Bella and the Beast (8 page)

His jaw clenched, he crouched down in front of the stela and absently traced the unknown hieroglyph. What the devil had he done in hiring the woman? Ferreting out information about her father didn't require him to lodge her under his roof. He should have bombarded her with questions instead of allowing her to cajole him. Now he was stuck with an interloper in his sanctum for the next two weeks.

Or not.

He mulled over a possible solution. By God, if he could be quicker about finding out from her what he wanted to know, then the problem would be solved. He could oust her from Aylwin House and resume his well-ordered life so much the sooner.

*   *   *

A sudden brightness lured Bella from the depths of slumber. She cracked open her eyes to see the hazy outline of a figure drawing back the blue brocade draperies from a wall of windows.

Disoriented, she raised her head from the feather pillow and blinked to focus her vision. The blue and yellow décor and the fine furnishings momentarily confused her. Where was the tiny bedchamber where she and Lila slept? Where were the moth-eaten beige curtains and the little washstand with its chipped porcelain bowl?

Then the events of the previous day returned in a flood of lucidity. She had left her sister and brother in Oxford under the care of a neighbor. She had spent the night in London in a room large enough to swallow her entire cottage.

Approaching the canopied bed, the figure materialized into a sturdy, brown-eyed girl with a freckled face and red hair that peeped out from beneath her white mobcap. She wore a crisply ironed apron over her black gown.

“'Tis a fine morning, indeed,” she said, bobbing a curtsy. “Mrs. Witheridge said ye was to be awakened at the dot o' seven. So's ye can be ready to help the duke.”

Aylwin! Bella was to meet with him for instructions at nine o'clock.

A buzz of excitement jolted her fully awake. Her plan had worked. She had convinced the duke to employ her. And today, if the opportunity presented itself, she could start her search for the missing treasure map.

She sat up and threw back the covers. “Thank you ever so much for the reminder. Pray, what is your name?”

“'Tis Nan. I'm to be yer maidservant.”

“My servant? Why?”

“I'm to help ye ready yerself. I brung yer gown and hot water for washin'. 'Tis in the dressin' chamber.”

Bella swung her feet out of bed and shivered from the chill in the air. Though it was late May, the huge room held the night cold. “But I'm in the duke's employ. Doesn't that make
me
a servant, too?”

“I dunno about that, miss,” Nan said doubtfully. “Yer a lady and Mrs. Witheridge bade me wait on ye.” She scurried to fetch a pair of slippers from the floor. Bending down to slip them onto Bella's feet, she gasped. “Oh! Yer legs!”

Bella realized that the tattoos were visible beneath her nightdress. She scrambled quickly out of bed, but the hem of her nightgown was a bit too short to hide the marks. Ruefully, she looked down and surveyed the inked patterns just above her ankles. “They're rather unsightly, I'm afraid. The designs were placed there by my native nursemaid when I was a little girl visiting in Egypt.”

Nan's eyes were wide as saucers as she took another peek at the tattoos. “Cor! Did it hurt? Was there needles used?”

“To be honest, I don't remember. I was too young.”

“Well!” Nan exclaimed, helping Bella into her old green wrap. “Them marks took me by surprise, they did. But I daresay they're handsome. Like bracelets round yer ankles.”

The words warmed Bella's heart. “That's kind of you to say so.”

Nan didn't smile back; instead, her coppery eyebrows lowered in a troubled look. “Mr. Hasani has such a mark, too, on the back of his neck. But that one gives me a fright, it does.”

“Who is Mr. Hasani?”

“The master's valet. He's a foreigner from Egypt.” She glanced around as if the walls had ears and continued in a lowered tone, “
His
mark looks like an eye … an eye watching ye from the back of his head.”

Bella's skin prickled. “Don't be silly. No one can see out of a tattooed eye.”

“If ye say so, miss.”

But Nan looked unconvinced. As the maid knelt by the hearth to clean out the ashes, Bella headed into the dressing chamber to perform her morning ablutions. How interesting to learn that Aylwin had a manservant from Egypt. She hoped to meet the fellow, to see the tattoo that had so alarmed the maid. She herself didn't believe for a moment that it had supernatural properties. Just as she knew that her own skin markings lacked the power to ward off disease. After all, she'd had her share of minor illnesses.

Standing at the washstand while splashing water on her face, Bella had a vivid memory of the duke explaining to her the significance of those symbols. He had caressed the marks with his fingertips. He had bent his head close to her leg, so close that his warm breath had feathered over her skin. The mere thought of it caused an irresistible contraction deep in her core.

No other man had ever affected her that way. Of course, no other man had ever lifted her skirts, either. Aylwin had a virile quality that he'd used deliberately to intimidate her. He had stolen her dagger, a fact that still infuriated her. He was a cad and a despot, and she looked forward to the moment when he would be forced to hand over Papa's share of the pharaoh's treasure.

Lying alone in her darkened chamber the previous night, she had tossed and turned for a long time, mulling over every aspect of their encounter. The Duke of Aylwin was rude and blunt and arrogant. He had snarled and shouted at her, and paced the floor like the beast that he was.

But she'd had the best of him. And he didn't even know it.

She had lied through her teeth to get him to hire her.

Recalling those falsehoods, Bella reached for a linen towel to dry her face. She had never met Mr. Smithers. If ever the man had traveled overseas as a dealer in antiquities, she didn't know about it. Lady Milford had instructed her to say those things. For some reason, the woman had gone to great lengths to pave the way for Bella.

No, for her father.

Lady Milford had admitted that she'd originally come to the cottage in Oxford to tell Papa about the position of curator. Bella still didn't understand why. Had Lady Milford nurtured an affection for him all these years? If they were friends, why had Papa never mentioned the woman?

Regardless of the reason, it seemed an excessive action for Lady Milford to take. Perhaps it was due to some sort of camaraderie between aristocrats. With a sigh, Bella gave up trying to understand the eccentricities of the nobility.

But she didn't regret the scheme to dupe Aylwin. Not one whit.

Return to Oxford,
Papa had gasped out on his deathbed.
Promise me. Find Aylwin. Find the map
.
You have half the pharaoh's treasure.

Bella swallowed past the constriction in her throat. Now that she'd met the duke, and had seen for herself how cold and callous he was, she had a strong suspicion that he had cheated Papa out of his rightful share of the pharaoh's treasure. It made her all the more determined to find the map and prove her case.

 

Chapter 7

Bella was too edgy to do more than pick at the breakfast of toast and hot chocolate that Nan had brought on a silver tray from the kitchen. By the time the ornate gilt clock on the mantel had chimed the hour of eight, she was ready to start work even though there was still an hour left before the appointed time.

She checked herself in the pier glass one last time and turned around to view herself from all angles. The marine-blue gown provided by Mrs. Witheridge had a high neckline and long sleeves. Bella's reflection appeared sober and efficient, especially with her hair drawn back in a severe bun. How had Aylwin disparagingly described the color?
A middling brown.

Pooh on him. Little did he know, it would serve her purpose to look ordinary, unremarkable, inconspicuous. To be the sort of female that no one noticed. By blending into the background, she would avoid attracting attention while she poked through Aylwin's possessions.

She left the dressing room to find Nan plumping the pillows on the large bed with the sky-blue canopy. “Does His Grace have a library?” Bella asked. “I should like to see it before I begin work. If you don't mind, that is.”

“Straightaway, miss. 'Tis easy to get lost in this grand house.”

They left the bedchamber, the maidservant allowing Bella to precede her out the door. Their footsteps echoed through a long corridor with landscape paintings and myriad closed doors on either side.

“Are these
all
bedchambers?” Bella asked, boggled by the thought. “Do the servants sleep here?”

Nan giggled. “Oh, nay, 'twouldn't be fitting! Our rooms are in the attic. The east wing is reserved for noble guests like ye.”

Bella decided that the English must have a caste system like the one in India, where a person was born into a certain position in life. That must be why Aylwin had put her on this floor even though she was his employee. Growing up abroad, she hadn't thought much about her father's title or her own blue blood. She had considered herself to be no different from the local peasants who labored for a living. Her only permanent home had been a stone hut in the mountains where she'd had to cook over an open fire and fetch water from a nearby stream.

Never had she ever imagined staying in a palace like this one.

Nan rattled on, “I heard tell that before the old duke died, he hosted many a grand ball here at Aylwin House. There was visiting lords and ladies in every one o' these bedchambers. I fear 'tis rather dull now, for no one comes to stay anymore.”

Having arrived at a marble staircase, Bella placed her hand on the carved newel post. “So I'm all alone here? Mine is the only occupied room on this floor?”

“Aye.” Nan's brown eyes widened in a look of dawning alarm. “Perchance did ye hear strange noises last night? There's some that say the east wing is haunted … by spirits.”

Bella hid a smile. She didn't want to offend the girl by poking fun at her gullible nature. “I assure you, the place was quiet as a tomb. Now, why don't you help me remember my way around? I certainly don't wish to resort to leaving a trail of bread crumbs!”

As they headed down the stairs and through several more corridors, navigating twists and turns along the way, Bella paid close attention as the maidservant pointed out statues and busts on pedestals and other objects that could serve as landmarks. Many of them were smaller versions of the ancient Egyptian artifacts in the ballroom. As they passed through the entry hall, there was even an obelisk that towered toward the glass-domed ceiling.

They arrived at an open doorway framed by gilded woodwork. “'Tis the library, miss. Around the corner and up the stairs is the ballroom where the master works most days.” Nan pointed the way. “'Tis easy to find, ye'll see.”

With a murmur of thanks, Bella headed into the library. She would have to hurry; surely less than half an hour remained before her appointment with Aylwin. Yet the splendor inside took her breath away and she paused a moment to admire her surroundings.

In all of her travels, she had never seen so many books in one place. The huge room had tables for writing, comfortable chairs where one might curl up and read, and two enormous cream marble fireplaces at either end. The dark oak shelves held thousands of leather-bound volumes, and she longed for the leisure to peruse each and every one of them. In addition, a small staircase led up to a narrow walkway that circled the walls and allowed access to the upper shelves.

She had come here for a purpose, to find a particular volume, but the sheer abundance of books overwhelmed her. How was she to know where to begin her quest?

“May I offer my assistance?” spoke a melodious voice.

Bella whirled around to see a short, stocky man standing in an alcove behind her. A loose white robe fell to his knees over a pair of dark trousers. He was middle-aged and balding with a laurel of salt-and-pepper hair, swarthy skin, and a broad, clean-shaven face.

His dark eyes were fixed on her. He appeared to be studying her as keenly as she was him.

She guessed his identity at once. “Hello, are you by chance Mr. Hasani?”

The duke's Egyptian valet pressed his palms together and made a slight bow of acknowledgment, though not low enough for her to spy the tattoo on the back of his neck. “You must call me Hasani, no mister,” he said, a slight foreign accent lending a musical quality to his voice. “And you must be Miss Jones. His Grace informed me of your arrival.”

She could only imagine Aylwin's withering description of her. His reluctance to hire her had been obvious. She still wasn't quite sure why he had conceded. Perhaps he'd merely wanted cheap labor for a fortnight. “I'm to help him with the cataloguing of his artifacts and any other tasks he might require.”

“I see. He met you in Egypt many years ago.”

“Yes, although I was just a little girl then. My father was Sir Seymour Jones, a noted archaeologist. He worked with Aylwin's father.”

Hasani gave her a charming smile. “Ah, you are an old friend of the family, then. I am at your service. Were you seeking a particular book here?”

“I was hoping to find a comprehensive history of ancient Egypt. Something that would give me a good overview.” Bella glanced wryly at the towering shelves of books. “But I confess to being rather stunned by the size of this library. I don't know where to begin my search.”

“I am very happy to show you. Follow me, if you please.”

He glided across the vast room, weaving a path through the maze of tables and chairs. Bella fell into step behind him. Intensely curious, she seized the chance to study his sturdy back, but regrettably, his robe had a high collar that concealed his neck. Nothing could be seen of the tattoo that had alarmed her maid.