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Authors: Loretta Chase
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anything Belzoni had discovered.
Equally important,
Lord Noxley would make the sister his viscountess. He’d wanted
her from the first moment he saw her because she, rather like the
papyrus her brother had bought, was a rarity.
Countless beauties
inEnglandhad thrown themselves at him, and he’d had his pick of
their exotic counterparts inEgypt. Mrs. Pembroke had no counterpart.
She was not pretty,
not beautiful. He was not sure she was handsome. But her face was
striking and her figure magnificent, and she was as rich as Croesus.
Moreover, she was conveniently here . His lordship need not return toEnglandto renew the tedious search
for a suitable bride. He could remain inEgyptfor years. When he did
return, it would be to great fame and honors.
But someone had
disrupted his plans. Archdale, one of the world’s great
linguists, might be in deadly peril. Meanwhile the Earl of Hargate’s
hellion son was sniffing about the future Viscountess Noxley’s
skirts.
Lord Noxley sent
for his agent Ghazi, who arrived within the hour.
Ghazi was his
lordship’s right-hand assassin.
Lord Noxley told
him what had happened and asked why he was one of the last to know.
“ I will send
men to Old Cairo,” Ghazi said. “They will discover who
took your friend. But it is very strange. One day they steal the man.
This I understand. They do it for a ransom. But today they steal a
papyrus? This I do not understand. The merchant Vanni Anaz has an
endless supply. He has men who make them, too. The peasants sell them
in all the villages. Why go to the trouble of stealing?”
Lord Noxley
explained.
“ Ah,”
said Ghazi. “But is it true?”
“ Someone
thinks so,” Lord Noxley said.
“ It must be
the French,” Ghazi said. “They grow desperate.”
This was because
Lord Noxley’s agents were steadily driving the French away from
the richest sites. He wasn’t sure desperation explained it
completely, though. Had he erred regarding Archdale, mistaking
secrecy for modesty?
“ The question
is, who possesses the means and is ruthless enough to undertake such
villainies?” he said.
Apart from Lord
Noxley himself, only one man met the requirements.
“ Duval,
then,” said Ghazi.
“ I rather
think so.”
“ I will talk
to his people.”
The word talk , both men knew, was a euphemism for a very broad range of
activities.
But Lord Noxley
knew Ghazi didn’t require specifics. His lordship only added,
“And that idiot Carsington.” He briefly described Lord
Hargate’s fourth son. “He’ll be inGizatomorrow. I
want him out of the way.”
Wednesday 4 April
RUPERT ARRIVED AT
the widow’s domicile at daybreak as ordered.
He found they would
travel with a retinue. All of her cowardly servants but Akmed, it
turned out, had skulked back to the house by the time she returned
the previous evening. She’d decided they must come along
toGizatoday.
It took Rupert a
while to take this in because he was still trying to digest her
appearance.
She’d
abandoned the black silk for a costume: a gold-trimmed maroon jacket
over full Turkish trousers of a bright blue. And a turban. They would
pretend she was a man, his Maltese translator, she said.
She did not in any
way resemble a man, Maltese or oth-erwise. She made Rupert think of
harems and concubines and dancing girls. In those thoughts clothing
of any kind was not a prominent feature.
He remembered how
surprised he was when he lifted her off the donkey: she was smaller
than he’d guessed, though quite as generously curved. He could
almost feel it still: the inward turn of her waist… the flare
of her hips where the edge of his hand had rested. A familiar heat,
having nothing to do with the morning’s temperature, settled
into his nether regions. As a consequence, a long moment passed while
he tried to get his mind on business.
The ludicrous
turban didn’t help matters. It begged him to unwind it by
spinning her round and round like a
Equally important,
Lord Noxley would make the sister his viscountess. He’d wanted
her from the first moment he saw her because she, rather like the
papyrus her brother had bought, was a rarity.
Countless beauties
inEnglandhad thrown themselves at him, and he’d had his pick of
their exotic counterparts inEgypt. Mrs. Pembroke had no counterpart.
She was not pretty,
not beautiful. He was not sure she was handsome. But her face was
striking and her figure magnificent, and she was as rich as Croesus.
Moreover, she was conveniently here . His lordship need not return toEnglandto renew the tedious search
for a suitable bride. He could remain inEgyptfor years. When he did
return, it would be to great fame and honors.
But someone had
disrupted his plans. Archdale, one of the world’s great
linguists, might be in deadly peril. Meanwhile the Earl of Hargate’s
hellion son was sniffing about the future Viscountess Noxley’s
skirts.
Lord Noxley sent
for his agent Ghazi, who arrived within the hour.
Ghazi was his
lordship’s right-hand assassin.
Lord Noxley told
him what had happened and asked why he was one of the last to know.
“ I will send
men to Old Cairo,” Ghazi said. “They will discover who
took your friend. But it is very strange. One day they steal the man.
This I understand. They do it for a ransom. But today they steal a
papyrus? This I do not understand. The merchant Vanni Anaz has an
endless supply. He has men who make them, too. The peasants sell them
in all the villages. Why go to the trouble of stealing?”
Lord Noxley
explained.
“ Ah,”
said Ghazi. “But is it true?”
“ Someone
thinks so,” Lord Noxley said.
“ It must be
the French,” Ghazi said. “They grow desperate.”
This was because
Lord Noxley’s agents were steadily driving the French away from
the richest sites. He wasn’t sure desperation explained it
completely, though. Had he erred regarding Archdale, mistaking
secrecy for modesty?
“ The question
is, who possesses the means and is ruthless enough to undertake such
villainies?” he said.
Apart from Lord
Noxley himself, only one man met the requirements.
“ Duval,
then,” said Ghazi.
“ I rather
think so.”
“ I will talk
to his people.”
The word talk , both men knew, was a euphemism for a very broad range of
activities.
But Lord Noxley
knew Ghazi didn’t require specifics. His lordship only added,
“And that idiot Carsington.” He briefly described Lord
Hargate’s fourth son. “He’ll be inGizatomorrow. I
want him out of the way.”
Wednesday 4 April
RUPERT ARRIVED AT
the widow’s domicile at daybreak as ordered.
He found they would
travel with a retinue. All of her cowardly servants but Akmed, it
turned out, had skulked back to the house by the time she returned
the previous evening. She’d decided they must come along
toGizatoday.
It took Rupert a
while to take this in because he was still trying to digest her
appearance.
She’d
abandoned the black silk for a costume: a gold-trimmed maroon jacket
over full Turkish trousers of a bright blue. And a turban. They would
pretend she was a man, his Maltese translator, she said.
She did not in any
way resemble a man, Maltese or oth-erwise. She made Rupert think of
harems and concubines and dancing girls. In those thoughts clothing
of any kind was not a prominent feature.
He remembered how
surprised he was when he lifted her off the donkey: she was smaller
than he’d guessed, though quite as generously curved. He could
almost feel it still: the inward turn of her waist… the flare
of her hips where the edge of his hand had rested. A familiar heat,
having nothing to do with the morning’s temperature, settled
into his nether regions. As a consequence, a long moment passed while
he tried to get his mind on business.
The ludicrous
turban didn’t help matters. It begged him to unwind it by
spinning her round and round like a
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