Page 70 of When a Lady Desires a Wicked Lord
“He’ll be back soon enough,” Mrs. Thomas said, her voice taking on a tone of sage wisdom. “I’ve seen the way Lord Marlsbrook looks at you. That man won’t be gone for long.”
“I’m not entirely sure it matters. Whether he returns or not, the damage has been done,” Alex said. “In any case, I’ve a task I must complete. Mr. Colton will be here shortly.”
The housekeeper gave a little frown. “Would you like me to stay, then, dear? You’ll be needing someone to let him in.”
“No, thank you, that won’t be necessary.” Alex managed a wan smile. Mrs. Thomas had always clucked over her like a nervous mother hen, but that wasn’t what she needed now.
“Very well,” the housekeeper said. “I should not expect to be gone more than an hour and a half, perhaps two. I’d like to attend my errands before the storms return.”
“It was indeed quite dismal earlier this morning. The rain and wind were unforgiving.” The low rumble of a carriage slowing to a stop outside the townhouse caught her attention. “It would appear that your escort to the market has arrived.”
“Quite so. Mr. Bertram is ever prompt.” A little smile brightened the matron’s face. “David is quite a gentleman. Really, he is.”
David?In the time she’d known Matthew Colton and his skirt-chasing scarecrow of a driver, Alex had never even considered that Bertram had a given name, or that he might be described as a gentleman—much less by a woman as prim and proper as Mrs. Thomas. Had the sly old devil caught the modest widow’s eye?
“Do take care, Mrs. Thomas,” Alex said. “And be sure not to forget your umbrella.”
“Thank you, dear.” Humming a cheerful little tune, the housekeeper headed outside to the carriage and Bertram’s welcoming grin.
Letting out a sigh, Alex collected her thoughts and set about her task. When Rooney had invaded her study, she’d been engrossed in her examination of the Pharaoh’s Sun. While she awaited the arrival of Matthew Colton and his associates, she took a seat in a comfortable wing chair, propped up her feet on a plump paisley ottoman, and focused her attention on Professor Stockwell’s field journal.
A pair of initials caught her eye. Odd, that the notation had escaped her notice earlier. But now, her interest was drawn to it.
H.S.
Harold Stockwell, perhaps?
Had Stockwell’s son become a partner in his father’s work? How odd that the professor had never mentioned Harold’s involvement. Professor Stockwell had typically been forthcoming about his research. Had he deliberately omitted that information from their discussions? Or had it been a mere oversight?
She stared down at the initials. Of course, she could not be sure that the letters referred to the professor’s son. The notation might have referred to any number of persons who’d joined his expeditions.
Still, the possibility that Harold Stockwell had played a role in his father’s expeditions puzzled her. When had the man been in Egypt? Harold had spoken in detail about his experiences in western Africa. How peculiar that he would fail to mention his work in the Valley of the Kings.
Without so much as a meow of warning, Nefritiri popped out from behind a curtain and leapt onto a Chippendale chair. Startled, Alex gasped. Her pulse racing as the small shock coursed through her, she pulled in a breath to calm herself. From its new perch, the cat regarded her with an expression of dour amusement. Why, it appeared Nefritiri actually did know how to smirk at her. Insufferably arrogant, the calico plopped down upon the carpet and strutted up to her. Rubbing against Alex’s leg in a beseeching manner, it let out a plaintivemeow.
“Ah, do you want a treat, you naughty girl?” Bending down to pet the cat behind its ears, she considered whether a spot of cream might be in order for the feline.
A quiet squeak made its way through the hallway to Alex’s ears. Her hearing had always been keen, and she honed in on the noise. Were those door hinges? Or was that a floorboard making a resounding creak of protest against the damp, dreary weather?
Her spine went rigid. She was not alone. Had Mrs. Thomas returned? Perhaps she’d forgotten something and had come back to fetch it.
Still, Alex could afford to take no chances. As usual, she’d stashed her Sharps pistol in the top drawer of her desk. She rushed to retrieve it.
“If you want to survive this day, you will do whatever I tell you to do.”
Mrs. Thomas had left the door to her study ajar. The sturdy wood panel swung open, and a man entered.Edward Nelson.Raymond Stockwell’s financier. Sturdily built and muscular, the man was no taller than herself. But he cut a threatening figure. Especially given the revolver in his left hand.
“Move away from the desk, Miss Quinn,” he went on in a low, emotionless voice. “If you don’t, I will have no choice but to pull this trigger.”
Careful to hold her hands in plain sight, she followed his command. Her knees trembled beneath her skirts, but she pulled in a breath and squared her shoulders. She would not allow this cur to see her fear.
“Why are you here?” Her voice held steady. A miracle, that. “What is it you want from me?”
“Very little, really. If you cooperate, you will not be harmed.”
She swallowed against a lump in her throat. “I will ask you again… Why have you come here?”
“You have an artifact, an item Professor Stockwell placed in your care. I’ve come for the Pharaoh’s Sun. Get it. Now.”
