Wicked (21 page)

Brian politely stepped aside, bowing his head. “Naturally, Hunter.”

And so, she who wasn’t at all sure about her ability to sweep gracefully about a dance floor was swept off anew.

“You are so far beyond beautiful tonight,” Hunter told her. “The prim little scholar has been reborn.”

“It’s just a ball gown, Hunter. It doesn’t change who or what I am,” she told him.

“Mmm. Maybe it does,” he said. “Well, what do you think?”

“I think that I don’t actually dance very well, and that I need to concentrate not to step on your feet.”

He laughed. “Ever pragmatic! Don’t worry about my feet. How does the hall look, with the lights and the elite?”

“Lovely. I hope we are able to raise the funds Sir John desires.”

“And what of you?” he asked intently.

“What about me?”

“Are you anxious for funds, anxious for a new expedition down the Nile?”

“I hardly think I’ll be asked.”

“Really? But then, you didn’t expect to be here.”

“No. But it seems that we are all present. I see Alex speaking with Lord Wimbly over there, and I don’t believe that he had originally been included on the guest list, either.”

“You were never excluded.”

“I was never invited.”

“Perhaps Lord Wimbly believed that buying such a gown would be beyond your means.” He said the words with a pleasant enough smile. Then the smile faded. “Get away from him, Camille. I swear, I don’t believe the man is sane. I told you I will marry you.”

“Hunter, that’s extreme, don’t you think?” she asked him, trying not to smile.

“It would save you.”

“Hunter, I will never marry to be ‘saved,’” she assured him.

“Camille!” he exclaimed. “You know that I’ve always found you enchanting. And tonight, in that gown…”

“Hunter—” she began.

But then Hunter stopped dancing; he had been tapped on the shoulder. Alex was behind him, looking a little uncertain, but determined.

“May I?” he asked.

“Of course,” Hunter said ruefully.

And so she moved across the floor with Alex. Together, they did stumble.

“I’m sorry,” Alex said.

“It was probably me.” And it probably was. She could see Brian dancing with the oh-so-aristocratic Lavinia.

“We don’t really belong here, do we.”

“Of course we do,” she said, smiling, distracted.

Brian was no longer dancing with Lavinia, and they had drawn to the side. An older woman with a lovely young girl of perhaps nineteen or twenty had cornered him, and both were speaking animatedly.

“No, we don’t.”

“We don’t what?”

“Belong here!”

“We work here,” she said.

He sighed. “Well, I haven’t much of your attention, have I? Oh, come, Camille, you must have expected this! Beast or no, he was one of the most sought-after men in England before he went off to fight for our great Empire in Her Majesty’s services! The great, strong, handsome son of the Earl of Carlyle, now the earl himself. A man who can wear a mask like a demon and have it make him all the more attractive and elusive! What were you expecting when you came on his arm? You remain a commoner, a mere employee of the museum. There are dozens of mamas out there who would sell their daughters to the devil himself if it meant they could have an earl for an in-law. As I said, Camille.
We don’t belong here!”

“Alex, if you were going to be that uncomfortable, you shouldn’t have come.”

“Oh, at the last minute old Wimbly decided we all had to be here. It wasn’t an invitation I accepted, it was an order I obeyed.”

“So, please, enjoy the night!”

“I can try,” he told her.

“So smile.”

“You know how I feel.”

“Then smile anyway!” she said with exasperation.

“Do you know who else doesn’t belong here?”

“No, and I assume you’re going to tell me.”

“Evelyn. His precious Mrs. Prior.”

“She was on that last expedition, for the discovery of the tomb,” Camille said.

“Oh, yes, she was there. Did she tell you?”

“Not exactly. I saw her in one of the newspaper photographs.”

He nodded, then cocked his head slightly. “Did anyone tell you that she was the last one to see the Stirlings alive?”

Camille shook her head. “I…no, I didn’t know.”

Alex sniffed. “She had a little cottage, like a caretaker’s place, just off the apartments the Stirlings had taken. She was usually with the Stirlings, but had gone to a nearby hotel for tea. Just think, if she hadn’t gone out, she might have heard them screaming, might have gone to their rescue.”

“If the Stirlings chanced upon a nest of cobras, she might well have died, too,” Camille said. “From what I’ve read, Egyptian cobras will strike over and over again, once they feel threatened. And their poison brings about paralysis. In most cases, respiration is stopped and death comes in fifteen minutes, unless the poison can be sucked out quickly enough. Even then, the possibility of a full recovery is—”

“People have survived cobra bites. When they had help. Look,” Alex murmured, drawing to a halt on the floor. “Lord Wimbly is about to speak. I’ll get you some champagne. We can listen. We’ve a table near the podium. Apparently Lord Stirling insisted that the staff be at a table with him.”

As Alex escorted her across the floor, her cheeks burned. She knew that she was the subject of a great deal of gossip.

Alex led her to a seat at a table covered in snow-white linen and adorned with silver place settings and crystal. Brian, Evelyn, Sir John, Hunter and Aubrey were already seated.

When Alex would have gone to procure champagne, Brian indicated that there was a bottle in an ice bucket by the table. Delicate flutes had already been filled for them.

Lord Wimbly took center stage, speaking of the importance of the museum and its work, and of the more serious importance of funds to support such work. He did have a way with words. And by the time he was done, everyone there felt that they were contributing to the one true temple of knowledge, learning and civilization in the world.

Sir John was called up to say a few words next. Lord Wimbly, however, cut him short, because he began to speak about expeditions and the inherent dangers. Then Lord Wimbly introduced Brian Stirling, the Earl of Carlyle.

She wondered if Brian had known that he would be called, for he hesitated before rising. There was a sudden burst of applause.

At the podium, he smiled, raised his hands and thanked his friends. He was gracious and charming, speaking of his appreciation that so many had been patient with him during his period of mourning. He joked about being the “Beast” of Carlyle, and admitted that he had let a fine landmark, a treasure that belonged to Britain as well as himself, slide into decay. But, of course, he’d been cursed.

“If a curse comes upon one by an ancient form of magic—a dire Egyptian warning, as so many believed—it’s
only natural that the forces of a far more powerful magic should lift it. Therefore, I’d like to take this opportunity to make an announcement.” Despite the mask, and its very beastlike form, his smile was apparent. “I’m afraid that a very real form of curse created the darkness that came upon me, and a very real form of magic has lifted it. My friends, I would like to introduce my fiancée, the light that has come into my world. Miss Camille Montgomery.”

She couldn’t have been more surprised if he’d walked straight up to her and slapped her in the face. She was quite certain he hadn’t intended to say such words before being asked to the podium. Fury filled her. It was just another ploy in his quest; the words were said to shock someone. She was nothing but a sacrificial lamb. She would definitely lose her job, and the press would investigate her background.

And the words hurt! They were like a knife in her heart!

“My dear, please, your jaw is gaping. You really must shut it,” Evelyn whispered to her dryly.

She managed to close her mouth. Her fists clenched at her sides. She was tempted to jump up and denounce him.

“Well, I can see why my proposal meant nothing,” Hunter muttered at her other side.

Alex was gaping. Sir John was staring at her. Lord Wimbly’s neck whipped around as if he were a puppet with strings.

There was an audible, collective gasp. Then the room went silent.

It was Lord Wimbly who stepped into the fray. “By Jove! Congratulations, old chap!” he said, clapping a hand upon Brian’s back. Then he strode toward Camille, catching her hands, causing her to rise. He kissed her on both cheeks. “I do say, congratulations to you both!”

Some kind soul began to clap, and though there were
surely those who thought it the least applaudable situation ever, the sound began to fill the room. Brian strode toward her in Lord Wimbly’s wake. And there, before the company, he pulled her into his arms and planted a quick kiss upon her lips.

“A waltz!” Evelyn cried, rising.

There was a slight clatter of instruments and then the music began again.

As they moved around the floor, Camille had her chance to protest. “What are you
doing?”
she demanded fiercely.

“Letting everyone know how happy and enamored I am,” he replied.

“You are a charlatan and a liar!” she accused. “And I have become your sacrificial lamb!”

His eyes narrowed. “If anything, Camille, I have just offered you the protection and power of my name.”

“But how dare you! You had no right to say such a thing. You never discussed your newest ruse with me. You had no right!”

“Ruse?”

“Obviously!”

“Maybe I meant what I said. Maybe it wasn’t a lie at all, just completely right.”

She felt her cheeks burn. “No! There is no right thing, no…obligation!” she sputtered. “I told you—”

“Oh, yes, you make your own choices.”

“And I wouldn’t have chosen for you to make such a ridiculous announcement!”

“I make my own choices, too, Camille.”

“It’s not your choice when it involves me!” she cried. “You’re going to cost me everything. I love my work. My life was finally respectable. Don’t you realize? All your wonderful so-called friends here will be determined to find out all they can about the wretched little commoner
who has apparently so ensnared you! Everything will turn into a travesty. Don’t you see? They’ll drag Tristan and me through the dirt. I’ll become the scheming social climber willing to seduce a ‘beast’ to get ahead. I’ll—”

“Not really ready to stand up next to a beast, eh?”

“What?”

She was unable to continue. He went dead still.

Rupert suddenly stood behind him. “Congratulations, Brian! I am green with envy. May I?”

“Thank you, Rupert. And of course.”

Rupert slipped into dance position with her. “My dear Miss Montgomery. My deepest and most sincere congratulations to you! It’s amazing. You are the girl to snare old Brian at last! They had all said it would be quite impossible for anyone to get past the barriers he had erected, but you have done so, and I can quite see why! I must confess, you have captivated the audience this evening! Well, you had done so even before the announcement, but now—”

“Snake!” came a scream.

“Oh, my God!” came another.

“It’s Cleopatra’s
asp!”

Dancers piled onto one another. The waltz screeched to a halt. In the jostle, Camille was instantly parted from Rupert. She was quite certain the man had run.

“It’s a cobra!” someone else shouted.

Then came the rush. Musicians dropping their instruments. Beautiful, bejeweled women, running. Tall, stalwart, elegant men following in their wake. Even the police guards hired as extra security for the evening were escaping!

“Dear God! I’ll get it…I’ll get it!”

She recognized the voice. Alex.

Suddenly another sound ripped through the air. A cry, loud and anguished.

As others tripped over themselves to get away, Camille rushed forward to find her friend. And there, in the midst of overturned chairs and shattered glass, lay Alex. Beside him, the asp was in a defensive position, raised high off the ground, collar flared. He lashed out, but missed a strike as everyone had scampered so far back. The creature was surely terrified and overwhelmed.

“Kill it!” someone shouted as it began to slither wildly, not knowing in which direction it should be going.

“Sweet Jesu!” It was Brian. He stepped forward swiftly, capturing the asp just behind the head with the stomp of his boot. He reached down, catching the creature. It hissed and struggled madly, but his grip was firm.

“Here!” came a cry. It was Aubrey, rushing forward with a canvas bag. The snake was slipped into it, and Aubrey took it away to the cries of “Kill it! Kill it!”

“Good God, why did they have such a creature here!”

Camille knew that the snake had done nothing but be a snake. Whoever had failed to secure its habitat properly was to blame.
Alex!

Camille rushed forward, falling to her knees by his side, seeking the spot on his body where the snake’s fangs had punctured his flesh. She found the marks on his left hand. A dinner knife lay on the floor. She quickly slashed the flesh, set her lips on the marks and began to suck and spit venom. A hand fell on her shoulder, pulling her up. She protested, looking into Brian’s intense blue eyes ringed by the leather of his mask.

“Leave me be, I know what I’m doing.”

“Camille!” he said sharply. “You’re risking your own life.”

“I know what I’m doing, I swear—”

“From?”

She lifted her chin. “Books! Of course!”

And still, he forced her aside.

“I can better take what venom might be ingested,” he said flatly, and then he was down on his knees, repeating her procedure.

“A doctor! There must be a doctor among us!” Lord Wimbly shouted as he strode through the hall, furious. “I ordered that creature put well out of the way for the night. Aubrey, how did it get out? This is a disaster. The fundraiser is a disaster!”

Camille stared at the man, feeling as if ice water lashed through her veins. Alex might well die and Lord Wimbly was worried about his fund-raiser!

“Aubrey! Damn you, man!”