Chapter Two
Maximillian Thorne ran a finger around the rim of his empty tankard, the gesture rhythmic, hypnotic.
He wasn’t certain if it made the noise in his head louder or if the din of The Smuggler’s Lantern had finally faded.
Not that it mattered much. Nothing mattered once one had drunk enough.
He slumped in his chair at a table in the back corner and motioned for the waitress.
He’d only been back on English soil for a few weeks, and already, that familiar sense of isolation was clawing at him.
All those years spent in Africa and on the Continent, he’d dreamed of returning to the land of his birth, but every time he had, he’d been disappointed.
His parents were gone, and he’d never been close with his older brothers.
The oldest, the current Earl of Warwick, hadn’t reached out to him once since their father’s funeral.
He wasn’t certain why he’d thought this time would be different.
Perhaps because after his latest expedition to Cairo, he’d been desperate to get away from the heat and the ever-shifting sand.
In the beginning, he’d enjoyed working as a guide in Egypt, especially after years of pointless war.
But now he was so bloody tired of catering to so-called archaeologists, who cared nothing about the artifacts they dug up out of the ground.
God. It sickened him. He hated watching privileged arseholes plunder ancient history for their own ends.
He’d thought a few months in London would do him some good. He’d dreamed of the cooler climate and imagined spending sensual nights in a fine bordello. But so far, he hadn’t ventured far from this seedy tavern that lay directly below the room he’d rented upstairs.
He had the bottom of the next mug of ale to look forward to, and that was plenty for tonight. He shied away from pondering overmuch on when his desires had gotten so... uninspired.
The waitress handed him another round just as two women entered the tavern. Even from across the room, he could tell they were quality, their attire and bearing out of place in a dive like this. These women were the sort who belonged in one of the ton’s ballrooms.
He should know. In another life, he’d belonged there too.
The crowded tavern fell suddenly silent as all eyes turned to look at the women, sizing them up and sensing easy prey. What the hell were ladies like that doing in a place like this?
Not my business.
But something about the taller one, a flash of auburn hair in the gaslight, made him slowly set down his drink.
Suddenly, the tavern seemed too small, too close, his breath caged up tight in his chest. Max surged to his feet, nearly upsetting the table and his fresh pint with it.
Her green eyes locked with his, quick and sharp.
Eden.
Had he finally lost his mind? Because her appearance here, like a mirage in the desert, made no sense whatsoever.
Relief flitted across her face, but not surprise.
No. She’d obviously expected to find him here.
She hesitated, whispered something to her friend, and then started toward him.
This was real, he realized. She was actually walking toward him in The Smuggler’s Lantern.
Fifteen years without a single glimpse of her, and now she’d ventured down to the docks to what? Find him?
Max sat back down, every part of him trembling. Stupid, like the lovestruck boy he’d once been. What was he supposed to say to her? Hello, I’ve missed you for what feels like an eternity. I’ve thought about you every day, wondering if you even remembered me.
She wound her way through the crowd with fierce determination.
The lady with Eden, a dark-haired beauty, trailed behind her like a bodyguard.
He wondered once again what the hell they’d been thinking.
Venturing to a place like this in their finery fairly invited assault.
What would they have done if he weren’t here?
But then he saw the two men following in their wake, large strapping fellows wearing Eden’s family’s livery.
Ah. Not so defenseless after all.
She reached the table, and time seemed to stand still.
“Hello, Max.”
The sound of her voice made him remember how it had once been between them.
He drank in the sight of her, committing every detail to memory.
Faint lines creased her eyes and the corners of her lips, but other than that, she was still as striking as ever.
Her auburn hair was tightly contained in a chignon, but he’d dreamed about those wild curls.
Her emerald eyes and willowy frame still had the power to bring him to his knees.
He knew she’d always been self-conscious of her vivid coloring, but he loved it.
She didn’t say anything else, and the silence between them grew unbearable.
“What in the bloody hell are you doing here?” he finally asked, harsher than he’d intended. “Have you gone mad, coming to a place like this?”
“How very good to see you, too,” she said, hurt flashing in those brilliant green eyes. She gestured to her friend. “This is Lady Daphne Fitzroy, the Countess of Wyndham. May we sit down?”
Lady Eden Pemberley had brought a bloody countess with her to The Smuggler’s Lantern.
To find him. Once again, he began to doubt that any of this was real.
He glanced at his mug, wondering if he’d drunk more than he’d thought.
He’d never been given to hallucinations while in his cups, but perhaps his ale had been poisoned with something. ..
Eden cleared her throat, and he realized he hadn’t answered her. He nodded to the bench opposite him. “Suit yourself.”
Eden exchanged a glance with her friend, then turned her lovely emerald eyes toward him once again.
She had a way of looking at people the way she did books, like she might find something interesting if she studied them hard enough.
He’d always loved that about her. No one else in his entire life had ever looked at him that way. No one else had actually seen him.
God, how he’d missed her.
The two women sat down, looking uncomfortable.
Eden perched on the very edge of the bench, ready to spring back up. “I’m here in a professional capacity,” she said stiffly. “I’d like to hire you.”
“Hire me?” he asked, her statement doing nothing to dispel the strangeness of the situation. “To do what?” He really couldn’t imagine what this was about. What could she possibly want with him after all this time?
Eden shook her head. “Don’t be difficult, Max.”
“I’m not trying to be difficult.” Max frowned, his confusion growing. “I truly have no idea what you’re talking about. And how the hell did you find me?”
“Someone told me where you were likely to be,” she said. “It wasn’t hard.”
“I should be insulted,” Max said. Had he really sunk so low that it was widely known that the best place to find him was The Smuggler’s Lantern? Amusement rose within him, something he hadn’t felt in ages. He bit it back. “You still haven’t answered the question.”
Eden leaned forward. Her scent, a faint hint of jasmine, reached him over the stench of the tavern. Memories of making love to her crashed over him, and the urge to touch her nearly overwhelmed him. Somehow, he restrained himself.
“I need a guide for an Egyptian expedition,” she said, as though that were a completely reasonable thing for a woman of her station to request.
All the pieces fell suddenly into place. Of course. That’s why she was here. She certainly hadn’t come here to rekindle their old flame. He didn’t know why it hurt so much. But it did.
“I don’t do ladies’ tours.” Max tried to catch the waitress’s eye, needing to look at anyone but this woman who had once meant so much to him.
“That’s not what I’m asking for,” Eden snapped. She took a deep breath, pushing a loose lock of auburn hair behind her ear, and Max almost closed his eyes. He knew how stubborn she was. She wouldn’t back down until he said yes or she wore herself out.
“Max.” Her voice was low, pleading. “Will you at least hear me out?”
He did not want to hear her out. He didn’t want to remember anything but the sting of her turning away from him; of the days that followed, waiting for a letter that never came; of Cairo and all the places in the world he’d traveled that weren’t far enough away to forget her.
He rubbed his temple where a headache was beginning to set in.
“Fine,” he said. “You’ve got ten minutes.”
He hasn’t said no. Not yet, anyway.
Eden couldn’t read Max’s pale blue eyes; time had taught him to guard them well. Seeing him again made her heart ache, the pain as familiar as it was unwanted.
He was no longer the gorgeous young man she’d once known.
However, she found this older version even more appealing.
He was still handsome as sin, and the old attraction surged within her, making her long to run her fingertips across his rugged features and explore all the ways that time had changed him.
A touch of gray threaded his golden hair at the temples, and his face was tanned and lined.
He was broader now, his body lean with muscle.
He certainly didn’t look as though he’d given himself completely over to drink.
She realized she was staring and jerked her gaze back to his.
He said nothing, only waited for her to plead her case—as if he’d let her fill the silence if it killed them both. She wanted to fill it with all the lost years, all the tears she’d cried, and questions left unanswered, but that wasn’t why she’d come here.
“I want to put together an expedition to Cairo,” she told him evenly, finally finding her voice. “A real expedition. I have a particular site in the Western Desert I want to explore. I’ll tell you more if you agree. I assume you can find us porters and diggers?”
“What does your husband think about that?” His eyes held hers, and in them, she finally saw it. The anger. The pain. He wasn’t as indifferent as he wanted to appear.