Page 10 of When a Lady Desires a Wicked Lord
“No, I don’t believe that was the case. Rooney was sent after you.” His voice went low and raw with anguish. “Someone else led the professor to his death.”
“How can this be?” she murmured. “I received a letter from my dear friend Lady Stanwyck. She and her husband dined with Professor Stockwell in Cairo just last month. She would have mentioned if he’d given any indication…any hint he was in danger.”
“The Stanwycks were likely not informed of the situation. Stockwell was hesitant to trust anyone.”
Alex gazed up at him. “Yet the professor put his faith in you?”
A frown pulled his dark brows together. Immediately, she regretted the words.
Benedict’s arm coiled around her waist, steadying her. Damn the man for knowing how her knees tended to quiver when she experienced a shock to the nervous system.
“He knew the truth,” Benedict said. “I swore I would not let him down.”
“Desperate times, and all that rot,” she said, forcing back a wave of tears. Grief sliced through her like a dull blade. “How…how did it happen?”
“My knowledge of the circumstances is sparse. Supposedly, he took a fall in his quarters. He suffered a head injury.” Pain infused his low tones. “The authorities believe it was an accident. But I know better.”
“An accident?” She choked out the words. “Perhaps that is the truth. It might have been a horrible mishap.”
Slowly, Benedict shook his head. “The authorities and the leader of the expedition have no incentive to view it as anything other than an unfortunate chance of fate. If the truth were written on the walls, they would refuse to see it.”
“I am devastated to think that I will never again confer with the professor on the meaning of a symbol or the significance of an artifact.” A fresh wave of emotion threatened to erupt. She swallowed hard, reining them in. “But you must understand how incredible this all sounds. There is no conclusive reason to believe his death was the result of a deliberate act.”
“He had good reason to be afraid. At this point, we all do.” Benedict cupped his palm against her cheek. Time in the field had roughened his fingertips, leaving their texture slightly coarse, stirring a delicious tingling over her skin. Why did the sensation appeal to her so?
“You are determined to frighten me,” she said, though she did not pull away from his touch. “Why?”
“Stockwell knew he could trust me. I must ask you to do the same.”
“Trustyou? Why in heavens would I do that?”
He cocked a brow. “I just saved your life. I’d say that’s a start.”
“While I am grateful for your assistance, whether or not I should put my faith in you remains a matter for debate.” Alex studied his face, searching for the truth in his eyes. “In any case, it occurs to me that we must notify the police. We certainly cannot leave Mr. Rooney, if that is indeed his name, trussed up in my study.”
Again, he shook his head. “Notifying the authorities would be a very bad idea.”
His softly spoken words triggered a sudden wariness. “We must summon a constable. It goes without saying.”
“The police are not equipped to deal with this situation.” Benedict moved to the window. Slipping the curtain aside, he peered into the night.
She trailed his steps, standing an arm’s length from his broad back. “Did you hear something?”
“No. Not yet.”
“Do you believe you’ve been followed?”
He turned to her. A mask seemed to have dropped over his features, revealing little of his true feelings. “There’s no time to explain. Not now. I’ve got to get you out of here.”
She folded her arms over her chest. “I am not going anywhere with you.”
“Rooney may have an accomplice. It is unlikely that he worked alone. I don’t intend to stay long enough to find out.”
“And I thought you’d developed a sense of courage.”
“Courage?” He scowled. “What in blazes would lead you to that conclusion?”
She dragged in a low breath. “You offered a fine imitation when you confronted that thug.”
