Bella and the Beast (11 page)

His vilification of her character snapped the last thread restraining Bella's temper. “I would say that you've overstepped your bounds, sir. Now do be on your way—lest I be forced to cast an ancient tribal curse upon the two of you.”

Switching to the Farsi tongue of the Persians, she launched into a diatribe about the cold, callous nature of snooty English aristocrats. The tirade was harmless, but it had the desired effect on Oscar and Helen.

The couple shrank back in horror at the sham curse. In great haste that had them half tripping over their own feet, they scuttled out of the drawing room.

 

Chapter 9

Only two hours later, Bella had to fend off another hostile visitor.

Her blood boiling after the encounter with the Graysons, she was unable to concentrate on the task of sorting pottery. She paced the drawing room for a time, walking up and down the narrow paths between the heaps of broken artifacts while penciling notes in her journal about how to organize the space. Gradually, her temper cooled and she could think rationally again. Yes, she had taken great satisfaction in watching Oscar and Helen beat a rapid retreat.

But what if those two snobs had run tattling to Aylwin? What would the duke think of Bella threatening his cousins? Would he use it as an excuse to dismiss her from his employ?

Her fingers tightened around the leather-bound notebook. Oh, she ought
not
to have lost control over herself again! That particular failing of hers often had earned a chiding from Papa in her youth.

She must not give vent to wild sentiments that might endanger her mission to fulfill his last wish. He had wanted to give her the means to provide for her brother and sister.
Promise me,
he had gasped out on his deathbed.
Find Aylwin. Find the map
.
You have half the pharaoh's treasure.

Thinking about those words, Bella confronted the notion that had hovered at the back of her mind since her arrival at Aylwin House. Perhaps she was wrong to expect a trove of gold objects and brilliant jewels. By “pharaoh's treasure,” had her father been referring to the many artifacts here at Aylwin House? Had he been trying to tell her that she was entitled to half of Aylwin's collection of ancient Egyptian objects?

Surely not. If that were the case, Papa would not have been so adamant about her finding the missing map. Somehow, that map was the key to her quest. Once it was in her possession, perhaps she would understand the nature of the treasure.

She had only to exercise patience until then.

With a sigh, she knelt down to catalogue a box of scarabs. According to her studies, these small stone beetles were used as amulets to signify rebirth or to ward off evil. Each one was different, some with carved pictures of animals or birds, others decorated with colored stone like lapis lazuli. As she worked, a ray of afternoon sunlight fell upon an item half buried at the bottom of the crate.

Bella picked up a dainty alabaster jar that was somewhat larger than her fist. With the hem of her gown, she gently wiped away the layers of dust. The pale stone vessel had only a minor crack in the lip. Nearby lay the carved head of a woman that had been broken in two. Carefully matching the pieces together, Bella placed the head onto the jar and saw to her satisfaction that it was a perfect fit.

Had Papa found this object—or others like it? Why had he never mentioned his work in Egypt—or written about it in one of his journals? If only he were here to answer all of her questions.

A tightness in her throat, she imagined him working under the relentless heat of the Egyptian sun. Perhaps he had dug this very jar out of the sand, brushed off centuries of grime, and cradled it in his hands as she did now. So many times, in so many foreign locales, she had seen him treat ancient objects with great reverence …

Heavy male footsteps sounded out in the corridor.

Bella's heart gave a wild thump.
Aylwin.
He must be coming here to address her maltreatment of his cousins. Dear God, if she hoped to keep her position, she would have to find a way to mollify him.

She surged to her feet and turned toward the doorway. But to her surprise, a stranger stomped into the drawing room. He was a balding man of average height, sloppily dressed in a loose brown coat, saggy black trousers, and scuffed boots. With his jowly face and stocky form, he reminded her of an English bulldog.

He stopped and scowled at her. “That is a canopic jar of the nineteenth dynasty,” he chided. “Have a care how you handle it!”

Bella realized she was still holding the little alabaster vessel. She was about to ask his identity when Pinkerton entered at a measured pace. The stooped old butler stopped just inside the doorway and intoned with a sour curl of his lips, “Mr. William Banbury-Davis to see you, Miss Jones. I'm afraid he refused to wait downstairs.”

“You know very well that Aylwin has given me carte blanche to study his artifacts at any time,” Mr. Banbury-Davis told him with undisguised irritation. “Now, run along with you.”

The servant cast an inquiring gaze at Bella. Clearly, he would not depart without her consent, a fact that spoke volumes about his opinion of this visitor.

She set down the jar and dusted off her palms, then gave him a nod. “Thank you, Pinkerton. I'll ring if you're needed.”

The moment the butler was gone, she stepped forward and offered her hand in greeting. “It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Banbury-Davis. I presume you are a colleague of the duke's.”

Banbury-Davis glowered instead of shaking her hand. “Indeed, I am a noted scholar of Egyptology—unlike you. I could scarcely believe my ears when Mrs. Helen Grayson informed me that Miles had hired an assistant. And in particular the daughter of that scoundrel, Sir Seymour Jones!”

Bella bristled despite her vow to guard her temper. Curling her fingers, she let her fist drop to her side. “Enough, sir! First you are rude to the servants. Now you are rude to me. If you cannot speak civilly, then you may as well depart at once for I have no interest in conversing with you!”

He harrumphed and muttered something under his breath. Then he planted his hands on his hips and moderated his tone. “As you wish, Miss Jones. Tell me, have your parents returned to England, too?”

“My father died last year of a fever. Mama passed away some fifteen years ago. Did you know them?”

His pale blue eyes swept over her. “I attended Oxford with Seymour Jones. Tell me, where has he been all these years?”

“We traveled extensively throughout Asia and the Near East. Most recently, we were in Persia, where Papa had been assisting in the excavation of the ancient city of Persepolis.”

“And now here you are at Aylwin House.” He took an aggressive step toward her. “Did Sir Seymour tell you to come here? Perhaps he instructed you to claim some of these artifacts for yourself. Did he say that you have a right to them?”

The accusation was perilously close to the truth. Nevertheless, Bella objected to his disdain for her father. What was the source of it?

“That is the second time you've denigrated Papa. He was a fine father, a hard worker, and an honest man. I wish to know why you would call him a scoundrel.”

“Don't pretend ignorance. He abandoned Miles, that's why.”

She raised an eyebrow at the strange accusation. “Abandoned him? How so?”

“The fourth duke hadn't been cold twenty-four hours when Sir Seymour took you and your mother away in the dead of night. He vanished without a trace. Miles regarded Sir Seymour as a second father—until the fellow left the orphaned lad to fend for himself in Egypt.”

Bella pressed her fingers around the edge of a wooden crate. She couldn't believe such a thing of her father. “Did Aylwin relate these events to you? He was only thirteen at the time. Perhaps he had his facts wrong.”

“No, Miss Jones. I witnessed it with my own eyes.”

“Wait. You were in Egypt, too, back then?”

“Indeed so.” As Banbury-Davis roamed in agitated steps between the rows of miscellany, he snatched up a scarab and rubbed it between his fingers. “
I
was the one who helped Miles in his time of need.
I
guided his decisions as to which artifacts were to be transported back to England.
I
provided him comfort and assistance—because your father had shirked his obligations.”

Bella hardly knew what to think. But it would explain Aylwin's hostility toward her, his probing questions about Papa and where they had gone after leaving Egypt. If this man's narrative of events could be trusted, then Papa had ignored his duty to the young duke. He had departed at a time when the boy had needed him most. How distraught the duke must had been at the shock of his father being murdered by grave robbers. And then to be forsaken in a foreign country by a man he had trusted …

No.

No, she could not believe her father capable of such infamy. Certainly Papa had been self-absorbed at times, wrapped up in his pursuit of knowledge, even to the detriment of his family. But he had not been deliberately cruel or unkind. Banbury-Davis must be exaggerating.

Crossing her arms, she stepped into the man's path and stopped his pacing. “Perhaps my father needed to seek new employment. He had a family to feed. You can't know for certain what was going on in his mind.”

“Nonsense. Miles would have continued to pay his salary. I am sorry if this is news to you, Miss Jones, but your father was a cold, unfeeling villain. If you've any conscience at all, you will acknowledge that you do not belong here at Aylwin House!”

His attack made her stiffen. “I will acknowledge no such thing, sir. His Grace offered me the position of curator, and I have accepted it. I will not be driven away by you or anyone else.”

Banbury-Davis uttered a snort of contempt. “Curator, bah! What is your experience? Have you lived and breathed Egyptian history for more than thirty years as I have done? Did you study under the finest scholars? Have you any academic credentials at all?” He snatched up the little alabaster vessel and thrust it into her face. “Do you even know the purpose of a canopic jar?”

She lifted her chin. Not for all the hidden treasure maps in Egypt would she admit her ignorance to this man. “You've no right to come here and interrogate me. These questions are insulting—”

“I must concur,” Aylwin drawled from behind her.

Bella spun around to see Miles standing with one hand propped high on the door frame. No, not Miles, she corrected herself. The duke. She must not think of him in such a familiar manner.

Nor should she notice the way his stance stretched the white shirt across his muscled chest, or that his black trousers clung like a second skin to his long legs. His dark hair was rumpled as if he'd combed it with his fingers. He needed only her dagger clenched between his teeth to complete the guise of a pirate.

Her heart thrummed against her rib cage. She felt suddenly light-headed, breathless. Not because of any attraction she felt for him. He had startled her, that was all.

How much had he heard?

Aylwin strolled forward and took the vessel from Banbury-Davis, who had fallen silent, a disgruntled expression on his face. The duke turned the container in his hands. “A canopic jar was used during the embalming process to store the internal organs of a mummy. This one, judging by the lid, once held someone's liver. I'm sure Miss Jones is quite aware of that fact.”

He was covering for her. Protecting her against the attack by Banbury-Davis. Why? His solicitude stirred a warm feeling inside her that she immediately squelched. Aylwin likely wished to reserve for himself the right to criticize her.

Their gazes met, though she could read nothing but severity in those dark eyes. She wondered if he had come here to confront her about insulting his cousins, only to walk in on a different quarrel. Oh, her foolish temper!

Aylwin handed the alabaster jar to her, and their fingers brushed, raising sparks over her skin and causing her to babble, “Yes, Your Grace. I am indeed aware of the purpose of this jar. Strange, isn't it, how the most beautiful artifact can sometimes have a rather morbid purpose.”

Banbury-Davis harrumphed again. “I'll wager my last farthing she didn't know what it was until you told her, Miles. May I say, it is most imprudent of you to allow an inexperienced female to handle these rare items. No doubt she's as untrustworthy as her father…” His voice trailed off.

Aylwin had silenced him with a chilly frown.

It was the Ducal Stare, Bella realized, stifling an untimely tickle of mirth. She'd believed that he reserved it only for her. But apparently she was not the only recipient of his haughty displeasure.

“Come with me,” Aylwin ordered the scholar. “Now.” He turned on his heel and strode toward the door.

Clutching the canopic jar, she watched as Banbury-Davis trotted after the duke. The irritating man would be forced to face Aylwin's censure, and she almost felt sorry for him. At least until he glanced back to give her one last resentful scowl.

A chill tiptoed down her spine. There could be no mistaking that glare. William Banbury-Davis despised her as he had despised her father. And she had no doubt he would do everything in his power to convince Aylwin to send her away.

*   *   *

Miles stalked into his study in the west wing. On any other day, the spacious chamber served as his retreat, a quiet place where he could concentrate on his work. The décor was exactly as it had been in his father's time: worn leather chairs, a mantelpiece of green marble, and dark gold draperies drawn back to allow a view of the garden. The floor-to-ceiling bookshelves displayed an array of select Egyptian objects, from ankhs to cats to goddesses. Another doorway led to a windowless storeroom where tall oak cabinets held his private collection of papyri in individual drawers, protected from the harmful sunlight until such time as he needed to study them.