Bella and the Beast (26 page)

“Well?” he prodded. “Why have you interrupted me? As you can see, I'm a busy man.”

“I merely wanted you to know that I'll be looking through a few of the files. So that you wouldn't wonder who was here.”

His scowl deepened. “Must you do so now? My work requires much delicacy and concentration. Your presence will disturb me.”

“I'll endeavor to be as quiet as possible, sir. If you'll excuse me.”

Giving him no further chance to harangue her, Bella spun around and proceeded to the row of file cabinets as far from him as possible. She opened the top drawer and drew out a sheaf of papers. The sooner she found the treasure map, the sooner she could depart.

She flipped through a stack of official bills of sale bearing the stamp of the Egyptian government. They were written in three languages: English, French, and Arabic. The prices were quite steep on some of the items, and she presumed that Banbury-Davis had negotiated them on behalf of Miles. The new duke had been only thirteen years old at the time and mourning the death of his father.

A death he still blamed on himself.

In spite of all that had happened, her heart ached for him. Had Miles reflected any further on what she had said? Could he ever accept that he was not at fault for Aylwin's violent murder at the hands of grave robbers? Would he ever marry and sire a family? Or would he continue to roam this house like a caged beast for the remainder of his life, snarling at anyone who crossed his path?

Oh, she hoped not. Miles had so much to offer a wife. He could be warm and attentive, exciting and sensual, especially in the bedchamber. Any woman would be thrilled to lie with him each night, to enjoy the skilled touch of his hands, to see his face soften with love …

Could
he fall in love?

Before yesterday, Bella wouldn't have thought it possible. He was a proud man, arrogant to a fault, and prone to using the Ducal Stare on those who dared to thwart him. Yet if he could lower his guard as he had the previous night, if he could allow his wife a glimpse into his heart, then perhaps he could unbend enough to have a happy marriage.

If only
she
could be his wife.

The impossible thought popped unbidden into Bella's mind. She rejected it at once. How absurd. She wasn't one to succumb to silly, romantic dreams. Despite her noble blood, the Duke of Aylwin was far above her station in life. If ever he wed, he would choose someone younger and more suitable, more biddable, too. He would take her to his bed and arouse her in all those wickedly wonderful ways …

The heavy tread of footsteps broke into her reverie. She looked over to see Banbury-Davis advancing toward her. “Just as I suspected, you're not working,” he accused. “You're staring into space.”

“I was concentrating on a problem,” she said, repeating his own words back to him. “And you have interrupted me.”

The man very nearly cracked a smile. “Touché, Miss Jones. What are you seeking here, anyway? I'll help you find it, then you can run along and leave me be.”

Bella stood her ground, resolute in her intent to continue the search on her own. “Thank you, but I've been very careful not to make any noise.”

“You're turning pages,” he said, scowling again. “I can hear it and it's bothersome.”

“Why don't you resume your humming, then? It will cover any slight sound that I might make.”

He thrust his hands onto his stocky hips and raised his voice a notch. “The very fact of your presence here, Miss Jones, is disturbing to my attentiveness. Now, I am asking you again to—”

His words broke off as the sound of footsteps entered the doorway. Not one, but
two
sets of footsteps. The tall file cabinets hid the newcomers from view, and Bella again braced herself to face Miles.

But it was Hasani who rounded the corner, clad in his pale robes and bearing a medium-sized wicker basket in his arms. Behind him trailed Helen Grayson, looking elegant as always in a lilac gown that enhanced her stylishly arranged blond hair.

“Good God!” Banbury-Davis exclaimed. “Can't a man have any peace around here? One would think I was hosting a blasted party!”

Hasani ignored the scholar, proceeding straight to Bella. He dipped his head in a slight bow. “Miss Jones, pardon the interruption, but I heard your name spoken as I was passing by on my way to the drawing room. I was instructed to deliver this to you.”

Bella blinked at the basket with its closed lid. “To
me
?”

“It's from Miles,” Helen said with a hint of testiness. “I caught Hasani coming out of the west wing, but he has refused to let me take so much as a little peek inside the basket.”

The Egyptian valet glowered at her. “As I have already explained, His Grace requested that I give this directly to Miss Jones.”

“Is it a gift?” Helen persisted. “It shouldn't be. She's merely an employee.”

“I do not question the orders of my master.” Clearly irked by the woman, Hasani held out the basket to Bella. “For you, miss.”

Bella hurriedly stashed the papers back into the file drawer and then took hold of the container. It was somewhat heavy, with a heft rather like the picnic hamper she would fill for Lila and Cyrus when, as children, they'd begged to eat their luncheon on the hillside.

Now, three sets of eyes stared at Bella. She hesitated to lift the lid in front of this trio of watchers. What on earth would Miles have given her? Some sort of peace offering to atone for his abrupt departure from her bed? An alarming thought occurred to her. What if it was something intimate that might embarrass her?

Feeling the rise of a blush, she edged past the group. “It's likely an artifact to display in the drawing room. I'll take it there at once. If you'll excuse me—”

“Oh, just open it, for pity's sake!” Helen snapped.

Her nimble fingers flashed out, undid the fastening, and whipped up the lid. Hasani made haste to block her—too late. The contents of the basket had already been exposed.

Banbury-Davis and Helen crowded in for a closer look.

Bella scarcely noticed them; she was too busy staring downward at a cornucopia of fruit and other edibles. She had not seen such varieties in many months. A pile of plump brown dates. An array of ruby pomegranates. An assortment of greenish figs with the stems still attached. A small burlap sack of pistachios. Several little folded packets of paper were tucked along the inner edges of the basket.

Bella lifted one packet and inhaled its pungent aroma. Saffron.

Her heart filled with a rush of delight. At dinner the previous night, she'd listed some of her favorite foods from Persia that she missed. Miles had remembered. And he'd endeavored to find them for her.

Her throat felt taut. Never in her life had anyone given her a more generous, thoughtful, considerate gift. It made her eyes prickle with incipient tears, and she blinked to dispel the moisture.

To hide her reaction, she picked up another packet and sniffed the mustardlike aroma.

Helen stood watching, a disgruntled expression marring her pretty features. “What is that you're smelling?”

“Turmeric. It's a spice often used in the East.”

“Whatever could you want with
that
? And what are all those … those other things?”

“Dates, for one,” Banbury-Davis said, eyeing them rather greedily. “We ate quite a lot of them in Egypt.”

Helen stared suspiciously at Bella. “Why would Miles give you fruit and spices?”

Avoiding the question, Bella closed the lid. “More to the point, where did he find them?” She looked at Hasani, who had a very slight smile on his impassive features. “
You
know, don't you?”

He spread his hands wide. “His Grace had business this morning at an estate he owns some three hours' ride to the west. There, his gardeners grow a number of exotic plants in greenhouses.”

Bella hardly knew what to make of it. Had he truly had business there? Or had he ridden so far from London to fetch these fruits for her? The possibility made her entire body dissolve with hope.

“Well!” Helen said dismissingly. “
I
would be offended to receive such an odd gift. Good day!” Her lilac skirt flared as she spun around and marched out the door.

Hasani bowed. “Shall I deliver the basket to your chamber?”

Bella didn't want to let the precious cargo out of her sight. “Thank you, but it isn't so very heavy. I can manage it myself.”

As the Egyptian valet took his leave and vanished, Bella found herself alone with William Banbury-Davis. He stood watching her with his hands on his thickset hips. His narrow-eyed stare made her uneasy.

“It's your lucky day,” she said lightly. “I believe I'll leave you to your work, after all.”

As she started to go, the basket in her arms, he snarled, “It's clear that Aylwin has his eye on you, Miss Jones.”

Bella stopped, then turned back. In her iciest tone, she said, “I beg your pardon?”

“The duke is toying with you. That's the real reason why he hired you instead of me. He knows you're no scholar.”

“Quite the contrary, he's charged me with organizing a roomful of artifacts.”

“It's a sop to win you over, just like that basket of fruit.” He took a step closer. “What Aylwin really wants is to take revenge on that ne'er-do-well Sir Seymour—by seducing his daughter.”

Bella could scarcely draw a breath. “You'd dare insult me so.”

“I'm merely giving you fair warning.” A smirk on his broad features, Banbury-Davis looked her up and down. “If you've any scruples at all, you'll leave this house at once. Or mark my words, he
will
make you his mistress.”

*   *   *

Bella marched straight to the drawing room, set down the basket, and slammed the door shut. The sound echoed out in the corridor. She paced back and forth between the piles of artifacts, trying to rein in her runaway anger.

How dare that awful man insult her so. She hated Banbury-Davis for belittling her as a mere pawn in the duke's game. She hated that he'd planted doubts in her mind, too. Most of all, she hated that he'd made her wonder if Miles really
was
using her for some sort of twisted revenge.

After a time, she plopped down on a crate and stabbed her dagger into a fig, wishing it was Banbury-Davis's black heart. She sliced the fig in half and then ate the delicious fruit.

As she licked the sticky juice from her fingers, she felt calmer, able to think rationally. She mustn't believe a word of his rubbish. If only Banbury-Davis knew, she and the duke had already shared a bed. Miles had
not
asked her to become his mistress. Rather,
she
had initiated the seduction. And he had walked away without a backward glance.

A hollow ache throbbed in her breast.

But if Miles cared nothing for her, why had he sent her the basket? Did he hope to woo himself back into her good graces? Would he knock on her door tonight and attempt to charm his way back in her bed?

Her body grew soft and heated at the mere thought. But she wouldn't allow him. She mustn't allow him. No matter how much she yearned for his embrace, nothing mattered but her mission here. An affair was far, far too risky.

Twilight was falling as she picked up the basket and headed to her bedchamber. The house was quiet as a tomb, and she passed no one in the echoing corridors. Yet as she trudged toward the marble staircase, passing many shadowed rooms, Bella had the oddest sense of being watched.

It was likely her agitated emotions that made her overly sensitive, she decided. The encounter with Banbury-Davis had jangled her nerves. She would not spare another thought for his nasty innuendos. Let the rat think what he willed; his spite would have no effect on her.

A pox on all men, Bella thought as she started up the staircase.
She
would have
her
revenge when she located the missing map and claimed the pharaoh's treasure. Perhaps she would even return to the archives later tonight to continue her search. This time, she'd be sure to draw the draperies so that Miles wouldn't spy the glow of her candle—

A distant screech broke the silence.

Startled, she stopped halfway up the stairs. The shriek seemed to have originated from the upper corridor where the guest bedrooms lay. From the vicinity of her bedchamber, in fact.

Was it Nan? Had she suffered an accident?

Clutching the basket, Bella took the remainder of the steps at a sprint and then made haste down the long, dim-lit passageway. Dusk shrouded the way, but she could still see well enough to avoid stumbling.

The door to her bedchamber stood wide open. Hurrying inside, she found the room lit only by a fire that burned merrily on the grate. The rest of the chamber lay in murky shadows, the four-poster bed and the desk by the curtained windows.

To her alarm, Nan sat sobbing loudly on a footstool by the hearth. Mrs. Helen Grayson hovered over the maid, alternately scolding her and waving a handkerchief at the girl's face.

Bella set down the basket of fruit on a chair by the door, then scurried toward them. “What happened? Have you hurt yourself, Nan?”

The maid turned up a frightened, tearstained face. Her mobcap hung askew, allowing several hanks of rusty-red hair to come loose. “Oh, miss! 'Twas a phantom! Right here in yer bedchamber!”

Bella crouched down before the girl. “Here? What do you mean?”

“I was in yer dressin' room when I heard noises. Thinkin' 'twas ye, miss, I peeked out to say hello. All the candles was blown out. That's when I saw it—a ghost hoverin' by the door. It loosed a fearful moanin'. Oh, it sent cold chills down me spine, it did!”

“Silly girl,” Helen pronounced. “Ghost, indeed! That screech of yours sent chills down
my
spine!”