He bowed his head in amused acknowledgment. “Mademoiselle Bing is very capable, I think.”
“Indeed she is. But she does not think Edward’s death was anything more than an accident, while you apparently do.”
He hesitated, weighing his words again, so she chided with a hint of impatience, “For the love of heaven, monsieur; you expect much from me but give little in return.”
The rebuke seemed to have the desired effect and he relented. “Yes, I believe there is a connection; that his death was not an accident.”
“But you don’t think there is a curse, do you?” In the quiet darkness of night, the idea seemed less fantastic.
“No; but there are those who would encourage such thinking.”
“Who?” she asked, her brows knit. “And why? Who are you, exactly?”
Bending his head for a moment, he touched her hand, quickly. “I am afraid I cannot say. But if you know anything of these matters, Mademoiselle Blackhouse, you must tell me—and tell me immediately. You must withhold nothing.” The brown eyes were raised once more to hers, the timbre of his voice very serious.
Hattie nodded, serious in her own turn. “I understand.”
There was a pause while it seemed to Hattie that he awaited a full confession. As she did not give him one, he continued, “I would ask that you be wary of Monsieur le Baron.”
“Readily. Do I fend him off with my hatpin?”
But he would not joke, and chose his words carefully. “He may contrive a situation where you would have little choice but to accept an offer.”
“Not with me, he won’t.”
Despite himself, he smiled. “Nevertheless, be wary, if you please.”
She assured him she would do so, and then felt a small pang at the realization she would avoid all such problems by stealing out of town tomorrow. She wondered at Berry’s reaction, and then consoled herself with the certain conviction—unless she had completely misjudged the situation—that she would see him again, and sooner rather than later. “Now, if you don’t mind I do have a question, if you will condescend to give me an answer.”
“Cela fait trembler,” he teased in mock apprehension, the planes of his face softening in the candlelight as he gazed up at her.
“Why did you refer to me as the god-king’s daughter last night? Since you have worked with my parents, you couldn’t have confused the meaning.” Try as she might, she hadn’t been able to come up with a plausible explanation.
He answered easily, “Your likeness was used to depict the princess.”
She stared in confusion. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
Tilting his head, he explained, “It was your parents’ idea. After the find, there was a great deal of publicity—it was astonishing that a nameless princess would be buried in the Valley of the Kings. A fanciful likeness was printed up and distributed—it bears a resemblance to you.”
“Oh,” she said, rather pleased and surprised by the implied compliment. “I see.”
“You were not aware of this, it seems.”
“No. But my parents always loved a good jest.”
He dropped his gaze for a moment and she remembered that her parents were missing and presumed dead, and she probably shouldn’t be making light of the situation by flirting with their very appealing agent—who was no more a clerk than she was the stupid princess.
As though coming to the same realization, Berry brought all flirtations to a close by rising to his feet and she rose with him, her heart beating in her ears; half hoping he would attempt an advance and half hoping he would not, as she was not certain she would make a whole-hearted attempt to thwart him.
He bowed his head to whisper, “Lock the door after me, if you please.”
She nodded, not trusting her voice as she followed him to the door. Just before he slipped out, he turned and put a finger under her chin to lift her face to his. “You must make me a promise, mademoiselle,” he said in a low voice, his face in the shadows.
She waited, nearly suffocating on a pleasurable precipice.
He leaned in and spoke in a tender tone. “You will not look upon Monsieur Tremaine in such a way.”
Blushing hotly, she ducked her chin and closed the door on him with a firm click, hearing a soft chuckle as she did so.
After washing in the now-tepid water and climbing into bed, Hattie lay with her arms behind her head and contemplated the soft moonlight coming in through the window—she had much to think about. Her parents paid little attention to their only child but there had always been the conviction that this circumstance would change—that as soon as she was old enough to help them in their life’s work she would be summoned. Now it seemed the summons would never come—and despite their failings, they were her parents and didn’t deserve to die, unmarked and ungrieved in a foreign land.