Page 9 of When a Lady Desires a Wicked Lord
“There is more to this story than you’ve let on. You cannot expect me to settle for what little information you’ve offered.” Settling her attention on his features, she searched for some small hint of emotion that would provide a glimpse of his motives. “Tell me now before I conclude you’re no better than the criminal who attacked me.”
He walked to the sideboard and lifted a decanter into view. “I don’t know about you, but I could use a drink.”
“Go right ahead.” She kept her tone placid, even as she deliberately hardened the expression in her eyes. “But I will not allow you to evade the question. I deserve the truth. All of it.”
Benedict poured brandy into a crystal tumbler. “Have some, Alex. It might loosen you up.”
“I do not need to beloosened up.Tell me why Stockwell sent you.”
Glass in hand, Benedict leaned against the back of a settee and stretched out his long legs. His casual posture seemed wildly incongruous with the situation. “When you theorized Stockwell was desperate, you were correct. He was nearly mad with concern when he sent for me… Concern over you.”
His words unleashed a fresh chill along her spine.
“What would lead him to worry over me?”
“Stockwell feared he’d made you a target. At first, he did not realize the impact of what he’d done…until it was nearly too late. But that didn’t change the truth.”
“I don’t understand.” She marched over to him and pinned him with her gaze. “What is all this about?”
“Stockwell entrusted you with a map.” His jaw hardened. “You need to give it to me.”
“A map?” What was the infernal man talking about? All of this chaos could not possibly be attributed to a document she’d never laid eyes on. “Rooney also demanded a map. But there’s a rather significant problem—I do not have any such item in my possession.”
His brow furrowed as a muscle tensed in his cheek. “Stockwell was clear that he’d given you the document. He insisted that I retrieve it.”
“I cannot say why the professor would state such a thing. Are you positive he was in a clear state of mind?”
“He was frantic with concern, desperate that I find you…and the map. I could see the fear in his eyes.”
Alex struggled to make sense of the situation. Benedict had always displayed a skill for evasion, but he’d never shown an affinity for outright deception. “Assuming you are telling me the truth, kindly explain why the professor would be stricken with fear.”
He lifted the tumbler to his lips and took a drink. “The man was convinced his actions had marked you for death.”
“Marked me for death?” She scoffed. “Professor Stockwell does not believe in curses and superstitious nonsense.”
“The danger has nothing to do with a curse—it has everything to do with greed and a thirst for power.” Benedict reached out for her, his touch gentle on her shoulders, seeming to want to comfort her. “Stockwell knew this. He was desperate to protect you. But he couldn’t stop the killer. He couldn’t even save himself.”
Chapter Three
Alex clasped Benedict’s arms and struggled to stay on her feet. Without warning, the world upended beneath her feet. Her knees wobbled, threatening to buckle beneath her. She’d maintained her composure in the face of fear. Even the hideous sensation of the brutish intruder’s hands upon her flesh had not shattered her dignity. But now, the implication that Professor Stockwell was dead barreled into her like a rampaging beast, threatening to trample what was left of her resolve.
Benedict held her lightly. Surely he knew the devastating impact of his words. In less than an hour, her quiet, fulfilling existence had been shattered. She’d endured threats and a foul brute’s violence, and she’d discovered that her unexpected champion was none other than the one man she’d sworn never again to trust. And now, Benedict stood before her, declaring her mentor and friend—a good man without equal—no longer lived.
No, she raged silently.Professor Stockwell cannot be dead.
If only a penetrating sadness did not radiate from Benedict’s gaze. She might believe it all a brutal lie, if not for the devastating pain in his eyes.
“The professor… He has been killed?” Even as she uttered the question, she knew the truth.
Benedict nodded gravely. “Damn it, Alex—I’m sorry.”
Tears welled in her eyes, hot and bitter. She held them back, even as a few escaped and streamed down her cheeks. Blast it, how she hated to weep in front of anyone, much less this man.
“When—when did it happen?” she managed through the searing pain in her throat.
“I received a telegram upon my arrival in London. He died in the field, at Luxor.”
She choked back her grief. “The intruder…he also killed the professor?”
