Bella and the Beast (14 page)

Bella's fingers tightened around the dainty ivory handle. She wanted to reclaim the dagger. But what if Miles noticed it was missing? He would realize at once that she'd been poking through his desk.

Blast him. The dagger was her property, and she felt safer with it in her possession. She placed it in the pocket of her gown. If necessary, she would argue her case with Miles.

No, not Miles.
Aylwin
.

She must cease thinking of him in so familiar a fashion. His first name had slipped into her mind too often since learning it today—though perhaps it was only natural. Even if she didn't quite remember him, they were linked by a shared childhood.

And he had saved her life. He had rushed into a burning tent and pulled her to safety. Only six years old at the time, she had been unable to save herself. His bravery on her behalf touched her heart.

She had Hasani to thank for telling her that story and for sparking her memory of the incident. The Egyptian had lifted the veil of the past and revealed a hidden part of her life. His other disclosure had been just as amazing, for it lent credence to her quest. He'd told her that Aylwin's father had gone to the Valley of the Kings to pursue the legend of a fabulous treasure buried with a pharaoh named Tutankhamen.

Find Aylwin. Find the map
.
You have half the pharaoh's treasure.

The old duke must have discovered a map showing the location of the hidden tomb. A map that Papa had seen, too. Was it possible that Miles had never known of the map's existence, and the secret had died with his father? According to Papa, the map was here somewhere, perhaps stuck in a forgotten pile of old documents.

Rising from the desk, Bella picked up the candelabrum and surveyed her surroundings. There were no other cabinets or drawers in which to look. Where else might Aylwin keep the papyri? He had stated that the ancient papers were secured in a storeroom.

Perhaps she had been wrong to assume that meant his study.

Her gaze fell upon a closed door half hidden in the shadows. Proceeding there, she opened it and found herself in a somewhat smaller chamber, this one filled with row upon row of dark wood cabinetry. She pulled open a drawer at random and caught her breath.

Inside lay a yellowed, fragmented paper with hieroglyphic writing on it. The piece looked so fragile that she was afraid to touch it for fear it might crumble to dust.

Jubilation bubbled up inside her.
This
must be the storeroom that Aylwin had referenced. Yet the number of drawers boggled her mind. There must be several hundred at least, in cabinets that reached nearly to the ceiling. She'd have to conduct a systematic search.

From the open doorway to the study came the sound of the casement clock bonging the half hour. Ten-thirty. She had squandered enough time already.

Seized by urgency, Bella crouched in front of one cabinet and opened the lowest drawer. She worked her way upward, discovering that each drawer contained more of the papyri, sometimes several documents in one. A few were so old that she had to bring the candles dangerously close in order to discern the faded ink.

All of them contained more of the pictorial writing. None, however, revealed the topographical features of a map.

At the bottom of the next row, tucked beside an ancient scroll, she was intrigued to discover something modern. It was a small packet of letters tied with a string. The topmost one was addressed to
The Most Hon. The Marquess of Ramsgate.

The name sounded vaguely familiar, though Bella could not place it. But the distinctive penmanship caught her attention at once. With a gasp, she recognized that rough scribble. It was as if the author's thoughts moved swifter than his hand.

Papa had written these letters. When? And why had Miles preserved them in a drawer with his Egyptian papyri?

Just then, the click of an opening door came from the study. Someone had entered from the outside corridor. Jerking her head up, she froze, transfixed by the tramp of male footsteps.

 

Chapter 11

Bella's mind raced. Aylwin! It had to be him. But it wasn't even eleven yet. He had returned home early.

Dear God, he would notice the light in the storeroom. Even if she blew out the candelabrum, he would have already spied the candlestick from her bedchamber. She'd foolishly left it burning on his desk.

She was trapped. The storeroom provided no place to hide. Her only recourse was to brazen her way out of this disaster.

Bella stuffed the little packet of letters into her pocket with the dagger. Then she quietly closed the drawer and scrambled to her feet.

Just in time.

Aylwin stepped into the open doorway. The candlelight cast harsh shadows on his stern features. He wore a dark, fitted coat over his white shirt, and his untied cravat hung loose around his neck. His feet were bare as if he'd kicked off his shoes in preparation to disrobe for the night.

Despite the dire circumstances, Bella felt a pulse of attraction deep within her body.

He leaned one shoulder against the door frame and crossed his arms. A dangerous smile tilted one corner of his mouth. “Well, well. It appears I've caught an intruder.”

She lifted her chin. He must not guess how swiftly her heart was thrumming. “My maid mentioned you were gone for the evening. It seemed the perfect opportunity to take a peek at the papyri without disturbing you.”

“Even though I forbade you to do so.”

“Pray forgive me, Your Grace, for I merely wished to expand my knowledge of Egyptian history.” Striving for a sincere look, Bella took a step toward him. She stopped when he didn't budge from the doorway. “I would very much like to learn to read this hieroglyphic writing. Do you have a dictionary that I might borrow?”

His chuckle held an edge of sarcasm. “It's a far more difficult and complicated procedure than looking up the meaning of a pictograph.”

“Perhaps you could give me lessons, then. I couldn't help but notice the papers on your desk. You seem to be quite the expert.”

He fixed her with the Ducal Stare. “And you seem to be quite the little snoop, Miss Jones.”

She met his gaze without flinching. “I'm fascinated by the hieroglyphs, that's all. If I can learn to read and write Sanskrit and Farsi, then why not ancient Egyptian?”

“Quite impressive,” he said, cocking one eyebrow. “I can't claim to have ever known so educated a woman.”

“My father always challenged me to learn the language of the places we traveled. He believed that women have a better grasp of linguistics than men. But if you're too busy to help me, I understand perfectly. I'll just go now and leave you to your work.”

Gripping the candelabrum, she marched toward Aylwin in the hopes that courtesy would induce him to move aside. Of course, he did not oblige. She stopped directly in front of him, close enough to see the faint shadow of a beard on his jaw. His dark hair was slightly mussed as if he'd just arisen from bed.

Which he had.

With a twist of her gut, she remembered that Aylwin had gone out to a bordello. He had spent the evening with a concubine. Why couldn't the filthy dog have caroused all night? Why had he returned so early?

He was eyeing her with the same intent look he'd had the previous day. As if he wanted to haul her into his arms and have his way with her.
Should you dare to set even one pretty toe in my private quarters, I will presume that you have come to share my bed.

An inner tremor stole her breath away. They were all alone here. No one would hear her if she cried out. He could pull her against his muscled form, kiss her senseless, carry her into his bedchamber and ravish her. In a secret shameful part of herself, Bella wasn't entirely certain she wanted to stop him.

“Pray step aside, Your Grace,” she said in her most frigid tone.

Aylwin regarded her for another long moment. The faint ticking of the casement clock filled the silence. Then, to her great relief, he moved slightly so that she could brush past him and enter the study. On wobbly legs, Bella went straight to the desk and set down the heavy candelabrum. Her fingers felt stiff from grasping it so tightly.

Intending to bid him a cool good night, she turned around with an excuse ready to make her escape. But he spoke first.

“Sit down, Miss Jones.” He pointed at a pair of chairs by the unlit hearth. “Over there.”

“I'm rather weary—”

“If you can peruse my documents without falling asleep, then you can certainly manage a conversation with your employer.”

He stood with his hands on his hips like a king demanding obedience from a subject. Anxiety tightened Bella's throat. Her thoughts had been so centered on evading his seduction that she'd overlooked the very real possibility of being dismissed from his employ for her infraction.

She would lose any chance of finding the treasure map. And then how would she provide for her brother and sister?

She settled gingerly on the edge of the seat. “Of course, Your Grace. What is it you wished to discuss?”

Aylwin strolled to a table and uncorked a crystal decanter. As he filled a glass, he said over his shoulder, “For a start, your conversation with Hasani.”

Bella blinked in wary surprise. Hasani had been the last person on her mind. Her gaze flitted to the door. Was the Egyptian nearby?

Cautiously, she asked, “When did you see him?”

“Upon my return half an hour ago.” The duke approached with a glass in each hand. Towering over her, he thrust one into her hand. “I've dismissed him for the evening. You see, I had a suspicion I might encounter you here.”

Distracted, Bella frowned at the amber liquid. “What is this?”

“Brandy. You look rather pale after being caught trespassing in my private domain.”

“Of course! You startled me.”

Aylwin's mouth crooked slightly as if he found amusement in her reactive reply. He settled into the chair opposite hers, crossed his bare feet on an ottoman, and took a swallow from his glass. “Drink up. It'll restore you.”

Bella took a small sip. The liquor had a potent yet mellow flavor that slid down her throat to warm her insides. She took another sip and found that she did indeed feel somewhat better.

She looked up to find the duke watching her in that unnerving way of his. As if he were disrobing her with his eyes. Her insides clenched, and to deny her imprudent reaction, she said coolly, “I suppose Hasani told you that he saw me in this wing.”

“He believed you were lost. But I knew perfectly well that your presence here was no accident. You were determined to view the papyri.” Aylwin studied her over the rim of his glass. “I suspect that temptation is something that you find difficult to resist. Am I correct, Miss Jones?”

Her heart tripped over a beat. His silken tone of voice hinted at an erotic meaning. “I firmly believe in indulging my curiosity in regard to educational pursuits. It is a trait I learned from my father.”

Aylwin's expression underwent a subtle alteration. His eyes became more secretive, his jaw tightening ever so slightly. He swirled the amber liquid in his glass and abruptly changed the subject. “Hasani tells me you had another memory of Egypt.”

“Yes, I did.” Peering down into her own glass, Bella experienced the scene all over again: the leap of flames against the black sky, the wild cries, the clasp of arms drawing her away from it all. “The camp was attacked. I remember fire and mayhem—and someone pulling me to safety. Hasani said that
you
did so.” She leaned forward, studying his features in a futile attempt to see him as the adolescent boy from the mists of her past. “Why didn't you tell me that you'd saved my life?”

“Frankly, I'd forgotten all about it.”

Of course. He must have been caught up in the horror of his father's violent death. Bella ached to know every detail of what had happened that night—and to discern if the treasure map might fit somehow into the scenario. “Was it after the attack that you discovered your father was missing from the camp?”

A harsh mask tightened Miles's face. “No. I already knew he'd gone to the excavation site.”

“How far away was it?”

“A quarter mile perhaps.”

“It was nighttime. If there were bandits in the area, why did your father go alone to the tomb? What was so important that it couldn't wait until morning?”

Miles shot out of his chair and paced to the fireplace. “Good God, woman!
I
am directing this inquisition, not you. And you will tell me what else you remember about Egypt.”

In the candlelight, his face was coldly authoritarian. Nevertheless, Bella felt the softening of compassion. The long-ago murder of his father must still be a raw wound in him. “I remember very little,” she replied. “Other than a brief impression of the attack on the camp, there was only that one incident I told you about, digging in the sand and hearing a boy laugh at me.”

He drained his glass and set it down with a sharp click on the mantel. “Surely if you gave the matter some reflection, you could dredge up a memory of departing from Egypt.”

“It isn't that simple.”

“Then think, by God! Do you recall seeing your father talk to anyone? Did you perhaps overhear a snippet of conversation between your parents?”

Bella shook her head. “I'm afraid it's all a blank. I was just too young at the time.”

He compressed his lips and glowered at her, and his expression of angry frustration only confirmed the accusation made by William Banbury-Davis. It pained her to admit it, but Papa had deserted thirteen-year-old Miles, and Miles had never forgiven him for that.

She set aside her glass and went to him, placing her hand on his sleeve, aware of the tension in his muscles. Gazing up into his hostile brown eyes, she murmured, “My father should have remained in Egypt to help you in your time of grief. It's important to you, isn't it, to understand why he left? That's why you're asking me these questions.”