Chapter 30
Chapter Thirty
Jack
The rooftop terrace of the Tigris Palace Hotel glowed with lamplight and river reflections, its white-linen tables scattered beneath a striped awning that flapped gently in the warm night breeze.
A gramophone played faint waltz music from a corner near the bar, half drowned by the hum of conversation and the clink of silver on china.
Jack sat with his back to the balustrade, instinctively watching the terrace entrance.
His jacket was slung over the back of his chair, sleeves rolled to the forearm, exposing the poorly stitched wound on his arm from his scuffle with the lorry bandits.
A medic in Azraq had stitched and bandaged it, but after his bath this evening, Jack had removed the dressing.
Across from him, Ruby looked like she hadn’t just crawled out of the desert this morning—golden hair pinned up, a deep green dress that made her look more like a visiting socialite than a grifter.
Checking into the hotel hadn’t been in Jack’s plans, but following Kit’s trail had led them here.
At Café Shahbandar, a waiter had told them Gretchen kept a room at the hotel, so they’d headed here.
Renting rooms had been the easiest way to not only check the register and find Gretchen Herbert’s room—but to also give them the ability to slip into the room in the privacy of night.
He could almost picture Kit here, sitting in a corner table, sipping on a glass of cognac, book in one hand. Maybe she’d come here with that fiancé of hers—the waiter had confirmed his existence, too, though he hadn’t seen the man in months—and shared dinner, smiles …
Ruby stabbed a fork through a piece of lamb and said, “Don’t look so happy, Jack. We made good progress today, didn’t we?”
He snapped out of the dark thought and lifted his glass of wine. “To progress.”
Ruby frowned, then dabbed her lips with a cloth napkin. “I don’t understand. Didn’t you say finding this woman would help you find your sister? And yet you seem completely dispirited.”
He didn’t answer. She couldn’t possibly understand what he was going through. Not with Kit. Not with Alice.
She toyed with her fork, eyes briefly dropping to her plate.
“You know, when we first had to leave home, getting news from my family was difficult. I thought the not-knowing would eat me alive. I’d have done anything for a scrap of news—good or bad.
But more than anything, I was angry with myself.
I lost so much time with them while I was off pursuing the limelight and cheering audiences.
Time I know I’ll never get back because of the choices I made.
They built a life without me while I was gone. ”
He knew that kind of regret. The wasted time. Alice’s face in his memory growing older without him there to see it.
Jack raked his fingers through his hair and sighed.
He needed to do a better job of hiding his emotions—Ruby was reading him a little too clearly for comfort.
“Sorry. I’m just tired.” He forced a smile.
“You’re right. We’re closer to finding Alice than we were yesterday. And that’s all that matters.”
She gave a dry laugh. “You sure about that?”
“Well—the hard part isn’t over yet. We still have to break into Gretchen’s room, not to mention the telegraph office.
And if we find anything useful then, we’ll just be back to following the trail of clues, hoping they don’t lead to a dead sister.
So yeah, I’m not sure. I’m not sure about a goddamned thing anymore. ”
Ruby flinched.
He tossed his napkin down on his plate, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry. I think I just need to sleep for a few hours. And my appetite is gone.”
Reaching for her wineglass, Ruby stared at him with narrowed eyes, scrutinizing him. “You know, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say something else is bothering you. Something you’re not telling me.”
“I didn’t realize we were sharing all our deepest, darkest secrets now,” he said flatly. “One cozy night in the Jordan desert doesn’t make us friends or you any more trustworthy.”
A look of hurt crossed Ruby’s face. She picked up her wine, but didn’t drink. “You know, for a man who says he doesn’t trust me, you’ve let me watch you when you think no one’s looking.” Her tone wasn’t teasing—it was almost gentle. “That’s how I know something’s eating you.”
Her lips pursed, she took a long drink from her wineglass, and then she set it back down and stood. “Thanks for dinner. Wake me up when you’re ready to leave.”
Regret curled through him, roiling his gut.
“Ruby, wait—”
She didn’t though. She turned and hurried from the space, her svelte figure swaying with every step.
Dammit, Darby.
You’re a fool.
Ruby was a deeply flawed woman, but she was here—wasn’t she?
Had saved him from her idiot brother, faced gunfire, freezing temperatures, and explosions too.
Without her, he wouldn’t have gotten nearly as far as he had today.
Sure, she was getting paid a pretty penny, but she could have taken the sleazy route Theo had. Made a mockery of him.
Maybe there was honor among thieves or maybe she just wasn’t as rotten as he’d expected her to be, but either way, she didn’t deserve his unkindness now.
He sighed and called for the waiter, then paid for their meals and left the restaurant.
Maybe he should have anticipated that staying here would put him in a foul mood—he’d even considered booking a room at the Maude Hotel, further down the riverbank.
The place had risen in reputation among the Britons in Baghdad.
And it had the benefit of not being so filled with the ghost of the woman he’d once loved more than life itself.
Somehow, he needed to make his peace with the loss of her.
Finding Kit was a necessary evil now—one that might lead him to Alice. His sister deserved twice the effort he’d given to finding her, and yet she’d been less than half of his motivation.
He hurried toward his room, the heady buzz of a few glasses of wine numbing his senses—not enough to do any real harm, but maybe to help him fall asleep more easily.
Good. He wanted to be numb.
He wanted to forget.
To sleep.
As he stopped at his door, he paused, hand on the knob. His gaze fell on the door beside his—Ruby’s room.
A slow, exhaled breath puffed from his cheeks.
Ruby.
Ruby Whoever-you-are.
Thief. Actress. Heroine.
Against his better judgment, he tapped on the door.
No noise stirred from further inside and he rested his forehead against the door, his palm flattening against the cool wood.
He should just go to bed.
As he resolved to do just that, a soft click told him the lock was sliding from its place. He stepped away just as the door opened a crack.
Ruby stood there, long hair already unpinned from the carefully arranged curls she’d worn at dinner.
Tears streaked her cheeks, marred her rouge.
“What do you want?” she asked, her tone defensive as she hugged her arms to her chest.
He could barely draw a breath, his chest had tightened so hard. His gaze traveled from her tear-fringed lashes to the red, full lips—lips that knew how to dazzle with a brilliant smile. A smile he hadn’t seen often enough since meeting her.
Then his eyes dared further down the soft curve of her neck, tanned and freckled from days in the Egyptian sun, to her chest, where the soft mounds of her breasts peeked daringly from the neckline of her dress—now exaggerated by the way her arms pressed against her bodice.
You, Ruby. I want you.
But I don’t know what I’m thinking.
As a younger man, he would have pressed his luck. But what type of idiot would it make him if he forgot everything he’d learned the hard way thanks to a few glasses of wine, unsatisfied lust, and a pretty face?
Not to mention that he couldn’t—wouldn’t—offer her anything beyond the companionship of one night. And Ruby didn’t deserve that.
He searched her face a moment longer, then said, “To apologize.”
Her throat bobbed as she swallowed, her eyes hesitant.
“Apology accepted,” she said in a soft tone.
She nudged the door open a bit further, then stepped onto her toes and kissed his cheek.
“Too bad we didn’t meet in some other time, Jack Darby.
” She stepped back from him, one hand on the door. “Goodnight.”
Still fighting the urge to pull her into his arms and kiss her thoroughly, he nodded instead and stepped back. “Goodnight, Ruby.”
The door started to shut, then she paused. “Weber. Ruby Weber.”
He tilted his head. Is she telling the truth?
Yet, she didn’t say it with an ounce of guile. The corners of her lips curved in a small smile, then she started to shut the door.
Why had she chosen to tell him tonight?
He wasn’t sure why it landed heavier than it should have—a name was nothing, and yet coming from her, it felt like the slow turning of a lock. People like Ruby didn’t hand over pieces of themselves unless they wanted you to keep them.
Before he could stop himself, Jack wedged his foot in the door frame, his body blocking the hall light. Ruby’s eyes flicked to the obstruction, then back up to him—surprise flashing before it settled into something more cautious.
He stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. She didn’t move away, but the faint scent of her—powder, warm skin, a trace of whatever floral water she’d dabbed at her throat—reached him before her hands did.
When he kissed her, it wasn’t the bruising hunger he’d expected from himself.
It was tentative, almost a question. Her answer came in the way her arms went around his neck, pulling him in as though she’d been holding her breath all night.
Her mouth was warm, the faint taste of wine and salt from her tears clinging to her lips.