Chapter 7
You had to do it.
You couldn’t leave her out there!
He’d laid her on the camp bed, for want of a better place, and taken off that ridiculous hat—though not before it had gotten half-crushed underneath her.
She wasn’t hurt, as far as Jack could tell. He’d checked above her ankles for any indication of a bite. Not that it was likely. If a snake or scorpion had struck, she’d have screamed for sure. Instead, she’d fallen into a faint of some sort.
He flicked closed the flap of his tent’s canvas and tied it shut. He could do without the complication of one of the others looking in and seeing her.
Fortunately for the current situation, Seton had sent away Fortescue and Browning, who’d been sharing the generously sized tent with him. Once they’d finished copying the temple frescoes, Seton had put them on half-pay and packed them off to Cairo on an extended break.
Of the local men—fellaheen who received a daily wage for their labors on the dig site, outside of the busiest farming seasons—no more than three remained to act as guards, now that the shoring up of the sand around the perimeter was complete. The rest had returned to their villages.
Hassan was down by the gateway, while Anwar and Fawzi had gone off to the villa to wash, then to bring back supper from the kitchens. That was one thing he couldn’t fault Seton on; the staff quarters, built as a separate annex not far off from the main residence, were well-thought out.
The young woman on the bed murmured but didn’t wake. He needed to do something about that, before their luck ran out. If someone came looking for her from the villa it wouldn’t do either of them much good for her to be found here.
Casting through his things, Jack found a neckerchief that hadn’t been worn yet and wetted it, passing the cloth over her forehead. She turned at the coolness, and a strawberry-blonde curl fell over her cheek.
That hair! Even in the shaded interior of the tent, it was an astonishing hue.
She was a beauty, all right—a true English rose, or should that be Irish?
It hadn’t taken much sleuthing to discover she was the daughter of Sir Herbert Montague—the very same who’d been working with Seton when they’d first unearthed the site.
Jack had always regretted not having had the chance to meet him, for everything he knew of the man pointed to him being an accomplished scholar.
The ravishing young woman lying upon his bed had been here too, when the discovery had been made, though she’d have been barely more than a child at the time.
Hard to imagine what effect it must have had on her, losing her father as she had.
He’d heard it had taken two days to dig out the poor chap, after the bank of sand on one side of the entrance ramp had given way.
She’d been the one to raise the alarm, having been at the top when the accident had occurred.
Wetting the cloth again, he took it from her temple to her cheek. A trickle ran downward, traversing her throat, disappearing beneath the frilled collar of her blouse.
The temptation to bend his head and follow its path with his tongue was almost unbearable.
What would her skin taste like?
Sweat and sweetness in equal measure?
Would she moan if he kissed her there, upon her pale, elegant neck? Would she know it was him, despite her half-sleeping state?
Or, if she imagines anything at all, will she think it’s Seton?
Hastily, Jack took himself several paces across the room, away from her altogether. The choice was timely for she stirred awake, blinking, pushing herself upright.
She wrinkled her nose. “What are you doing here?”
“You don’t remember?” Browning’s bed creaked as he sat. “You swooned.”
“I don’t swoon!” She squinted at him with a suspicious air. “I demand that you let me go!”
“Hey now!” He held up his hands in faux surrender. “You’re free to walk right out. I brought you in out of the sun, that’s all.”
She screwed up her face again in a manner not in the least ladylike. He didn’t doubt that, if he crossed a boundary with her in any way, she’d thump him straight on the nose.
Prickly and scrappy.
“I’m sorry.” Her shoulders slumped. “I’m…not myself today. If I may, I’ll sit here for a minute.”
From a flask he poured her a glass of water, then sat again, leaning his elbows onto his knees, trying to appear relaxed.
Thankfully he’d been airing the tent, so he hoped the nose-wrinkling wasn’t the result of her being offended by the accumulation of masculine odors.
He could see her surveying the meager accommodation.
Beside the camp beds, there was a table piled with papers, and a jacket slung over the back of the chair.
There wasn’t much else, except for his trunk, at the foot of the bed.
“I remember you, from the hotel.” She sipped at the water. “You’re working with Lord Seton.”
“I don’t know for how much longer. Got me up in the cliff tombs, making copies of things that have been recorded umpteen times already. Not that it isn’t interesting, but…” He shrugged, knowing he ought to be grateful.
It was just that the temple was something else altogether, such as had never been found before. There was more he could say, but cataloguing his grievances to Seton’s fiancée probably wasn’t the wisest move.
“Jack Balfour.” He gave a mock salute. “Seton was married to my aunt. That’s how I ended up here, for my sins.”
“Ah yes.” Her aqua-blue eyes held his. “It’s funny to think, if our timings had been different, we might have met before…I went away.”
She looked mournful, and he felt a pang of sympathy. The circumstances under which she’d lost her father were horrific. He understood she’d been living with her aunts ever since.
Jack’s own family exasperated him, but he was fond of them. “I’m sorry for what happened with your father. They’ve made the site safer since then.”
She leaned forward. “Thank you, and I’m sorry about your aunt. Agnes, wasn’t it?”
Jack gave a curt nod. “My mother’s sister. They met while Seton was funding a dig in Alexandria. I visited briefly, before returning to my college, in Cambridge.”
Onora looked thoughtful. “I regret never having met her. Her father was involved in archaeology, I believe, so we’d have had much in common.”
He paused, uncertain of how much to say.
The urge to be honest won out. “I didn’t get the impression he made her happy.
They’d been married only a short time, but I had the feeling he was disappointed in her, and that she knew it.
I can’t think of anything worse, being stuck with someone, knowing they don’t really want you.
In any case, she wasn’t unhappy for much longer.
News of her death came soon after I left. Cholera, apparently.”
At least, that’s what he chose to tell us.
Jack had never been sure he believed it.
“That’s…extremely sad.” Onora sighed. “I’m sorry for it. For her, I mean. Being married can’t be easy, especially to remain compatible through the passing years. We change so much. It’s difficult to imagine our lives with someone for all the decades ahead, and to know that we’ll remain content.”
He had the sense she wasn’t speaking solely about his aunt. Was she rethinking her commitment to Seton? The idea made him bold.
“Be careful with him.” Jack caught her gaze. “You might think Seton a catch because of his wealth, and what he can offer you, but I don’t think he has the capacity to put someone else before himself. I’d hate to see you…”
She cut him off. “You think I’m marrying him for money? I can assure you I haven’t need of it. My father left me perfectly well off. Or is it the title you think I’m hankering after?” Her eyes flashed. “I preferred you in Cairo. You were an unabashed flirt, but at least you weren’t lecturing me.”
“That was before I knew you were marrying Seton,” he snapped back.
“I think we’ve exhausted our small talk, don’t you?” Standing, she smoothed down her skirts and picked up her hat.
He pre-empted her desire to leave by rolling up the tent flap.
She lifted her chin. “Are you dining at the villa? If so, I hope you won’t—”
“Mention that you spent a portion of the afternoon testing the springs of my bed?” Jack couldn’t resist the jibe.
“Don’t worry. I’m not in sufficient favor to receive an invitation.
It’s no hardship, I assure you. I’m happy enough where I am.
” He checked the coast was clear. “If you’re ready to leave, now is a good time. ”
She stalked away, her back rigid, walking briskly. He hadn’t asked what she’d been running from, but he didn’t need to.
It was perfectly obvious.