Chapter 16
Jack waited while Onora returned her painting paraphernalia inside. Already, though it was scarcely eleven in the morning, all was glaring white and hard on the eyes.
The hat she wore was so large he couldn’t see her face, nor did she speak as they headed toward the curve of towering limestone. Despite her ungainly skirts, she did well across the sand.
They paused at the foot of the edifice, looking up at the stark crags peppered with openings—some natural fissures, others man-made, carved out to form sepulchers for the dead.
“There’s the one I’ve been working on. You see the overhang? It’s not so bad, climbing up, once you’re over the scree.”
She nodded, asking no questions.
Of course, she likely knew as much as he about the topography of the place. She’d all but grown up here. It wouldn’t surprise Jack if she’d spent a good portion of her childhood scrambling up and down the cliff paths, leaping over rocks and crevices like a baby goat, entirely fearless.
He’d have liked to have seen Onora as she was then. A glimmer of that spirit remained, though she was pressed upon by constraint and unspoken anxiety.
She allowed him to lead but had no trouble keeping up, chiding him onward when he stopped to offer his hand.
Reaching the mouth of the cave, they surveyed the view.
No matter how many times Jack came up here, it never failed to impress him—the vista west, to the open desert, and toward the river, where a band of fertile land ran alongside the water.
She spoke wistfully. “What else remains, beneath those sands? I almost think, some things are meant to disappear.”
It was a strange thing for the daughter of an archaeologist to say.
Soon to be the wife of one, too—if you can call Seton an archaeologist.
Jack looked skyward. High above, a kite swooped in a leisurely circle, soaring on a warm current of air.
Untying the ribbon beneath her chin, Onora removed her wide-brimmed hat, letting it dangle.
He had to stop himself from staring at her—all that luxurious auburn hair and those languid cornflower eyes.
There was a flush in her cheeks from exertion but she looked tired in a way that went deeper than the effort of making the climb.
Not sleeping well?
It wasn’t his place to ask.
“Come on, I’ll show you inside. The ceiling rises the farther you go in.
No mummies or tomb artefacts; long since pilfered.
We’ve sieved the floor for any small pieces that might have been left behind.
Nothing much beyond a few shards of glazed ceramic, but the wall paintings are worth seeing.
A nobleman and his family were likely placed here.
” He ducked his head beneath the overhang and entered a few steps before passing over the mirror he always carried with him.
She found the sun with it immediately, as he’d known she would, angling the reflective surface, letting the light bounce around the cave.
He wanted to see her expression as she took in the beauty of the decoration. All tombs were of interest, the rituals of death illuminating how those far-off lives were lived. But of all the burials in this section of the cliffs, this one touched him the most.
Her beam of light moved over the faces: father, mother, children.
Hieroglyphs alongside laid out their names and their nature: truth-speaker, bringer of joy, loyal wife, patient mother.
There was something intimate about it—this resting place for people who had loved one another.
They might have been from any age in history.
The figures were followed by an assortment of animals and a depiction of the river, covered in lotus blooms.
“Such a noble flower.” Onora stepped closer. “Symbols of purity and renewal, their opening habitual with the dawn.” She glanced at him with a shy smile. “I brought my sketchbook here, long ago, and copied these lilies. The colors are less bright than I recall, but still beautiful.”
“There’s some damage from lamp smoke. Seton wasn’t too particular when he was going through these tombs.
I keep one here myself, for occasional use, along with a stash of supplies.
Never know when they might be needed.” More than once, Jack had thought of coming up here to camp permanently, but he valued the company of Anwar, Hassan, and Fawzi too much to absent himself completely.
He grimaced. “Seton uses lamps far too freely within the temple, keeping them lit for hours on end, but there’s no reasoning with him. ”
“You don’t like him, do you?” Her expression was surprisingly neutral.
No more than he’s keen on me.
“He plays by his own rules. I can’t prove it, but I’m certain he pays bribes to prevent having to part with his finds, and to keep things as private as possible.”
“But everything in the temple is classed as national treasure. It will all go into official hands eventually.” She clearly wanted to believe well of the man.
Jack bit back all the things he could say. If he told her enough home truths it might put her off Seton, but it would hardly endear himself, and he very much desired her to think well of him.
She’d been occupying his thoughts since that first meeting at Shepheard’s. Each time they crossed paths, his conviction grew—that she was something rare and precious, and that he’d be a fool to walk away. He might spend a lifetime and never meet someone like Onora Montague.
She was one of a kind: infuriating, stubborn, but strong-willed in the best way, and resilient.
More than that, he liked the way her mind worked and how she expressed herself.
She had a spiritual side that had nothing to do with religion or dogma.
And, he could hardly forget, she was the most beautiful creature he’d ever laid eyes upon.
Tell her, or you’ll regret it always.
She was moving back towards the entrance, bending low to inspect the faces of the children.
He cleared his throat. “Miss Montague, you must know, I haven’t brought you here solely to look at wall paintings.”
“Haven’t you?” She jerked upright. “Is there something else? I thought these tombs had been emptied of artefacts.”
A deep breath was required. “It’s always seemed to me that people have layers. I mean to say, you may have a wrong impression of me which is entirely my fault, but I’d like to remedy that—for you to know me better.” He was making a total sow’s ear of this. “And for me to know you better.”
“I see.” She cocked her head. “And how are we to do that, Mr. Balfour? Through conversation, as we have been doing, or some more drastic approach?” She took a step closer.
“You’ve brought me here, unchaperoned and very much out of sight.
Now you plan to strip away my defenses. That being the case, perhaps I should start calling you Jack. ”
He couldn’t move. The way she was gazing at him! Not at all like an innocent young woman who knew nothing of the ways of men. The melting look in her eyes was positively seductive.
Raising the mirror, she breathed onto it then took the lacy muslin neckerchief from her throat, applying the gauzy fabric to the surface. Rubbing it clear, she slipped it into the pocket of her skirt, then stepped closer still.
Her head was tilted back, her eyes half-closed, her lips parted.
Rising upon her toes, she brushed her mouth to his, so gently he expected her to whisper to him.
However, when she pressed forward again, there could be no mistake.
She tugged upon his lower lip, teasing, and gave the softest of sighs, relaxing against him.
Joy took hold such as he’d never known before—warmth and contentment, and a sense of ‘rightness’. Without him saying much at all, she understood how he felt. She wanted him, in the same way he did her.
It seemed natural to hold her waist and, as he did so, she invited his tongue to meet hers.
He’d imagined their kiss so many times, but this was better. She was lush in his arms, soft and yielding. Her hands snaked around him, tugging at his shirt. Soon her fingers were stroking the bare skin of his lower back.
Jack moved to her neck, wanting to lick and taste every part of her, to kiss her throat and claim her earlobe between his teeth.
“Touch me. I want you to.” Onora was breathing heavily.
She was unbuttoning her jacket, then her blouse, exposing the camisole beneath. To his surprise she wore no corset, though the slenderness of her torso hardly made one necessary. High and round, her breasts were visible through the fine cambric.
His mouth was dry. He wanted to do as she asked.
Hell! He’d dreamt of nothing but this!
Even so, he hesitated.
She isn’t yours. Not really.
Impatiently, she grabbed his hand, so that he cupped her. “Please!”
Unable to help himself, he felt for the tautness of her nipple, straining against the garment. He took it between thumb and finger, and she gasped.
The last remnants of his reserve left him.
“Onora.” Her name emerged as a groan.
His cock had been aching since the first brush of her kiss. Now he was rock hard.
Her fingers threaded through his hair as he pushed down the camisole, nuzzling her breasts, wanting to pull the shape of her into his mouth.
She held him while he suckled, then grew impatient, pushing him away.
Her eyes, so blue, looked almost black in the half-light of the cave, her pupils near covering each iris.
“There’s nothing to stop us. Show me what it is to be loved. Show me everything.”