Hester opened her mouth to say she’d rather deal with the devil himself, but he held up his hand in a conciliatory gesture.
“Wait! I’ll make you a deal. You say you only need another few days to finish your map. I need a few days to procure some mummies. If you promise to behave—and that means no escape attempts and no trying to get rid of me: no snakes in my bed, no scorpions in my breeches, et cetera, et cetera—then I will let you finish your work before we catch a ship back to England.”
Hester took a step towards him so they were almost nose to nose. Well, nose to chest; he was a good eight inches taller than she was. She tried not to notice how good he smelled. How was that even possible in this heat? Damn the man.
“I’d rather be eaten by a plague of locusts,” she said sweetly. “In fact, given the choice between spending even one day with you or experiencing every one the ancient biblical plagues simultaneously, I’d choose the flies and the frogs without a moment’s hesitation. You are a pestilence, Harry Tremayne.”
His obnoxious smile only widened at her show of temper.
“If youdon’tagree to behave,” he said, equally sweetly, “I will simply roll you up inside a carpet, like Cleopatra when she had herself delivered to Julius Caesar, and transport you to Alexandria on the back of a camel.”
He studied her hot face with his wicked gaze for a long moment, and Hester’s heart hammered uncomfortably against her throat.
“Do we have a deal?” Tremayne purred.
Hester knew further resistance would be futile. She’d always assumed her family would send someone after her sooner or later, and in truth she’d been surprised it had taken quite so long. Still, she’d enjoyed five whole weeks of extra freedom away from the stuffy drawing rooms of London, which counted as a victory of sorts. It was simply a shame that her escort should turn out to be the one man she’d wanted forever and could never have.
She managed a creditable sigh. “Oh, all right. Deal.”
Chapter 3
Tremayne gave a satisfied nod and glanced around them. His brow furrowed. “Where are we, anyway?”
“The Fayium Oasis,” Hester sniffed. She pointed to the dusty track that led out into the barren desert as far as the eye could see. “That’s the Forty Days Road, the trade route used to transport gold, ivory, spices, and animals for centuries.” She frowned. “Surely you’ve been using a map?”
He shook his head, and she gasped in disapproval.
“No, I simply started in Alexandria, asking after a pair of eccentric Europeans: one gentleman of around sixty years old and a young woman with fair skin and light hair. I followed the gossip here to you. You’re really rather unforgettable, Lady Morden.”
His eyes swept her in a leisurely perusal that somehow managed to make her feel even hotter and more flustered than ever.
“Being a foreigner, of course,” he added belatedly, his eyes alight with teasing.
She inclined her head. “You were extremely fortunate to find us. Although, I’ll admit that maps of this region aren’t particularly useful. When Napoleon came here fifteen years ago, he brought a whole army of cartographers to make more accurate ones, but they lost most of their precision instruments when the ship carrying them sank on the way from France. The best map currently available is more than thirty years old—which is why it’s so important that I finish the one started by Uncle Jasper.”
Tremayne rolled his eyes and pointed toward the well-preserved ruins of a fort on a nearby hill. “What’s that?”
“The Romans built a string of fortresses to protect the trade caravans from attack.”
“I was told they used to send ruffians out here. The Egyptian equivalent of transportation to the Antipodes. Seems fittingyoushould end up here.”
Hester ignored the jibe. “Indeed. The practice of using the place as a colony for exiles continued well into the Christian era. It became a refuge for hermits who lived in isolated tombs or caves.” She waved toward the rocky outcrops that surrounded the oasis.
Tremayne cocked a brow. “A life spent far away from interfering women. I can see the appeal.”
She gave an inelegant snort. “As if you could abstain from female company for more than a week, Tremayne.”
Back in England his reputation was that of a charming rogue. Women, especially beautiful widows, had always thrown themselves at him, drawn to his sinful good looks and quick wit. His supposed prowess in the bedroom was legendary.He’d doubtless found himself a mistress the minute he’d returned from the wars, Hester thought crossly. Not that she cared. Harry Tremayne’s personal life was none of her business.
She glanced around to avoid looking at his too-handsome face. The oasis was actually rather picturesque. The shocking green of the date palms was a welcome contrast to the barren, stony desert all around. But for the first time, she became aware of how very remote it was. WherewasSuleiman?
Only a handful of permanent settlers lived in the ramshackle cluster of houses nearby. They tended the narrow strip of fertile land that surrounded the water-filled depression in the sand and shepherded goats through the surrounding hills. She and Tremayne were probably the only Europeans within a hundred-mile radius.
If she’d had a reputation to lose, being alone with him here would have ruined her utterly, but she was already beyond the pale—thank goodness—and they were far from the preposterous rules and regulations of theton.
A handsome Arabian stallion and a bored-looking donkey laden with colorful packs had been tied to a nearby date palm: presumably Tremayne’s transport.
“I hope you’ve brought sufficient supplies for yourself,” Hester said crossly. “There certainly isn’t room for you inmytent.”