Siren's Secret (7 page)

He stretched his arm. “Give me your hand!”

She didn’t move, afraid to let go—despite sliding farther away.

His voice softened. “It’s safe. I’m right here. You can reach me, Olivia.”

She quickly put one hand over another, trying to gain an inch on the rope, but slipped more. Samuel kept up his stream of soothing words as her panic obviously increased. He couldn’t be sure, but he thought she might have about a foot of rope left. His own palm started sweating from fear. He bent farther over the rail on his knees, reaching down, oblivious to the metal pressing into his ribs.

“Just try, Olivia. I’ll get you. I’m not going to let anything happen to you. I promise. See my hand? I’m very close.” He extended his body as far as possible. Nathan rushed up behind him and grabbed his belt so he could lean out farther.

“Olivia, you need to trust me. Please, lift one hand.”

Samuel could see the strain on her face as she struggled, whimpering as she slipped more, knowing she was going to fall.

“Now!” Samuel commanded.

She obeyed. She released her left hand and reached. He clasped her wrist, and her body swung through the air. He was certain he’d pulled her arm out of her shoulder from the cry she gave, but he had her. Carefully he uncurled his body, pulling her back to the edge.

Nathan reached out under a shoulder, and they lifted her over the balcony. Then all three slid to the floor where Mrs. Tisdale lay, and breathed with relief.

Nathan turned to the other woman and carefully began to undo the gag at her mouth. Samuel didn’t move at all. Olivia clung frantically to his chest, clutching his shirt as if she might still be tossed over. It made his already pounding heart do a double beat.

He put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her to him tightly. For comfort, he thought. Not hers—his.

“I thought you were supposed to be the brains, Professor Hill?”

“Didn’t you think me brilliant?” she gasped softly, still searching for air.

“No. And I hope you don’t intend to make this a habit.”

“Stopping villains?”

“Dashing out windows, Olivia!”

“I didn’t—” Olivia stopped. Mr. Stafford looked genuinely upset. “You do know that the first time was not my fault at all.”

He held up a hand for silence, then took her hands, the palms blistered by rope burn. “Let me see to this. We’ll need to talk to the authorities as well, if they are not already on their way.” He crawled from his position and went on a knee in front of Mrs. Tisdale. “Elizabeth? Are you all right? Thanks to you there’s not a bullet in your friend right now. That was incredibly courageous.”

“Indeed,” Nathan agreed, admiring the woman before him, cutting the ropes at her wrist with his knife.

“They want—” Mrs. Tisdale rasped, then licked her lips, her mouth dry. An instant later Mr. Riedell had a glass of water for her. “They want the key, Olivia. To decipher the hieroglyphics.”

“The what? Why? They already stole the relic! That’s just greedy!”

“We’ll add that to their list of crimes, Lady Olivia,” Mr. Stafford said, rising to his feet and offering her a hand. “I take it that little piece of paper is the cause of this?”

Olivia watched as the other man helped Mrs. Tisdale and guided her to the bedchamber, careful to avoid broken glass. She stared after them a moment, lost in thought.

“I don’t know. As I said, it makes no sense.” She followed Stafford blindly until something caused her to trip. Her mind cleared and she looked around. Two bodies lay on the floor. One man’s neck was terribly mangled, his head twisted. She covered her mouth to hold back the gagging sensation, then looked at Mr. Stafford, his harsh face gazing back at her—a complete mask—as if daring her to condemn him. She couldn’t even if she’d wanted to. She swayed, her vision blurring rapidly, as the danger of the evening caught up.

“For crying out loud.” Mr. Stafford swooped her into his arms and brought her into the chamber where Nathan had Mrs. Tisdale. He dropped her on the bed. “Stay there. Let me take care of this mess. Nathan, you got them?”

Nathan nodded and watched his captain close the door behind him. Right now, his attention was on the pale brunette in front of him. She was struggling to control her shock, but the more she fought the trembling, the worse it became. He took her hands. They were icy.

“The captain called you Elizabeth?”

She nodded.

“I’m Nathan Riedell. Very nice to meet you. Even under these strange circumstances.”

She nodded again, forming a slight smile.

“I’m just going to warm your hands for a bit, Elizabeth. Then I need to get some of this glass off you. All right?”

She nodded again, her brown eyes staring at him intently. Nathan looked to the other one.

Not a man.

That was damn disconcerting. Especially with the mustache and beard. The professor sat up and breathed in and out.

“Definitely not the average Englishman, are you Professor Hill?”

She smiled, seeming to recover.

“You’re fine for now?” he asked.

“Yes. Please help Mrs. Tisdale.”

Nathan agreed, then tried to get his emotions under control. A married woman. Of course she would be.

“Do you want me to fetch your husband or family, Mrs. Tisdale?”

She shook her head. Then, looking at her hands in his, said softly, “I’m a widow.”

“Oh. I’m so sorry.” He rubbed her hands another minute, feeling like a cad for not really being sorry.

“No apology needed, sir. It’s been nine years now.”

His head jerked up. “You must have been a babe!”

She blushed. He was relieved to see color.

“Forgive me. None of my business. I just cannot believe you were not snatched up again since then.” He studied her carefully. Indeed, it seemed impossible. She was comely, with a perfect oval face, warm brown eyes, lovely pink lips that most certainly should be kissed—

No. He stopped himself. No time for that. Nathan released her hands and looked around for something to lay the glass in. There was a small bowl on a table used for fruit. He took the fruit out and brought it over.

“Hold this.”

Elizabeth held the bowl. This was all quite unexpected. She turned to see Olivia on the bed. Her charge had regained her composure and went to the dressing table to remove her disguise. Elizabeth was grateful for Olivia’s preoccupation. It gave her time to observe the man before her. He was kind. And young. And somewhat dashing. Not the type to be interested in a widow who’d been on the shelf for nine years and had no dowry or hopes of marriage. But still. He was kind. For some reason, that hurt more than being bound and gagged.

She could feel his heat as he methodically inspected every inch of her body, carefully picking stray glass from her form with the most tender of care. His hands touched her hair, freeing small pieces and dropping them into the bowl. Her hair fell past her shoulders in disarray, but he stroked through it, then lay it reverently back down. As if it were precious. The entire experience was so disturbing she could not speak. Only stare. Until he sensed her scrutiny. And stared back. Their eyes locked, and something she had never felt before gripped her stomach and squeezed at her heart. A connection. A yearning.

For him.

The desire was so strong, the emotion so intense, that her eyes burned, and she was ashamed when a puddle of tears slowly spilled over.

“Don’t,” he whispered gently. His thumb brushed one cheek to wipe the moisture. Then he winked. “I’ve yet to inspect your lashes. Close your eyes.”

She obeyed and felt the brushing of his finger through her lashes—the upper, the lower. Then his warning, “Keep them closed. I think I’ve got a bit here. Yep. Better. All right to open.”

Elizabeth did. Then smiled for real. “Thank you, Mr. Riedell. You are most kind.”

“Nathan. And it’s always a pleasure to be near a beautiful woman. I’m only sorry for the circumstances that brought us here.” He took one of her hands. “Though not sorry to be here.”

Olivia cleared her throat nearby, frowning, and Elizabeth turned.

“You’re well, Olivia?”

“Yes. Thanks to you, Mrs. Tisdale. Mr. Riedell, thank you for your assistance. I would like to change my clothing, as I’m sure would Mrs. Tisdale.”

“Of course. Excuse me. Professor … er … Mrs. Tisdale. Professor.”

“Elizabeth,” she corrected. “And this is Lady Olivia. A most charming and correct young lady, though I agree it is difficult to tell at the moment.”

Nathan bowed politely to Olivia, then to her. “Excuse me, please.”

The door closed behind him, and Elizabeth closed her eyes with a sigh, wanting only to imprint the memory of Nathan Riedell in her mind.

“He was very forward, Mrs. Tisdale.”

“He was being kind to an old widow.”

Olivia stopped and looked at her. Really looked at her.

“What is it?”

“Strange. I thought you were old. But you are not.”

“I’m thirty.”

Olivia grunted. “You were one and twenty when you came to be my chaperone. I thought you were so old and mature at the time.”

Elizabeth tilted her head, curious. “And that’s suddenly changed?”

“I don’t know, Mrs. Tisdale. I don’t know. This was a very strange night.”

“Yes,” Elizabeth agreed. “If you please, no more jumping off balconies. You gave me quite a fright. I should never find another job if people learned my charge so disliked me that she leapt to her death.”

Her young friend paused, then marched over and hugged her fiercely. It was a most uncommon experience. Olivia did not initiate embraces. Elizabeth didn’t know quite how to respond. “I would never let that happen. Thank you, Mrs. Tisdale.”

“For saving your life?”

“No. For caring.”

Elizabeth smiled. “You may not be so happy with me when the authorities come. Those men were looking for you, Olivia. They seemed to think you stole something from the British Museum and were very intent on getting it back … or for themselves, since I highly doubt they actually worked for the museum …”

“I see.”

“I see that you do. And what worries me most, Olivia, is that you are not in the least surprised.”

There was a knock at the door. Olivia opened it. Mr. Stafford stood, looking large and formidable.

He studied them both, then nodded as if satisfied. “You are better.” It was more command than question. Elizabeth smiled, while Olivia bristled.

“The magistrate has arrived. You need to answer some questions. You will no doubt lie, so please make sure your stories are straight. The hotel is sending up dinner, tea, and hopefully something a bit stronger. Then you’ll need to pack.”

“Pack?” Olivia’s eyes widened. “Are they evicting us? It was not our fault. They should not even charge us, for the lack of security at this establishment. Why, Mrs. Tisdale was nearly killed. It’s an outrage. Did you tell them that? It’s an—”

Mr. Stafford raised a hand. She immediately shut up. “As it appears you have no male protection and very little sense, I’m taking you to your father.
In Egypt.
We leave early.” He glared at Olivia, threatening. “Don’t make me regret this.”

With that, he slammed the door shut again.

“Well!” Olivia huffed. Then she did a little pirouette on her way to the wardrobe. “I told you we were going to Egypt, Mrs. Tisdale.”

“Indeed.” Elizabeth smiled thoughtfully, thinking of the men on the other side of the door. She hoped Nathan Riedell would also be going to Egypt, if that were not too much to ask.

Olivia, she knew, had other ideas. For her this would be fulfillment of a dream. The opportunity to travel and join her father on his many expeditions.

“I think, Mrs. Tisdale,” Olivia pronounced, pulling a mysterious envelope from her coat, “this is going to be a most wonderful adventure.”

Adventuring was awful!

The ship rolled, and Olivia felt another wave of heat and nausea rip at her stomach. Gads.

Please make it end.

She would not survive the journey. Anything to be on land. Mr. Stafford did this deliberately. She had no doubt of it. He was punishing her being English. And female. And always being right.

Exhausted from lack of sleep, she lay down again, only to feel her stomach heave.

There was a knock at the door.

“Go away.” Her voice was weak, but clear. It was likely Mrs. Tisdale again, trying to comfort her. She didn’t want anyone to witness her weakness. So far she had been able to control herself from actually vomiting. Mrs. Tisdale insisted it would be better after that part was done, but Olivia didn’t believe her.

Mr. Stafford opened the door.

“Go away! I’m not decent.” Besides the fact that her dignity was stripped by the illness, she really wasn’t all that decent. She wore her man’s breeches, and a loose linen man’s shirt for comfort. Her hair was tied back from her face. Mr. Stafford on the other hand looked disgusting—a picture of health and humor.

He brought a tray of tea and biscuits.

“I hate you.”

He grinned. “I know. Getting what you want isn’t always good, is it?”

“I shouldn’t be sick.”

“Why not? Most people get sick their first day at sea.”

“It’s been
three
days!”

“That’s because you’re fighting it. You’ll feel better once you let it out and go with the rhythm of the sea. Elizabeth is on deck now, enjoying the sail.”

Olivia closed her eyes, fighting the next wave, feeling very, very alone in the world. Everyone else was on deck having a grand adventure without her. Again. She moaned, “It wasn’t supposed to be like this.” He held a cup of tea to her mouth. She took a sip. Peppermint. It seemed to help a little.

“This is my first time leaving England. Ever! I always wanted to see the continent and travel with my father, but he—” She stopped. It sounded disloyal to say he never took her, or maybe never wanted her to go. It was always too dangerous, or too expensive, or too
something.
There was always an excuse. “It just didn’t work out yet.”

“There are plenty of things to see in England.”

“I know.” She swallowed a threatening choke. “Just—in books—everywhere else seems so much more … exotic.” She finished on a gasp, compelling her stomach to relax, forcing her breath through her nose.