Page 35 of When a Lady Desires a Wicked Lord
She’d loved him.
The bittersweet memory shattered, bringing her back to reality. She was older now. Wiser. And, thanks to Benedict, far less inclined to believe empty promises. Three simple words had led to her heartbreak.I love you.
Now, sitting in her study at Benedict’s side, it was difficult to fathom they’d had no real contact in nearly a decade.
Pouring through reference tomes, they searched for some symbol that might reveal the meaning behind the cryptic message. Benedict leaned closer, studying an icon Alex had noted also appeared on the amulet. How much did he know about the pendant?
The faint blend of bergamot and Benedict’s own healthy male essence swept over her senses. A lock of hair tumbled over his forehead, its sandy brown hues interwoven with shades of red and gold. She longed to reach out to him and sweep those unruly strands into place, but she curled her fingers against her palm and pushed aside the impulse. The fashionable elite would judge him in need of a barber’s touch, but in Alex’s eyes, the way his hair slightly brushed his collar was all too appealing.
He’d removed his jacket. Clad in shirtsleeves he’d rolled to the elbow and a waistcoat, a visitor might have found his attire scandalous, but Alex shrugged at the thought. If Mrs. Thomas felt his presence inappropriate, she did not express the thought. Rather, the housekeeper had dropped her icy reserve, seeming to dismiss the frosty attitude she’d cultivated over the years since Benedict had first left London for Cairo.
Chestnut brown hair sprinkled over his forearms emphasized the muscular sinews. His skin bore a bronzed tone, the result of hours beneath the desert sun. Taking his spectacles from a pocket in his vest, he examined the text. The wire-rimmed lenses only added to his attractiveness.
Shifting her attention back to the massive tome that lay open before her, she endeavored to focus on the task at hand. Despite her resolve, her gaze drifted back to Benedict. Her attention swept over the breadth of his shoulders and the muscles bunching beneath his white linen shirt.
Ah, her heart was a traitor. Didn’t she know better by now?
She dismissed the thought. She was a woman now. Not a girl. She could protect herself against any threat, even her heart’s treacherous yearnings.
Tracing a fingertip over a glyph in the text, she carefully examined the intricacies of the design. If only she’d come upon the symbols left behind in the murdered man’s final message.
Reaching for the photograph, she brought it closer. The image was clear enough, but the meaning of the symbols wrought in the dying man’s blood seemed a puzzle she could not solve.
“Benedict, these glyphs might represent numbers,” she said. “The Roman numerals for five and one thousand.”
“It’s possible,” he agreed. “But in conjunction with the other drawings, they make no sense.”
“The code was likely intended to identify his killer. Ah, what he was trying to tell us?”
Benedict’s brow creased. “Hamid had to know his time on earth was ebbing. At that point, he would have been desperate to communicate.”
“Quite so,” she agreed.
Mrs. Thomas rapped lightly upon the door. As she entered, her features were pulled taut with concern. “Mr. and Mrs. Colton are here.”
Oh, dear. She had not expected Jennie and Matthew. Why had they come? Had there been another murder?
Her pulse accelerating, she came to her feet as she steadied her voice. “Please, send them in.”
“Certainly, Miss Quinn.”
Jennie swept into the study. Colton filled the doorway, casting Benedict a look that clearly showed his disapproval.
For his part, Benedict fashioned a bland expression and met the other man’s glare. “I presume you’ve come bearing news.”
Jennie came to her, peering down at the massive volume that sat open on Alex’s desk. Worry lines creased her forehead, and she pulled in a low breath and released it with a little sigh. “I am sorry if we have interrupted your work. But this…this could not wait.”
“Rooney has offered little during his interrogation, but he now says he has a message from his employer,” Colton explained.
“His employer?” Benedict’s jaw firmed with tension. “A rather civilized term for a jackal who’s hired a killer.”
“I cannot say I disagree,” Jennie said.
“He’s indicated he is willing to talk,” Colton said, his tone somber.
Benedict shoved the book he’d been examining aside and rose from his seat. “Then let us be done with it.”
“It’s not that simple. Rooney says he’ll speak only to Alexandra.”
