Page 5

E LIZA DIDN ’ T REALIZE THAT she’d been holding her breath until Lord Avery said, “I must have this series.”

The man had been studying one of her father’s finest collections, a set of five oils on canvas featuring different sailing vessels in different hues. Morning, with brilliant golds, yellows and oranges. Evening, with silver and shades of mauve and gray. Storm, with colors as tempestuous and moody as the title. Calm, with the softest butternuts and pinks. And finally, Against the Wind, with bright and deep blues and the whites of swirling clouds that seemed to race overhead, even in the stillness of the artwork.

Her head was spinning. This was all too good to be true.

And all because Kat was headstrong and had plunged into the Thames!

And now Kat was also going to get to go on the expedition and follow David off into the desert…

Along with Lady Margaret.

“Jagger,” Robert Stewart said, standing by the man, “I am in serious envy. I can feel the sea, looking at these. I can feel the wind, the spray of the water.” He turned to William. “Mr. Adair, I am quite seriously in awe.”

Her father appeared tongue-tied. Lady Daws was not. “Ah, then let’s pray that the awe being felt translates to serious business, shall we?”

She linked arms with Lord Avery. Eliza felt that she must protect her father, because for whatever reason, the woman frankly scared her. What would Kat do in such a circumstance?

“Oh, Lady Daws! No business just now!” Eliza was surprised at how firm she could make her voice. “Papa can talk with Lord Avery at another time. Naturally, his art is his living, but it is also a thing of beauty, just to be enjoyed, and I do know my father. He is so delighted to see you appreciate his work. Let’s savor this moment, shall we?”

Lord Avery actually appeared impressed with her.

Lady Daws, of course, looked furious.

Eliza couldn’t help a smile of triumph.

“Mr. Adair,” Allan said, “it’s a true pity you will not be accompanying our group to Egypt. What you could do with the pyramids at sunset!”

“I’m sorry, there is no way for me to accompany you,” William said.

“And why is that?” Lord Avery asked, frowning.

William looked sheepish. “I’m afraid, Lord Avery, that when I’m not topside, I become wretchedly ill—seasick.”

“Ah, but we’ll have the next best thing—Katherine!” David declared.

“Indeed…but her art is a bit different, isn’t it?” Robert Stewart demanded. “She could be a great caricaturist—there’s a touch of the satirical in her work.”

Margaret laughed. “Robert! We’ve seen but one piece.”

“You mark my words. Her work could actually be dangerous,” Robert said teasingly, coming close to the beautiful Margaret with mock menace.

“Dangerous! Artwork!” Margaret protested.

“If she really sketches all that she sees,” David murmured. He looked from Robert to Allan and back again. His expression seemed odd, Eliza thought.

Then Robert clapped him on the back. “Good heavens, Davie, I was but teasing. Mr. Adair, your daughter has your talent. And I believe you’ll be delighted with the growth in her work once we’ve returned.”

“If Hunter, the tyrant, gives her time with Professor Atworthy,” Allan warned.

“Hunter is not a tyrant!” Margaret protested.

“She has a crush on the fellow,” Allan said, putting himself between Robert and Eliza and rolling his eyes.

“Will you all please act like respectable adults?” Lord Avery demanded. “You’re frightening Mr. Adair. Sir Hunter is a man who is very serious about his work, but not at all a tyrant, I assure you, Mr. Adair. All will be well!”

Allan winked at Eliza. “And what of you, Miss Elizabeth? Do you draw or paint, as well?”

“Rather poorly, I’m afraid,” she said.

“I can’t believe that,” Allan said. “Creativity runs in families!”

“She designs,” William said proudly.

Eliza heard a choking sound. The evil Lady Daws, she was convinced.

“Clothing,” Eliza explained.

“The dress she wears, and the one her sister was wearing,” William said.

She looked at her father and smiled. Bless him. What a wonderful, dear man. Always showing them equal love, concern and pride.

“How wonderful!” Margaret exclaimed. “Oh, Miss Adair! You must design something for me.”

“Why—” Eliza was left almost speechless “—I would love to, Lady Margaret.” Oh, the day was going so very well! If it were not for the presence of Lady Daws…

And the strange way David Turnberry looked at his friends.

“Now, there,” David said suddenly, pointing to the painting Storm. “That’s how I remember the water when I fell in! It was the oddest thing, almost as if the wind were there, riding the waves, right along with us. As if it had arms and legs, and was boxing us! I swear, it felt as if the wind picked me up and pushed me right off the ship. Oh, did you know, Lady Daws, that your stepson was with us that day?”

Eliza was delighted to see the woman stiffen like steel. But she recovered quickly. “No, I did not. But I believe that Mr. Adair and Lord Avery would agree with me—none of you young men should have been out in that weather.”

“Mr. Adair was out in it,” David pointed out politely.

“He may become seasick in closed quarters, but my father is an excellent sailor,” Eliza said. She had been glad to see Isabella Daws discomfited, but something dark seemed to have fallen over her beautiful afternoon. “But I must say,” she added with a deep smile, having had no intent to hurt with her words, “that perhaps our dear Father above had something to do with David’s accident, for it has been the greatest pleasure to be able to meet you.”

“Of course. The silver lining on the cloud,” Lord Avery said.

“Soft blue…soft blue with deeper shades,” Lady Margaret said, turning to Eliza again. “You planned your sister’s attire to match her coloring, did you not? You must do the same for me. I’m right to think blue, do you not agree?”

“Indeed, with your eyes…blue,” Eliza said, feeling a suffusion of warmth once again. Lady Margaret was lovely, kind, without being condescending.

Inwardly, Eliza winced. This was the woman most likely to become the bride of the man her sister cherished!

And yet…

It was a lovely day. Incredibly so. And it was all thanks to Kat’s impetuosity and recklessness. She had to thank Kat!

And pray, of course, that her day was just as lovely.

“Y OU ’ LL BE RIDING IN THE desert,” Hunter said pleasantly.

“And I will do so,” she replied. She thought there was amusement in his eyes, and the glance he gave her was incredibly irritating.

He had the most unusual eyes. She had thought that they were brown, in fact, so deep a shade of brown that they appeared black. But they weren’t brown at all, rather a deep shade of blue. And he had such a way of using them! He could look at one with such contempt it made the flesh burn. And yet sometimes his amusement seemed addressed at himself more than others. Now, as he looked at her, she thought that he was enjoying her discomfort far too much.

“Indeed, I will ride with assurance,” she added sharply. Oh! At that moment, she longed to slap his face.

“Nearly there,” he said.

“Really? I should have enjoyed this for hours more!”

“I could make such an arrangement, if you wish.”

“You could, but you would not. You’ve business, I believe.”

He shrugged, turning, leading the way. His horse broke into a trot. Her mount did the same. Her entire frame was jarred, and she tried very hard to sit without popping up and down like a jack-in-the-box.

He intended to let her suffer, she realized.

The streets had been fairly quiet in the morning, but as they neared the area of the museum, it seemed that more people were out and about, strolling, riding, hurrying toward various destinations. They passed cabs and omnibuses—still trotting along at the wretched gait.

Kat managed to draw abreast of Hunter.

“Is this why you have shown me such largesse?” she demanded. “You are entertained by torturing me?”

He raised a brow. “Going to the museum is torture?”

She looked ahead. “I don’t believe I will have any teeth left by the time we arrive.”

He smiled slightly. “I should have taken you to the park for riding lessons today. But the truth is, I do have business. I have a meeting with the Earl of Carlyle. Contrary to what lies in your mind, my life and timetables do not exist around you, nor do I wake every morning since our meeting desperately conniving on how to make you suffer!”

She felt a blush cover her cheeks, but then realized what he had said. “You are to meet the Earl of Carlyle? Now?”

“Naturally, his involvement in antiquities is the major impetus now of all that happens. The man comes by his love of archeology naturally. He inherited it.”

She stared at Hunter. “His parents were murdered. There was a huge to-do. It was in all the papers—I remember.”

“Yes, but justice was served, and his energy and his resources are tantamount in all that we do.”

“He married a commoner!”

Hunter gave her a long look that she couldn’t quite read. Then he sighed. “Perhaps I have truly done you a disservice,” he murmured.

She was startled to feel the sting of tears in her eyes. “You have done me no disservice. Whatever comes, you have brought my father’s work to the attention of those who can do him justice. I am in your debt.”

He reined in sharply, turning back to her. “No. You are not in my debt. And you may dream whatever dreams you wish in that silly little head of yours, but a bargain has been made here.”

“Meaning?” she asked, startled by the way he looked at her.

And by the sudden realization that he was very much a man—imposing, charismatic and with a will of steel.

“I am not…Sir Hunter, I will not…I mean…you mustn’t think that I’m willing to trade…anything…for this opportunity!” she warbled awkwardly.

His gaze was chilling then. And those eyes of his! As dark as an abyss.

And contemptuous.

“I have taken you on as an assistant, Miss Adair,” he informed her. “That is what I am saying. And as my assistant, you will work. In your free time you may moon over a man you will never have—and wouldn’t want, should you acquire him! But if you’re not prepared to seriously work at your art and more mundane tasks, then we should part ways here and now. You have now made the acquaintance of David Turnberry and Lord Avery, and it was a pleasure and a privilege to meet your father, because I had seen his work. To be sadly crass, my dear, if I were seeking a certain companionship myself, I assure you, I’d not have to go to nearly as much trouble!”

Her cheeks flamed, but she wouldn’t allow her eyes to fall from his.

“Then we are agreed,” she said.

“As you wish.”

“As you wish. After all, you are the legendary Sir Hunter MacDonald!” And with that, she nudged her horse, planning on a smooth and dignified movement to take the lead.

Unfortunately, the wretched horse decided to rear!

“Whoa!” Hunter cried, catching the mare’s bridle. “You’re lucky you kept your seat!”

She didn’t look at him. “You see, I will ride, and will ride well. I swear it. And I will be an excellent assistant, I promise. Now, may we proceed?”

She clung desperately to her dignity. Hunter moved forward again.

Moments later, she was off the mare and feeling as if her muscles and bones weren’t particularly well put together anymore. She forced herself to walk without the slightest limp.

“We will have to get you a habit, riding trousers,” he murmured, his hand on her back as he ushered her ahead up the massive steps. “Riding astride is far more natural than sidesaddle.”

He was striding through the ground floor exhibits as he spoke, heading for another flight of stairs. She kept up with his brisk pace, looking around as she did so. She had been to the museum before, naturally. Her father had taken Eliza and her several times—it had been determined years ago that the museum was not just for the elite, but for all the people of England. She had not particularly liked the Egyptian exhibits, not being fond of mummies. There was something eerie about peering at the sad visages of what had once been living men and women with their dreams of their preserved bodies being of use in the afterlife.

She kept this thought to herself as she hurried up the stairs, following him through a door labeled No Visitors. They came upon a room with a huge desk that was more like a table. No one sat at it.

There was, however, a woman seated on the floor, poring over pages of manuscript that were spread out before her.

She was in a simple skirt and embroidered blouse, the sleeves of which were rolled up. Her hair was slipping from its pins. She looked up, and her face was quite beautiful and radiant. “Hunter! You’re here. I’m delighted. You’ve got to take a look at the translations I’ve made and the mapping I’ve done. I’m almost positive that the tomb you were seeking is here, just in the cliffs at the edge of the temple. I’m certain, and so very excited. But, of course, I am going by texts and papers and translations, and you have actually been on so many digs…you’ll be a better judge of my determinations!” She had been speaking quickly, and she suddenly paused, aware that Hunter was not alone. She smiled sheepishly. “Hello.”

“Camille, this is Kat—Katherine Adair. Kat, may I introduce Camille, Countess of Carlyle.”

The woman rose, offering Kat a grimace and a smile. “Welcome,” she said. “I’m afraid you’ve caught me in a bit of a dither. We’re leaving so soon…and this is my dream. I’ve studied Egyptology most of my life and never been on an expedition.” She kept her smile steady for Kat, but her glance toward Hunter was certainly one with a question.

Who is this woman and why is she here?

“How do you do,” Kat murmured.

“Kat is going to be my assistant,” Hunter said.

“Oh, I see.” But did she? She seemed perplexed. “Are you an Egyptologist?”

“No, I’m afraid not.”

“Ah.”

“Miss Adair is an excellent artist,” Hunter said.

“How wonderful.”

“Where is Sir John?”

Camille laughed softly. “Taking time off! He said that I must have the run of the place and see that all goes well until we leave. He does not want to get in my way. Actually, I think that he is afraid he’d go quite insane with me here at this moment, running his smooth organization straight into the ground!”

“Ah, well, the fellow should have a holiday,” Hunter said.

“Sir John?” Kat asked.

“The true head of the department,” Camille explained.

“Is Brian about?” Hunter asked.

“Um, yes. He just went down the hall. He should be right back.”

“I’ll take a quick look,” Hunter said.

And he left Kat there, alone with this woman who was gazing at her with such perplexity—and who suddenly exclaimed, “Ah, Katherine Adair! Goodness! You’re the young woman who pulled David Turnberry from the Thames.”

Kat blushed. She’d forgotten that she had been written up in the papers. “Yes,” she murmured.

“What a heroic thing to do!”

“Not really. I’m not an Egyptologist, but I am an excellent swimmer, you see,” Kat explained. “And…I’m not sure I’d realized it myself, but something of an artist. Because,” she added quickly, “my father is really an excellent artist. It’s rather a long story, but—”

“But you’re to come with us on the expedition. Bravo! It will be delightful to have you along.”

“Thank you.” Could this woman be serious? But, of course, Kat had read all about Camille, Countess of Carlyle, as well. She had been a commoner, a woman working at the museum, and there had been some terrible horror going on at the time, Kat couldn’t quite remember the details, but Camille and the earl had solved all the mysteries and married, and not even the most vile of the gossip journals could find a single negative thing to say about the woman.

“Are you ready for a few hardships?” Camille asked.

“Will you actually work the digs?” Kat cross-queried.

“Indeed! I wouldn’t miss a minute. But you see… Here, come round and I will show you!”

The map she had on the floor beneath the various parchments and papers displayed the lower half of Italy and the northern region of Africa. “First, you see, we take a ship to the coast of France. Then we’re on a train, and we’ll travel through Paris, ever southward, and here go through Italy, perhaps with a bit of time in Rome, then over to Brindisi, and we’re on a ship again. The journey itself promises excitement. The ship we board in Brindisi takes us to Alexandria, and from there, we go by train down to Cairo. The hotel there is lovely. But here! Here is where I am most anxious to be. I’m certain that everything I’ve read points to this little area here.”

“It’s the tomb of a pharaoh?” Kat queried.

“Better! The tomb of a high priest. He served Ramses II—the Great. And what a life that one led! Biblically, he was pharaoh during the exodus Moses led from Egypt. But he became pharaoh at a young age and rode out to be a great warrior-leader. He had a queen, of course, but quite a harem of wives, and hundreds of children. His oldest—groomed to follow his father—died at a young age. How is still in question. Oh, there are theories. But the tomb we’re looking for belongs to that of one of his high priests. A fellow who was supposed to have had incredible influence over the pharaoh—like a mesmerist, even! Therefore, he gained great power and tremendous wealth, and had his own tomb dug out of the cliffs here, near the temple where he kept people cowed and in awe! To find his tomb, and all that may be within, may help to prove—or disprove—many theories regarding Ramses and his life. It might clarify fact from fiction and myth. Oh dear, I am going on. I do hope I’m not boring you.”

“No, not at all,” Kat replied honestly.

“It will be boring, some of it. There will be days of just sifting through sand…but I do hope you’ll come to love it.”

“So…there is a new person on our team, I hear.”

Kat was kneeling on the floor when the Earl of Carlyle made his appearance. He was a very tall man, maybe half an inch more than Hunter’s imposing height, with a scarred cheek that might have lent him an air of danger, had he not had such a pleasant smile and such merry eyes.

She struggled to stand; he raised a hand. “Please, don’t get up. I believe Hunter and I will be joining you on the floor. My wife is eager for Hunter to agree with her. I’ve learned that not only did you salvage a student from the sea, but brought to our attention a man we were seeking—your father.”

Her eyes widened. “You really do think so much of his work, then?”

“When you come to the castle, you will see,” he assured her.

“Hunter, please, will you get down here and look at my calculations?” Camille demanded. “The painting is in the den, and it is fabulous,” she added, waiting for Hunter to lower himself to her side. He hunkered down, and she looked at him anxiously as he gave her work his most serious attention. There was a protractor on the ground and he made note of her translations and certain sites, then swept arcs on the map. “There…or…there,” he said at last.

“Aha!” she cried with delight.

“Nothing is exact, Camille,” Hunter warned. “If it were, we’d not be digging endlessly. The sands have shifted over time. What appears simple may not be so.”

“Oh, but we will make a great discovery, I know it,” Camille said with pleasure.

“We may discover sand and rubble,” he cautioned.

“Whatever we discover, it will be my first dig,” she reminded him. “I have waited all my life for such an opportunity!”

“I thought you’d waited all your life for me,” the earl said.

She laughed, “Well, that, too, of course!”

Watching them, Kat felt a poignant tearing at her heart, a wistful longing, such as she had never known before. Their feelings for each other were so evident, in words, in their laughter. Every time their eyes met.

She knew what it was like to hunger for someone…but not what it was like to be so tenderly regarded in return.

When she looked away, she realized that Hunter was watching her. His eyes were strangely grave, and she looked away quickly, determined that the man would not pity her.

Nor would she fail him in any way.

“What do these mean?” she asked, pointing to some of the hieroglyphs.

“Ah, basically, they mean that he is a man who talks to the gods, and whom the gods honor,” Hunter replied. “He is the right hand of the pharaoh.”

“And here, it says that as such, he rests near those who are great builders, men who will touch the sun,” Camille continued.

Hunter was looking at Kat again as he asked, “Do you have that book, Camille? The one by Professor Lornette?”

“I do. In the desk. I’ll get it.”

“We have some logistics to go over, don’t we?” the earl asked Hunter.

Hunter nodded. “We’ll set Miss Adair to some learning, and I’ll be right with you.”

Camille rose to go into the desk and produce the book. “It’s the best, the most accurate and comprehensive, that I’ve read. I hope you’ll enjoy it.”

“I hope you’ll learn it,” Hunter murmured, and his eyes were on Kat again.

“I shall set out to do so,” she said. He was always challenging her, and warning her, she thought somewhat resentfully. But then her mind began to spin again. She had been seated on the floor with a countess. She’d shared a meal with Lord Avery. And with David.

She was about to embark on a fantasy that was so far removed it had never so much as entered into the realm of her dreams.

She would be polite. And good at the work he wanted.

“Hunter?” the earl said.

“Whenever you’re ready, Brian,” Hunter said.

“We’re right down the hall in the old workroom. There have been a few renovations round here lately.”

“If you need anything…” Hunter said.

“Go away. I’m here,” Camille said cheerfully, waving her hand in the air. When the men were gone, Camille asked Kat, “Is there anything that you need?”

“I’m fine. Happy as can be. I shall just sit and study, unless I can be of any assistance to you. Then just tell me, please.”

“Read away. And I will go back to some of my translations, see if there is more to verify all that I’ve found!”

They settled into an amazingly comfortable silence. To her surprise, Kat found the symbols and representations fascinating. Learning to put them all together was a bit difficult as first, quite different from translating, for instance, French to English. But after a while, it became easier to insert the implied meaning, and symbols began to run together more smoothly, making sense to her.

“Kat?”

She looked up, startled. Apparently, the Countess of Carlyle had been standing there for some minutes, looking at her. Not in annoyance, however.

“You’re hooked,” she said, smiling.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Hooked on ancient Egypt!” Camille said happily. “Be careful, it can become an obsession. I’m taking a break. Would you like to come along? There’s a place here for tea…not open much longer.”

Kat would have loved to go. But she didn’t dare. Hunter might return at any minute.

“Thank you so very much. But I’ve little time and a great deal to learn,” she said.

“As you wish. I can bring you back a scone or the like.”

“I had breakfast, thank you.”

Lady Carlyle left. Kat returned to the book, then looked up and gazed round. She was in some sort of main office, but where people worked, not where they greeted the public. This room was large, with the desk, filing cabinets and a few glass exhibit cases. She got up and walked to one, stared at it, frowning, for several seconds, then felt a shudder seize her.

The exhibit was of a pair of hands. Mummy hands. Broken at the wrists.

“Ugh!”

Kat stepped back. She glanced at the door, unnerved, hoping someone would return. But seconds later, she realized that her curiosity was greater than her fear and she began to walk around the room again. Another case offered a far prettier sight. Shimmering gold jewelry.

She found that jewelry had changed little over time. There were beautiful pieces there, thousands of years old, that might just as easily grace the fingers, wrists or throat of any wealthy woman today. Fascinated, she moved on. There were a few pieces of jewelry that held symbols she had just learned. “Ever in care of great Horus!” she read aloud with pleasure.

A moment later, she finished with the cases. There were two doors in the room. She stared at them, hesitating. She was just a guest here.

Ah, but one about to sail away—and work!—with a group of Egyptologists, amateur and professional. She walked resolutely toward the first door and opened it, stepping in. There was another desk in here, more filing cabinets, framed ancient maps on the walls and a few more exhibits.

On the desk sat a stuffed crocodile with gaping jaws. She noted the stationery on the desk, saw the emblazoned initials HSM.

Hunter’s office?

Most likely. No, most definitely. There were several swords on the walls, some with plaques that described just how and when they had been received, gift of such and such a ruler. There was also a long, elegantly carved stick on the desk. She realized that it was a blowgun. Oh, yes, this was all Hunter’s!

“Charming, I’m sure!” Kat murmured.

She stepped out, found herself still alone and opened the door to the second room. Hands clasped behind her back, she wandered in. Camille worked here, she thought. Astonishing. The woman had married an earl, yet kept working at the museum. This desk was so evidently hers! Papers in just a bit of disarray on it, but there were items on the desk of pure beauty—a gold and enameled scarab, little pieces that appeared to represent various gods…

Suddenly there was a sound from beyond the room, in the main office. Kat felt a moment’s panic. It had to be Lady Carlyle returning…or Hunter. And she didn’t want either catching her snooping about in areas to which she had not been invited.

Still, she was ready to burst out the door when she heard a whispered voice. “No one is here!”

“Well, do you see it?” Another voice, just as hushed, demanded.

“No, we’ve got to go in and find it. Quickly.”

“Quickly? We’ve made a mistake, a major mistake. There are far too many people working here today. We’ve got to get out.”

Kat couldn’t make out the next words. But they ended with “…else we shall be to pay for it! And if the truth is known…better off dead!”

Then something and “…we missed the other day.”

“Fool!” Again, words she couldn’t make out. “Ah, well, there will be more chances! A long journey, a dark desert.” Something totally uncomprehensible, and then “…dead is the only answer.”

Kat gasped, then clamped her hand over her mouth. She was alone here at the moment, and these people, whoever they were…

“There’s someone coming.”

At that whisper, Kat found courage. She burst out of Camille’s private office, certain that she would confront the intruders, and Hunter and the Earl of Carlyle would be coming in from the hallway.

But she burst out into an empty room. Surprise stopped her for a moment, then she strode across the room to the door that opened to the hall, throwing it open.

Again, there was no one.

And to her distress, as she stood in the hall, the door closed. She turned to enter again, but the door was now locked.

She swore softly. Words that might have distressed her father, but here, there was no one to hear them. At least, not at first.

As she tugged at the handle, she heard footsteps. Alarmed, she looked up.

Now Hunter was coming. “What’s the problem, Miss Adair?”

“Rather apparent, I believe. I’m locked out.”

“Ah.” He stopped in the hallway, staring at her. “The question is, Kat, what are you doing on this side of the door? I thought you were working.”

“I was working.”

“Ah…well, there’s little fresh air to be had in the halls here. Were you exploring?”

“No!” she protested.

“Then…?”

“I heard whispering,” she said.

He sighed, looking weary and amused. “Miss Adair, mummies do not come back to life and walk the halls of the museum. They don’t whisper, and they don’t run around in their wrappings. And their mouths are wrapped shut, so the idea that they—”

“Hunter MacDonald!” came the soft, teasing voice of Lady Carlyle. She was approaching from the opposite direction. “Don’t let him taunt you, Miss Adair. The man has been known to wear mummy wrappings himself!”

Kat was amazed to see Hunter flush. “Camille, at the time, I was afraid for your life!” he said.

“Yes, you were.” She caught his arm and squeezed it, smiling with affection. “But be kind! This is all new to Miss Adair.”

“Kat, please,” she murmured.

“Only if I am Camille, and not all this ‘Lady’ here and there with every sentence! So what’s going on?”

“Kat heard whisperers and decided to investigate,” Hunter said. “And thus locked herself out of the office.”

Camille looked at Kat, smoothing back a stray lock of her hair. “There’s really no one else about.”

“But there was!” Kat insisted.

“Perhaps some of the students?” Camille suggested to Hunter.

“I’ve not seen any of the fellows.”

“Neither have I. Are you sure you heard something? The place is cavernous—voices can echo about.”

“I heard people whispering,” she said stubbornly.

“Men or women?” Hunter asked.

“I don’t know.”

“You were reading at the desk when I left you…and you heard something from outside?” Camille asked.

Kat opened and closed her mouth. No, actually, I was snooping about in your private office, and the whispers came from just outside that door!

She shook her head. “Never mind.”

“Now you’re angry,” Hunter said.

“And maybe you’re in danger!” she snapped back.

He smiled, looking at Camille again. “Everyone did read about all that happened here, I suppose,” he said.

Kat, frowning, looked from one of them to the other. They both seemed amused, doubtless certain that she had let her imagination get the best of her.

“As I said, never mind!” she said to Hunter. “I think I’ve done quite well with your book this afternoon, and I believe I’ve learned a great deal.”

“Take the poor girl home, Hunter!” Camille said. “There’s always tomorrow, you know. And if you and Brian finished up with the budget, we’re actually ahead of ourselves. Oh, you know you must be ready to sail on Saturday, Miss Adair.” She gave Hunter a fierce look. “Arrangements have been made?”

“Emma is coming to look after the girls,” Hunter said.

“I don’t need looking after,” Kat murmured.

“Girls?” Camille said.

“Lady Margaret has decided to go along. As far as Shepheard’s Hotel.”

Camille laughed. “Emma will not be happy.”

“Oh, she seems in a jolly enough mood about it all. She seems to have acquired quite a fondness for Miss Adair.” Why? I can’t begin to imagine! Kat thought he implied.

“She’ll be whining and complaining all the way,” Camille warned.

“Well, Lord Avery gets along swimmingly with Emma, and he’s been through several housekeepers in the past few months. And since his world rises and sets in Margaret, and Margaret loves Emma, as well, that’s the way it must be.”

“Good enough, then. I believe my husband is eager to head home now, and it’s a bit of a ride. Kat Adair, delighted to meet you and to have you with us. Hunter, good night!”

She kissed him lightly on the cheek. He nodded, watching her for a moment as she departed. There was a very deep friendship between the two, Kat decided. Almost like brother and sister. She couldn’t imagine such a thing herself. Especially since he seemed to have a talent for irritating her mercilessly.

He studied her, then, in the hallway for a long moment. “It is growing late. I shall see you home.”

“I’ve been waiting all day for the pleasure of riding again,” she told him.

“You’ll get used to it. But we need only ride to the town house. Ethan will have the carriage there, and he’ll take you on to your father’s house.”

There was no help for it; she had to allow him to help her back into the saddle. She was annoyed that she should feel his touch so keenly, as if her flesh burned beneath her clothing where his hands had been.

He was silent, pensive, as they rode. She chose not to break that silence. Still, she wondered if she should have been more persistent, made Hunter and Camille pay attention…tried to remember all that those whispering voices had said, word for word.

Now, as they rode out in the evening, the streets busy here and there with coaches, omnibuses and people on foot, the whispers seemed quite unreal.

And if she tried to bring up the subject again, he would simply be derisive once again!

At the town house, he lifted her from the saddle. She was very aware of the power in his arms as he lifted her so easily, then equally aware of the length of his body as he set her down. Where his strong hands had gripped her waist simply burned…

There was no time to think about that. He turned away, calling for Ethan, who, as usual, seemed to be at his master’s beck and call.

“Miss Adair is anxious to get home.”

“Yes, Sir Hunter.”

He turned back to Kat. “Be ready at nine o’clock sharp tomorrow morning.”

“Ready for what?” she queried.

“Just be ready!” he commanded.

Then he entered the house and she couldn’t persist with ready for what because the door had already slammed closed.

“Miss Adair? The carriage is just down the drive.” This from Ethan.

In the carriage, she silently cursed Hunter MacDonald. She considered telling him the next day that he and Lord Avery were ever so kind, but they were welcome to take their offer and…drop it in the sea!

After all, her father had probably sold some of his work that day, and at a fair price.

Because of Hunter and Lord Avery!

And if she told Hunter such a thing, she would not go on the expedition, and she would not be near David, subtly seducing him.

She frowned, realizing that she had given David little or no thought since she had arrived at the museum.

Incredible disloyalty!

Something had happened to her there at the museum. She had tapped into something in her own heart and mind. She still wanted to go on the expedition because of David…but she was fascinated. In love with the call to adventure, with the sights and sounds promised by all that she had seen and read today.

Bits of the whispered words came back to her.

“…a long journey…”

“…a dark desert…”

“We missed the other day…”

“…better off dead…”

She sat up in the carriage, shivering.

Had they been referring to David?

Fear shuddered through her. What if someone had pushed him, for some reason, off the sailboat? What if that same person…or persons meant to keep trying?

Outlandish! She assured herself. And yet…

She’d be watching. Now she’d be watching.

She felt a fearful, trembling sensation again. She would watch over him…and she could only pray that someone would watch over her.