“I’m no good for you, darling. Have you forgotten that I am the man who claimed the amulet of the cat goddess—the man who’s raided tombs for the better part of the last decade, all to enrich his own coffers?”
“You don’t have to be that man.” She was not about to plead with him. But she’d tell him what was in her heart. She did not want to live with the regret of what she might have done if not for her pride and fear. “I’m not asking for promises, Benedict. But I do not want to live my life without you in it. Without sharing joy. And heartache. I know you care for me. Don’t shut me out.”
“I do care for you, Alexandra. You cannot doubt that.” He wove his fingers through her unbound hair, his expression contemplative. “I always have. And I always will.”
“Then say you will join me. It’s been so very long since we’ve worked together in the field. We were so young then. And foolish.”
His mouth hitched at the corner. “You were never foolish. But you must understand. I am not a changed man. I fully intend to honor the agreement I made with the Italian. Not that it matters whether I am here or in Cairo—you deserve better than me.”
“I don’t understand,” she said. “That night…you said you loved me.”
He caressed her cheek, seeming to study her beneath hooded lids. “I care for you very deeply. But the prospect of imminent death heightens emotional response. I am sure you can understand that.”
She jerked away, suddenly unable to bear his touch. Had his words of love meant so little?
“Of course,” she said, drawing on every bit of strength to compose herself. “You’ve made yourself quite clear.”
He reached out for her, covering her hand with his, bringing her closer. Without force. Without violence. His fingers swept her curls back from her face, and he watched her for a heartbeat, perhaps two or three. “Do not misunderstand me, Alexandra. I do love you. I always have. I always will. But I cannot be the man you want me to be…the man youneedme to be.”
His words crashed over her like waves on the moors, threatening to sweep her off her feet and out to sea. “Benedict, please tell me you will reconsider.”
His arms enfolded her. She pressed her head to his chest, hearing the steady beat of his heart, feeling the strength of his male body and the warmth of his touch. He kissed her then, saying all the things that words could not convey.
His lips claimed hers, passion infusing the contact. “I will be on that ship at dawn. You have to believe it is for the best.”
“I refuse to believe any such thing. Perhaps you are right. But I still haven’t learned that lesson now, have I?” She pressed a kiss to his mouth, then stepped away. “I love you, Benedict. But I will not plead with you. I will not beg you to stay. In life, we demonstrate what we value most. I cherish you. And the memories we’ve created. I have faith in you—I know that we could create many more over a lifetime. But I cannot compete with rubies and gems. I cannot offer you a treasure. Only my heart.”
“Alexandra, you don’t understand. It’s not that simple.”
Slowly, she shook her head. Tears she desperately held back scalded her throat and the backs of her eyes. “Actually, it is. I love you. I’d give you my heart if you desired it.” She brushed away a tear that coursed down her cheek, hot against her skin. “I’ll leave you now to prepare for your journey. I sense you have indeed made your choice. Goodbye, Benedict.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Cairo, February 1893
Seated in an elegant restaurant at Shepheard’s Hotel, Benedict stared across the table at the man who’d long been his most accomplished—and most antagonizing—competitor. Gavin Stanwyck was perhaps the one man in Cairo who was as arrogant and driven as he was.
He hadn’t expected to encounter Stanwyck in the city, and he damned well hadn’t anticipated breaking bread with him. Stanwyck had arranged the meeting for reasons that remained a mystery.
Benedict took a drink of his whisky as Stanwyck seated himself in a cane-back chair. Behind his spectacles, Stanwyck appraised Benedict like a wolf sizing up a rival predator. He was a clever one. There was no denying that. The man wore his intellect like a blasted medal from the queen.
In the years of their acquaintance, Benedict had faced the cool assessment in Stanwyck’s gaze on more than one occasion. But now, something was different in his manner. Benedict couldn’t quite put his finger on it. But somehow, Stanwyck had changed. Not that the man was any less arrogant. Benedict doubted that anything could tamp that down. But the drive to prove himself superior to his peers in the field had diminished. Stanwyck appeared more content. More at ease with his life.
Of course, that might have something to do with the blonde beauty he’d wed several months before Benedict had last returned to London. Now expecting their first child, Sophie Atherton Stanwyck had opted to remain in London during Stanwyck’s latest venture.
“I’m heading back to England in a day,” Stanwyck said, lifting his tumbler to his lips and taking a drink. “It’s been too long since I’ve been home.”
Home.The word plowed into him like a bull on a rampage. When had he ever been trulyhome? Aside from the nights he’d spent with Alexandra in his arms, the most joy he’d ever experienced was during those times when he’d been a guest at the Quinns’ rambling, eclectic country home. Those holidays he’d spent with his schoolmate Jeremy and his family had been among the most pleasant days of his life. He’d stolen away with Alexandra, savoring every moment with her as each learned the meaning of passion and desire.
And love.
God above, he’d loved her. There would never be another in his life like Alexandra.
Never.
And he’d thrown it all away.
Not once. But twice.
