“You do not lie well, Mr. Armstrong. It’s good to know.” She nodded. “But you do have my thanks for the champagne.” She leaned closer in a confidential manner and the merest hint of a scent at once exotic and welcoming wafted around him. “Did I tell you that I am not at all used to champagne?”
“Not directly but I suspected as much.” He bit back a grin. “Although I do find it difficult to believe that the celebrated Mrs. Gordon is not used to champagne.”
“Nonsense, I’m not the least bit celebrated. A bit well-known perhaps.”
“You are the Queen of the Desert after all.”
“Well yes, there is that.” She sipped her wine. “I do try to be circumspect.”
“But you are a member of the Antiquities Society.”
“I have not yet had the opportunity to attend any of the society’s gatherings. And if your uncle has his way, I never will.”
“Why not? The society is most prestigious.” So prestigious, it had never offered him membership.
“And membership is a great honor but I am far too wrapped up in my work to frequent social gatherings.”
“What? No literary society fetes? No grand balls in your honor?” He shook his head in a mournful manner. “I daresay I expected more from the Queen of the Desert.”
“I am sorry to disappoint.” She frowned. “And you needn’t keep calling me that.”
“Why? Don’t you like it?”
“Not especially.”
And wasn’t that interesting? “If you’re not indulging in London society, how do you spend your time?”
“I write, Mr. Armstrong. I have no time for anything else.” She pinned him with a firm look. “And what do you do? Other than play errand boy for your uncle. Which does seem to me to be the mark of a man with nothing else to do.”
“I have a great deal to do,” he said staunchly.
“For example?”
“I have not been back in England for very long. I have any number of ideas as to how to spend my time. I am simply trying to decide my next course.”
“Come now, Mr. Armstrong,” she said skeptically. “You’re the wealthy nephew of an even wealthier earl. You have no need to do anything productive at all.”
“A life of boredom is no life at all.”
“I wouldn’t know.” She tilted her head and studied him. “How long since your last trip to Egypt?”
“It’s been some time.” He grinned. “Quite some time.”
“Why did you leave Egypt?”
“Why did you?”
“I believe you’re hiding something, Mr. Armstrong.”
“Yet another coincidence, Mrs. Gordon. I know you’re hiding a great deal.”
“Do you?” She considered him for a long moment. A slow, decidedly wicked smile curved her lips. Her exceptionally fetching lips. “This should be fun, Mr. Armstrong.”
“Fun?” His gaze slipped to her mouth. He suspected her definition of fun at the moment and his were decidedly different. He cleared his throat. “Do you really think so?”
“Oh my, yes.” A definite glint of challenge shone in her eyes. “There is nothing more fun than putting an arrogant man in his place.”
“Then the game is afoot, Mrs. Gordon. And you’re right.” He leaned in, trying to ignore her scent, the long length of her lashes, the distracting nearness of her. “It will be fun. Although I have no doubt as to the ultimate winner.”
“Nor do I, Mr. Armstrong.”
His gaze meshed with hers and for a moment something one could only call awareness sparked between them. Not what he expected. Or wanted. But then Harry Armstrong had always been willing to adapt to new circumstances.
“There you are,” a female voice sounded behind him. Before he could turn, someone short and determined nudged him out of the way as efficiently as a collie cutting a sheep from the herd, and Mrs. Gordon’s band of determined elderly watchdogs surrounded her.
“Good day, Sidney,” Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore said brightly. “And Mr. Armstrong as well. What a lovely surprise.”
“And greeting the new day with champagne.” Lady Blodgett cast an assessing eye at the bottle in his hand. “I never would have thought of such a thing but it is a charming idea.”
“And how very thoughtful of you.” The dragon plucked the bottle from his grip and smiled innocently. “Only one glass?”
“I’m afraid so,” Sidney said with a shrug.
“Then there’s nothing to be done about it.” The dragon shook her head reluctantly. “We shall simply have to adjourn to Mrs. Gordon’s stateroom and request additional glasses from the charming Mr. Gilmore.”
Mrs. Gordon bit back a grin. Why shouldn’t she smile? She had invaded his solitude—he ignored the fact that she had already been on deck when he arrived—commandeered his tradition and was now absconding with his champagne.
“Thank you, again, Mr. Armstrong,” she said pleasantly. “Do enjoy the rest of your morning.” She took the dragon’s arm and they strolled down the deck.
“We would ask you to join us, Mr. Armstrong, but Sidney’s room simply isn’t big enough for everyone. Why, the four of us can scarcely squeeze in together. Although it is an exceptionally nice room.” Lady Blodgett smiled. “Besides, it did look to me as if there was barely enough champagne left for a handful of glasses at the most and I am certain you would wish for us to have it.”
What could he say? “With my sincerest compliments.”
“I thought you would agree. This really is quite delightful. I might have to put the idea of starting the first day of any new journey with champagne at sunrise in a Lady Travelers pamphlet.” Lady Blodgett turned to go then turned back. “Oh, and as it seems to me, to all of us really, as your purpose in this trip is the complete opposite of Sidney’s, it might be wiser for all concerned if you avoided those occasions when it was just you and Mrs. Gordon alone. Besides, people being what they are, appearances are important. I’m certain you understand.”
“Are you afraid I might attempt to ply Mrs. Gordon with spirits in an effort to wring a confession from her?” he said lightly. “Or do you think my intentions might be even more dishonorable? Seduction perhaps?” At once, the image of her delightfully inviting lips came to mind.
Lady Blodgett glanced at Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore, and then leaned closer to him. “Mr. Armstrong, my husband and his friends were explorers and adventurers. I have spent the better part of my life around such men as have Poppy and Effie. Men very much like you. I assure you, we are quite good at recognizing those who are honorable gentlemen and those who are not.”
“And where do I fall in your assessment?” he said slowly.
“I haven’t decided yet.” She smiled sweetly but there was no misunderstanding the look in her eye. Regardless of whether she decided he was indeed an honorable gentleman or a despicable cad, the opportunities to be alone with Mrs. Gordon again, particularly with champagne, would be nonexistent. Were the ladies trying to keep her secrets or simply protect her? He could certainly understand the former if indeed he was right about her but the latter made no sense. A widow had no need of constant supervision and from his brief conversation with her it was apparent Mrs. Gordon—Sidney—could certainly hold her own.
“Good day, Mr. Armstrong.” Lady Blodgett started after the others. Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore nodded, and then trailed after her friend.