Wasn’t it?
No.As long as they both possessed breath in their bodies and their hearts still beat, it would not be too late.
He would win her love again.
How could he live with himself if he didn’t go after her—if he didn’t convince her to give them another chance?
He loved her. With every breath. With every beat of his heart. And he wanted to be by her side.
And it was high time she knew it.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
London, March 1893
“Come now, Alexandra. It’s not so bad. Soon, this will all be over.”
Restlessly covering the distance from wall-to-wall with measured steps, Alex paced the length of a closet-sized office in the lecture hall. She slowed her steps just enough to glare at her friend. It was bad enough that the tiny space did not afford room to properly pace and thereby burn off some of the nervous energy that plagued her. But Sophie’s relentless cheer seemed like nails scraping on a chalkboard.
Sophie meant well. Alex did not doubt that. She’d no cause to be frustrated with her. It wasn’t Sophie’s fault she was in this fix. After all, she’d learned the way to avoid situations like this—in the event of an invitation to speak to a crowd, the word “no” rather than “yes” would have prevented this problem. Pity she hadn’t learned how to say the word when presented with an opportunity to speak at the Royal Symposium for Egyptian Exploration.
At the time it had been offered, the invitation had seemed a grand idea. No one could argue that it was a great honor to be asked to present to the group. Excitement had gotten the better of her. She’d accepted without reservation.
And now, she stood in this tiny room, fighting her fear.
How was it that she’d faced a murderer and lived to talk about it, yet the prospect of delivering a lecture on hieroglyphics left her shaking with apprehension?
She turned to the mirror, adjusting the cameo at her throat for what must have been the twelfth time.
“I’ve never spoken to a crowd this size,” she said, reaching up to tuck a loose tendril of hair into her upswept coiffure. “I suppose it will be better once I get started.”
“Of course it will.” Sophie smiled. “The members of the society will find your lecture quite engaging.”
“I do hope so,” she said.
Nearly an hour later, Alex pulled in a deep breath and finally allowed herself to smile. Her presentation had proceeded without complication. Once she began to speak of Egypt and the meaning behind the symbols that had fascinated her since she was a girl, the talk had flowed naturally, and her nervousness had faded.
Now, as she transitioned into a segment of questions and answers, she felt infinitely more relaxed than she had at the start. Somehow, it seemed far more natural to discuss the members’ inquiries than to lecture.
The first question was interesting enough, regarding the Rosetta Stone and its study. Another member inquired about the comparison and contrast between the ancient civilizations of Sumer and Egypt. More questions flowed, and she engaged the audience in a dialogue. All in all, the evening was turning out to be a rousing success.
“One more question, and then, I will turn the stage over to Sir Archibald Pemfries. He will present a riveting discussion of his journey down the Nile.”
She settled her gaze on a matron seated toward the middle of the rows. Light reflected against the woman’s jeweled hatpin, catching Alex’s attention. And then, a male voice called out, commanding her interest.
“Miss Quinn, I have a question regarding the Egyptian goddess Bastet. Perhaps you will be the one to answer it.”
The statement was innocuous enough. However, the husky timbre of the speaker’s voice was all too familiar. Her heart stuttered. No, it simply wasn’t possible. It was a trick of her hearing, nothing more. Surely, Benedict was not here. Not now. Not as she struggled to shore up her courage and keep her wits together before the attentive crowd.
Sitting at the end of the last row in the back of the lecture hall, he came to his feet. Her gaze lit on his features. Her heart stuttered again.Are my eyes deceiving me?
Benedict made short work of the distance between them with long, sure strides. “I’ll come to you, Miss Quinn. You see, my question cannot be answered if you cannot look upon the object.”
“Very well,” she said, gulping a quick breath. What in blazes was he up to? What was the meaning of this?
He mounted the steps to the stage. Attired in a well-tailored tweed jacket in shades of tan, brown, and black, sable brown trousers, and a crisp white shirt, he’d carelessly looped a forest green tie around his throat. She bit back a smile, seeing how its knot sat slightly askew. Rather typical, that. The man had never given a fig about the smaller details of his appearance. The colors in his jacket brought out the bronze in his skin, while the tie highlighted the greens in his hazel irises.
His expression was somber as he came to her. What the devil was he thinking, interrupting her lecture this way?
