Journey to the Lost Tomb (Rowan and Ella Book 2) (30 page)

           
He
had heard from a very reliable source that Lady Bowerman knew something about
the English party that had been attacked. If there really
had
been an attack, it hadn’t been reported in the news. And no one
was talking.

           
“So,
Miss Newton,” Lady Bowerman said, “have you been enjoying your visit to Cairo?”
The woman spoke to Marvel but her gaze shifted to Rowan so that Marvel would
have no confusion as to what her words really meant.

           
Rowan
watched Marvel blush and stumble over her words and he felt a wave of
irritation with their luncheon guest.

           
Damn Brits
, he thought.
Every last one of them plays these stupid
games
. He gallantly leaned toward Marvel and put his hand over hers on the
table. “We have had a very enjoyable visit,” he said to Lady Bowerman. “And we
were thinking of extending that enjoyment to the surrounding area. Weren’t we,
dearest?” He saw that Marvel was staring at him with her mouth open. He knew he
wasn’t playing fair and he regretted the hope he saw in Marvel’s eyes.
But dammit, Ella’s life was at stake. He’d
make it up to her later a hundredfold when he had his wife back.

           
“Uh…yes,
we were,” Marvel said, still focused on Rowan’s face and the startling
transformation she saw in him.

           
“We
were planning an excursion to Thebes, actually,” Rowan said. He waved away the
waiter who was attempting to pour water into his glass.

           
“Thebes?”
Lady Bowerman said. “Really? That’s certainly adventuresome.”

           
“And
worth your life,” Benson said through pinched lips.

           
“Forgive
my traveling companion,” Lady Bowerman said to Marvel and Rowan. “She listens
to gossip when she knows she shouldn’t.” She shot Benson a sharp look.

           
“Gossip?”
Marvel said, clearly taking her hint from Rowan for which he was grateful. He knew
that if he did all the talking, it would spook them and they’d clam up.

           
“Oh,
you know,” Lady Bowerman said, smoothing her napkin across her lap. “People
talk.”

           
“I
heard a couple from the hotel was attacked last week,” Rowan said.

           
Benson
looked up from her empty plate. “You are referring to the Donaldson’s?” she
said.

           
“Benson!
Really!” Lady Bowerman said. “I must ask you to retire to our rooms immediately
if you cannot prevent yourself from spreading unfounded rumors!”

           
Benson
looked at her with her mouth open and then clamped it shut. She narrowed her
eyes at Rowan as if he were to blame.

           
“Well,
I’m not sure they
are
unfounded, Lady
Bowerman,” Rowan said. “Are the Donaldson’s still at the hotel?”

           
“They
have returned to England. It was a horrifying experience, as you can imagine.”

           
“Of
course,” Rowan said, fighting his disappointment.

           
“Just
terrible,” murmured Marvel.

           
“And
Effie Donaldson,” Lady Bowerman leaned in to the table and dropped her voice to
a whisper, “was the
last
person you
could imagine such a thing happening to. The
last
person, if you know what I mean?”

           
Rowan
nodded knowingly.
I have absolutely no
idea what you mean
, he thought.

           
“The
poor dear!” Marvel said.

           
“And
then, of course, the MacDavies.”

           
Rowan
continued to nod. “The MacDavies,” he said encouragingly.

           
“Well,
surely you’ve heard?”

           
“I
don’t think so. Darling?” he turned to Marvel. “Have you heard anything about
the MacDavies?”

           
“Not
a sausage,” Marvel said sweetly.

           
It
was Benson who spoke now. “They were attacked just this week. And again, the
Woman in Gold
was a part of the attack.”

           
“The
Woman in Gold
?”

           
“The
white
woman. Surely, you’ve heard
that the band travels with a white woman? She is instrumental to their
raids—or so I’m told.”

           
Rowan
could feel Marvel physically stiffen beside him. “No, I hadn’t heard that,” he
said.

           
“It
will be in the papers soon,” Lady Bowerman said with a sigh. “You know how the
Americans love that sort of thing. Oh, I beg your pardon.”

           
“No
offense taken,” Rowan said. “
Where
was the last attack, do you know?”

           
“And
how, exactly, do you know all of this?” Marvel asked. “It is rumor, isn’t it?”

           
“Well,”
Lady Bowerman sniffed, “I am personally acquainted with
Lydia
MacDavies. I feel it becomes substantially less rumor and
markedly more factual when it is revealed to you from the source.”

           
“I
absolutely agree with you,” Rowan said, delivering a light nudge under the
table to Marvel’s shin. “
Where
did
you say the last attack was, Lady Bowerman?”

           
“I
didn’t say. But I have just remembered a prior engagement that I must keep and
I beg your forgiveness for my rudeness. Benson? Are you coming?”

           
Her
companion resignedly gathered her gloves and bag and stood up.

           
“A
pleasure, Miss Newton,” Lady Bowerman said coldly. “Mr. Pierce.” She nodded
curtly at Rowan and the two left the dining room.

           
“You
tricked me,” Marvel said as Rowan reseated himself.

           
“I’m
sorry. I heard that she might have information and there was no time to fill
you in first.”

           
“You
used me.”

           
“Marvel,
I’m sorry. I hope you know how important you are to me and that I have grown to
care about you—”

           
“But
to you I am just a means to an end.”

           
“So
isn’t that the total opposite of what I just said? Why is it if you’re not
saying
exactly
what a woman wants to
hear, she can’t hear any of it?”

           
“Is
that what your wife does?”

           
Rowan
sighed. “I’m sorry, Marvel. You’re right. I used you. Doesn’t mean I don’t care
for you. Just means I’m a jerk.”

           
Marvel
looked away for a moment. “Okay,” she said. “Guess I just got my hopes up for a
minute.”

           
“And
for that I am truly sorry.”

           
“If
we don’t find her. If you don’t find her…”

           
“Let’s
take things one step at a time, okay?”

           
“The
desert is a very big place, Rowan. You have no idea of where to begin to look.
And The Gold Woman or whatever she’s called sounds like it’s Lady Digby not
Ella.”

           
“I
know.”

           
“I’m
not very hungry any more.”

           
“I’ll
walk you to your room.”
                                   

           
“No,
you go on. You probably need to ask a few more people about the attacks.”

           
Rowan
reached out to take her hand but she pulled away from him.

           
“Don’t
worry about me, Rowan. Go do what you have to do.”

           
“Thanks,
Marvel.”

           
“Only,
Rowan?”

           
“Yeah?”

           
“If
you don’t find her, you know I’m here, right?”

           
“I
do, Marvel.”

           
The
following week, Marvel stood in front of the full-length mirror in her bedroom and
tugged at the bodice of her new gown. It was one thing to wear nightwear at the
hotel, she realized, but it was altogether a brazenly different thing to wear
it out in public. Her mother wouldn’t just be rolling in her grave today. If
she could see her daughter prancing about in a form-fitting silken sheath cut
to just below her knee and her breasts nearly exposed for all the world to see,
she would be
convulsing
in her casket.
And Marvel’s plan called not
just
to
wear the provocative outfit
out in public
but in the
most
public place she
could think of: the Cairo bazaar.

           
There
was no recourse. Strong results demanded strong action. While she could tell by
how Rowan looked her up and down this morning when he arrived to take her
shopping that he very much appreciated her new outfit, the frock had not been
enough to move him off the mark. But Marvel knew how this game was played and
it was time she played it.

           
Since
coming to Cairo and setting her cap for Mr. Rowan Pierce, she had lost over
twenty pounds. She had gone from chubby matron to voluptuous kitten. Every man
at Shepheards had given her an appreciative look and—because she was obviously
American—a few inappropriate propositions as well. But Rowan, although
making no pretense about the fact that he liked what he saw, had been the
perfect gentleman, damn him. Today, she would see how he fared with half the
Egyptian male population slathering over her.

           
“You
sure you want to wear that out?” Rowan said as Marvel turned to collect her bag
and hat in the hotel room.

           
“My
outfit? Why? What’s wrong with it?”

           
“That’s
just it,” he said. “There’s too much
right
with it. You’re showing a lot of skin for ten in the morning.”

           
“Honestly,
Rowan, I can’t believe you think you are in a position to give me fashion advice.”

           
“I
think you should change.”

           
“Well,
I’m not going to so may we please go? I’d like to finishing shopping before
noon. I don’t want the tops of my breasts to freckle.”

           
He
paused just long enough to give her a look. It occurred to her that he might be
trying to decide if he could
order
her to change. She brushed past him in the hall and headed for the stairs. He
probably
could
, but then they would
be right back where they always were. She needed to break his logjam of reserve
and discipline. And today’s little outing was just the thing.

           
They
rode to the bazaar in silence. She knew he had been more preoccupied than usual
after the rumor about the lady desert bandit had evaporated with no evidence to
sustain it. Rowan was clearly becoming impatient with the lack of progress in the
search for his wife. She didn’t press him for conversation in the car. Her plan
would work much better, she decided, if she established a tiny bit of aloofness
first. When the driver pulled up to the front of the gate at the bazaar, she
could see that Rowan’s boy, Ra, was waiting for them.

           
“Honestly,
Rowan,” she said. “Do you really think you need Ra’s help to escort me on a
shopping trip?”

           
“He’s
got nothing else to do,” Rowan said curtly.

           
It
was then that she realized that the lack of conversation had less to do with
Rowan’s preoccupation with his wife and more with his displeasure at Marvel’s
low-cut dress and the environment they were about to enter. When she realized
this, it was all she could do not to clap her hands with delight.
He was cross because he was feeling all
cave-man protective of her and didn’t like her showing her bosom to the rest of
the male world!

           
When
he opened the car door and helped her out, she bent over a little more than she
needed to in order to give him a full view of her breasts nearly falling out of
her dress. She felt his hand tighten on hers.

           
“What
is so goddamn important that you couldn’t have sent your maid here to get?”