Three
I n the end , none of them escaped dinner, which Lady Sabita insisted they would keep ‘terribly informal.’ That apparently meant sitting at an elegantly laid table in the open air of the courtyard, ringed by lanterns and candles.
At least nobody asked Adam to put on an evening jacket. He tried to remember the last time he had even worn an evening jacket… failed… and decided that was a good thing.
At least sitting next to Julian Forster-Mowbray helped keep Adam’s mind off his other problems. He couldn’t spend much time worrying about the talk he needed to have with Ellie, or what her brother was going to say about their relationship, when he was actively resisting the temptation to dump a bowl of yogurt over The Mustache’s perfect hair.
As one of the household staff set a platter of tasty-looking pastries down on the table, Adam even started to relax—until his dining buddy turned to address him.
“I must say, I’ve been known to swing a racket on occasion,” Julian chummily offered. “When did you acquire your taste for badminton?”
Adam had just popped a ball of fried cheese soaked in cardamom-scented syrup into his mouth. He nearly choked on it.
“Are you all right?” Lady Sabita asked with alarm.
“Fine,” Adam wheezed after he managed to swallow. “Great cheese balls.”
Constance glared at him from across the table, and Adam realized that everyone was still waiting for him to answer.
“Uh… just kind of fell into it, I suppose,” he awkwardly lied.
“Right, right,” Julian obliviously agreed. “I must say, swordplay found me in much the same way.”
“Fond of a spot of fencing at the gymkhana, are we?” Adam offered, inwardly congratulating himself on his lucky guess.
Ellie shot him a warning look from Julian’s other side.
“Something a bit more than that, actually,” Julian replied with a little chuckle. “I compete with an épée, but I also practice with a rapier.”
“A rapier ?” Adam burst out. “Why?”
As opposed to a traditional fencing weapon like an épée, which was light, flexible, and never intended to hack anybody’s limbs off, a rapier was—well, more or less a proper sword. It was far too heavy and dangerous for any sort of competition, but also pretty useless in any modern defensive context. High society didn’t exactly countenance men like Julian Forster-Mowbray strutting around with swords hanging from their belts.
Which was yet another reason why Adam had little time for high society. He gave the hilt of his machete a comforting pat under the flap of his jacket.
“Let’s just say… it relates to my historical interests.” Julian flashed a secretive smile.
“Yes, of course!” Lady Sabita piped in forcefully. “I forgot to mention that our Mr. Forster-Mowbray is quite active in Cairo’s Egyptological circles.”
“I wouldn’t say active ,” Julian charmingly corrected her as he leaned back in his chair. “I am hardly running about digging things up myself. My role is more… administrative.”
“But really, administrative work would be much less likely to take one away for months at a time,” Lady Sabita chirped enthusiastically. “Which I am sure your future wife will find most preferable. Don’t you think, Jhia?” she added with a rapier-pointed look at her daughter.
Adam paused with his second cheese ball halfway to his mouth, glancing from the innocent-eyed Lady Sabita to the smug Julian Forster-Mowbray and a glaring Constance.
Lady Sabita seemed to realize she was laying it on pretty thick, because she shifted her attention over to Ellie. “You’re fond of history as well—aren’t you, Miss Mallory?”
Ellie’s fork paused in midair as her eyes narrowed. “If by ‘fond,’ you mean that I possess a degree specializing in the subject from University College, London…”
Adam could hear the warning in her tone.
“Have you a degree, then?” Julian cut in. “Isn’t that jolly?”
“Jolly?” Ellie echoed flatly.
Uh-oh , Adam thought, casting an alarmed look at Ellie’s left hand, which had tightened on her butter knife.
How much would it hurt to get stabbed in the thigh with a butter knife?
Adam wondered if Mr. Forster-Mowbray was about to find out.
“Don’t you mean ‘very impressive?’” he blurted awkwardly. “I know I’m impressed. I couldn’t even manage to finish college.”
Constance’s face blanched across from him.
“Were you there on a badminton scholarship?” her grandmother asked smoothly.
Padma sat to Constance’s left in all her finery, a serene expression on her face.
“Huh?” Adam replied.
Something kicked his shin under the table. He would’ve thought Constance’s legs were too short to reach that far.
“I mean—not really,” Adam coughed out. “I was… I didn’t have any scholarships.”
“I see.” Padma smiled a bit like the Cheshire cat and took an unhurried sip of her tea.
Adam felt a distinct sense of danger. Constance’s grandma probably wasn’t big enough to rise to his collarbone, but something about the woman was frankly terrifying. He’d spent enough time in the uncharted wilderness to know that it wasn’t the largest threats that you needed to worry about. The small critters were the ones that could take you down with a bite and leave you writhing in a puddle of your own sweat on the ground until your heart stopped.
A clear voice echoed out through the evening air, drifting into the courtyard in rhythmic, practiced tones from a sky soft with the pale pinks and violet of sunset. Adam figured it must be a call to one of the daily Islamic prayers. It sounded nice.
“Goodness, is that muezzin at it again already?” Julian piped up. “I’m afraid that means I have to be getting on—I have an appointment this evening that I can’t shake, as much as I would prefer to spend more time with you charming ladies.”
“How unfortunate,” Ellie returned flatly.
“Your Highness.” Julian rose to bow to Kumari Padma. “And Lady Sabita—always a pleasure. Constance, darling—I’m afraid I have a bit of business outside town tomorrow, but perhaps I might call on you again on Saturday?”
“Constance would be very happy to receive you.” Lady Sabita cast a warning look at her daughter. “Isn’t that right, Jhia?”
“Of course.” Constance’s reply was perfectly courteous—but Adam still found himself checking her hands for potential weapons as she rose to extend one to Julian.
The Mustache planted a well-practiced kiss onto the back of it. “I’ll look forward to it, then,” he concluded.
To Adam’s surprise, Julian turned to him next. “Mr. Bates, why don’t you leave the ladies to their gossip and join me outside for a smoke before I go?” He tossed the women around the table a saccharine smile.
Adam saw Ellie’s hand tighten around the butter knife again.
He didn’t want to join Julian Forster-Mowbray for a smoke. In fact, there were few things he found less enticing—but one of them was seeing what kind of trouble they’d get into if Ellie gave into the temptation to stab the man.
“Sure. Great.” He pushed back his chair. “Why don’t we head right on out and do that?”
?
One of the house’s cadre of servants opened the door to let Adam outside. The quiet street had grown darker since their arrival that afternoon. The shadows lengthened with the evening as lights flickered to life behind the finely carved window screens.
Another muezzin had taken up the call to prayer from a minaret to the east. The sound drifted softly down into the narrow space between the buildings.
Julian took a holder from his pocket and slipped a cigarette out of it, offering it to Adam. Adam took it without a whole lot of optimism. He’d been pretty spoiled as far as tobacco went, living on the coast of the Caribbean for the past seven years.
The Mustache passed him a lighter, and Adam took a draw. He suppressed a grimace and thought longingly of Padre Kuyoc’s cigars.
“I couldn’t help but notice that you carry a knife.” Julian nodded to the sheath at Adam’s belt.
“Uh… yeah,” Adam confirmed awkwardly.
His machete had definitely been attracting more attention in Egypt than it ever had in British Honduras—where anybody who spent more than five minutes outside of town kept a blade on hand as a matter of course.
Not that a few odd looks would stop Adam from wearing it. Nobody was ever going to take his knife away from him again—not if they wanted to keep all five of their fingers.
“I appreciate the value of a good blade—not that I make a habit of carrying one about,” Julian amended. “I’m afraid it wouldn’t be entirely seemly in the circles I move in. I gather that your own background is perhaps a bit more… eccentric?”
Adam hadn’t been outside of high society so long that he’d forgotten what a sideways insult sounded like—and since he wasn’t in the house any longer, he didn’t feel quite as obligated to keep playing nice.
“How’d you like to hear what I think of guys who concern themselves with my background?” he offered easily.
“Not that I’m passing any judgment, of course,” Julian went on as though Adam hadn’t spoken—probably because he hadn’t bothered to listen. “To each his own, I say. I only ask because it occurs to me that you might value a little—friendly assistance, shall we say?—with how things stand in Sir Robert’s household.”
Adam considered telling the man exactly where he could stuff his friendly assistance, but he doubted The Mustache would bother listening to that, either. He was obviously a guy who exclusively appreciated the sound of his own voice.
Unfortunately, Adam had more than his fair share of experience with the type.
Julian didn’t bother to wait for Adam to respond anyway. He was still talking—which more or less proved Adam’s point.
“It is only that Miss Tyrrell and I are on the verge of reaching an understanding with each other.” Julian watched the smoke curl up from his mediocre cigarette. “One that I feel quite confident in saying her family fully support and encourage. And I should hate to see any… investment on your part if that effort is destined to be wasted.”
“Huh?” Adam blinked at him. “Hold on—you think I’m interested in Constance ?”
“I should hardly presume,” Julian smoothly replied with a wave of his cigarette. “You have only just arrived in Egypt, after all. I suppose I merely aim to do you the service of deterring any ambitions you might develop in her direction. She is quite the choice plum, after all,” he added with a little chuckle.
Adam decided it was probably a good thing there weren’t any fountains on Constance’s street. He was increasingly tempted to give this self-important ass a dunk, and to hell with the consequences.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said instead. “I’m not interested in plums.”
Julian’s cigarette went still as the man raised a curious eyebrow. “Not interested in plums… at all?” he asked carefully, frowning with obvious surprise.
Adam suppressed a choice adjective. “I mean… you’re fine. With your… whatever the hell you’re doing.”
The Mustache brightened, making a jab toward Adam with his cigarette. Adam was starting to wonder whether the guy actually smoked them or just used them as accessories to wave around. Not that he could blame him if that was the case. They were godawful smokes.
“Aha!” Julian exclaimed. “I think I see now. It’s not Miss Tyrrell you’ve set your cap on, is it? It’s that delectable little bluestocking. She must have caught your eye on the train.”
“The… what?” Adam’s mind blanked at the audacity of the man’s description of Ellie.
“You’ll have your hands full with that one,” Julian cautioned chummily. “Of course, Connie’s quite the spirited little thing herself. I know that would put some gentlemen off, but I’ve grown quite fond of her. And of course, it’s an entirely sensible match, whatever others might have to say about her less than entirely English pedigree.”
Adam’s fingers clenched. “Oh?” he prompted dangerously.
The Mustache waved his cigarette dismissively again. “It’s of no matter to me,” he assured Adam. “As a younger son, there’s not a great deal set aside for my portion. My father’s Lord Aldbury, you see, but as one would expect, the greater part of his estate is entailed to my brother Heathcliffe. It’d be the army for me if I had any aptitude for military life, or seconding that—perish the thought—the church. Thankfully, Constance brings more than enough fortune to settle us comfortably. And my pedigree—Daddy’s an earl, after all, and my grandfather on my mother’s side was a duke—will nicely raise her children’s station in life.”
“Isn’t her grandma a princess?” Adam pointed out.
“In English terms, I mean.” Julian finally took a draw on his cigarette, blowing the smoke out in a pale gray stream. “I dare say I think the two of us are quite compatible, and her parents obviously approve, so it’s just a matter of winning the girl over to the idea. I’ve no doubt I can manage that in another month or two.”
Adam briefly considered whether he ought to simply punch the man, fountains and consequences be damned. But then he thought about what he’d seen so far of The Mustache’s ‘spirited little plum,’ and decided he’d sit back and let Constance eviscerate him herself. He had no doubt she was fully capable of it.
Julian flicked his cigarette down to the paving stones. “Glad we could sort all that out.” He ground the ember to dust under his gleaming Oxford shoe. “Best of luck with your bluestocking,” he added, punctuating it with a friendly pat on Adam’s shoulder.
At the touch, Julian’s eyes widened with surprise. He poked Adam’s shoulder a little more firmly.
“Goodness,” he noted. “I didn’t realize badminton was quite so strenuous.”
“You have no idea,” Adam replied evenly, glaring at him.
“Ha ha!” The Mustache laughed awkwardly. “I see I have to watch out for you! Very well, then—I’m off. Cheerio, Bates.”
Adam watched him go, fiercely resisting the urge to throw something at the back of his pomaded head.
Once he had turned the corner, Adam crushed out the burning end of his own lousy cigarette. He picked The Mustache’s butt from the stones and carried both ends inside.
He was gonna trash them, and then find that sauna Lady Sabita had mentioned. Talking to Julian Forster-Mowbray left him feeling like he needed to wash something off.