“A crocodile?” Michael asked. “What—”
“Shush!” She gestured for him to take a cup. “Give me a moment to rest before you quiz me. I vow but I was holding my breath during that entire conversation. I just knew you’d be rude and ruin all of our efforts.”
Michael sniffed his cup and then took an exploratory sip. He choked. “Bloody hell, what is this stuff?”
“Orgeat, which you’d know if you’d throw your mind back to the few dances Mother and I dragged you to as a youth.”
“It’s vile.” Michael dumped the contents of his cup into a nearby plant, and then reached into his pocket and pulled out a small silver flask.
Mary paused, her own cup halfway to her lips. “Scotch?”
“Yes. And damned good Scotch, too. Our beloved brother-in-law Hugh sent it to me.” Michael filled his cup from his flask. “I admired the MacLean stock while visiting Hugh and our sister Triona several years ago, and he sent me a case. I’m almost to the end of it, so I may need to visit them again.”
“Perhaps I need to visit them.” Mary wistfully eyed his cup. “Triona was sad not to join us here in London.”
Michael paused in taking a drink. “I’m surprised she hasn’t yet been to town.”
“Mam told her not to.”
“What’s our grandmother to do with Triona’s travel plans?”
“Triona’s hoping to have a child and Mam specifically told her she should stay home just now and—”
“Hold. Triona’s following Mam’s advice?”
“Our grandmother is a healer. A noted healer.”
“Noted by a village full of uneducated fools.”
Mary’s gaze narrowed. “She’s helped many people.”
“Many people think she’s helped them.”
“Isn’t that the same?”
“No. Mam’s tendencies toward the flamboyant would have served her well upon the stage but do little to recommend her as a healer. If Triona and Hugh wish for a child, they would do better to come to London and see a physician.”
“Triona’s already been to every physician in London and Edinburgh. She and Hugh even went to Italy to see someone and—” Mary frowned. “I’ve already told you all of this in my letters. Didn’t you read them?”
“Of course I did.”
“Then what did I say about Triona and Hugh’s efforts to have a child?”
He swirled the whiskey in his cup.
“You didn’t read a single one of my letters, did you?”
“I read them all; I just didn’t read them closely.”
“Michael!” From where she sat on the low settee, Mary stomped her foot, her skirts fluttering. “You’re a— I can’t believe you— Oh!”
“I can’t read every damn word of every letter I get! I have five brothers and sisters, and then there’s Father, who cannot let a day go by without sending me some preachy epistle, and Mother, who is determined to discover who I’m to wed before I even know it myself. I didn’t yet mention Mam, who writes such damned cryptic stuff that it’s harder to slog through than a stone scratched over with hieroglyphs, and—”
“Stop complaining. You enjoy our letters and we know it.”
She was right. Though he may not have read the letters from his family closely each and every time he received one, he loved getting the missives. He traveled so much that they connected him to his home and kept him grounded.
Truth be told, he owed his siblings a lot. If not for their efforts, he would still be trapped in a sulfi’s prison. He shrugged and then smiled at Mary. “You’re right; there were days your letters were my only light.” More than you’ll ever know.
Mary eyed his flask. “I don’t suppose you’re thankful enough to share a sip, are you?”
He handed her the flask, noting how she eagerly poured a liberal splash into her own cup. “Now, that’s the sister I know and love,” he said with fondness as he replaced the flask in his pocket.
She took a sip and then sighed blissfully. “It’s wonderful. But you, Michael, are not. If you’d read my letters you’d know that Triona agreed to drink Mam’s potions for one year, and if there is no child by that time, then Triona’ll give up.”
Michael curled his lip. “Potions. There is no such thing as magic.”
“Then why are you so determined to get your hands on the Hurst Amulet? You’ve seen written accounts that say it’s magical.”
“I’ve also seen written accounts vowing that the earth is flat.”
Mary held out her empty cup and gestured for Michael to refill it. “There’s no harm in our sister drinking Mam’s potions. They give Triona hope.”
“False hope.”
“Which is better than none,” Mary replied in a spritely tone, pointing at her waiting cup.
Michael removed the flask from his pocket, unscrewed the top, and tipped it over her cup, before saying in a resigned tone, “But I suppose Triona wouldn’t listen to anyone else. Plus, there are benefits to keeping Mam preoccupied, for she’ll be far too busy with our sister’s business to interfere in our lives.”
Mary frowned. “You’ve become very self-absorbed. Robert says it comes from being in charge of so many people for so long, and having your every wish seen to.”
“Our brother is a fool. He makes it sound as if I had servant girls following me around, waving palm fronds and feeding me grapes.”
Mary’s eyes widened. “Michael, you didn’t—”
“No, I didn’t. Bloody hell, I’ve been on an expedition, not a holiday. Instead of nattering on about something he knows nothing about, Robert should accompany me on my next expedition to Egypt. I’d like to see his soft, lace-bedecked self sleeping upon a pallet under a mosquito net, working from dawn to sundown in stifling heat, and digging in the dirt for hours upon end.”
“I thought you hired men to dig for you.”
“I can’t let them dig without supervision. Besides, if it’s a rich find, it’s better to dig myself so that fewer artifacts are broken by careless shovels and picks.” He cocked a brow at her. “Speaking of carelessness . . .” Michael tossed back the rest of his whiskey and refilled his cup. “We really should discuss this crocodile I supposedly wrestled. You’ve been wielding your pen far too artfully in ‘my’ serial for The Morning Post.”
“You asked me to write the serial for you,” she protested halfheartedly.
“Only because I didn’t have the time to do it myself, not because I wished someone to fabricate stories that make me appear ridiculous.”
She bit her lip, though she peeped at him through her lashes. “I let you win.”
“Thank you,” he returned sarcastically. “When I first arrived in town, people spoke enthusiastically about my expeditions and I mistakenly thought they were beginning to warm to true scientific discovery. Now I see that they were merely amazed at your preposterous tales.”
“People are interested in your research. Just last week Lord Harken-Styles said he wishes to invest even more in your adventures.”
“Lord Harken-Styles waylaid me in White’s last night and asked if he could see the arrowhead from the savage who shot me through the neck.”
Mary bit her lip again. “Oh. That.”
“Yes, that. The real indignity was that he believed me to be such a sapskull as to keep the arrowhead tied about my neck as a good luck talisman.”
Her lips twitched. “I thought that was a very romantic touch.”
“And thoroughly untruthful,” he replied sternly, wondering at the depth of his sister’s imagination. He shuddered to think of what other stories she’d concocted.
“I’m surprised Lord Harken-Styles didn’t offer to purchase it; he’s a notorious gambler and could use a lucky talisman.”
“I would have sold him an arrowhead had I one on my person, which—not being forewarned—I did not. I meant to ask about that tale in the coach on the way here, but I was distracted by this damned cravat, which is about to throttle me even now.” He tugged
at the cravat again. “I shall burn this damned thing the second I’m able.”
“You’re just not used to it. Once you’ve been home for a few more weeks, you’ll hardly notice it.”
“I won’t be here that long.”
Mary’s mouth dropped open. “But . . . we only just rescued you!”
“For which I’m eternally grateful. But that does not turn me from my original intent of finding the Hurst Amulet, a feat that cannot be accomplished in London.” Excitement warmed him even now at the thought of his next adventure. For years he’d pursued a number of ancient artifacts, but only one object had kept his interest—their lost family heirloom, the elusive Hurst Amulet.
It was supposedly quite a beautiful piece, made of amber and precious metals. But, of more interest, the amulet held a mystery. It had been lost from their family hundreds of years before, given to Queen Elizabeth, who—from the references he’d found—had grown to fear it for some reason, and so had gifted it to a foreign emissary. The trouble was, they didn’t know which emissary or which foreign land.
Finally, after years of following every lead he could find, the amulet was nearly within his grasp. “If all goes well, I’ll have that damned amulet before the month’s out.”
Mary sighed. “Robert said you were about to fly, but you’ve only been here a week. Surely you can wait until—”
“I can’t wait. I have the map, and now I must finish this quest.”
“But you need more funds to proceed! You must either court support from the wealthier members of the ton, or”—her gaze narrowed on him—“accept funding from others.”
Michael frowned. “I am not taking Erroll’s money.”
“Why not? It’s not as if my husband doesn’t have the money! It’s rude to admit it, but he is fabulously wealthy.”
“I don’t care. I won’t have my own brother-in-law interfering with my work.”
“He wouldn’t interfere.”
“Fustian. I knew Erroll for years before you did, sister-mine. He would interfere, and you know it.”
She hesitated, then sighed. “Fine. He might interfere a little, but no more than that. He’s opinionated, as are you.”
“Which is why I won’t have him as a partner.” At her stubborn look, Michael added in a milder tone, “Erroll’s a good man and I’m very happy for the both of you. But we’re too much the same. Besides, it’s bad to mix family and business.”
“And yet you allow me to write your articles, and our brothers to assist you even more. Robert sells your artifacts here in London, while William’s ships ferry you and your expeditions all over the world.”
“Hiring your relatives is different from borrowing from them.”
“No one said anything about a loan. Erroll and I would expect a return, so it’s more of an investment.”
“Which is even worse. When I hire my relatives, the situation is based on services rendered, which is simple and straightforward. An investment, meanwhile, is based upon the luck of the venture, over which I have no control.”
She sniffed. “Fine. Then get used to wearing a cravat and attending every ball and soiree in London as you groom your next investor.”
“Mary, don’t get in a miff. Erroll didn’t seem upset when I turned him down, so why should you?”
“I thought it would be a way to help.”
“You’ve helped enough as it is, perhaps too much. Are there any other surprise adventures that I supposedly participated in other than wrestling a crocodile? A long-lost civilization found at the bottom of a dry lake? A duel over an Arabian princess in the desert? A fall from a cliff into an icy sea? Any missing limbs I should know about?”
She ruined any appearance of contrition by giggling. “It is all your fault, you know. You are such a horrid correspondent that I was forced to make up things. If you would write more often, I wouldn’t need to resort to such stratagems.”
“Nonsense. I’ve written home plenty of times.”
“To issue orders like a general, but you never tell us anything. One letter from you was only two sentences long and was merely a request to find a book you’d left at Mother’s and send it to you as soon as possible.”
“Unlike others in my family, I only write when I have something to say.”
“You only write when you need something. Worse, when you do drop hints about your adventures, you scatter them here and there like a bread crumb trail. You’ll send a brief letter to Robert one month, a short note to Caitlyn the next month, and on it goes. None of us would know anything about you at all if we didn’t share what few crumbs of information you toss us.”
“If I didn’t have so damn many siblings, you’d get more letters from me. But my lack of correspondence doesn’t give you permission to fictionalize my expeditions. Really, Mary—an arrow through the neck?”
She bit her lip, though her eyes danced merrily. “That was a bit dramatic, wasn’t it?”
“Very. Had I known Jane back then, I would have had her write those damn articles instead of you. She wouldn’t have made such a romanticized botch of it.”
“Jane? Do you mean Miss Smythe-Haughton, your assistant?”
“Who the hell else would I mean?” He disliked the interested note in his sister’s voice. “Jane is her name; what else should I call her?”
“I would think you’d call her Miss Smythe-Haughton.”
“My tongue would be exhausted if I had to say that every time I needed a fresh pair of socks or couldn’t find one of my notebooks. Speaking of which”—he frowned and pulled out his pocket watch, flicking it open with his thumb—“she should be here by now.”
“Miss Smythe-Haughton is coming here? But—” Mary blinked. “Michael, she wasn’t included on our invitation.”
“Which is why I wrote our hostess a letter this afternoon and asked her to send another invitation for Jane.”
“You didn’t! Michael, you’re hopeless! You can’t ask a hostess to include another guest—someone she doesn’t even know—at the last minute like that. It’s unheard-of.”
“Why not? It worked. Our hostess sent the invitation, and I passed it on to Jane, who sent word that she’d be here. Though she said it would be before ten and here it is, fifteen after, and—”
A commotion roiled across the ballroom like a hot wind blowing through a field of wheat.
Mary hopped to her feet, lifted on her tiptoes, and craned her neck. “Has the king arrived? Blast it, I cannot see a thing. Michael, you’re taller. Look for me, please. Is it the king? They said he might come.”
Michael shrugged, uninterested. “I don’t know. Everyone has turned toward the door and— Ah! It’s not the king at all, but Jane.”
Mary dropped back on her heels and frowned at her brother. “Why would Miss Smythe-Haughton’s arrival cause such a stir? No one knows her, do they?”
Michael had already turned his attention back to his cup of Scotch. “I can’t imagine they would.”
Mary waited, but her brother offered no more. Impatient, she snapped, “Well? Is Miss Smythe-Haughton from London?”
“No.” He took a drink. “At least, I don’t think so. I’ve never asked her.”
Mary closed her eyes and counted to ten. When Michael had first returned from his imprisonment, she’d been so happy to see him that she’d thought she’d never feel angry or upset with him again. That had lasted less than a week. Her brother was a brilliant explorer and historian. His essays and treatises were prized the world over, and he was beyond intelligent in a number of areas.
But his skills in dealing with society had greatly deteriorated from years of living abroad in the wildest and most untamed circumstances. “Michael, who is Miss Smythe-Haughton? She must be someone to cause such interest.”
The wave of excited murmurs wafted closer.
Mary leaned this way and that, trying to peer through the crowd. “I can’t imagine people are so excited over Miss Smythe-Haughton’s arrival that—” The crowd parted and Ma
ry was afforded a direct view of her brother’s assistant.
Mary’s eyes widened.
She looked once.
Then twice.
Then she clapped a hand over her eyes and fell back upon the settee with a groan. “Oh, Michael, what have you done?”
CHAPTER 2
From the diary of Michael Hurst:
One good thing that comes from living the nomadic life demanded by an expedition is that one sheds the fake skin donned from living too closely among society. For those of us who live for the freedom of such a lifestyle, that skin is dry and itchy and ill fitting.
From my observances, that skin is much like a callus caused by the pure irritation of being forced to spend so much time with one’s fellow man. Thank God I am spared such nonsense.
Michael frowned at his sister. “What the devil’s wrong with you?”
“Miss Smythe-Haughton! Oh, Michael, you should have had me speak with her before she appeared. Her gown—and that hat—and who is the servant with her? He looks as if he could murder someone!”
Michael looked over his shoulder to where the servant could be seen, towering over all present. “There’s not the slightest bit of harm in Ammon.”
“But he’s huge!”
“Almost seven feet, in fact. He’s a good man and I trust him with my life. I’ve done just that on several different occasions.”
“But his face—it’s so scarred and— Oh, dear! I believe the Duchess of York just fainted as he walked past her.”
“The last time I was in town, the Duchess of York fainted when Pemmeroy’s poodle jumped upon her skirts.”
“She is a bit theatrical, but you can’t deny that this time she has a point.” Mary pressed a hand to her forehead. “Oh, dear!”
“Nonsense. Ammon’s perfectly civilized. The man’s been with me for twelve years, after my fifth English valet quit on me. The weakling had the temerity to cite the heat and discomfort of our expeditions as an excuse for his abject laziness.”