Hatshepsut's Collar (The Artifact Hunters #2) (11 page)

“My husband has the right to face his accuser and know the charges against him.”

The queen cocked her head. Cara could see the astute mind at work. “Duke Nolton accuses Viscount Lyons of trafficking with Russia to the detriment of our Empire. Does that satisfy your need to know the charges?”

“On one level.” How far could she push the monarch? “On another level, I would ask what motivates Duke Nolton to make such an accusation?” A chill ran over Cara’s body as the temperature in the room plummeted.

The queen locked her gaze to Cara and didn’t blink or look away. “Nathaniel chose well in you.” A shadow travelled behind the queen’s eyes, then vanished. “There is a history between those two. The duke discovered that Lyons has something which belongs to us. Tell him to return the item, and we will ensure the duke recants his accusation.”

“And if Nate does not?”

“We normally hang traitors to the Empire, but we will resurrect the tradition of drawing and quartering just for your husband.” There was a glint in the queen’s eyes; something not quite right lurked within the depths of those once pretty cornflower blues.

Cara guessed the fleeting image hiding within the queen’s gaze belonged to the ancient artifact, a necklace that was far more than a mere decorative piece of jewellery.

“He has a week sitting in the Tower to make his decision, and then we will make it for him.” The queen turned her back on Cara and returned to her desk littered with papers and a large red leather box with a gold embossed crown on top.

Dismissed, she bowed and backed slowly from the royal presence.

I’ve got such a bad feeling about this.

She was wrapped in her own thoughts as she crossed the antechamber. The outer doors opened, and a tall, slender man entered. He greeted the secretary with familiarity and his distinctive Germanic accent made Cara swing her head. In his middle years, the queen’s visitor was still handsome, and impeccably dressed in pale breeches and morning coat in a tonal complement to the queen’s attire. Prince Albert was on his way to work to take the seat at the desk opposite his wife’s.

Cara sucked in her bottom lip. Rumours circulated that Albert was open to the idea of the occult and otherworldly presence on this earth. Her eyes flicked down to the smooth front of his high waist pants. He was also rumoured to have started a fashion for the piercing that bore his name, and ensured the fit of his trousers was never ruined by unseemly bulges.

She reigned in her curiosity on that titbit before it galloped away with her.

Not the time, Cara, not the time.

As the prince passed, she placed a hand on his sleeve. “A moment, your Highness, if you could spare one?” She dropped a small curtsey as he halted and took her hand in his.

“Lady Lyons.” He raised her fingers to his lips and pressed a warm dry kiss to her flesh.

She met his steady brown eyes; they were as warm and open as his kiss. This was her one opportunity to say something.
Don’t blow it by mentioning his trousers
. “I couldn’t help but noticing the unusual necklace the queen is wearing.”

A tiny flicker of concern shot behind his gaze, a small flare of his nostrils. “I am told it is an ancient Egyptian piece.”

“Hatshepsut’s Collar.” Cara smiled. “My father devoted his life to studying such unusual artifacts.”

His eyes widened and his moustache twitched, his fingers curling further around her hand. “You know of it?” A question, containing many unspoken layers.

“Yes, and, please, ask her majesty to remove it, and return the piece to the Tower. She must not wear it any longer.” She tried to convey the depth of her concern in those few words.

His grip on her hand tightened and he pulled her closer, a whisper on his lips just as the inner door opened and a chill blew over them.

“Albert.” A single word and he dropped her hand as though scorched by her touch. “Do not detain Lady Lyons. She must work her wiles on her husband, not mine.”

Worry lined the prince’s face, but he tucked it away before he turned to his wife.

Cara missed her opportunity.

atshepsut’s Collar. Just what I need, another dammed Egyptian artifact.

Cara knew how she would spend her free time as soon as she managed to procure any. Her father’s journal and the rare books she collected would need to be consulted, to glean what she could about the necklace. She didn’t know what power the collar held, but the strange glint in the queen’s eyes sent a shudder down her spine as did the knowledge of the thousands of men answering the monarch’s call.

I’ve got such a bad feeling about this.

The carriage and mechanical horses took Cara to the Tower and the solitary raven who watched her approach the gate. The bird cocked his head, staring at her in interest as she requested to visit her husband. She was ushered through the door in the portcullis with a minimum of words being exchanged.

“Not too many traitors staying at the moment?” she asked her dour guard as he silently led her along the road to Nate’s personal tower prison. The raven’s large body passed overhead as he flew from the front gate to perch farther down the wall. The familiar shudder ran through Cara’s body at the bird’s interest in her progress.

The guard flicked his gaze to her and then returned his eyes to the middle distance, refusing to be engaged in conversation.

“I’ll take that as a no, not many traitors contemplating the long drop this week.”

Her attempted levity with the guard was all façade as she climbed the ancient stone steps with a heavy heart. Potential consequences of Nate’s fate weighed her down. She hoped he gave Victoria back whatever it was she wanted.
He probably stole it anyway
.

Then she could go back to being angry at him for making life altering decisions without consulting her.

The upstairs guard gave her a look as sour as the downstairs one, and she wondered why they all looked so miserable in their jobs today. A small wedge of light came in through the narrow window and crept across the floor. The guard positioned his chair in the tiny sliver of warmth and Cara surmised boredom and cold sucked the smiles from their faces.

Keys jangled as he sorted through the chain to find the correct one and inserted the brass shaft into the old lock. The faintest
click
preceded the barrels in the lock giving way, and then he swung the door inward for Cara.

She found Nate flat on his back doing sit-ups. Despite the chill in the room, he was shirtless and a sheen of sweat glistened on his torso. He lay on a grey striped blanket, pulled from his bed. The thin layer of wool was the only thing between his naked spine and the hard stone floor. He sat up as Cara watched his abdominal muscles contract with the crunch.

“I wondered what you did all day to occupy yourself. You didn’t strike me as the type to sit and mope, or compose sonnets.” She crossed the small cell, picked his shirt off the single mattress, and then tossed it to him as he stood up.

Nate caught the shirt and scooped up the blanket with his other hand, throwing the scant bedding onto the cot. “I do this and push ups until I’m tired.” He shrugged the shirt over his head, pulling the cream linen down to his hips. “Then I lie on my bunk, think about you naked and under me, and I exercise a different muscle.”

Cara sucked in a breath at the reminder of their physical relationship and the warmth she missed at night. She ran her hands over her forearms to dispel a chill as she watched him tuck the shirt into his pants. One large hand adjusted the bulge developing at the front to a more comfortable position.

“I like today’s outfit. I thought for a moment you wore only a thin layer of paint, then I realised I couldn’t see your nipples.” His hungry gaze took in the uninterrupted outline of her body in the tight fitting jacket. “You make my eyes water.”

“I promise your eyes will water when you see the bill.” She reminded herself to visit the recommended jeweller. Not that she wore a lot of jewellery, but if she was going to divorce Nate and run, any pieces she obtained would come in handy as portable finance. Heat travelled up her neck at his intense scrutiny. She cleared her throat and her tongue licked over her bottom lip, returning much needed moisture. “I saw the queen today. Duke Nolton accuses you of dealing secrets to the Russians.”

Nate gave a snort of derision. “Nolton.” He spat the word out and turned to lounge against the wall of his cell as though he stood at the mantle in a Mayfair parlour.

“The queen said you two were acquainted.” Cara waited for a more detailed explanation.

“We have a history. It’s no surprise he is the agitator behind this. What else?” He moved the conversation along before she could pry into what sort of history.

She bit back the questions on the tip of her tongue, wondering what happened to the full disclosure they discussed only the previous day. “The queen says you have something of hers and she wants it back. You have until the end of the week to return it.”

Nate swore under his breath and stalked to the window. He placed his palms down on the sill and glared out the narrow slit as though contemplating if he would fit to make the leap to freedom beyond.

Cara moved closer, her brain demanding more information while her hands twisted deep into the silk of her skirts. “Just give it back to her, whatever it is; you could be out by dinner time.”
And we’d both be safe.

He turned and crossed his arms over his chest. “It’s not that simple.”

“How can any object be worth a traitor’s death?” She shuddered; it wouldn’t just be a gruesome end for Nate. She would share every single agonising second until they both died.

He beckoned her closer, but she planted her feet.

“Do you think you can cock a finger and I’ll run to you?”

“Do you want to hear what I have to say?”

Insufferable man.
Her feet moved, forcing the rest of her to follow. He folded her in his arms, her head resting on his shoulder. She let out a deep sigh. She was angry at him, but needed his touch; he centred her and calmed her internal storm.

He whispered against her skin; their conversation listened to by other ears. “It’s not a trinket. I hold something flesh and blood.”

She stiffened in his embrace and pulled back to search his face.
A person?
she mouthed.

He shook his head,
no
.

Thoughts raced through Cara’s mind. It was a maddening puzzle with no obvious solution. He had something flesh and blood that belonged to the queen, but it wasn’t a person. She doubted Victoria would throw him in the Tower and threaten execution over a corgi. Yet it was something the monarch wanted desperately enough to bring back the old custom of hanging, drawing, and quartering.

Other threads pulled at her mind.
Or is it the necklace? What if Hatshepsut’s influence is at play? If the artifact is driving her insane, it could be anything, even a favourite budgie.

An exasperated sigh rose in her chest. She raised her lips close to his throat, nipped his pulse and tasted the salty sweat from his earlier exertions. Her bite reminded him she had teeth and claws.

A shiver ran through his torso and he tightened his embrace, one hand stroking down her back. “Be careful what you start,” he warned.