Meeting his gaze, she firmed her jaw. “As I see it, that horrible man was on my trail before I even knew you were back in London. You did not make me a target. You have no responsibility to protect me.”
God, how he loved the way her eyes flashed with challenge. The rich hue could draw a man in. Damned shame he could not indulge his hunger. Caring about her had already proven a complication he could ill afford.
“And if I do not see it that way?” He stripped the emotion from his voice.
“Have you forgotten I am an independent woman? You have no say over what I do or do not do.”
“You are in danger, Alexandra. You cannot deny that. Not after what happened last night.”
“Running from London will not keep either of us alive.”
His hand moved to his jaw, kneading the tense muscles. “You cannot be sure of that.”
She pinned him with her gaze. “I never thought you a coward.”
“Damn it, Alex, this has nothing to do with cowardice.”
“We must head off this menace.” She brushed back a curl that dangled over her cheek. “Working together, we can discover what links us. We will extinguish the threat.”
Her determination intrigued him. “What do you have in mind?”
“I will continue to analyze the photograph for clues. Rooney’s criminal associates may also have knowledge of Sir Clayton’s death. Colton’s operatives will comb the usual places where vermin congregate in search of some clue to the scoundrel behind the man’saccident.”
Perhaps she was right. In London, he knew the lay of the land. He had connections that would gain him information on the deaths.
“I suspect the perpetrator is familiar with the market for antiquities—a collector or a rival explorer.”
Spirit lit Alex’s beautiful eyes. “I propose we conduct our own investigation. Colton will offer the resources of his agency.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“A collector would possess wealth. They’d likely wish to flaunt their acquisitions in Society.”
“An explorer might well boast of his accomplishments in the field,” Benedict added.
“Precisely, Lord Marlsbrook. As I see it, it’s high time you began singing your own praises in the ballrooms and salons of London.” Alex’s confident smile lit her amber eyes. “A man like Rooney did not come after us on his own accord. Someone secured his vile services—someone who pays enough to make a man risk his neck on the gallows. We need to make a foray into Society—I propose we undertake a bit of a ruse, a small deception, just enough to throw off suspicion that we are up to anything besides hobnobbing with Society darlings and crowing about your latest discovery.”
Chapter Ten
As she sipped tea from a delicate porcelain cup, Alex watched Benedict beneath the veil of her lashes. Did he notice the slight trembling of her hands, the way her speech clipped out a bit faster than usual? His expression betrayed no awareness of her agitated nerves. If anything, he appeared relaxed, almost at ease. The old rhythms between them had come into play, rekindling a sense of camaraderie while easing them toward a somewhat easy familiarity. Not so surprising, really. After all, they’d been friends for years before passion had entered their relationship. When they were so very young, their mutual interests had led to easy conversation and a bond that had seemed nearly unbreakable. She’d accepted Benedict, even when his own parents incessantly found fault with his scholarly ways and unflagging interest in Egypt, and he, in turn, had found her unconventional pursuits and small quirks appealing.
Benedict had been a gangly, long-legged youth with scarcely enough meat on his bones. At three years her senior, her brother’s best friend had begun to fill out before he went off to the university. By the time he returned home for the Christmas holiday during the winter of his second year, he’d grown into his long limbs and broad shoulders. Good heavens, he’d been so very handsome. And so very serious, with those mossy hazel eyes and a mouth she’d long dreamed of kissing.
Still, their relationship had remained chaste. The dearest of friends, really.
Until their lips had first touched, a tentative, sweet contact she’d initiated on a dare.
She’d been seventeen that winter. Suddenly, she’d been unable to look at Benedict quite the same. In her heart, she could no longer view him as a mere friend. She’d fallen for him with all the unbridled passion of youth. Impetuous. Unrestrained by doubt. Propelled by intense longing unlike any she’d ever known.
Later, he’d whispered words of love. Seated by a fire in the hearth of her family home, he’d spoken of a betrothal.Soon,he’d murmured. When his years at the university were done. When he was in a position to properly provide for a wife.
And like a fool, she’d believed him.
He’d returned that spring. Before long, he’d whisked her away to a secluded glen and loved her with tenderness. With wonderment. With adoration. The smell of rain and wildflowers had perfumed the air as they’d lain together.
How she’d adored him.
She’d never doubted him.
