Chapter Five
Dust danced through shafts of sunlight, turning the paneled showroom of Trevithick & Hawke’s on Haymarket a glowing golden hue. Max unrolled the map pouch across a counter pocked with generations of scars, beside a dozen water-skins and some iron-tipped pickaxes.
Once he’d committed to leading Eden’s expedition, he’d thrown himself into it absolutely. He’d been gathering supplies all day. Though he’d get most of what they needed once they arrived in Cairo, this high-end expeditionary outfitter had the things he wouldn’t trust to the bazaars in Cairo.
He glanced at Lucas, who was lingering over silk evening shirts. A humorless grin tugged at his lips. “I don’t think I’ll be needing any of those.”
Max had dragged his friend shopping with him this morning, deciding that it was the least the bastard could do. Truth be told, he was happy for the distraction. As long as he was trading barbs with Lucas, he didn’t have to think too much about what lay ahead.
Lucas laughed and threw one on top of the pile anyway. “You never know. You might have an occasion to dress formally.”
“I will be acting in the role of Eden’s guide,” Max said, grabbing a pair of collapsible brass sextants from a side shelf. “Not her escort to social events.” He added a few boxes of ammunition to the pile, resolutely practical.
“Trust me, it’s better to be safe than sorry,” Lucas retorted.
Max gave a sharp, derisive snort.
They walked to the front, where an over-eager clerk wrapped up their purchases with thick twine.
The door’s brass bell chimed as they stepped out into the bracing London afternoon, their arms full. Max felt the weight of Lucas’s gaze on him, considering, measuring.
“What?” he asked finally, when the silence stretched too long between them. “I don’t like it when you’re quiet.”
Lucas arched an eyebrow. “You doubt my ability to remain silent?”
“More your inclination.”
His friend stopped, turning to face him. “Do you really think you can keep her safe? Now that I’ve set you on this path, I’ve realized that perhaps I should have thought it through a bit more.”
Max’s immediate reaction to that was to hear his father’s voice, who’d forever doubted him. He wanted to lash out, tell Lucas that if he doubted his abilities, he could find someone else to accompany his cousin to Egypt, but he forced himself to look at the situation from a perspective other than his own. Lucas was worried about Eden’s safety, and his fears were justified.
“As well as anyone can,” he said at last. In all honesty, he had no idea what they’d face once they got there, and he certainly couldn’t promise that nothing would go wrong. “I’ll do my very best.”
Lucas sighed and ran his hand through his dark hair. “Well, I suppose that’s all I can ask.”
They continued walking until they reached the telegraph office, the dark paneling a twin to the outfitter’s store, the warmth suffocating compared to the brisk air outside. Light flickered from coal lamps, and Max’s eyes took a moment to adjust.
He fired off some terse instructions he’d written in advance to his preferred Bedouin crew, arranging things once they reached Cairo.
Lucas didn’t ask about the messages, and Max offered nothing, grateful, for once, that his answers weren’t in demand because he hated explaining himself. They shook hands and parted ways, then Max hailed a hansom cab and loaded all his packages inside.
Back in his cramped set of rooms above The Smuggler’s Lantern, Max lowered the heavy parcels to the floor. He sat at his narrow writing desk, the single candle flickering in the draft coming from the lone window, and wrote more letters. There was much to do and not a lot of time to do it. Given Eden’s insistence that they be at the dig site at the new moon, they’d have only a week or so in Cairo before they’d have to head out to the desert. And that was if the rest of the journey went to plan.
Soon, he found himself staring at the wall, cursing himself for having agreed to this. It could only go badly. He was almost certain of it. So why did he feel so compelled to risk his very life in pursuit of it? And why was he so ridiculously excited to spend time with the woman who had broken his heart so irrevocably?
He signed the last letter with a force that snapped the quill’s point, a neat fracture that matched the sharp edges of his impatience. He decided to go out and mail the letters now, because he couldn’t stand the quiet confines of his room any longer.
His retreat took him past the tavern, loud with evening patrons already well in their cups. He found himself slowing, sitting at the bar, and ordering a pint.
The first few drinks went down far too easily as he reached for that state where he wouldn’t have to think about any of this. Perhaps one more...
But then he sighed and set the mug down. He’d let himself get lost in alcohol too many times in the past few weeks, which was unlike him, but he’d been so adrift, longing to feel something, even if it was just numbness.
Well, he was certainly feeling things now, and he no longer wanted to escape them.
