Heart's Demand (12 page)

“Yes, I’m sure it is. Goodbye.”

She started out, and he rushed over and stopped her.

“Let’s not quarrel,” he said.

“Fine, let’s not.”

“It’s just that this place isn’t set up for me to entertain you or your siblings. It’s quite remote and the conditions can be harsh.”

“I understand, but we hardly require entertaining. I simply thought it might be beneficial for Isabelle and Nicholas to get to know their only uncle. And
I
was yearning to receive some guidance from you. But if you don’t wish to provide it, I can seek assistance elsewhere.”

“No, no, you’re correct. I should help you. It’s proper that you came to me, and you can remain. How about for two weeks?”

“Don’t put yourself out,” she sarcastically said.

“We should rent a house for you in Cairo.”

“I suppose that would be better.”

“We’ll spend your visit discussing what path you should take.”

She tamped down her aggravation. “I was hoping you’d advise me on that very topic. It’s why I’ve been so desperate to speak with you.”

“No matter what happened in Parthenia, Isabelle and Nicholas—especially Nicholas—should live somewhere like London or Paris where they can attend elite schools and interact with other aristocratic children.”

“I agree.”

“We have to decide the best location.” He waved to the door of the tent. “So…why don’t you unload your gear, get yourself arranged—the porters will figure it out—and we’ll have supper together after the sun has set.”

“I’ll see you then.” She started off again. “Oh, and by the way, we are using the surname of Webster, and I’ve been telling people we’re from Boston.”

He smirked. “No one will believe it.”

Bryce certainly hadn’t. “We’ll make them believe it. Who is there to claim we’re lying?”

“Who indeed?” He forced a smile. “I’m glad you’re here, Katarina.”

“I am too.”

*   *   *   *

Cedric watched his niece hurry away.

He was very busy, focused on the prospect of huge and amazing discoveries. If he found the tombs for which he was searching, he’d be famous in the annals of Egyptian history. He didn’t have time to fuss with Katarina or deal with her brother’s problems.

Cedric was merely an archeologist. He wasn’t a politician or diplomat, and he was quite sure—wherever Kat ended up—she would experience many difficulties. In Cedric’s view, a royal family in one country was never too keen on the royals from another moving in and taking up residence.

What were the ramifications of Nicholas being at Cedric’s camp? The local authorities required an enormous amount of bribing and cajoling before Cedric received his permission to dig. He couldn’t lose that permission because of the status of his guests.

What if the king in Parthenia demanded Egyptian leaders send Nicholas home? What if Nicholas’s presence sparked an international incident between the two nations? It wasn’t likely, but Cedric had to plan for the contingencies. He never left any detail to chance. In the rough, hot, Egyptian desert, that’s how men ruined themselves. They didn’t prepare, and catastrophe struck when they least expected it.

Kat had sneaked off with Nicholas and was traveling under a false identity, so clearly she hadn’t shared all the facts about their departure from Parthenia. Obviously someone hadn’t wanted them to leave, and if she’d announced her intentions, she might have been prevented.

Nicholas wasn’t just
any
child. He was a prince and should have been a crowned king. Katarina had recklessly transported him to a spot where he oughtn’t to be. He should probably be somewhere else, but where?

The entire mess was like a complex mental puzzle, but he was too distracted to solve it. He needed advice and answers. For a brief second, he considered contacting Valois, but quickly decided against it. Any counsel from Valois would be watered down by the nuances of how he could profit.

No, Cedric needed an opinion from someone higher, someone who would carefully assess the situation and understand the dilemma Katarina had created by taking Nicholas from Parthenia.

“What was that blasted fellow’s name?” Cedric mumbled to himself.

He riffled through a stack of documents and pulled out a piece of paper. Then he dipped a quill in the ink pot and began to write.

To His Majesty, King Kristof Alexander Sebastiano Morovsky…

*   *   *   *

Bryce studied Kat as she approached, and she looked mad as a hornet. Apparently her meeting with her uncle hadn’t gone as she’d expected. Or perhaps it had gone precisely as she’d expected.

He was down by the boats, keeping an eye on the porters, on Nicholas and Isabelle, but positioned so he could observe Cedric Webster’s tent too. Kat had introduced Bryce to Mr. Webster, then kicked him out, and he was irked to have been excluded from their conversation.

He was supposed to be guarding her, and he couldn’t do a very good job of it if she wandered off on her own and refused to have him near.

Nicholas saw her and rushed over. “Was our uncle happy we’re here? Was he surprised?”

She smoothed her features. “Yes, he was very surprised. He hadn’t gotten my letter, so he wasn’t aware we were coming.”

“But he was happy, yes?” Nicholas pressed the issue, as if perceiving his sister’s unease.

“Yes, Nicholas. We’ll stay for a week or two.”

“Then what?”

“Then…I don’t know.” She shrugged, appearing very young, very alone. “We may rent a house in Cairo while I determine our next move.”

“Did you ask Uncle Cedric if I can help him dig?”

“We didn’t discuss it, but he’s invited us to supper, so you can ask him yourself.”

Nicholas was a bright scholar, tutored in the ancient ways of the pharaohs. While they’d waited for Kat to return, he’d regaled Bryce with archeological tidbits. At the news that he might be allowed to hunt for artifacts with his famous uncle, he grinned and dashed away, dragging Isabelle with him as they ran after the porters to watch their tents being erected.

Momentarily the dock was quiet, the boats emptied of their occupants. Bryce went over to her, hating to note the fatigue and worry in her gaze.

“Your brother and sister are gone,” he said, “so you can tell me the truth.”

“My uncle was surprised. That’s the truth.”

“He wasn’t glad you’re here though, was he?”

“What makes you think so?”

“I can see it in your eyes.”

She smiled a sad smile. “Perhaps in the future, I shouldn’t let you look so closely.”

“Where you’re concerned, I have a second sense. I can guess your emotions with no hesitation at all.”

“I don’t know if that’s good or bad.”

“It’s grand. It means we’re becoming friends.”

“Are we?”

“Yes,” he groused, “and don’t pretend we’re not.”

“All right, I won’t.” She sighed. “Could we sit in the shade on the boat?”

“Certainly.”

Cedric Webster might not have built any permanent structures, but he had gravel-strewn walkways, as well as a sturdy wharf where supply boats from Cairo could dock and unload their wares.

Bryce and Kat started down the sloping hill to the river, and about halfway there, she stumbled and he grabbed her arm.

“What the devil…?” he muttered. “Did you trip?”

“No. I’m just so hot. I loathe this accursed land.”

“No, you don’t,” he said as he steadied her. “You find it intoxicating. You told me so.”

She was a tad wobbly, so he scooped her up and marched down the path. She was light as a feather, seeming to be skin and bones, the only substantial weight on her the yards of fabric from which her outfit was sewn.

She was attired much as she would have been for an autumn day in Europe, but the desert weather didn’t resemble that continent in the slightest. She had on layers of petticoats, shoes and stockings, a jacket and bonnet.

When he’d initially arrived, he’d dressed inappropriately too, but months of heat and wind had taught him to strip to the barest essentials. He wore trousers, boots, a billowy shirt, and a hat with a brim. Always a hat, but he often stared enviously at the local men in their flowing white robes. They always looked so much more comfortable than he was.

Would she be willing to change her style of clothing? Would she be willing to pick different fabrics? Would she dare to live dangerously, to shed her bulky apparel? Her corset ought to be the first item to go, but it probably wasn’t his place to inform her.

“Put me down,” she insisted but without much force behind the complaint.

“No.”

“I can walk.”

“No, you can’t. You just fell. Be quiet.”

“I’m not an invalid.”

“You’re not? I could swear your legs aren’t working very well.”

“My legs are fine. I’m simply a bit disoriented.”

“And weak and exhausted.”

“You can really be a bully when the situation calls for it.”

“I can be, and this situation definitely calls for it.”

In a few more strides, they were on the dock. The gangplank was firmly secured so it only swayed a little as they crossed it. In a thrice, they were off the burning sand and on the boat. The temperature dropped dramatically.

He thought about sitting her in a chair on the deck, but she had to remove some of her heaviest garments. He proceeded to the ladder, but it would be impossible to maneuver down it while holding onto her, so he stood her on her feet.

“I’ll climb down,” he said, “then you come after me. I’ll catch you.”

“I can make it on my own. You don’t have to help me.”

“Haven’t we talked about how independent you are? Haven’t I explained that you can lean on me once in awhile?”

“Yes, I believe we have.”

“So…I’ll catch you. Don’t argue about it.”

“Yes, sir.”

She saluted as if she were a lowly private in the army. He laughed and jumped down into the hull. She descended with no trouble, but he lifted her anyway, just because he could. He carried her to her berth and balanced her on the mattress.

“We have to cool you down,” he told her.

“I’m feeling better already.”

“You must shuck off some of your clothes.”

“Well, I’m not doing it while you’re standing here.”

“Close your eyes and imagine I’m your favorite lady’s maid.”

He reached for the bow on her bonnet and yanked it off, and she wasn’t irked enough to protest. But when he grabbed her ankles and yanked off her shoes, she yelped with surprise.

“Mr. Blair!” she scolded in a very authoritative tone as if she was a princess lecturing one of her subjects.

“What?” He grinned, sure he looked innocent as hell.

“You’re not undressing me.”

“Just your shoes and jacket.”

“You most certainly will not.”

“I’m going to turn my back,” he said, “then you’ll take off your stockings.”

“Absolutely not. My feet will be bare.”

“I’m positive I’ll survive it.”

“It’s unseemly.”

“It’s just your feet, Kat. Now take off your bloody stockings or I will.”

He whipped around and waited, listening as she raised the hem of her gown, as she untied one garter, then the other, as she rolled down one stocking, then the other.

His grin widened. He hadn’t thought she’d comply. She was so snooty, he hadn’t expected he could command her.

“Are you finished?” he asked, and as he spun to face her, she scooted her legs under her skirt.

“Yes.”

“Do you paint your toenails?”

“If I did, I wouldn’t tell you.”

“I had a mistress who used to paint hers red for me. I really liked it.”

She gaped at him in astonishment. “I believe that’s the most scandalous remark ever uttered in my presence.”

“You need to get out more.”

“I can’t decide if I’m more offended that you keep mistresses or that you’d mention it to me.”

“I don’t
keep
mistresses. I’ve never had enough money. I just had the one after a big gambling win. But the money didn’t last long so the doxy didn’t last long.”

She clamped a palm over her eyes. “Oh, my Lord. My ears are burning.”

“I like shocking you. I like to drag you down off your high horse.”

She jerked her hand away and glared at him. “I don’t ride a high horse!”

“You’re perched on it all the time, and I’m trying to figure out who you are and where you come by such a puffed-up demeanor.”

“I’m perfectly fine, thank you very much.”

“Yes, you are.”

She studied him and scowled. “You never had a mistress. You said that to discover how I’d react.”

He cocked a brow. “Maybe I did. Maybe I didn’t. Maybe I’m the worst libertine ever. Or maybe I’m chaste as a nun.”

“Men can’t be chaste as nuns.”

“Then maybe I’m chaste as a priest.”

She snorted at that. “I doubt it. Not with you being as handsome as you are.”

“You think I’m handsome?”

“You know you are, you vain wretch.”

“Well, I can’t deny that I’ve had a few paramours wax on about it.”

“I bet they line up to flatter you.”

“You could be right.” He reached for the row of buttons on her jacket.

She slapped his fingers away. “Behave yourself.”

“I won’t cease pestering you until I’m sure you can inhale without keeling over in a dead faint.”

“I’m not the fainting type. It’s simply too hot outside.”

“Yes, it is, and you’re swaddled in so much wool that you might be on an expedition to the Arctic.”

“I don’t have any other clothes, and I’m not comfortable with the local attire.”

“You have to get comfortable with it, or I’ll be picking you up off the ground every two seconds.”

“The native women don’t seem to wear much in the way of…of…”

She trailed off and she gestured over her body, unable to voice a word like
corset
in front of him.

“They don’t wear corsets or petticoats?”

“No, and I’m not discussing those items with you.”

“If you’d like, I can tell you what they have on under their dresses. I’m intimately familiar with it.”

“Stop it, would you? You’re embarrassing me, and you’re putting illicit thoughts in my head.”

“What sort of illicit thoughts?”