to slap you quite hard. But I’m afraid I lost my parents at far too early an age to have attended such a school, and as a mere commoner with an incredible thirst for knowledge, I believe I’m allowed to refrain from violence!”
“You’re laughing at me, and I’m sincere.”
“Oh, Hunter, this is terribly sweet of you. But, no, I’d never marry you—not that you aren’t handsome and charming and so kind to even make such a suggestion.”
“Am I not in the least seductive?” he demanded.
“Far too seductive, and truly kind with your proposal. Which I know you can’t really mean.” When he started to protest, she raised a hand to stop him and continued. “Please, Hunter! I don’t want you to believe that you’ve made an offer, and that, by honor, you can’t renege. Seriously, I do know that you would wind up despising me. And in the same vein the Earl of Carlyle cannot seduce me, because I do have one of those qualities you afforded me—intelligence. I’ll be fine. I’m staying at the castle until I can safely move my guardian. I will attend the fund-raiser because I believe that he feels he can enter such a gathering, masked as he must be due to his scars, quite safely with a museum employee at his side. We will be here, Hunter, right here in the museum, and I will be surrounded by you, Alex and Sir John. And Lord Wimbly, of course, a protector of equal peerage.”
The door opened again before Hunter could reply.
“Camille! I just heard that—” Alex Mittleman began. He stopped abruptly, seeing that she already had company in the small workroom. “Hunter,” he said.
“Alex.”
Alex, a slighter man and appearing more so since his hair was flaxen and his eyes were powder blue, coloring that gave him the appearance more of a handsome youth than of a mature man, flashed a frown in Camille’s direction. The two men usually respected one another, though Alex complained often enough that Hunter was too much a rich dandy and not nearly enough a true scholar. Alex also considered himself a far more appropriate confidant for Camille, since he was more of an honest workingman. Just as she was an honest workingwoman.
Alex cleared his throat, then gave his head a little shake, as if deciding he might as well speak, since Hunter was apparently aware of the subject he meant to bring up. Hunter beat him to it.
“You arrived here this morning with Brian Stirling, the Earl of Carlyle?”
She sighed softly. “Tristan had an accident last night near the earl’s gates. He was taken into the castle because he was injured. As it happens, he was shaken and bruised, yet suffered no worse trauma. Naturally, I went to his side. And so…well, there it is.”
Both men stared at her, then at one another.
“Have you told her that he’s…”
“A dangerous man and perhaps not fully sane,” Hunter finished. “Not so bluntly until this exact minute, but, yes, I’ve tried to get that across.”
“Camille, you really must be very careful around him,” Alex said, still frowning. He looked very worried. “I’m rather shocked to say that Sir John is…well, frankly, pleased!”
“The Earl of Carlyle is a wealthy man,” Hunter said harshly. “His grounds abound with treasures Sir John would love to see in the museum.”
Alex swallowed suddenly. “I will go with you, Camille. I will go with you when the workday is over. We can hire a carriage and get your guardian home safely—”
“Alex, I certainly am better fixed to arrange a carriage, since I do have my own,” Hunter interrupted firmly. “But you are right. We must get Camille and her guardian home quickly and safely, and away from that dreadful castle.”
She watched the two of them, amazed. It wasn’t that they hadn’t shown her kindness or friendship before, but now they were truly vying for her attention. And both seemed most eager to get her away from Carlyle Castle.
Alex lifted his chin slightly, as if willing to be self-sacrificing for her greater good. “Fine. Hunter has his own carriage. However you are rescued from that dastardly place will suffice, as long as you are rescued.”
“Alex, Hunter,” she said softly, but before she could continue, the door burst open again.
Aubrey Sizemore had arrived. He was the last of the division’s main employees, a man who was not quite so knowledgeable, yet, despite his lack of education on the subject, passionate about Egyptology, and he was certainly hardworking and determined. He was a large fellow of perhaps thirtysomething years, bald as a billiard ball and well muscled. He could easily move the heaviest boxes, yet had an incredibly gentle touch when it came to the finer and more delicate parts of excavation.
He stared at Camille as though she were an artifact that had suddenly proven to be the most bizarre find of the century.
“You came here with the Earl of Carlyle?” he demanded.
She sighed, weary of explaining, and said simply, “Yes.”
“So he’s out of the castle again!”
“Yes, so it seems.”
“Well!” he said. “Well, good. We should have a great deal more money pouring in if he has come to acceptance. Indeed! He could plan a new excavation. There is nothing like real work, you know, in the desert sands.”
“He isn’t planning any expeditions as of yet,” Hunter said sharply.
“But…” Aubrey murmured, watching Camille.
“Is there something else you wanted, Aubrey?” Hunter asked.
Aubrey scowled. “That old fellow, the stooped gray-beard we just acquired from Asian Antiquities. Have you seen him?”
They all looked at him blankly. “That fellow. He’s been working for us now a few hours here and there. Arboc, that’s his name! Old Jim Arboc, have you seen him?”
“No, we haven’t seen him,” Hunter said irritably. He didn’t like Aubrey, but Aubrey had all the right assets to work in the department—raw muscle definitely being one of them.
“I’ve told Sir John time and time again that we must have a fellow in full time!” Aubrey said. “I don’t mind the labor, it’s the sweeping up that must be done. It’s time-consuming!”
“Then perhaps you shouldn’t waste so much time,” Hunter suggested.
Aubrey almost growled in his direction, but smiled at Camille. “Excellent work, Camille, bringing back such an illustrious patron! Even if he has acquired something of an evil reputation. Perhaps the fellow is cursed.” He winked at her, then went on out.
As he did so, Sir John arrived. “Whatever is going on in here?” he demanded, a rough, impatient note in his voice. “Alex, I believe that Camille is quite capable of working on this relief herself. Hunter, you may be a board member, but your role is not to take up the time of my employees. Lord Wimbly is on his way in, and I will not have my department appearing to be busy with nothing more than an afternoon tea social!”
Alex stiffened. Hunter shrugged laconically. “Camille, we’ll speak later,” he said, and strode toward the door. He opened it, ready to saunter out. But he paused.
Looking back, dark eyes raking quickly over the three of them, then landing on Camille, he said, “It appears that someone else is coming…for tea.”
“Who?” Alex demanded.
“Brian Stirling, the Earl of Carlyle,” Hunter said, his eyes resting on Camille. “We must, indeed, beware, for the monster comes this way!”
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