The Most Eligible Bachelor Romance Collection: Nine Historical Romances Celebrate Marrying for All the Right Reasons (62 page)

“Who is this fellow?”

She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter now, since nothing came of it.” She rounded his desk and planted a kiss on his head. “Thank you for being worried about me.”

He took her hand, the familiar scent of pipe smoke circling around them. “Ally, if you love this fellow, then you should fight for him. Fight me, fight your mother, fight even this chap if you think he’s worth it.” He squeezed her fingers and looked hard into her eyes. “Be a Davidson, willing to whip your weight in wildcats if need be.”

His smile drove away her malaise, putting some starch in her spine. For the first time in days her lips curved.

“So, is he worth it?” He stood.

“I’m going to find out.”

“That’s my girl.”

Max opened the box in the privacy of his office. Trying to put Ally out of his mind was proving a painful and futile effort. And here she was sending him boxes.

Why couldn’t she be what she’d seemed, an aspiring artist, an inquisitive, intelligent young woman from ordinary circumstances?

In spite of himself, he hadn’t been able to resist a quick trip to the
New York Tribune
offices to search the morgue for information on the Davidson family. What he’d learned sank his hopes further. David Davidson was part of the nouveau riche, a self-made man who came up from nothing to head an empire of stores that stretched from coast to coast. His wife was even more frightening, a Van Baark, one of New York’s oldest families, dating back to when the city was called New Amsterdam. They counted among their friends some of the most wealthy and influential businessmen and politicians in the country.

And Ally—Alicia—was their only child.

The top came off the crate, and he dug his hands gently into the excelsior, feeling a paper-wrapped square object. He drew it out, sending shavings and bits falling all over the floor. Snapping the string, he gazed at her gift.

Slumping in his chair, he held her painting, his heart heavy with loss. Flicking aside more of the packing material, he counted the rest of the contents. Seven more paintings. He drew out the last one, a portrait of the princess and her husband from the tomb reliefs. He knew the image as well as he knew his own name, and yet, there was a slight difference, something so subtle he hadn’t recognized it at first.

A germ of an idea sparked in his mind, and he sat up straighter. These paintings must’ve taken her weeks. And if she’d included this subtle variation to the original tomb relief, then that must mean… He found himself smiling for the first time in days.

Bounding up, he yanked his office door open and yelled down the hallway for his foreman.

“Get your toolbox. We have one last thing to do before the exhibit opens.” Max checked his watch. They were cutting it mighty fine. Good thing he’d brought his formal wear to the museum that morning.

Ally gave her wrap to the girl at the coat check and smoothed her skirts, hoping she didn’t look as nervous as she felt.

Her father let out a low whistle and leaned in to whisper in her ear. “Say, Ally-girl, that’s a stunner of a dress. You’re gonna knock this young fellow dead when he sees you.”

I hope so.
She gave him a trembly smile and touched the dangling golden earbobs at her lobes. She’d ordered them, and the dress, three weeks ago, the day after her mother’s ultimatum, in fact.

White silk with golden crystals in a lotus blossom design sewn onto the fabric. The front panel of the skirt was pleated in an echo of ancient Egyptian style, and the neckline had been over-sewn with golden threads that mimicked a pectoral collar. On her hair she wore a wreath of silk lotus blossoms. Turquoise and golden bangles adorned her wrists, and she’d darkened her eyes with just a touch of black. She had been so excited, planning the outfit for the sole purpose of pleasing Max.

Around them, men and women in formal dress arrived, crowding the foyer, all eager and expectant. She saw Charity across the way talking to, of all people, Bram Baumgartner, and she waved but turned away, not wanting to be drawn into conversation.

“David, Una, you made it.” Uncle Gus’s voice boomed out. “Been waiting for a long time for this. Come, sit by Jillian for the speeches and ribbon-cutting.”

Ally found herself trailing in their wake and taking a plush velvet-padded chair in the front row just outside the doorway to the new exhibit. A wide red ribbon barred the opening, but she could see the dimly lit gallery beyond.

Her heart stopped when Max stepped out of the shadows.

He wore black-tie and wore it well. She was so used to seeing him in laced boots and open-necked shirts, his transformation made him almost a stranger.

Until he pushed his glasses up on his nose in that endearingly familiar gesture.

Uncle Gus went to him and shook his hand, then together they mounted the dais. Her heart fluttered as she waited for Max to see her.

He froze, his eyes locking with hers, and even from this distance she could see their penetrating blue. Her palms prickled and her mouth went dry as she studied his face, so loved and familiar. A strong cord stretched between them, vibrating and alive. Regardless of whatever had happened to make him avoid her these past few days, the attraction was as strong as ever.

Her chin came up.

“So, that’s him, huh?” Her father leaned over, looking from her to Max.

She nodded, unable to break Max’s stare.

“Hmph.” He crossed his arms until Mother nudged him.

Several of the museum board members took the podium, blathering on about what a momentous occasion this was, how they planned to expand their influence in Egypt and the rest of the Middle East to increase the museum’s holdings, how grateful they were for patrons like Augustus and Jillian Bellows, and on and on and on.

Then Uncle Gus took the stage. Grinning broadly, he held out his hands to embrace them all.

“I can’t tell you what an honor tonight is, the realization of a dream. Thank you to the museum for allowing me to donate a new wing. And thank you to my chief archaeologist, Dr. James Kirkland. Without him, there wouldn’t be anything to put in this new wing of mine. Five years ago, when I first proposed the Bellows Prize in Archaeology, I never thought I’d be awarding it, especially not to such a young man, but Max, as he likes to be called, has proven his worth in both the fields of archaeology and history.” Uncle Gus reached into an inner pocket. “Max, this is for you. A check for one million dollars.”

Applause rippled through the room as Max rose and took the slip of paper. “Thank you, sir.” Uncle Gus motioned for Max to take the podium.

“Ladies and gentlemen.” His eyes rested on Ally, and her face grew warm. “Thank you for coming tonight.”

His speech hit all the right notes with his audience, scholarly yet personable, reliving the moment when they broke through the royal seals on the tomb and first got an inkling into the nature of the treasures beyond. Ally was mesmerized, though she’d heard it before.

Uncle Gus bounded up when Max finished, pumping his hand then drawing him to the ribbon across the door. Together they cut the red satin, and standing back, Uncle Gus motioned to the crowd.

“I give you, ‘The Treasures of a Princess’!”

The two hundred or so guests streamed into the now lighted galleries, and Ally found herself swept along in the crush. Just inside the door, she managed to find a backwater out of the flow.

The museum had spared no expense. In front of the wall of windows, a long table covered in candelabras, flowers, and hors d’oeuvres spanned the room, and waiters circulated with champagne. A string quartet played in one corner, and over it all, buzzed the excited hum of conversation as people examined the artifacts.

“What are you doing hiding back here? Come with me, Ally. I want to show you through the exhibits.” Uncle Gus swooped on her and took her hand, tucking it into his elbow. Knowing it was useless to protest, she allowed him to lead her along, all the while searching the room for Max.

As they passed the display case with the gilded spice chests, Ally gasped. There, beside the artifact, hung one of her paintings. Meryet-Kai and her prince dining aboard a boat on the Nile.

At the far end of the gallery, above the case holding the princess’s jewelry and makeup boxes, hung her painting of Meryet-Kai and her maids applying the pigments and scents and dressing her for her wedding. From her golden sandals to the cone of perfumed beeswax atop her head, the princess was radiant and expectant, the way Ally imagined a bride in love would feel in the moments before she saw her groom.

Seeing her artwork on display with Max’s treasures… her smile trembled at the bittersweet ache. Father and Mother approached her, Mother’s hand tucked into Father’s elbow.

“What do you think?” Uncle Gus asked, his smile so broad it made his side whiskers stick out.

“Lovely, Augustus.” Mother raised her cheek for his polite kiss. “You should be proud.”

“I am. I am.” He rocked on his toes. “And you should be proud, too. Quite an artist, isn’t she? Bowled me over when Kirkland said he was using her paintings as part of the exhibit.” He drew Father aside to introduce him to one of the museum directors.

“Alicia, why didn’t you tell us?” Mother’s perfect brows rose. “I had no idea your work would be exhibited tonight.”

“I didn’t know myself. Other than the front-piece for the exhibition book.” The books were to be handed out as parting gifts after the gala, but she’d gotten a sneak peek at them a few days ago, before Max had started avoiding her.

“Your father tells me you know this archaeologist, Dr. Kirkland?”

“Yes.”

Her dark eyes lit up. “That’s wonderful.”

“It is?” Ally quit twisting her fingers.

“Of course.” Mother regarded her as if she’d lost her wits. “He’s one of the most eligible bachelors of the season. Famous, handsome, and now that he’s been awarded that prize, wealthy. All the mothers of marriageable daughters have been buzzing about him this spring, but he rarely socializes, I understand. If you’d paid the slightest attention at the parties, you’d have heard the name of James Kirkland.”

Even now it was difficult to realize that Dr. James Kirkland and her beloved Max were the same man. Almost as big a shock was that her mother was clearly enamored with the idea of Ally knowing Max. Though little good it did Ally or her mother now. Max clearly wanted nothing to do with her.

He barely knew what he was saying and hoped it sounded sane and on topic. Over the heads of the socialites surrounding him in the chariot room, he searched for Ally… Alicia.

When he’d spied her in the front row, it had been all he could do to stay in his seat. That dress. The flowers in her hair, the golden collar, everything about her was so beautiful. So perfect. So out of his reach.

Could he imagine her, the daughter of a New York tycoon, an heiress, tramping through the sand, choking on rock dust and bat droppings, sifting detritus for broken bits of pottery or scraps of mummy wrappings? Of course not.

Dozens of men shook his hand, congratulating him on his success, asking him about his plans, and for the first time since he was an adolescent, he didn’t know what those plans would be. Young women clustered around him, wide-eyed, asking silly questions, pretending an interest in Egyptology, vying for attention.