Knowing Hester, she’d be highly dubious of a profession of love anyway. She’d think he was teasing her, or amusing himself, or only after her money. He didn’t know how he’d ever manage to convince her he was serious.Ifhe ever decided to tell her, that was.
He opened his mouth to say something to appease her, but she’d already turned onto her side and closed her eyes.
“G’night Tremayne,” she murmured. “Go to sleep.”
Chapter 12
Harry covered Hester’s sleeping form with a blanket then ducked out of the tent and walked a good distance away. He tilted his head back, lifted his gaze to the stars, and took a deep breath of cold night air.
He was clearly being tested by the gods. Perhaps that damned necklace reallywascursed. Here he was, being given Herculean tasks, like being made to remain a gentleman when his every thought was decidedlyungentlemanly. This, surely, was the finest torture the goddess Serqet—or whatever her name was—could devise. To have the object of his affections so close, so uncharacteristically willing and yet be unable to touch her. It was agony. A plague of epic proportions.
He suddenly wanted nothing more than to stay here in the wilderness. To be lost forever, no maps, just the two of them, and never return to England. To hell with Aunt Agatha, the mummies, and Napoleon. He and Hester could live wild and free, make love under these incredible stars, or snuggle up next to the glowing fire. It got cold at night in the desert. He’d be more than happy to share his warmth.
He expelled a slow stream of air and raked his hand through his hair. Impossible. And impractical. He liked the creature comforts of modern life. A whole civilized world awaited them back in London.
He glanced back at the tent. Hester had always professed to hate him. Could a mere potion change disgust to love? Surely not. But perhaps it could magnify a desire that was already there. A warm glow of hope kindled in his chest. Maybe it acted like a fan, to turn the flames of a hidden passion into a conflagration. Perhaps she was coming to love him after all.
The fear he’d felt when he realized she’d been stung had been horrific. The wars had taught him the fragility, the miracle of life. He’d lost friends in battle; he could have lost her. Strong men had been felled by a scorpion’s sting. In Greek mythology the mighty hunter Orion had been killed by a scorpion, hadn’t he? Zeus had placed both the hero and the scorpion among the stars. Harry glanced up again and located the two constellations in the heavens, located on opposite sides of the sky.
Maybe therewassuch a thing as a curse. Hester had almost been bitten by a snake, almost drowned in the oasis, and then she’d endured a scorpion sting. He shook his head, dismissing the fleeting thought. No. It was coincidence; Egypt was a dangerous place, filled with things that could kill you. If it wasn’t the heat or drought, it was sandstorms or the inhospitable wildlife. And Hester was a woman who naturally seemed to attract trouble.
Harry couldn’t imagine life without her. He needed her to provoke him and challenge him. To entertain him and to improve him. And she needed his protection. He wouldn’t dream of curtailing her adventuring—it made her who she was—but he wanted to be by her side, keeping her safe from the Drovettis and scorpions of the world.
The plaintive grumbling of the camel—no,dromedary—interrupted his brooding thoughts. Harry gave a deep sigh and headed back to the fire. Tomorrow, if Hester’s map was correct, they would catch up with Drovetti. Tonight, he would sleep alone.
Chapter 13
Hester woke in the morning with a sore ankle and a cloudy head. Her mouth was drier than the desert, and with a groan she sat up and groped around for her water pouch. On the other side of the tent fabric, she could hear Bahaba grumbling and the noise of Harry packing the camp. He was up, then.
Her recollections of the previous night were hazy, to say the least. She remembered being stung by the scorpion, and the pain, and Tremayne giving her the incorrect medicine to drink. She remembered the pain easing and then feeling floaty and flushed.
And desire. Her body had definitely experienced desire. Her friends in the harem had discussed the subject at length, detailing all the physical signs, and Hester had encountered every one of them last night. Her skin had been feverish, her heart had been pounding at Tremayne’s nearness. Her stomach had felt all fluttery. Her breasts had ached, as if yearning for his touch. She’d wanted to bury her nose in his neck and inhale the glorious fragrance of him.
Yes, no doubt about it, Uncle Jasper’s Blue Nile Lily syrup was an extraordinarily effective aphrodisiac.
A flush of embarrassment warmed her cheeks. Had she made a fool of herself last night? She’d wanted Harry to kiss her, but he’d refused. How mortifying. She’d practically offered herself on a plate. Clearly her desire was not reciprocated. Which meant the only thing to do was to brazen it out, pretend it meant nothing to her.
As always.
With a sigh, she rolled up the map she and Uncle Jasper had painstakingly produced. The Morden family motto, ‘Non Perdidi’, stared up at her from the paper, along with her uncle’s name. Hester gave a little snort. ‘Never lost?’ What rubbish.Shewas lost. Not physically, but emotionally. Her heart was lost to Harry Tremayne, and she doubted she’d ever get it back. The only place she wanted to navigate to was into his arms.
Why couldn’t she have a map that would direct her to his heart? She knew the answer to that. It was an impossible destination: somewhere as unreachable as the Mountains of the Moon and as inaccessible as the section that said, ‘Here be dragons.’
When she’d packed up her meager belongings, she ducked under the tent flap to find Tremayne all ready to go. He helped her dismantle the tent—a simple enough matter of removing the central pole and folding up the striped material into a bundle. They set off.
The first twenty minutes passed in awkward silence.
“Do you know the recipe for that Blue Nile Lily syrup?” he asked abruptly. “Or could you get it from the Bey’s doctor, do you think?”
Hester risked a glance over at him to see if he was mocking her. “I could probably get the recipe, yes. Why?”
His lips parted in a delighted smile. “Because it’s a foolproof way to make our fortunes.” He winked at her. “Well, not for you. You already have a fortune. But for me, certainly. Just think, if it works as well on men as it does women, we’ll be richer than Croesus!”
Hester felt an embarrassed flush heat her skin. “Did it have an effect on me?” she said offhandedly. “I don’t remember a thing after I was stung by the scorpion. I assumed I’d fainted and you’d put me to bed.”
He sent her a sideways glance beneath his lashes that made her heart pound, but refrained from calling her out.
“You’ve been complaining about me taking mummies back to London,” he said. “This is a far more ethical opportunity. I’m certain the fine gents at the Royal College will be fascinated by an effective aphrodisiac.”