Bella and the Beast (9 page)

Hasani stopped at a section behind a desk that held writing paraphernalia and a globe of the world. “His Grace owns many books written about my homeland, including a history written by the Roman, Pliny the Elder. But I believe there is one in particular that will be most helpful to you.”

He bent down to retrieve a book from a lower shelf. As he did so, his collar shifted and she saw it: a single eye inked on the nape of his neck. A black brow topped the almond-shaped eye, while two lines swirled from the bottom.

Bella felt an involuntary shiver. She had to admit the tattoo had an eerie quality, for the pupil did seem to be staring straight at her.

Why did he have it? What was its meaning?

She wanted to ask, yet he was a stranger—a foreigner—and she didn't wish to offend him. There were cultural taboos in much of the Near East, and Hasani might consider it an invasion of his privacy to be asked a personal question by a woman.

Besides, she liked his friendly, talkative manner, and she didn't want to jeopardize that. At some point, he might be a source of information in finding the missing map.

Hasani stood up, a thick tome in his hands. If he had noticed her scrutiny of his neck, he gave no sign of it. Instead, he reverently placed the book on the desk and opened it to an illustration of three triangular stone structures against a desert setting. “These are the great pyramids. They were built many thousands of years ago.”

Bella stepped closer to examine the sketch. A robed man on a camel was dwarfed by the edifices. “How very enormous they look. Are these tombs?”

“Yes, they were the final resting place of several pharaohs. Under the rule of various dynasties, Egyptians were the first to discover the foundations of mathematics and science, arts and architecture.” Hasani elevated his chin with pride. “My people could read and write when the rest of the world was still living in caves.”

“That is quite a remarkable history,” she said. “I look forward to learning more about it.”

She reached for the volume, but Hasani picked it up first. “There is no time to examine it now, Miss Jones. With your permission, I will have the book delivered to your chamber. His Grace will be very angry if you arrive late to your meeting with him.”

“Oh! Of course. It must be nearly nine already.”

“Quite so, I will show you the way at once.”

As they headed out of the library, Hasani cast her a sideways glance, his lips quirked in a rather sly smile. “I have not been entirely forthcoming with you, Miss Jones. Perhaps it will surprise you to hear that this is not our first meeting.”

Bella blinked at his olive-skinned features. She had been introduced to a bevy of the servants the previous afternoon while visiting with Mrs. Witheridge, the chatty housekeeper, downstairs in the servants' hall. But she didn't remember Hasani. “Oh?”

“You were a little girl when last I saw you, perhaps this high.” He held out his hand, palm-down, at the height of his waist.

As they started up a grand staircase, Bella caught a startled breath. “So you knew me in Egypt! I should have guessed. Of course, the duke would have engaged your services there.”

“Yes, I traveled to England many years ago. It is my home now.” He paused, then added musingly, “So you do not have memories of your time in Egypt?”

She shook her head. “I'm afraid not. Nevertheless, I feel that I should apologize for not recognizing you.”

“Bah, it is no matter. Perhaps some things are best forgotten. In particular, the violent murder of His Grace's father at the hands of grave robbers. They slit his throat and left him to die alone in the desert.” With that unsettling statement, Hasani waved a hand toward an arched doorway. “There is your destination, and so we must part ways now. Good day, Miss Jones.”

Bella watched the man stride away down the corridor, holding the history book that he had selected for her. She felt disappointed to have their conversation cut short. She would have liked to talk to Hasani further, to question him about Egypt. He was an interesting man, charming and helpful.

Unlike his master.

Her stomach clenched with nervous anticipation. At last she would commence her quest by gaining access to Aylwin's private collection of antiquities. She smoothed her palms over her gown and then did the same to her tight bun, checking for any stray strands. She must look cool and efficient, a trustworthy assistant who could be permitted to work without supervision.

It was time to meet the beast in his lair.

 

Chapter 8

Bella found the duke in the exact spot where she had left him the previous day—hunkered down in front of the tall stone stela with the strange hieroglyphic carvings on it. Because her fine slippers had made no sound on the dusty parquet floor and the new marine blue gown no longer rustled without all the petticoats, he didn't hear her approach.

Or perhaps it was just that he was so engrossed in his work.

She paused to study him. He sat perched on a stool, angled to one side, affording her a view of the white shirt that stretched across his broad shoulders. He gave his full attention to the pile of papers in his lap. Much to her surprise, he wore a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles.

Beneath a tumbled lock of coffee-brown hair, his brow was furrowed in concentration. As his forefinger inched down the sheet, she could see that instead of words, there appeared to be symbols drawn on the paper like the pictorial writing on many of the artifacts.

She was struck by the notion that Aylwin seemed less fearsome today. Perhaps it was the eyeglasses that somehow humanized him. Or the halo of sunlight that bathed his starkly handsome features. Whatever the reason, he looked like an ordinary man intent on analyzing a problem.

Then he shattered the illusion by snapping over his shoulder, “Come closer, Miss Jones. I won't bite.”

Peeved that he'd been aware of her scrutiny, Bella walked forward and stopped in front of him. She was determined to be polite for the sake of her quest. “It would have been rude of me to interrupt your thoughts. My father often had that same expression of absorption while working on his notes. He preferred me to wait until he'd finished.”

Aylwin swiveled on the stool, yanked off the eyeglasses, and glared up at her. As his keen brown gaze swept over her new garb, his scowl deepened. Bella braced herself for a misogynistic remark. She kept her expression calm and composed, and silently vowed to use diplomacy to deflect any criticism.

“What sort of notes did he keep?” Aylwin asked.

“My father?” she said, thrown by the question. “Well … at the end of each day, he recorded his thoughts and observations about whatever site he had been exploring. He wrote fast and his penmanship left much to be desired. Sometimes, when he filled up an entire volume, he would have me edit it and recopy it for him.”

“You traveled with Sir Seymour for a good many years. You must have scores of these notebooks. Where are they now?”

Bella had no wish to reveal that her father's papers were still in crates at the cottage in Oxford. It was none of Aylwin's business. “They're in storage until such time as I can work on them again.”

“You're still editing them?”

She hesitated to voice her future plans to this man. Yet perhaps it would make him see that she had a true interest in ancient civilizations. “Actually, I hope someday to combine the best parts of his journals into a book suitable for publication. Scholars in particular would be fascinated to read about Papa's travels to remote lands. He knew a great deal about sites that are rarely visited by Westerners.”

The duke set aside his papers and rose to his considerable height. “I'm curious. Did he keep a journal about his time in Egypt?”

As Bella tilted up her chin to meet his gaze, her heart skipped a beat. Aylwin had a dominant masculine presence that ruffled her composure. His eyes were like dark mirrors concealing his thoughts. To make matters worse, his probing questions held an undercurrent of intensity that she didn't quite understand.

“If Papa did keep such a journal, I never saw it. I've no idea what happened to his early writings—or even if he was making notes at that time. Why do you wish to know?”

“Because if you had read them, then at least you would have a rudimentary knowledge of Egyptian history. But it appears you're a rank beginner.”

He had that haughty look again. Bella privately dubbed it the Ducal Stare. “With all due respect, Your Grace, I never told you otherwise. And perhaps it will please you to know that I've taken the liberty of borrowing a history of ancient Egypt from your library so that I might begin to educate myself.”

“How very reassuring,” he said with heavy sarcasm. “Now, you've wasted enough of my time. I'll show you where you'll be working.” As if she were a dog to be brought to heel, he snapped out a command. “Come.”

Then he brushed past her and strode toward the door.

Following in his wake, Bella tamped down a blaze of irritation. Had no one ever taught him manners? She glowered at his muscled shoulders, the tapered waist and hips, the long legs encased in black trousers. Apparently he believed that his exalted stature as a duke granted him the right to lord over lesser beings. But these were not feudal times. She was an independent woman, not his serf. If he meant to intimidate her, he would not succeed.

He preceded her out into the spacious corridor, the same one where he'd caught her the previous day hiding behind one of the massive white pillars. Clutching the blue serge of her skirt, Bella hurried over the crimson carpet runner until she caught up to him. “Your Grace, I would very much like to familiarize myself with the scope of your collection. It would be helpful if you pointed out all the rooms where you keep any Egyptian items.”

He aimed the Ducal Stare at her again. “No. You're not to wander about at will and poke into places where you don't belong.”

She strove for levity. “I fear it will be difficult
not
to wander to some degree. There's a very real danger of me becoming lost in a mansion of this prodigious size.”

“Then I would advise you to learn your way around very quickly. Or you will be out on your ear.”

Bella pursed her lips. His cold manner didn't bode well for her mission. She needed to determine a likely location where he might store an antique map. She tried again. “But if you were to take me on a tour of the house, then—”

“There's no need. You'll be spending all of your working hours in the blue drawing room.”

“The drawing room?” Bella instantly envisioned a chamber filled with sketch pads and easels, pencils and paints. How peculiar. What did he expect her to do in there? Draw pictures of Egyptian statues? Should she confess to him that artwork was not her strong suit?

As she pondered the dilemma, the duke turned abruptly in the passageway, pulled open a large door, and strode inside.

Trailing behind him, Bella found herself in a gigantic, dim-lit room with pale blue walls and a high ceiling. Only a few slivers of sunlight beamed past the dark blue draperies that covered the tall windows. There were no drawing materials in sight. Nor was there any sign of conventional furnishings like tables or chairs.

Instead, the entire room was piled high with crates and statues, vases and jars, and a thousand other bits of miscellany. The musty odors of dirt and stone permeated the air. Despite the gloom, she could see that the place was a considerable mess in comparison to the neat rows of stately sculptures in the ballroom. These items were smaller and many of them appeared to be broken.

Her heart sank. If there was a map in this chaos, it would take months, or even years, to find it. And Aylwin might well eject her from the house after a fortnight.

Or perhaps sooner. Already he seemed to regret hiring her.

“Your assignment is to catalogue every item in this chamber,” the duke said, his stern gaze fixed on her. “I want a written assessment as to what is necessary for its restoration. And mind, everything here has historical value. You are to toss nothing whatsoever into the rubbish bin. Is that clear?”

“Yes, I'm aware of that from working with my father. Even the smallest shard of pottery can reveal clues as to how people lived in the past.”

“Speaking of which, you can begin by sorting through those boxes of damaged pottery over there.”

Aylwin pointed to a stack of wooden crates by the windows, then turned on his heel as if to depart. Desperate for information, Bella stepped into his path. She had to keep him talking. “May I open the draperies, Your Grace?”

He gave her a withering stare. “Of course. That goes without saying.”

He made a move to brush past her, but she held her ground and blocked the doorway. “Perhaps it seems a foolish question, but I only wanted to be certain that the sunlight won't damage any of these relics. Documents, for instance. Did the Egyptians only chisel their writings on stone? Or did they also use some sort of paper?”

“Papyrus,” he said curtly. “It was made from reeds. But you won't find any such papers in this room.”

“Ah. Then you keep the papyrus elsewhere in the house.”

His dark eyebrows hitched in a frown. “I've a collection of papyri, yes, mostly funeral rolls from tombs along with fragments of other documents.”

“How fascinating that they've survived for thousands of years.” Hoping that a humble plea might soften him, Bella laced her fingers together just below her bosom. “Might I have your permission to view the … papyri sometime?”

His moody gaze flitted to her breasts, which were covered by the modest gown with its high neckline. If anything, his expression grew even more hostile as he returned his eyes to hers. “Absolutely not. The papers are extremely fragile. No one touches them but me.”

“I needn't touch them, Your Grace. My father taught me to take precautions around old documents. And just seeing the papyri would be an important lesson in ancient Egyptian history. Where are they kept?”