She lifted her chin. “Are you dining at the villa? If so, I hope you won’t?—”
“Mention that you spent a portion of theafternoon testing the springs of my bed?” Jack couldn’t resist the jibe. “Don’t worry. I’m not in sufficient favor to receive an invitation. It’s no hardship, I assure you. I’m happy enough where I am.” He checked the coast was clear. “If you’re ready to leave, now is a good time.”
She stalked away, her back rigid, walking briskly. He hadn’t asked what she’d been running from, but he didn’t need to.
It was perfectly obvious.
CHAPTER 8
They took supper inside, the table lit by several candelabra. Seton presided, with Onora upon his right and Virginie Auvray to his left. Monsieur Auvray was upon Onora’s other side, engaging in the usual small talk, asking how she was finding Egypt since her return, if she was keeping a journal, or intended to paint.
Onora did her best to concentrate. Nonetheless, it was a relief when Mrs. Griffiths summoned his attention.
Try as she might, she could not rid herself of thoughts of the arrogant Mr. Balfour. It was clearly beyond his comprehensionthat a woman might marry because she respected and admired a man, that she wished for a secure home in which to raise children; that, in fact, she might love the man in question—or at least believe she could grow to love him.
As to whether those sentiments were true for Onora, the point was moot. Her reasons were her own. She appreciated him having taken her into the shade if, as he said, she had momentarily fainted, but that was no excuse for his intrusion on her privacy.
She most certainly had not asked to be laid upon his bed. Though she was certain nothing untoward had occurred while she was unconscious, she wouldn’t put it past him to have considered taking advantage, in some small way or another.
Something simmered beneath her skin, restless and itchy, and she couldn’t put her finger on the cause.
It had absolutely nothing to do with how Mr. Balfour dressed, which she found highly inappropriate. No man should wander about without hisjacket, or with his sleeves rolled up to expose a tanned and muscular forearm. His shirt had been far too tight over his broad shoulders, and the cut of his britches was hardly better. It was a wonder he could sit without splitting them at the seam and that really would be…most dreadful!
The temperature in the room was becoming unbearable, with hardly a breath of breeze, though the French doors onto the courtyard were open wide.
She sipped from her wine glass. Although doing her best to abstain, she was very much in need of calming herself.
Seton was clearly in his element, enjoying playing host and answering seemingly endless questions from his guests. They had all transformed into amateur experts of Egyptology, comparing notes on the latest finds at Deir el-Bahri, on the opposite bank to the city of Luxor, where Édouard Naville was excavating the Temple of Hatshepsut.
In what way was Seton’s temple similar? Or markedly different? What had the Department of Antiquities said about it? Wouldit become overrun with visitors, as was fast becoming true of the Valley of the Kings, or would Seton be allowed to keep the site undisturbed? Holding thefirmanthat allowed him exclusive permission to explore in the vicinity of the find, what plans did Seton have for continued work?
Onora listened with half an ear. That the temple was referred to as “Seton’s” irritated her, though it was always the way of things. The Egyptian government—on behalf of its citizenship—held authority to grant licenses for excavation but lacked both the expertise and the means to fund the work, which might continue for years without unearthing anything of value. The Egypt Exploration Society, founded by Amelia Edwards back in London, was doing sterling work in raising donations for the purpose of excavation, but Seton wasn’t the only individual seeking glory through his private efforts.
Young she might be, but Onora wasn’t ignorant of how things worked. She didn’t doubt that Seton had bribed someone to gain thelicense for his site, and that a good portion of whatever he’d discovered over the past decades had been spirited away. She could well imagine wandering Seton Hall one day, when she was installed as marchioness, and stumbling upon a suite of rooms filled with ancient artefacts.
Her father had harbored a far more academic interest, but it would be naive of her to suppose he was unaware of Seton’s intentions. It was a distasteful subject, although some would argue that the items removed in this way had perhaps a better chance of preservation in the hands of private collectors than they might do here, being stored in far from ideal conditions at the cramped museum in Giza.
As far as she knew, nothing in the temple was of extraordinary value—except perhaps the statue of the goddess in the sanctuary, and the various modest gems within the wrappings of the mummies. The smaller rooms off thehypostylehad been found entirely empty, bar some rather ordinary earthenware.
Platters were now arriving at the table,placed before each guest: steaming rice topped with roasted vegetables and thinly sliced radish, alongside succulent chicken coated in a sticky sauce, with pomegranate seeds and slices of juicy mango.
Onora’s appetite was stirred by the aroma, and there was praise as everyone sampled the dish.
“This is divine! How clever you are Seton, employing a cook with the skill to create such cuisine! It does not escape me that the ingredients have been chosen to inspire a mood ofamour.” Madame Auvray gave him one of her provocative, half-teasing looks.
Onora was pleased to see that he didn’t return Virginie’s flirtatious manner. Instead, his gaze settled upon herself, and he leaned close to her ear. “Fennel, radish, ginger, honey, mango, and pomegranate; enjoyed since Egyptian times, and known for their aphrodisiac qualities. A man or woman would serve them to the object of their affection, hoping to stimulate desire.”
Onora lowered her eyes, blushing furiously. She had no idea how to answer. How could she, knowing that others might be listening? Thank goodness, Clodagh was at the other end of the table.
“What’s that, Seton?” Monsieur Auvray’s tone was playful. “Whispering love promises to your bride-to-be? Is this the usual English dinner talk? If you continue, I shall have to start wooingma chèreVirginie across the tablecloth, lest she feel neglected, and it may be more than words she demands.”
Onora pressed her napkin to the corner of her mouth, wishing she might cover her face with it.
“You see the heart of it, Auvray.” Lord Seton raised his wine glass in a complimentary toast. This time, there was nothing hushed in his tone. “We should be celebrating what truly fuels our human experience—the desire for heightened experience, the pursuit of an elevated state of being, in which we glimpse ecstasy.”
Monsieur Auvray laughed. “To ecstasy,mon ami! May we enjoy it to our dying breath.”
His wife immediately lifted her own glass, and the action was taken up around the table. All around, there were resounding cries. “To ecstasy!” Even the Reverend Griffiths was joining in, seeming most convivial.
