort. “Why is he here?”

  “You didn’t invite this person?” he asked in a barely-there whisper as the man made his way to her father.

  “No. I had no plans to see him... until later. And if he’s here, then something has occurred.”

  For an assignation? There was no more time to talk, for the man was upon them and Crispin’s mind spun. What was this newcomer to Juliana? Beyond that, why the hell did he care? He barely knew her himself.

  “Hullo. I’m Lord Ramsay, or Andrew if you’d rather,” he said in greeting as he offered a hand to Crispin. “Cairo, thankfully, is not as keen to stick to proprieties as London.”

  “Though I’ll wager there’s enough societal events that some of the rules are still observed,” he couldn’t help but growl out from around clenched teeth. Stupid, Crispin. He has done nothing to deserve your ill-will. He forced himself to relax as he shook the offered hand. “Good evening. I’m the Duke of Litton.” The man’s grip was strong and sure as they shook, and he assessed him as they stared each other down.

  Finally, the man dropped his hand. “It’s not every day such esteemed guests drop by.”

  “Do you visit the ambassador and his daughter often?” Archewyne asked as he encompassed everyone in his gaze, speculation lining his face.

  “When I’m in the area. Ana and I are... friends.” Then Andrew turned to Juliana. “A pleasure to see you again.”

  What the devil? They shared a prior knowledge, but he referred to her by her assumed name, so he must not have known her in England. Crispin studied how they interacted with each other. The softer emotions were missing, so they weren’t a couple, but there was an air of challenge from her and an ever so slight edge of intimidation from him.

  What exactly had he stumbled into?

  “Come.” The ambassador said with a frown at Juliana. “Please, everyone sit. We have time for talking before dinner, and I look forward to knowing you fellows better.”

  Crispin frowned. “Are there other guests invited?”

  “Perhaps, but we are not formal with invitations here. Guests come and go. I never know who will come by, especially if Ana is in residence,” he answered with a shrug. He dropped into a leather winged back chair. “She is quite popular with the gentlemen.”

  “Interesting,” was the most erudite reply that came to Crispin’s mind.

  Quickly, everyone else in the room settled into the furniture grouping, while Lord Ramsay moved to a sideboard and poured himself a snifter of brandy.

  How many times had the man been to this house if he was so familiar with its layout and felt comfortable enough to partake in spirits while in mixed company?

  “Why are you here in Cairo, Lord Archewyne?” the ambassador asked by way of opening conversation. “I must confess, I have been buried in my own work and haven’t kept abreast of the comings and goings of important personages.”

  “I’m here for business.” The rumble of the earl’s voice filled the room. “On the morrow, Litton and I remove for the Valley of Kings to begin a dig.”

  “How marvelous.” Lord Ramsay moved toward the group. “Egypt is ripe with hidden treasures if a man is intrepid enough to find them.”

  “Or a woman,” Juliana inserted in a quiet, but forceful voice.

  Lord Ramsay lifted his glass in silent salute, but his smile was patronizing at best. His hair, dressed in the latest style, glimmered beneath the candlelight, and his collar points were so high, it was a wonder he didn’t poke himself in the cheek with them. Light brown hair, parted to one side, fell slightly past his collar and rather longer than current fashion. “Except, women don’t have the freedom of movement, or a fortune that would win them a firman to dig.”

  “It is not about the coin, my lord,” she said in the same soft tone. “It is about the hunt as much as the object itself.”

  “You’d like to think that, but alas, the world only advances with it.” He took a sip of his drink. “Besides, I rather doubt the field of adventure is in your purview, for you need to remain close to Cairo, do you not?” A faint hint of a threat lingered in his voice.

  Crispin stiffened his spine as he bounced his gaze between Andrew and Juliana. What, exactly, was their relationship? When she glared at the man, he took it upon himself to ask the obvious question. “Why do you think so, Lord Ramsay? If it is for her position at the archives, I’m certain she could ask for a leave of absence if archeology was her passion.”

  When Juliana neglected to offer clarity, which was cause for further conjecture, Andrew said, “Her father is suspected of murdering the director of the antiquities museum.”

  “The devil you say,” Archewyne interjected. Then he sobered. “Apologies for the language. I was caught off guard.”

  All heads turned toward the ambassador.

  “Director Najjar? He is dead?” Crispin croaked out, and when Andrew nodded, he couldn’t help but stare at first the ambassador and then Juliana. No wonder the man was absent for their meeting yesterday. “How do you know
the director was murdered?”

  “And why do you suspect the ambassador?” Archewyne wanted to know on the heels of the first question.

  Lord Ramsay’s hazel eyes flashed. “Perhaps you should ask Ana.”

  Every pair of eyes in the room landed on Juliana.

  She shook her head. The tendons of her throat worked with a hard swallow. “It is rumor and hearsay, nothing more. I’m sure of it.” She clasped her fingers in her lap. “There is an inquiry, but very little proof.”

  “So, then, an official investigation has been launched?” Crispin asked. Was that the reason she took the relic, to perhaps sell it for funds to hire a barrister?

  “We’re expecting someone to come by any day,” she said in a whisper. “Such things don’t move with any sort of alacrity in Cairo, for there is always crime of some sort.”

  “Is there a body?” Archewyne’s question brought everyone’s attention back to him.

  “I’m afraid there is, and it was quite obvious the man was stabbed through the heart.” When tears sprang to Juliana’s eyes, Crispin stood and crossed the floor to her location. He offered her his handkerchief. Why was she so upset if the man assumed to have killed the director wasn’t her real father?

  The earl cut in with another question. “Does the director have enemies in Cairo?”

  The ambassador snorted. “Every man in positions of power has made enemies, Lord Archewyne. This area of the world sees to that.”

  “Was there bad blood between you and him.”

  “Not that I can fathom. We were fast friends and intellectual equals, but I was the last one to see him alive, and we’d talked...” He looked at Juliana, who surreptitiously shook her head. After that, he pressed his lips into a tight line and said no more.

  “Which leads us back to the original item of discussion,” Lord Ramsay said with a slight grin. “Ana must remain in Cairo as matters unfurl. She’s quite loyal.” He glanced at her, but she kept her gaze on her lap. “We all must make sacrifices.”

  “I see.” Even though he did not. Crispin looked at the ambassador, who’d gone white as a sheet. Something sinister was at play, but without the proper information, he couldn’t determine what. “Enough.” Ducal command rang in his voice. “It is nothing but speculation at this point, and there is no use in discussing it. We are not gossips, nor are we society dragons.”