“Of course. You’ve no reason for concern,” she said, then hurried to greet their host.
“I understand she is close to Alexandra’s sister,” Benedict commented.
“Quite so. Sophie trained as a journalist under Mrs. Colton.”
“So, tell me honestly, Stanwyck, what are your thoughts on these women acting as agents in service of the Crown?”
The faintest of smiles flickered over his features. “I should not like to tangle with any of the Colton Agency operatives. They would prove formidable opponents. I suspect the women would present even more of a challenge than the men—the element of surprise works in their favor.”
“True enough.” Benedict’s gaze wandered, catching sight of Alex across the spacious floor. She’d engaged Raymond Stockwell in conversation, her animated smile lighting her face.
“It may not be my place, but I feel I should offer you a word of advice.” Stanwyck’s voice pulled his thoughts back to the conversation.
“And what the bloody hell might that be?”
“Whatever your intentions are regarding Alexandra, treat her with honesty. She deserves that much. And more.”
Though he resented Stanwyck’s commentary, he took the man’s point. As with Colton, Stanwyck viewed Alexandra with affection. Her well-being was in the forefront of his thoughts.
“Of course,” he said.
Stanwyck’s gaze appeared to track his wife as now she and Stockwell moved gracefully across the dance floor. For a long moment, he stood silent, a muscle in his jaw taut.
“Marlsbrook, there’s one more thing,” he said without taking his eyes off his wife. “If you hurt Alexandra again, you will live to regret it. You have my word on that.”
His threat was not entirely unexpected. Stanwyck was an arrogant windbag, but in his own way, he possessed a sense of integrity. Obviously, judging from the way he looked at his wife, the bastard was besotted with her. In Stanwyck’s book, anyone dear to his bride warranted his protection.
“Hurt her? Good God, man, I’ve traveled from Egypt to protect her.”
With a hike of a brow, Stanwyck dismissed his words. “Do you expect me to believe there is no ulterior motive at play? I’ve heard the rumblings… Stockwell had knowledge of a significant find, one that would eclipse the vast majority of expeditions. You must admit, the timing of your return is rather convenient.”
Bugger it, this was a development he had not anticipated. What did Stanwyck know of the map? He’d believed the professor had spoken to him of the treasure in confidence. Who else had he told?
“I’ve no intention of discussing this matter with you…here, of all places.”
“Understood,” Stanwyck said. “God only knows who is listening.”
“I take it you are not allied with Harold Stockwell.”
Benedict’s gaze wandered to Alex. She’d now taken to the dance floor with a man he recognized as an actor in Stockwell’s latest play. A sense of joy lit her features as she glided across the ballroom floor, her elegant posture and flowing motions a contrast to the surprisingly clunky movements of the leading man.
“Not in the least. His methods are sloppy. Why, I’d rather throw my lot in with you.” Stanwyck’s attention shot to the corner of the room, where his wife stood smiling and conversing with the playwright. “I have not seen the man tonight. I’m told he is having a hard time with his father’s death.”
“Unlike his brother.”
“Indeed. But then again, Professor Stockwell clearly favored his older son,” Stanwyck said. “They had far more in common. If Josiah Stockwell was seeking a major find, it’s likely he shared that knowledge with his eldest.”
“Perhaps,” Benedict said, refusing to confirm or deny his knowledge of the treasure.
Stanwyck’s interest darted to his wife again. Given the man’s past reputation as a rogue, Benedict would once have wagered it was not possible to tie Stanwyck down to one woman.
He would have lost that bet.
“We must continue this discussion at another time,” Stanwyck said. “At some point, you are going to have to tell the truth about Stockwell and what he knew. Both your life and Alex’s might depend on it.”
…
The ballroom at the Barrington Hotel was widely considered one of the most elegant in all of London. Gleaming crystal chandeliers bathed the regally attired guests in a shimmering light. To Alex’s right, a countess preened in a gown of burgundy silk while the American heiress to a railroad fortune sauntered past in a creation fresh from Paris. Light glittered off the diamonds at her neck. The ball had drawn many of Society’s moneyed elites. Though she could never have identified with the jewel-bedecked women who surrounded her, Alex squared her shoulders and did her best to blend in with the sophisticates.
