Thursday, July 18
Tired of the silent and gloomy library, and her cramped apartment, Cara took the pragmatic step of invading Nathaniel's luxurious home. Armed with a satchel full of books and diaries, she commandeered the ornate conservatory, the staff too startled to stop her. When Jackson appeared, he simply told them to leave her to it, after they provided a pitcher of lemonade and a plate of scones.
The conservatory was the closest she could get to Egypt, yearning to immerse herself in the brief happy time and entice the last few memories to the surface. The room had soaring indoor palms and a humid interior. She hoped the atmosphere would put her in the right mood for her work. Small mechanical butterflies swept around the space of all different iridescent hues. They flew from palm to palm, before resting in the sun's rays. Their brightly enamelled wings pulsed back and forth, catching and deflecting the sunlight. They were beautiful and an unexpected touch of whimsy to the house of a criminal overlord.
A white, painted daybed covered in brightly striped calico stood under one expanse of glass. Lined up with military precision along one side were numerous cushions. Cara threw herself upon the daybed. She extracted Magycks of the Gods from her satchel and dropped the leather bag back on the floor. A maid entered and deposited the tray of refreshments on the wrought iron table next to the daybed. She gave Cara a wordless curtsey before retreating.
She lay on her stomach, pulled several throw pillows around her, and read in the bright light. Rays poured in through the glass and lit up her body, as she reclined with the medieval book propped up on a cushion. Today, she wore a halter neck corset, with her chemise pulled down her shoulders, leaving an expanse of her back naked. The scars became silver chains in the sunlight; running between her shoulders until they disappeared under the rich, brocade fabric of the corset. She looked like a larger version of the petite butterflies, radiant beams dancing over her body.
Cara spent the previous week searching amongst her father's notes for any references to Egypt and Nefertiti's Heart. Although he went to great length to describe his chase and ultimate possession of the artifact, he clammed up when it came to saying what he did with the relic. Much to Cara's dismay, the Heart appeared to be the only object without a definitive resting place. She had compiled a list of banks, security houses, and a few country estates to visit to amass the remainder of the collection.
The book from Helene proved slow going. The ancient English and tiny script gave her headaches after only a short time of study. She read a passage numerous times before the words slowly made sense. Flicking through the pictures at least yielded the correct section to read.
She heard Nathaniel's boot heels as he entered the lush garden room. The daybed dipped as he sat. With an arm on either side of her, he leaned over to trail kisses along her exposed shoulder blades. His kiss was a sensual greeting, far superior to any handshake or polite bow. A shiver ran through her body, followed by a deep sigh.
"You're blocking my sun." She rolled onto her back to stare up at him. He trapped her within his arms, his eyes locked on hers. Heat spread over her torso and her breath hitched in anticipation. The fear in her gut stretched and extended a sharp claw, reminding her it still dwelt inside. She wondered what she would do if Nathaniel lowered himself onto her—panic and knee him in the groin, or dissolve into a puddle of gooey longing?
He brushed a fingertip over the blue-black bruise on her face, courtesy of her bout in the pub earlier in the week. The tiniest fragment of worry flickered behind his eyes before it disappeared. "You seem to have made yourself at home."
"I thought I would save Jackson or Miguel from sitting outside the library all day. I figure if I'm here, you know exactly where I am."
"How's the research going?" He sat up, breaking eye contact and rendering her internal question hypothetical, at least for the moment.
"Slowly. According to the oral histories, when Nefertiti died, her heart was removed as part of the normal mummification process. Instead of the expected organ, they found a gem." She clutched the ancient book to her bosom like a protective talisman. "The legend says the purity and strength of her love for Akhenaten was such that her heart turned into a diamond. Showing their love was eternal, enduring forever, like the gem."
Nathaniel raised a sceptical eyebrow. "Sounds like a cold sort of love, if she had a diamond instead of a heart."
She blew a raspberry at him. "Men. Obviously the romance of the symbolism is lost on you."
"Not at all."
His low tone vibrated through her body. She dropped her eyes back to the book, which proved rather ineffectual as either talisman or shield.
"Then what happened?"
"Anubis was touched by the strength of their love. He said he would release Akhenaten from the Underworld, and if he could find Nefertiti in the next life, he would grant them life, eternal as the diamond heart. He offered Akhenaten immortality."
Nathaniel trailed his fingers down her arm. "So where do the keys fit into all this?"
Cara exhaled a held breath, while trying to marshal her thoughts, a difficult task with Nathaniel so close, and stroking her.
"The heart is part diamond, part mechanical, with gold cogs and gears. Lapis lazuli and heliotrope veins run through the middle. From what I remember, father could never get it to work." She tapped the closed book. "According to this, Akhenaten is Nefertiti's true love. Only he possesses the key to her heart, which will allow him to claim their immortality. He must unlock the heart, which, I assume, requires some form of a key."
"But it's just a story, an oral folktale." He took the book from her grasp and set it on the daybed, leaving her with nothing to shield herself from him.
"I've seen the Heart. I wouldn't have a clue if it really is a diamond or not. Gemmology didn't interest fourteen-year-old me." At fourteen, she had more immediate concerns, like how to escape her weekly beating. She saw the artifact the week before her father gave her to Clayton, occupying pride of place on his desk in the library. He would spend hours staring at it, trying to figure out the mechanism. Cara thought it gruesome; who would want to fashion a gem into an organ? The Heart sat on his desk that final day, when everything faded to black.
"I wonder if it truly is a diamond. A gem that size would be worth a small fortune, without the added provenance of the murders." The treasure-hungry pirate glinted in his eyes. "You'd be a very wealthy woman. Have you found it yet?"
"No." She chewed her bottom lip. A diamond the size of a fist, and she couldn't find a single clue to its whereabouts. "Given the thing was stolen from its original owner in Egypt I would need to use your services to offload it. And I assume you'd still want your seven percent? So you stand to earn a tidy sum as well."
His eyes roamed over her reclining form. "You could try to haggle me down to five if you want?"
"What would it cost me?" She could barely ask the question, before the answer blazed in his eyes and singed the clothes from her body, leaving her exposed. "Nathaniel—"
He bent his arms on either side of her, lowering himself, but keeping his weight on his hands. "Nate. I want you to call me Nate."
"I thought that was only for intimate acquaintances?"
"Perhaps it's time we fixed that?" He bit her bottom lip, making her gasp, before dropping his head to cover her mouth. His kiss was unhurried, slowly possessing her, letting the heat build between them. His tongue explored every surface of her mouth, claiming its territory.
She curled her fingers deep into the calico cover of the daybed, clutching handfuls of fabric as his tongue danced with hers. She was scared if she put her hands on him, touched him, she wouldn't be able to stop.
Releasing her mouth, he moved to her throat, licking and kissing the delicate skin down to the base of her neck. He followed the line of her collarbone with his mouth, gently nipping the bone.
"Nate." His name became a cry on her lips. She arched her neck off the pillow, the heat he invoked pooling in her centre. One of his hands stroked up her side, reaching for the underside of her breast, but frustrated by the thick brocade and boning of her corset. The fear stretched within her.
Nate stopped and sat up, surveying the damage he wreaked on her self-control.
Cara breathed hard. Guess the answer to my question is, dissolve into gooey puddle of longing.
"How is it you have travelled the world without a chaperon? You move about London with no one to watch your every move." The change of topic gave her a chance to catch her breath.
"You've tried, remember?" She chided him of his attempts to tail her. "My grandmother always gave me a considerable amount of autonomy. And it's not like we have to worry about my reputation being ruined."
"I only watch you to ensure your protection, same as any chaperone, and to ascertain if you have any suitors." He sat next to her so composed, but she noted his chest rose and fell faster than usual.
As much as he created turmoil within her, she affected him too. She tucked the titbit of knowledge away as she stroked the cover of the ancient book. "I don't need protecting. Or any suitors, I'm not the marrying kind of girl."
External dangers didn't concern her, except for the one right in front of her, capable of stealing her breath. She'd made up her mind days ago to follow her fascination for him, regardless of where the allure led her. She had shut herself away in a tower for too long. "My father tried to marry me off in absentia once, not a hugely successful endeavour for him."
A smile twitched the corner of his mouth. "Who was the poor unfortunate you scorned?"
"I have no idea. It was a couple of years ago. I was in America when Nan forwarded his letter. I refused to return to England. Apparently the solicitor wouldn't proceed without some indication of consent from me." A mischievous glint shone in her eyes. "Or perhaps he forged my name, and I am married, but just don't know it?"
"And now? Don't you want to regain your place among the ton?"
She threw up her hands; a darting butterfly settled on her outstretched limb. The insect's red and gold wings glinted and winked before it took flight, heading back to the protection of the shrubbery. "I'm twenty-one and my father is dead. Countess de Sal said I was free and I intend to remain that way. Besides, no man would dare try and claim me."
"I would dare." His face was dead calm, with no hint if he joked or was serious.
She held her breath. Her stomach flip-flopped at the thought of him in charge of her life, of waking every morning to his intense gaze over the breakfast table, or finding his head on the pillow next to her. "My grandmother would never agree. Nice try. You won't get your hands on the artifacts that way."
"You still think that's my motive? I thought I was plain in my attempts to get my hands on you? Perhaps I need to be more obvious." He made to lean toward her again and she gave a yelp and sat up.
Their attraction wasn't a line of conversation she wanted to pursue. Certainly not while she lay on a bed in the sun, breathless from his passionate kiss. An idea chewed its way through her brain. "What if these artifacts aren't just ancient objects?"
"What else would they be?" He rose from the daybed and moved to stand amongst the greenery, putting physical distance between them.
She watched him lean against a palm so tall its fronds pushed against the glass roof of the conservatory.
"What if they actually did the things the oral histories purport they do?" She voiced the thought that itched in the back of her brain for days, ever since taking possession of the book.
He frowned. "That would be impossible."
"Is it? What if Boudicca's Cuff really does give the holder success in battle?"
Nate was silent, giving the idea some thought, rather than dismissing her out of hand. "Business is a type of battlefield. I can enquire as to the investment success of the person who purchased the cuff. It will be easy to chart the course he has taken and whether he won or lost."
A small measure of relief crept into Cara. The effect of the cuff was something they could quantify. The note from her father gnawed at her: careful, they are not what they seem. Cara initially thought he referred to an enemy, perhaps the person who delivered the asp. A friend or acquaintance who masqueraded and hid their true intent. But with each passing day, she became more convinced he meant the artifacts.
"Maybe that's why my father was so paranoid. He knew. It would explain the extraordinary lengths he took to acquire the artifacts. And the layers of security he maintained over where he hid them." She still didn't know where to look for the Heart, his prized possession and his biggest secret.
Cara packed away the books in her satchel, her mind too fragmented to carry on with the intense study. Something else ate at her, something tied to the brutal deaths of three girls. "What if Nefertiti's Heart really can confer immortality?"
He let out an appreciative whistle. "Then it's not just incredibly valuable, it's priceless."
"How do you tell if someone is immortal?" she whispered.
"You kill them, and see if they get up again," he answered, always pragmatic.