“I’d never taken you for the marrying kind,” Benedict said.
“The marrying kind?” Stanwyck chuckled, and then, his expression turned serious. “I doubt anyone has ever described me in those terms, including my darling wife. There was a time when I would’ve laughed at anyone who suggested I’d speak my vows and embrace a life outside of exploration. When I met Sophie, I damned near drove her away. Like a damned fool, I’d convinced myself that I was not worthy of a woman like her. Fortunately for me, I came to my senses before she wanted no part of me.”
“She is a beautiful woman. You’re a lucky man.”
Stanwyck leaned back in his chair. “You’ll get no argument from me. When I look at her now, I thank God I did not succumb to the doubt that plagued me—the sense that I did not deserve her—and walk away. For some reason I still haven’t quite figured out, she believed in me. A rare gift, indeed.”
A rare gift.The words echoed in Benedict’s thoughts. Alex believed in him. She’d expressed that in her words, her kiss, her touch. He’d brought her little but pain, but when she’d looked at him with love lighting those gorgeous eyes of hers, her belief in him had shone bright.
He shifted his thoughts back to Stanwyck and his bride. “Does your wife’s alliance with Colton’s agency trouble you?”
“I’d be lying if I said it didn’t. At her core, Sophie relishes a challenge, the more daring the better. Of course, now that she is going to be a mother, she will undertake investigations of a less taxing nature. But I cannot imagine she will be content if she isn’t looking into some mystery or other.” Stanwyck’s smile was genuine. “In any case, I did not come here to discuss the ladies. Miss Quinn is well aware of my intention to request that you head the team. As a matter of fact, she is the one who suggested I make the inquiry.”
The admission caught him off guard. “She did?”
“She was adamant that you were the best man for the job. So, Marlsbrook, will you lead the expedition?”
Benedict did not hesitate in his response. “Allow me to be blunt—I want no part of the search for that damnable tomb. Good men died because of a sodding legend. If a treasure is there, it’s not for me to find.”
“Those men did not die because of the hunt for the tomb. They died because of one man’s greed and duplicity.”
“Stockwell’s son despised me. I may not have killed those men who fell victim to his hatred. But I played a part, no matter how unwitting it may have been.”
Stanwyck finished off his drink. “You let that bastard put the responsibility on you? I thought you had a better head on your shoulders than that.”
“Alexandra was nearly killed because he wanted to use her to enact vengeance against me.” Benedict pulled in a low breath. The memory of Stockwell’s gun aimed at her would haunt him to the end of his days. “He hurt her before I could stop him.”
“By hellfire, youdoblame yourself.” Stanwyck eyed him skeptically. “You’re a man of reason. You know better than to count yourself responsible. God above, man, you killed the snake. You took his scheming, cowardly heart out of this world. You saved her, whether you want to admit it or not.”
“And what if I did?” Benedict pounded a fist against the table, rattling the glasses. “It’s of no consequence now. After what I’ve done—after I left her again, like a bloody fool—she wants no part of me. I’m quite sure of that.”
“I suppose you’re right. After all, she is doing quite well for herself. Are you aware that she’s been asked to present at the Royal Symposium for Egyptian Exploration?”
“I’ve been in Egypt for months. As such, I haven’t been privy to the latest news of London’s archaeology enthusiasts.”
Stanwyck handed him a slip of paper. Benedict recognized the address penned in a precise hand. “If you change your mind, you can reach me at the London office. I would suggest you give the matter some thought.” He rose and headed to the door. Turning, he added, “Just remember, Marlsbrook, some treasuresareworth the risk.”
Returning to his quarters within the hotel, Benedict cast off his jacket and waistcoat and sprawled over the bed. He stared at the ceiling, mindlessly watching the reflection of the sun against the wall. It would be dark soon enough.
His gaze lit on the folded rectangle of paper he’d tossed on the side table. A courier had brought the handwritten communique the night before. After nearly a year, an agent had located a buyer for the Amulet of Bastet. An American oil baron had made a bid for the rendering of the ancient goddess. The statue could fit in his palm, but the antiquity would bring him more blunt than even he’d anticipated. With that money, he would never again have to concern himself with the acquisition of funds. He’d be a wealthy man. Perhaps not in the league of an industrialist who’d done whatever it took to make his fortune. But the sale of the amulet would provide funds that would afford him a comfortable life for the rest of his days.
What did it matter that the artifact would be sitting in a gilded case in some millionaire’s New York estate? In truth, the amulet was little more than a golden trinket. The image of the cat goddess was unique. But ultimately, of little historical significance.
He pictured Alex’s face, imagining the censure that would dim her soft smile when she learned of the bargain. Bugger it, what did it matter? He pounded a fist against the headboard. The price the collector was willing to pay was the only thing that mattered—wasn’t it?
The sale of the amulet was the last piece in his plan. After the transaction was complete, he would never again worry about money.
In the last three months, he’d amassed a sizeable collection of relics that would be preserved for the sake of culture and history. The expedition had been a smashing success. Even Stanwyck, the most arrogant of his competitors, had been forced to admit he was impressed by the find.
An observer might believe these events a cause for celebration. By all rights, he should be enjoying the fruits of his success.
Instead, he was alone, lying on rumpled sheets in a hotel room, half-drunk and fully disgusted with his own lack of backbone.
How the hell had he’d gotten to this point?
He wasn’t a coward. Not in the conventional sense, at least. He’d willingly walked into a situation where his adversary wanted him dead. He would’ve given his life that night if it had meant Alexandra would live to see another dawn. She was a woman who was worth fighting for.
He would have died to save her.
