her either.
Kat needed to loosen up, to stop being such a prude and a shrew. She was no longer a princess, and she had to climb down off her high horse. Maybe if Mr. Blair flirted with her, she’d start to focus on someone other than herself.
“Pippa is an unusual name,” Mr. Hubbard said. “What does it stand for?”
“Phillippa, but I could never pronounce it when I was little. I could only say Pippa, so it stuck. Please don’t ever call me Phillippa. It sounds much too old and stuffy.”
“Well, I would have called you Miss Clementi, but if you insist, I’m sure I can make it Pippa instead.”
“My, my, but aren’t you bold. Why would you think I’ll let you act so familiarly?”
“I can tell by looking that you’re the sort of female who refuses to be trapped by convention.”
“You might be wrong about that. I’m certain I’m the most conventional woman who ever lived.”
“Shall we bet on it?”
“Are you a gambler, Mr. Hubbard?”
“Yes. I wager on everything.”
“Why would you?”
“Because I generally win, so why wouldn’t I?” He grinned a cocky grin. “Why are you in Egypt? Bryce mentioned a visit to Miss Webster’s uncle.”
“Yes, he’s a fanatic about all these ancient ruins. He’s been here for decades.”
“What spurred your journey? You’re from America? That’s quite a voyage merely to speak with a relative.”
“Kat recently had a spot of trouble. She’s determined to seek his advice.”
“She must want it very badly if she’d come all this way.”
“She’s a bit mad on the subject actually. I tried to talk her out of it, but she wouldn’t listen.” Pippa frowned. “Forget I said that. She’s always been stubborn. When she gets a wild idea, there’s no dissuading her. It won’t help matters to have me complaining and second-guessing.”
“My lips are sealed.”
He leaned against the balustrade and gazed out at the Nile. The moon was up, full and round and glowing an eerie shade of orange. The color, the tropical foliage, the sultry temperature all made her eager to misbehave, and she was no better than she had to be.
She’d nearly wed when she was eighteen. Her dashing, foreign swain had burst into court and swept her off her feet. Unfortunately he’d thought she was a royal cousin, had thought she had a huge dowry.
For the most part, Kat’s father had been kind and generous. Pippa had become his ward when she was five and her parents had died of the influenza. Her own father had been a minor Italian composer, not revered or renowned, so there had been no assets when he’d passed on.
Her father and Kat’s had been friends when they were boys, with the King not even realizing he’d been appointed her guardian until she’d shown up at court. He’d taken her in and, in many ways, treated her as a daughter.
Yet he’d been obtuse too. It had never occurred to him that she could have used a dowry or that he should supply one. If Kat’s mother had survived, she might have pushed him into it, and Pippa hadn’t known how to suggest it herself.
Once her elegant beau had learned of her low status, he’d sneaked away in the middle of the night and she’d never seen him again. Of course by then, she’d been good and truly ruined, and she’d been lucky no babe had caught in her womb.
But she’d enjoyed the physical aspect of romance, so she’d conferred with a local midwife who’d taught her how to avoid a babe. Then she was able to dally occasionally. She picked visitors who were traveling through Parthenia, who would stay a short while, then move on.
She’d participated in many unsavory affairs, and she had no illusions about her character. She was easy and loose, her head always turned by a pretty face. Mr. Hubbard was just her cup of tea, and she was already figuring out how she could trifle with him before Kat dragged her off to the desert.
“Your last name is Clementi,” Mr. Hubbard said. “Are you of Italian
Kat needed to loosen up, to stop being such a prude and a shrew. She was no longer a princess, and she had to climb down off her high horse. Maybe if Mr. Blair flirted with her, she’d start to focus on someone other than herself.
“Pippa is an unusual name,” Mr. Hubbard said. “What does it stand for?”
“Phillippa, but I could never pronounce it when I was little. I could only say Pippa, so it stuck. Please don’t ever call me Phillippa. It sounds much too old and stuffy.”
“Well, I would have called you Miss Clementi, but if you insist, I’m sure I can make it Pippa instead.”
“My, my, but aren’t you bold. Why would you think I’ll let you act so familiarly?”
“I can tell by looking that you’re the sort of female who refuses to be trapped by convention.”
“You might be wrong about that. I’m certain I’m the most conventional woman who ever lived.”
“Shall we bet on it?”
“Are you a gambler, Mr. Hubbard?”
“Yes. I wager on everything.”
“Why would you?”
“Because I generally win, so why wouldn’t I?” He grinned a cocky grin. “Why are you in Egypt? Bryce mentioned a visit to Miss Webster’s uncle.”
“Yes, he’s a fanatic about all these ancient ruins. He’s been here for decades.”
“What spurred your journey? You’re from America? That’s quite a voyage merely to speak with a relative.”
“Kat recently had a spot of trouble. She’s determined to seek his advice.”
“She must want it very badly if she’d come all this way.”
“She’s a bit mad on the subject actually. I tried to talk her out of it, but she wouldn’t listen.” Pippa frowned. “Forget I said that. She’s always been stubborn. When she gets a wild idea, there’s no dissuading her. It won’t help matters to have me complaining and second-guessing.”
“My lips are sealed.”
He leaned against the balustrade and gazed out at the Nile. The moon was up, full and round and glowing an eerie shade of orange. The color, the tropical foliage, the sultry temperature all made her eager to misbehave, and she was no better than she had to be.
She’d nearly wed when she was eighteen. Her dashing, foreign swain had burst into court and swept her off her feet. Unfortunately he’d thought she was a royal cousin, had thought she had a huge dowry.
For the most part, Kat’s father had been kind and generous. Pippa had become his ward when she was five and her parents had died of the influenza. Her own father had been a minor Italian composer, not revered or renowned, so there had been no assets when he’d passed on.
Her father and Kat’s had been friends when they were boys, with the King not even realizing he’d been appointed her guardian until she’d shown up at court. He’d taken her in and, in many ways, treated her as a daughter.
Yet he’d been obtuse too. It had never occurred to him that she could have used a dowry or that he should supply one. If Kat’s mother had survived, she might have pushed him into it, and Pippa hadn’t known how to suggest it herself.
Once her elegant beau had learned of her low status, he’d sneaked away in the middle of the night and she’d never seen him again. Of course by then, she’d been good and truly ruined, and she’d been lucky no babe had caught in her womb.
But she’d enjoyed the physical aspect of romance, so she’d conferred with a local midwife who’d taught her how to avoid a babe. Then she was able to dally occasionally. She picked visitors who were traveling through Parthenia, who would stay a short while, then move on.
She’d participated in many unsavory affairs, and she had no illusions about her character. She was easy and loose, her head always turned by a pretty face. Mr. Hubbard was just her cup of tea, and she was already figuring out how she could trifle with him before Kat dragged her off to the desert.
“Your last name is Clementi,” Mr. Hubbard said. “Are you of Italian
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