The Other Guy's Bride (28 page)

Jim glowered down at his empty glass; it was better than glowering at Jock, who was grinning like a Cheshire cat, his hand on Ginesse’s ribcage, his fingertips grazing her bare back. They were waltzing, and apparently in this as in all else, his half brother excelled. She certainly seemed to appreciate his expertise.

Her head was tipped back, her slender throat impossibly tempting. Her skin glowed beneath the lantern light like the plushest velvet. Her wide mouth curved in a slight smile with lips that would be as pliable as warm candle wax and taste like forbidden fruit.

Which she was. Forbidden to him. Because Jock was in love with her and Jock was a good man and a decent man, not the sort of man who would have taken a lady’s maidenhead. And definitely, most definitely, not the sort of man who would have taken the maidenhead of a bride he’d been entrusted to bring to her groom. And Jim was…

Jim was
.

Because that particular pilfered bride was his.

Principles and decency be damned. He’d go mad if he stood there any longer watching another man make love to her. He was not willing to trade his sanity for whatever chimeral satisfaction he might garner by being able to tell himself he’d done the right thing. He didn’t give a damn about the right thing. He cared about Ginesse. He couldn’t let her go without doing everything in his power to keep her.

He banged down his empty glass and strode onto the dance floor, putting his hand on his half brother’s shoulder with a shade too much force. “May I cut in?” he asked in a voice as soft and dangerous as steel on stone.

He didn’t hear Jock’s reply. It didn’t matter anyway. She already was in his arms. He rested his hand on her slight ribcage, and the heat from her exertions permeated his palm. He felt the press of each long finger as it settled on his shoulder, and he enveloped her free hand in his.

He swept her into the dance, twirling her a little too quickly in the turns, forcing her to cling to him. They did not speak. He looked down, wanting to kiss her until she kissed him back, until she wrapped her arms around his neck and whispered his name against his throat. Her body felt as supple and lithe as a reed in his arms. A strand of wild honey-colored hair came loose and fell along her collarbone, gold filigree on an ivory field.

She tried to avert her eyes, and he pulled her closer, too close, improperly close, until she lifted a resentful gaze to his.

“Stop that,” she breathed, her bosom rising and falling above the delicate lace in an agitation that had nothing to do with the dance.

“Stop what?”

“Stop looking at me like that,” she said in a hoarse whisper.

“I can’t help it,” he said.

“Then let me go.”

“Never.”

Her eyes widened, shot with alarm, something more. “You’re drunk.”

“Unhappily, no. Though not for lack of trying.”

“You must be. You’re making a scene.”

He looked around and found she’d spoken no less than the truth. Several men were watching them, their gazes sliding quickly away when he caught their eyes. The ladies looked openly alarmed.

God. As if he would ever hurt her. As if he could. He stopped dancing, took her hand, and hauled her off to the side of the dance floor to where a pair of junior officers stood watching the dancers. One look at Jim and they beat a hasty retreat.

He moved nearer, turning her so her back was to the wall, using his breadth to shield her from curious gazes. She was frowning, her head turned. By every criteria they belonged together. He understood her better than any knight errant ever would, her moods and temper, her humor and intelligence. He stared at her helplessly. He didn’t know what to say, how to convince her to marry him.

He could please her physically, but she already knew that. They were both wanderers, but if she wanted a home, he could give her that now. If she wanted a venerable name, wealth, and status, he understood that. He could even appreciate it. It was a reasonable ambition. Far more reasonable than marrying a penniless nomad. And he could fulfill that desire.

But he didn’t know where to begin, how to press his suit to a girl who’d already refused him twice. And so, in the end, he didn’t press his suit at all. He simply caught her chin between his forefinger and thumb, tipping her face up to his.

“Marry me,” he said, searching her eyes for some sign, some indication of how to proceed.

Her gaze held his. His heart beat in his chest like a drum.

“Why should I?” she asked, her voice hushed and oddly hopeful and terribly vulnerable.

He swallowed, feeling lost and uncertain. “Well,” he said, trying to sound reasonable, “I’ve got a few more horses now.”

She stared up at him, the blood draining from her face.

Then she slugged him.

Ginesse pushed her way through the buzzing crowds, her eyes stinging with furious, wretched tears.

“Good heavens!” someone said.

“Haven’t seen a roundhouse blow like that since Peddler Palmer took out Billy Plimmer in ’95.”

“Braxton’s gel, you know.”

She finally found the door and Haji standing openmouthed beside it.

“We leave for Zerzura as soon as possible tomorrow,” she said, whisking past him into the night.

Jim worked his jaw gingerly, touching his fingertips to his lip. They came away bloody. Apparently, that had been the wrong tack to take. But damned if he knew what the right one was. He glanced up to find people staring at him. He could imagine what they were thinking. He didn’t give a damn. He’d shouldered his way through most of the crowd when his path was blocked by Jock.

“Jim,” he said, his face set and angry. “What did you—”

“I wouldn’t, Jock,” Jim cut in. “I wouldn’t say another word if I were you. I wouldn’t…I didn’t…Not a single thing she could have taken exception to…” The words just quit. He brushed past his brother, shoved through the door, and took a long, deep breath.

He needed to think, and it was becoming pretty bloody obvious that wasn’t going to happen anywhere in her vicinity.

“Amazing,” Lord Tynesborough said.

They were facing a long, rocky escarpment that seemed to knuckle out of the sand from nowhere. Composed primarily of black dolorite, it stretched for miles to their west, ending in a dun-colored horizon. For the last three days, they’d been traveling a line due north in a broad grid pattern. Their persistence had finally paid off.

Because they now stood at the terminus of an enormous, as yet uncharted geological feature, at the entrance to a broad
wadi
that cut north into the escarpment a hundred yards before splitting in two, one side angling west, the other continuing north, possibly through to the other side. It was impossible to tell how wide the escarpment was at this point, but she estimated at least a mile.

“Does anyone know this ridge exists?” Lord Tynesborough asked.

Haji, never one to publically declare his ignorance, contrived to look mysterious while being noncommittal.

“Then we may be the first Europeans to ever see this part of the desert,” Lord Tynesborough breathed, entranced.

Ginesse had asked him to come for no other reason than it would have been churlish not to, especially since by the time Ginesse had found Haji the morning they’d started their journey, he’d already informed Lord Tynesborough where they were heading. His disappointment would have been too much to bear. They’d left before noon, Sir Robert cheerfully sending them off with the caravan’s
fellahin
and his cook joining them for good measure. By mutual, unspoken agreement no one mentioned her hitting Jim. Except for Haji that first day.

“You have ruined a good man,” Haji had said shortly after they’d left Fort Gordon. He’d prodded his camel to draw parallel to hers.

“Pardon me?” Ginesse said coldly.

“Jim Owens.” Haji nodded. “He used to be a good man. A model of reticence. Calm, self-possessed, and coolly deliberate in the most harrowing circumstances. I quite looked up to him. But you have reduced him to a madman.”

She stared at him, rendered speechless.

“You should be ashamed of yourself, Ginesse. Especially if you have no intention of putting the man out of his misery.”

“Why, of all the obnoxious, unsolicited—” she began.

“Enough,” he broke in, closing his eyes and pressing his fingertips to his lips. “We will say no more,” he intoned with unassailable finality. And they hadn’t.

Ruined a good man, indeed
, Ginesse fumed. There was nothing good about him.

Jim’s
proposal
should have ended her infatuation; he might as well have offered to buy her, for clearly he thought he knew her price. “
I have a few more horses now.”
He couldn’t have made it any clearer that he considered her an avaricious little gold-digger. The only mystery was why he wanted her at all. But what he
wanted
and what he felt he should do could be very different things. He’d compromised her, and for him that constituted a good enough reason to marry. Her pity for what he’d endured at his grandmother’s hands had remained, but it didn’t excuse his cavalier treatment of her.

Well, it wasn’t for her. And maybe now he’d finally realize that. Just to make sure, she’d left a letter for him. He’d probably already left Fort Gordon. He was probably halfway to Cairo now. Good. From now on she would concentrate on what was important: her career. She had taken a short detour, but now she was back on track, more determined than ever to make a name for herself.

No, Jim Owens wouldn’t be bothering her again.

At least not in the flesh.

Because while anger sustained her through the day, at night her dreams betrayed her. Each night he had waited for her with heated kisses and strong arms that lifted her against a rock-hard body, a slow grind of his hips—

“How did you manage to puzzle out that this typography existed out here?” Lord Tynesborough asked.

“Oh. I didn’t,” Ginesse said, clambering atop a nearby rock and looking around. “In the papyrus he sent with the caravan to the pharaoh, the merchant included an exacting account of the provisions they carried to sustain them. The pharaoh was something of a pinch-penny. He demanded a full accounting of every drop of wine and grain of rice. In addition, the merchant kept a record of how many slaves accompanied them and their daily allotment of provisions. So I knew how long the journey was and made a rough estimate based on the bill of goods as to how far they traveled each day.”

She pivoted slowly, looking for some clue as to where the entrance to the city could be. “Later sources added bits and pieces to the puzzle,” she continued, only half paying attention. “There was a place name mentioned that I identified as being similar to those occurring in this region’s dialect and a written observation of a constellation that would have appeared at the described location only in this sky. They all led here. But I had no idea
that
was waiting for us.” She pointed at the escarpment.

“You’ve done magnificently well,” Lord Tynesborough said, his gaze warm with admiration. “You must be most pleased. Most pleased, indeed.”

“Thank you,” Ginesse murmured, hands on her hips as she surveyed the
wadi
. They’d already made camp at the
wadi
’s entrance, which was protected from the west winds and had easy access to several small caverns where they could take shelter alongside the camels if the need arose. It shouldn’t; it was still early winter, the weather predictably hot and dry, the wind insistent during the days but quiet at night.

“Where would you like to begin?” Lord Tynesborough asked. Just the fact that he’d given her complete province of the dig was proof of how far she’d already come in establishing herself as an expert.

“The stories all mention the city as being guarded by twin black giants, but this whole end seems to be one large black rock. I suppose the twins could be metaphors for two local tribes.” She sighed. “We might find something farther up the valley floor.”

“What of the little birds?” Haji asked, referencing the White City’s other name, the Oasis of Little Birds. “We should look for a source of water that would draw migrating flocks.”

“Yes,” Ginesse agreed. “We’ll split up into three different groups. Haji will head along the edge of the escarpment and look for any signs of water, though if there was water it might no longer exist.

“Lord Tynesborough, if you would take a group on the west branch of the valley, I’ll lead another straight ahead as long as it leads. Mark as far as you are able to explore in the next four hours and then return. We’ll meet back here to relate our findings.”

Unfortunately, Haji was not as enlightened a man as Lord Tynesborough. “I think we should divide into two groups and explore this valley first. Later, if we find nothing, we can move the entire camp west.”

Ginesse shook her head. “I disagree. We need to accomplish as much as possible as quickly as possible. The season is half over already. The weather may change at any time.”

“Bah. It is still a month early for the
al-khamasin
,” Haji said, naming the infernal wind that could drive across the desert with the force of a hurricane, whipping up sandstorms of epic scale. “We should not divide ourselves so thin. Many eyes are better than fewer.”

“It is Miss Braxton’s decision,” Lord Tynesborough said.

Haji capitulated by throwing up his hands. “Yes. Of course. As you will.
Yalla! Yalla!
” he called to the workers, motioning for some of the men to follow him. When he spied the cook, he took his temper out on the poor, overweight man by calling, “You can come with me, too, Timon. No one will be eating for hours yet.”

“Thank you, Professor,” Ginesse said. She had no doubt she would have prevailed, but she appreciated not having to argue with Haji.

“You’re welcome,” he said.

She turned to gather her own little group, but he caught her hand in his. She looked around to see what he wanted, thinking he had another suggestion about where to look for Zerzura, and instead she found his gaze fastened on her face with limpet-like dedication.

Oh, dear.

“Miss Braxton, Ginesse,” he said, drawing her closer. “You must know how very much I admire you.”

“Thank you.”

“But my feelings far surpass mere admiration.”

Oh, no
.

“Indeed, I have fallen in love with you.” Lord Tynesborough smiled wryly, and for the first time she noted a resemblance between him and Jim. “Though ‘fallen in love’ sounds so precipitous and thoughtless and there is nothing rash or careless in my feelings for you. They are deep and constant and true.

“So let me say instead that I love you,” he continued, his gaze alight with tenderness, “and that each moment I spend with you only makes me love you more. You are bright and courageous and funny and wise, and I wish most ardently, most hopefully, that you feel to some degree the same and that if you do, please, Ginesse,
please
do me the immeasurable honor of becoming my wife.”

It was the most romantic proposal she could have imagined. Everything she wished to hear—far,
far
better than “I have a few more horses.” If Lord Tynesborough had made such a lovely declaration a year ago, before she had met Jim, would she have answered yes? She didn’t know. She had never thought of him that way. She had never realized he thought of her that way.

He was that much of a nice gentleman. He was intelligent and earnest, handsome and well respected. He was easy to converse with and valued her opinions. He loved her; she had no doubt about it. He was, in short, perfect.

Except he wasn’t Jim.

Damn
Jim, anyway.

“Professor—”

“Geoffrey. Jock, if you like.”

“Geoffrey,” she said gently, remembering all the times she hadn’t measured up, all the ways words could hurt. “I cannot imagine any woman who would not be honored to be your wife.”

He waited.

“But a man as remarkable as you is entitled to far more than honor from his wife.”

He flinched, a subtle movement but she saw. It hurt her. She didn’t want him to feel the pain she was experiencing.

“As tempting as it would be to say yes if only to know the continued pleasure of your companionship, I like you far too well to let you settle for less than you merit, less than I so profoundly know you to deserve. So with regret, I must decline.”

“But, Ginesse,” he said, a shade of desperation in his voice, “might not you learn to love me?”

“I would never chance hurting you with hope for love when knowing you already are loved is the only possible answer you should accept.”

He took a deep, unsteady breath, nodding as graciously as she would have expected him to. “Is there—”

“Geoffrey,” she forestalled the inevitable question. She couldn’t lie, but she would not answer. “I shall devote myself to my career. If we find Zerzura, there will be years of work ahead of us. And I do mean ‘us,’ for I consider you my collaborator in this, as I do Haji.”

He managed a smile. “Well then, I shall have even more reason to hope for our success. Who knows? Perhaps after five years digging at my side, you might eventually succumb to my charm.”

She didn’t answer, and with one last, crooked smile, he touched his fingers to his forehead and moved past her, calling out for half of the remaining workers to follow him.

She gathered together a small knapsack with the tools of her trade, a flask of water, and an electric torch, then found the stout staff she’d been using as a cane and prod. Downcast and disheartened, she nonetheless led the last group of men into the
wadi
.

This wasn’t how she’d imagined these moments to be. She’d envisioned herself filled with a zealot’s anticipation. Instead, the old, all-too-familiar feeling of emptiness filled her. She rallied her spirits, told herself it was simply fear standing in the way of triumph. She was poised on the brink of a magnificent discovery, and she would revel in every moment of it.

She instructed the workers to spread out and move up and down either side of the narrowing valley, looking for an ancient path, some broad flat area, the entrance to a cave. Most references called Zerzura a city, but some simply termed it an oasis and a few called it a “home to a dead king and queen.”

It might be that Zerzura was a mountain temple built into the sides of the cliffs, or a small palace tucked away in some valley. At times it was described as golden, at others “white as a dove,” so she admonished the workers to keep a sharper eye out for any areas that looked different in color from their surroundings. They worked slowly for the next three hours, the men picking their way amongst the rock litter up and down the sides of the shallow gorge.

Ginesse had been staying mostly on the
wadi
’s floor, but the farther in they traveled the more littered it grew, forcing her to pick her way around piles of rocks and loose shale. She poked every nook and cranny with the end of the staff on her ascent, climbing about halfway up the side when she noted an oddly shaped boulder near the top of the rift. If one squinted, one might say it resembled a great big…duck.

She squinted harder. Definitely a duck, not a dove. On the other hand, ancient Egyptians were known for taking poetic license when it suited them. She couldn’t leave it without investigating. It took her lot longer to climb to the top of the rift than she’d thought it would, and when she finally made it, it was only to find that the duck was just a duck. No secret chute opened at its base, its bill wasn’t pointing toward the entrance to a vast temple. It was just an oddly shaped boulder.

What
was
interesting was that standing next to the duck she could see the desert on both sides of the escarpment. It was far narrower than she’d assumed. To the south she could see their camp and to the north a vast emptiness interrupted by the dark outline of a tall, solitary hill a quarter mile away. In between, the sand plain stretched in one long, flat expanse.