“Ah, so you can’t live without her.”
“Damnation! If I had to be attracted to a woman, why not an intellectual, or a woman of achievement and principle, someone who embraces the values I hold dear?”
“She’s none of those things, Raven?”
“At worst, she is dicked in the nob.” Val shook his head.
“And at best?”
“A sensational seductress.” A slow smile came to Val’s lips.
“I don’t advise it, my friend.” Zaheer hummed under his breath. “Do not become ensnared by a woman who is without virtue, as tempting as it might be.”
“I can live without the virtue. It’s the misdirected intellect which disturbs me.”
“A dangerous woman.” Zaheer shook his head in disapproval.
“Beyond a doubt. That’s the only thing I can tell you about this woman with certainty.”
I should not have had any response to Alita Stanton at all.
Val was drawn to this woman who embodied everything he deplored in his family. She was manipulative and likely delusional. The 4th Earl of Ravensdale was a womanizing gambler who had attempted to exploit everyone he encountered. His mother lived in an imaginary world of her own creation.
Although Miss Stanton was certainly intelligent, she did not appeal to his most deeply held values on any level.
He should have been repelled by her. And he was…quite the opposite.
The fact remained that she captivated him.
“Why the devil should I even care about the lady, much less have her plaguing my thoughts?” Val asked rhetorically.
“Who is she?” asked Zaheer pointedly.
“That is the question of the century.” Val shook his head in disgust. Ravensdale, you have sunk too low this time.
An older gentleman in the corner motioned to Zaheer, who took him another glass of whisky. Upon returning, Zaheer knitted his brows together as he studied Val. “Egypt is home to some of the most beautiful women in the world. I’ve never before seen you express more than a passing interest, Raven.”
“To be perfectly honest, Zaheer, I surprise myself.”
“What has happened to you?”
“Everyone has always lamented that I am the most sensible person of their acquaintance, as if it were an unfortunate trait.” He was serious. He was studious. He was disciplined.
“And now?”
Val shook his head. Even from a young age, he had behaved like an adult, more so than his parents had. He had not been frivolous. He never shirked his duty. Of all things, he strove to discover truth, to discern it, to speak it, to live it. Less-than-stellar personages had no appeal to him.
And now he was reacting to this fortune-telling gypsy child who hadn’t put two words of sense together as if she were his last chance at happiness.
“Sensibility is a most unfortunate trait. The woman does you a service.” Zaheer grinned while pouring more coffee into Val’s cup.
“Ah, now you have hit upon the point, Zaheer. This woman tells me that she wishes to help me.”
“A believable story. You certainly need help.”
Val glared at his companion.
“You’ve changed, Raven,” Zaheer’s expression was somber as he wiped off the counter with his rag. “Not a month ago you were so thin I wondered you were dying. In time, you seemed to have purpose, but still you were enshrouded in gloom. Now the light has returned to your eyes. Did this woman do this? Or have you found Allah?”
“Neither.” Val frowned, keeping his eyes glued to the lobby, not wishing to miss the temptress if she walked by.
An interesting thing has happened to me, Val admitted to himself. It was, in fact, as if a cloud of despair had been lifted when he first laid eyes on Miss Alita Stanton.
Now he was merely perplexed. Bewildered. Amused. Annoyed.
“Not the woman. Not Allah. Why then?”
“The frivolity of my outlook is strangely out of character, is it not?” Val posed momentarily, tapping his finger on his cup.
“Frivolity? You, Raven?” Zaheer smiled at his customer, about as frivolous as a tax collector in tax season. “And what of your former misery, Raven? Does it no longer plague you?”
“The misery is lighter somehow, but it is there, make no mistake about that, Zaheer.” Val shook his head even as he searched the lobby with his eyes. “This retrieve is nothing more than an odd coincidence, my friend.”
“No doubt. You meet the woman, the light returns to your eyes, you no longer look like a skeleton, and it is coincidence.”
“I assure you I have too many important things to do to be obsessed with parlor games, Zaheer. She is not for me and shall have to be forgotten.”
As much as I should like to remember. Val smiled involuntarily as he recalled his encounter with Miss Alita Stanton. He didn’t know how she had gathered her information, but it could have been accomplished with sources and lucky guesses. Lord knows that many a war had been won against all odds with just such a combination of sources and luck. One thing was certain: Miss Alita Stanton didn’t have supernatural abilities.
Why she would go to the trouble of presenting an elaborate pretense, knowing he could not possibly take her seriously, he could not fathom.
“I beg your forgiveness for disagreeing with you, Raven, but I know what you do, and it is not more important than a woman.” Zaheer’s laughter sounded more like a whoop than a proper English laugh. The fellow had clearly become over-confident.
“I am sorry you hold no high opinion of my work, Zaheer,” Val said with indignity, hiding his agreement. “But be advised the woman is nothing more than a merchant’s daughter looking to marry a title. She wasn’t the first, and she won’t be the last, God willing.”
“Ah, finally you acknowledge Allah’s part in the whole affair.” Zaheer nodded somberly. “It is a great wisdom to know that Allah has a plan for your life.”
The Devil take it! It is her. She was like stardust descending the spiral mahogany staircase, none other than the conjurer of this spell from which he was unable to break free, floating through the air.
A heavenly vision. He caught his breath as he lowered his porcelain cup, almost setting it on the edge of the saucer, throwing some drops of hot coffee on the counter.
Zaheer busied himself with wiping the counter, his eyes glued to the staircase.
Beautiful. She was dressed to the nines in a creamy pink dress fitted to her slim silhouette. Black velvet bows accented the folds of material along her hips. Pink roses were under the brim of an upturned straw hat, pink ostrich tips adorning the outside. A small cape of lace framed her neckline.
There was a gaiety to her expression which cast a pink glow into her cheeks. Against so much pink, her emerald-green eyes glittered, even from this distance.
As he tore his eyes from her, he saw that she was accompanied by an older woman dressed even more elaborately than she was, sporting a large, over-decorated hat.
Bloody hell. And who is that milksop with her? A tall, blond Nordic god in English attire. Val’s stomach tightened as she laughed at something her male companion said, her eyes sparkling and attentive.
Precisely the expression she had utilized on him.
“I would not question Allah’s judgment on this.” Zaheer whistled under his breath as he followed the direction of Val’s eyes. “I am sad for your burden, but you must make do with a merchant’s daughter, Raven.”
Val did not answer. He had his answer, and there was no more to be said.
There was no difference in her countenance bestowed upon her new prey as she had adoringly displayed towards him.
What was she telling the blonde fop? Of his illustrious future?
Suddenly she looked frantically about for no apparent reason. Val ducked behind a column so as to be just out of her vision. She seemed to be scanning the crowd. Apparently even the blond Adonis did not have it within his power to hold her attention.
But Miss Alita Stanton had wish
ed to help him, had she? Val laughed out loud.
“Clearly Allah views you with favor, Raven.” Zaheer studied his patron with a newfound interest.
“You are welcome to your fantasies, my friend, but I have work to do. What is my bill?” Val rose from his seat, taking care his back was to the door.
That would be the day when someone waltzed into his life not thinking of how to use him for their own purposes. That hadn’t been the case with anyone in his life.
“Shall I put in on Lord Cromer’s tab?” Zaheer asked.
“Thanks for the coffee,” he muttered, throwing a coin on the counter.
“I hope it met your high standards, Raven.” Zaheer’s sneer turned into a smile.
Val scowled. Exiting the side door, he fought the cloud of gloom threatening to descend upon him again.
Why should I feel disappointment? The little minx had behaved precisely as suited her character.
He had thought there might be some surprises left in life when he met Miss Alita Stanton.
But in fact, everything was entirely predictable.
17
Possessed
Ouch! Inadvertently pricking herself, Alita placed her finger to her lips as she considered her surprising experience of meeting the Captain Ravensdale. The reflections transferred none too well to her needlework as she sat embroidering with her grandmother after dinner in their suite.
Ordinarily Alita took pleasure in the extraordinary views from the large oval windows. On one side of their suite at Shepheard’s was a view of the central courtyard. From their balcony on the other side was a stunning view of the Nile.
Neither view captured her attention this evening. Nor did the Egyptian artifacts decorating the tri-level blue-and-gold suite. Even the reverent sounds of worship from the minaret of a nearby mosque failed to distract her from her thoughts.
As Alita studied her irregular stitches with displeasure, she considered that an explanation of Valerius Huntington’s character was not as simple as it might appear.
In point of fact, she had been possessed by this man’s spirit for months—there was really no more accurate way to express it. However, meeting Captain Lord Ravensdale in person was an entirely different experience from meeting him in the spiritual plane.
And disturbingly similar.
She had encountered men who were deeply obsessed with the carnal side of life, but this was not the earl of Ravensdale. He was, instead, intensely focused on the exercise of his intellect. There could be no doubt he was attracted to her in a deeply sensual way, but this was not his preferred realm of experience.
Lord Ravensdale was attracted to her all on almost all levels: spiritual, emotional, and physical. Given the level of his attraction, why is he rejecting me?
She wrinkled her brow, pausing for a moment from her fatal stitching. It is perplexing.
The dowager duchess cleared her throat. Alita looked up momentarily to see that her grandmother, resplendent in a lavender Watteau wrapper as she stitched as well, was having considerably more success at her embroidery.
“We do not meet on the intellectual plane,” she murmured under her breath.
“Excuse me?” asked Her Grace, looking up.
“Nothing, Grandmamma, just thinking out loud.”
“Young ladies do not think out loud,” the duchess reprimanded. “Being in this God-forsaken foreign land is one of the grave consequences of manners such as that.”
“Why do you say it is God forsaken? Can’t you hear the prayers? From the mosque? There can be no doubt that they are worshipping God.”
“No, they are worshipping Allah. We must leave this place as soon as possible.”
“‘Allah’ is another word for God. A rose by any other name…”
“They are worshipping another god,” the duchess corrected her.
“There is only one God,” Alita said. “Some of us call Him Yahweh, and others—”
“Do not argue with your grandmamma, Alita. If there is a difference of opinion, I am always right. Please remember that in future.”
“Yes, Grandmamma.” Just as the English are always right and everyone else is wrong. Or maybe there is not a ‘right’ and a ‘wrong’. Maybe we simply have a different way of looking at the same thing. I wonder if it might be a better world if we could respect and learn from the experiences of others instead of always supposing oneself to be superior.
Good Heavens! Suddenly grasping the reason for the chasm between the earl and herself, she nodded her head. Val Huntington was a man of deep emotions, but he interpreted the world primarily through his logic. She herself was an intelligent person, but she experienced and deciphered the world through her emotions and her instincts.
She might understand him, but Val Huntington—who prided himself on his intellect—
certainly did not comprehend nor approve of her.
Alita pursed her lips in self-reprimand. She had not come in order that he might understand her.
The purpose of my visit to Egypt is not to earn the Black Panther’s good opinion, nor to fuse with him on any level, nor to procure something for myself.
I have come that Valerius Huntington might realize who he is.
It was well known who she was—a foolish girl who had ruined her first season despite having every possible advantage, including the ability to sense the thoughts and feelings of others.
How was it possible to fail given such advantageous circumstances?
The magnitude of her pursuit loomed before her. If I am unable to succeed with every advantage, how can I possibly succeed thousands of miles from home where I am truly out of my element?
Could there be any doubt she was yet on another doomed mission sure to fail because she had undertaken it?
“Why do you have such a long face, my dear?” The Duchess’ voice broke through the string of Alita’s distressed thoughts.
“Oh, it’s nothing really, Grandmamma,” stated Alita lightly as she stared down at her lap.
Regrettably, there is nothing more I can do. She had told Lord Ravensdale what she came to say, he hadn’t believed her, and he refused to see her. Possibly he would consider her message at some future point.
“It must be something, or you wouldn’t be mangling that poor cloth,” said Marvella. “And where were you on Monday, Alita, dear? You have been quite out of sorts since then.”
“I suppose I have.”
“And where were you? Surely you recall.”
I recall very well. I shall never ever forget that afternoon as long as I live. I have never felt so alive and yet so hopeless.
“I went to the British Consulate.” Alita took a sip of her tea and pretended to look out the window. She wished she could forget looking into the depths of silver eyes luminous with raw pain.
“I see,” stated Marvella. As her pale blue eyes scrutinized her granddaughter, she added offhandedly, “And to what purpose?” The duchess situated herself beside Alita, the purple satin bows of her lavender Watteau wrapper in disarray.
“I went to see the gardens,” murmured Alita as she took up her embroidery again and set down her tea cup.
“And what happened in the garden?”
“I had the sudden odd feeling there might be someone there. Someone…whom I knew.” Even as she recounted the events, it felt like a dream.
“And was there?” asked Marvella, feigning only the slightest interest.
“Was there what?” asked Alita as she looked up from her embroidery.
“Was there someone there whom you knew?” demanded the dowager duchess.
“Yes.” Alita nodded as she continued stitching. “Yes. And…no.” She saw clearly that outstanding qualities and experiences had come together to make this amazing person—the captain of the Princess Royals—and he was throwing it away every day of his life.
“You did know this person—or you didn’t? And who did you see?”
“I recognized him instantly. And I know him not at all.”
“Child, would you please put down your needlework and talk to me?” ordered Marvella with a heavy sigh, beginning to appear most put out.
“Grandmamma, honestly, I can stitch and talk at the same time.”
“Then please do so. I begin to think you can do neither. And for heavens sake stop talking in riddles,” replied Marvella with exasperation, appearing to lose her patience, Alita knew not why.
“Do what?” asked Alita, a sadness washing over her. Unless Val realized who he was, he would never become himself. And if he did not become himself, many people would suffer and die in an unnecessary battle he could prevent. If only she could help him, she would have performed this one truly worthwhile act.
But I am at a loss to know how.
Even as she attempted to foresee the circumstances, the image which came to her repeatedly was that of books. Shelves and shelves of books.
It made no sense.
Within hours of meeting him, the battle he could prevent began revealing itself to her—so horrible in nature.
Everything is raining down on my head at once. She was immersed in misery, powerless to free herself.
“For the last time, child”—Marvella snatched the embroidery from Alita’s hands without further adieu—“whom did you see at the British consulate you knew?”
“In truth, I hadn’t actually met him before I arrived there.…” replied Alita, reflecting on the question as if it were open to interpretation. “…but I knew him instantly.”
One thing is certain. I am no saint. Alita shook her head in dismay. The man affected her. She longed, no ached, to see him again.
“This person you knew whom you had never met.” The Dowager Duchess of Yarbury began to grind her teeth even as she steadied herself on the couch.
“Yes.”
“And might one inquire of his name?” she reiterated in sharp tones.
“Valerius Huntington,” stated Alita, feeling wounded as she looked up suddenly. “Honestly, Grandmamma, you might have simply asked instead of getting huffy.”
“I do apologize, child.” Marvella breathed a heavy sigh of relief.
The Destiny Code: The Soldier and the Mystic (Daughters of the Empire Book 1) Page 17