Bella and the Beast (20 page)

These appeared to be shipping manifests, nothing of particular use to her. As she paged through them to check for a hidden map, her thoughts strayed to those missing letters. She distinctly remembered tying the string around the packet and placing it into the bedside table two nights ago. She had questioned Nan, but the girl had vehemently denied ever seeing them. Bella had hunted all over the bedchamber in the vain hope that she'd absentmindedly misplaced them.

But the letters were gone. Vanished without a trace.

It seemed especially telling that she'd made the discovery shortly after seeing the phantom figure at the end of the corridor. There must be a connection. Had that person stolen the letters Papa had written to Miles? Why? If it had been Hasani, why would he have been searching her chambers anyway?

Bella had no answers. The mystery would have to wait until later. At the moment, she must make full use of her time here in the archives.

She returned the shipping manifests to their proper place and then gathered another armload of papers from a different drawer. Resuming her place on the floor, she quickly found this set to be far more interesting. So interesting that she moved the candle closer in order to better view the pages by the flickering light.

In her lap lay a series of sketches executed in bold strokes of black ink. Each page contained another unique and fascinating depiction. An obelisk rising from the ruins of a temple. A statue of a jackal-headed god at the entry to a tomb. A plowman in Egyptian garb behind two long-horned cattle.

She came upon a drawing of a fishing boat on a river. Palm trees lined the bank, and reeds grew thickly at the water's edge. A frog perched on a flat stone, its tongue flicking out to catch a fly.

All of a sudden, the scene came alive with the blue sparkle of the river, the blinding brightness of the sun, and the sensation of rushing forward to catch the green frog, only to see it plop into the water and disappear beneath the rippled surface …

She blinked and the color vanished. The sketch once again became black ink on white paper. Had that been a flash of memory from her childhood? It must have been, though she could recall nothing else beyond that brief fragment.

All of a sudden, she grew aware of the distant sound of footsteps. Someone was approaching out in the corridor. That heavy tramp could only belong to a man.

Her fingers tightened around the pile of sketches in her lap. She glanced over her shoulder, but the row of cabinetry hid the door from her view. She had closed it, Bella felt certain of that. And no one could possibly spy the feeble light of the candle back here.

The tension seeped out of her. She was quite safe.

The passerby was likely a servant summoned from belowstairs for some purpose. Perhaps he was delivering a decanter of brandy to the duke. Or hot water for washing.

But even as it seemed the man was about to proceed on past, the footsteps stopped outside the archives. The door handle rattled slightly as if he'd grasped hold of it.

Alarm seized Bella. She quickly pinched out the single candle flame with her thumb and forefinger. The room plunged into darkness just as the door swung open.

 

Chapter 16

The unknown man entered the archives room. A moment of silence reigned in which Bella hardly dared to breathe. Then his firm tread advanced toward the back section where the mummies were located. He was carrying a candle, for its glow cast wavering shadows on the high ceiling.

She sat very still on the floor. The faint scent of melted wax hung in the air. Thank heavens she had chosen the last row of cabinetry in which to examine the sketches. With any luck, he wouldn't notice her in the gloom.

She could hear his every footfall, slow and steady now, as if he were taking the time to peer into every nook and cranny. His steps seemed to turn toward the mummy on the table. The shadows shifted suddenly, an indication that he must have raised his candle to better light the area.

Who was he?

Surely not the duke; fate couldn't play such a cruel trick on her twice. Perhaps Hasani had come to utter another chant over the mummy. Perhaps Mr. Banbury-Davis needed to fetch a forgotten notebook. Perhaps the robed apparition had actually been a thief who was prowling through the house, looking for items to steal …

She reached stealthily for the dagger in her pocket. Then something moved into the opening at the end of the cabinetry.

A dark hulking beast.

Her fingers closed around the shaft of the knife just as the fiend lifted his candle. In the pale light, he transformed into a man clad in dark trousers and a loose white shirt, the sleeves rolled to his elbows. The flame held high in his hand cast shadows on his harsh features.

Miles.

Bella's heart did a somersault. Torn between relief and dismay, she left the dagger in her pocket. How guilty she must look, she realized, cowering against the cabinet with her legs tucked beneath her, the purloined sketches in her lap.

“I knew I'd seen the glimmer of a candle in here,” he said. “This room is visible from the window of my study.”

Oh, drat. She should have thought to close the draperies. Since the archives room faced the back gardens, it had never occurred to Bella that someone might spot her. But it did make horrible sense. Aylwin House was built in the shape of an
H,
with the two wings extending beyond the central portion. His study was in the west wing and looked out over the gardens, too.

She swallowed, her mouth so bone-dry that her voice came out a croak. “Good evening, Your Grace. What a surprise to see you.”

He fixed her with the Ducal Stare. “What the devil are you doing in here so late?”

“I'm working. I didn't realize this room was off limits, too.”

“I never said that it was.” He stalked toward her. “Why are you sitting in the dark?”

“A draft of air blew out my candle. I was just about to leave when you came in and frightened me half to death.”

He stopped in front of her. One corner of his mouth tilted in an ironic grin that eased his severe expression. “Nonsense. You pinched it out when you heard me touch the door handle. Go on, admit it.”

He knew. A flush crept into her cheeks. Oh, why had she been so foolish? She ought to have kept the candle burning. In retrospect, it looked far more suspicious to have snuffed it.

He towered over her, and she was forced to tilt up her chin to look at him. “So what if I did?” she said brashly. “I knew it might be you out there. And given your recent bout of ill temper, I had no wish to risk another encounter.”

Beyond cocking an eyebrow, he let that go without a challenge. “What are you looking for in here?

“Records that describe the artifacts in the drawing room. Hasani gave me some lists, but they weren't quite complete.” That was a fib. She didn't know if they were complete or not. She'd done little more than glance through the papers before leaving them in her bedchamber.

Miles lowered the candle so that the light fell upon the sketches. “Those don't look like lists in your lap.”

“Oh, these?” She affected a laugh. “I happened upon them in one of the drawers, that's all. I was very curious to view more pictures of Egypt. One of them—this one on top—made me remember seeing such a scene.”

“You had another memory from when you were a little girl?”

“Yes, I was trying to catch a frog, but it hopped into the water and vanished.” She lightly traced her fingers over the frog perched on the flat stone. “I must have been present when this sketch was drawn.”

“I wouldn't be so sure. Frogs are commonplace along the Nile. You'd probably chased scores of them.”

She glanced up at him. “Do you know who the artist was?”

His expression went blank. “My father. Which is precisely why I doubt you were there when he drew that. He did not suffer prattling brats.” Miles held out his hand. “Come.”

Bella automatically placed her hand in the duke's. According to the servants, his father had been a cold, autocratic man. Miles had been in awe of him. A happy boy when he'd gone off to Egypt, he'd returned forever changed. It was as if he'd inherited his father's stern disposition along with the title. Was there any part of that carefree nature still hidden inside him? Every once in a while, she caught a glimpse …

His strong fingers wrapped warmly around hers as he pulled her to her feet. The brief touch was enough to scatter her thoughts when she needed to focus on the conversation.

“Come where?” she asked.

“To my study. And bring along the sketches. I want to see what else you might remember.”

*   *   *

A few minutes later, Miles ushered Bella into his private sanctum. Anticipation thrummed in his veins as he guided her to one of the chairs by the hearth, where a fire burned on the grate. “Pray sit down. I'll fetch you something to drink before we look through those illustrations.”

Leaving her, he went to the sideboard to grab a glass and then proceeded to a linen-draped table by the window. There, he poured a measure of burgundy wine from the decanter beside his dinner tray.

He could scarcely believe he had her all to himself. The evening had turned out to be far more interesting than he'd planned. On an ordinary night, his routine consisted of eating here in his study while working on his hieroglyphics dictionary, often until midnight. But a short while ago, as a footman had delivered the tray of food, Miles had stepped to the window to peer out at the darkened garden.

That was when he'd spied the faint glow in the archives, which was situated perpendicular to his study.

His first thought had been that Banbury-Davis had left a candle burning. Concerned that such carelessness could cause a fire, Miles had gone there to check, only to find the room pitch-dark. Immediately, he'd had the uncanny sense that someone was hiding nearby.

He should have known the culprit would be Bella.

The guilt on her face had spoken volumes. She had snuffed her candle in order to conceal her presence. And he didn't believe her excuse of wanting to avoid him. She must have been searching for something in the files. What the devil could it be?

Was that also the reason he'd caught her here in his study two nights ago, poking through the papyri storeroom? That incident suddenly seemed more suspicious, too.

Why didn't she just ask him for whatever paperwork she sought? He knew the contents of every last file in those cabinets, right down to the most insignificant bill of sale. There was nothing private or hush-hush about the papers. He had personally seen to it that all the records from the expedition had been organized for future reference, from his father's notes and illustrations to the official purchase documents from the Egyptian government for each artifact.

Miles wanted to demand an answer from her. But Bella was a strong-willed woman, and he doubted that she'd surrender her secrets on command. He would have to watch and listen, perhaps trick or coax her into revealing her purpose.

Yes,
coax.
He could think of an infinite variety of ways to charm her into trusting him …

Holding the wine glass, he turned to find Bella standing directly behind him. So much for expecting her to heed his request to sit by the fire. She didn't seem to know the meaning of the word “obey.” Yet perhaps that was part of her allure; she had a free spirit that refused to bow to his control.

Even now, she seemed oblivious to him. Her full attention was focused on a shelf on which stood a painted funeral mask from the New Kingdom. “How beautiful,” she murmured.

She
was beautiful in the candlelight, a few strands of brown hair curling around her face, drawing his attention to those kissable lips. The blue fabric of her gown clung to her womanly contours and made him fantasize about the pleasure of disrobing her. Who would have thought that a high-necked, long-sleeved dress could be so seductive?

“Yes,” he murmured. “Very lovely, indeed.”

She turned to him and her lapis lazuli eyes widened with the realization of his compliment. As a pretty blush spread over her cheeks, he pressed the glass into her hand. “Wine?”

“Thank you.” Her gaze strayed to the table where a silver dome covered the tray of food. “Oh, I'm sorry! Have I interrupted your dinner?”

“It's no matter.” Miles paused, considering, calculating. If he hoped to relax her guard, this might be a way to do it. “I'd be happy to share. Cook always sends far too much for one person. I've given up trying to convince her to do otherwise.”

Bella sank her teeth into her lower lip. She was likely debating whether or not dining with him constituted something more intimate than paging through a pile of sketches. “I really shouldn't…”

“On the contrary, you should.” He plucked off the silver dome and revealed several plates heaped with bread and cheese, cold beef and chicken, fruit and cakes. “There. How can you resist such a feast?”

Her hungry gaze flitted over the food. “Well … I didn't eat much of my dinner tonight.”

“Excellent. I'll ring for another plate and silverware.”

“Please don't. I'll use my fingers.” Sitting down, she broke off a piece of bread, dabbed it in a dish of softened butter, and then added a crumble of cheddar. “It's how the natives eat in Persia—and Egypt, too, I'm sure. Don't you remember?”

Miles sat down opposite her. He watched, fascinated, as she popped a bite into her mouth. “I do, though I was never permitted to follow suit,” he said. “Even while living in tents in the desert, my father insisted that every meal be served with fine linens and silver as if we were at a formal dinner back in England.”

As he passed her a starched white serviette, she observed, “I see that you've carried on the practice.”

“It is the way things have always been done at Aylwin House.” Miles poured himself a generous splash of wine. “The servants would be aghast if I were to change any of the traditions.”