Tears stung her eyes as she remembered those first days of her marriage, when she’d waited for Richard to come to her bed, wondering what was wrong with her. She’d always been self-conscious of her tall, willowy frame and flaming auburn hair. He’d seemed revolted by her, and she’d realized that their relationship might never be consummated, that she’d never have children of her own to love.
It had been almost a year before she’d finally found the courage to confront Richard and beg him to come to her bed so they could start a family. He’d taken pity on her then and confessed that he’d never want her in the intimate sense, because he simply wasn’t attracted to women.
At first, she’d fallen into a deep depression. Eventually, however, she accepted that there was no way to change her circumstances, so she poured all her energy into her otherpassion—archeology. She’d gone to lectures, enrolled in some classes, read every book she could get her hands on, and found mentors to develop her knowledge further until she knew just as much about the subject as the most prominent men in the country. Her love for history had turned into a full=fledged obsession, as she poured all her time and energy into deciphering a specific papyrus that led to a location in Egypt she’d dearly love to explore.
When she’d finally decoded it, she had first approached her husband about funding an expedition to see if her deductions were right. But even though Richard didn’t care what she did with her time, the duke refused to let her access any of the money she’d brought into the marriage for something he deemed so ridiculous.
She’d fumed with resentment, but the setback hadn’t destroyed her ambition. Over the years, she’d realized that she didn’t merely want to fund an expedition; she wanted to lead it herself. She wanted to trek across the African desert and see those ancient wonders for herself. She wanted to prove that her theory was correct.
She’d passed thousands of lonely nights dreaming of it, imagining every detail.
And then Richard had died.
Thankfully, her father had had the foresight to write a stipulation into the marriage contract that if, upon her husband’s death, she and Richard had no offspring, the bulk of those funds would revert to her. The duke hadn’t quibbled about the stipulation at the time, probably because he hadn’t expected his younger son to die in a brothel fire when he was not quite forty years old.
She’d found herself a very rich widow at the age of four and thirty years. And finally, the world had opened up to her. But even with her vast fortune, she’d had difficulties findingsomeone willing to take her to Egypt because she didn’t want to go as a tourist. She wanted to go as a scientist.
All those years, poring over dusty tomes, the quiet ridicule of her colleagues, the polite pity—it had all led to this. Her colleagues saw Egypt as a grand treasure hunt for riches to fill the British Museum and their pockets. But she knew the land held much more.
Her goal wasn’t to unearth a golden coffin or a jewel-encrusted mummy. She wanted to prove that the true treasures of that ancient world were not found in a sarcophagus, but in the wisdom and intellect of a people the British had so carelessly dismissed. She was going to find a truth that would shake the very foundations of their narrow-minded world, a testament to a culture whose greatest works were not monumental tombs, but riddles designed to be solved by the mind.
It would be her vindication, her life’s work made real.
With a sigh, she looked once again toward Lavender’s lovely home. If only her father had let her marry Maximillian Thorne. With her dowry, they could have pursued their mutual love of history. They could have explored the world. They could have had a family...
She blinked away a fresh wash of tears. It hurt even to imagine what might have been had they been allowed to marry. Besides, all of that was water under the bridge now. She couldn’t change the past. And she was too jaded now for such fanciful dreams. But she could still go to Egypt.
And perhaps Max could be the one to take her.
Feeling suddenly restless, she sighed, pushed up from the window seat, and crossed to her wardrobe, pulling out a small trunk. She and Daphne would be staying at her London townhouse. She used it frequently, whenever she traveled back to the city to attend a lecture or conduct further research, soshe didn’t need to pack much. However, putting together a few things would at least help take her mind off what lay ahead.
Thank goodness Daphne was coming with her. She didn’t know how she’d face Max again without at least one of her friends by her side.
Chapter Two
Maximillian Thorne ran a finger around the rim of his empty tankard, the gesture rhythmic, hypnotic. He wasn’t certain if it made the noise in his head louder or if the din of The Smuggler’s Lantern had finally faded. Not that it mattered much. Nothing mattered once one had drunk enough. He slumped in his chair at a table in the back corner and motioned for the waitress.
He’d only been back on English soil for a few weeks, and already, that familiar sense of isolation was clawing at him. All those years spent in Africa and on the Continent, he’d dreamed of returning to the land of his birth, but every time he had, he’d been disappointed. His parents were gone, and he’d never been close with his older brothers. The oldest, the current Earl of Warwick, hadn’t reached out to him once since their father’s funeral.
He wasn’t certain why he’d thought this time would be different. Perhaps because after his latest expedition to Cairo, he’d been desperate to get away from the heat and the ever-shifting sand. In the beginning, he’d enjoyed working as a guide in Egypt, especially after years of pointless war. But now he was so bloody tired of catering to so-called archaeologists, who cared nothing about the artifacts they dug up out of the ground. God. It sickened him. He hated watching privileged arseholes plunder ancient history for their own ends.
He’d thought a few months in London would do him some good. He’d dreamed of the cooler climate and imagined spending sensual nights in a fine bordello. But so far, he hadn’t ventured far from this seedy tavern that lay directly below the room he’d rented upstairs.
He had the bottom of the next mug of ale to look forward to, and that was plenty for tonight. He shied away from pondering overmuch on when his desires had gotten so... uninspired.
