Читать книгу: «The Rake's Enticing Proposal», страница 4

Chapter Five

Stop staring, Ellie. Yes, Chase Sinclair is a well-favoured man, but that is no reason to discard one’s dignity. Keep your eyes on your task. Well favoured, hah! He’s beautiful. Just look at him.

For the hundredth time in the last several days Ellie did just that.

And for the hundredth time she forced her gaze back to her task, thoroughly disgusted with herself.

He was leaning over some papers, his hand deep in his dark hair, his forehead resting on his palm. The sharp lines of his profile were already etched in her mind: the groove at the side of his mouth that curved when he smiled, the fan of his lashes, long and dark and curving just a little at the end. How ridiculous was it that she knew precisely how a man’s eyelashes curved?

Even Susan, who leapt from infatuation to infatuation as if they were stepping stones across a stream, could not be so silly.

Though to be fair, after what she’d dealt with these past five years, Ellie considered she was long overdue some foolishness. It was only unfortunate that her first infatuation, if that was what it was, had to alight on someone like Mr Sinclair. But that, too, wasn’t surprising. She had never spent so much time alone with any man other than family or Henry and his father, and she had certainly never met anyone as impressive as Chase Sinclair. She disliked the thought that she was joining the ranks of probably all-too-numerous females infatuated with this admittedly impressive specimen of manhood.

She couldn’t’ even blame him for it. He wasn’t even doing anything to merit his dubious reputation. For a rake he was sadly un-rakish and she could see now why Dru and Fen treated him with such ease.

The worst was that she felt comfortable with him. Aside from her stupid propensity to stare at him, she did not feel in least awkward in his presence.

It felt as natural and as right as being alone and that was...peculiar.

He made her laugh with his nonsense, inventing ever more creative scenarios to account for her sudden travel to Egypt—moving on from pugs and plump princes to becoming a famous artist commissioned to paint a portrait of Muhammad Ali’s favourite horse. On another occasion she’d been beguiled into an ascension of a hot air balloon and was swept all the way eastwards, only to become stuck on the tip of the pyramid.

She’d even managed to concoct a few plots of her own, but they were never as exotic as his, running aground on objections before they even made it out of her mouth.

In between work and nonsense, he ensured there was always a supply of tea and didn’t even complain when she couldn’t resist reading sections aloud from the notebooks she was slowly but steadily putting into the correct order.

In short, he treated her with his own peculiar combination of irreverence and respect which, had she not been foolish enough to conceive this girlish tendre for him, would have made her completely comfortable in his company.

But it only made it worse.

She would just have to ensure she gave him no reason to suspect. And, even more importantly, gave Lady Ermintrude no reason to suspect it. Ellie did not want to give her the satisfaction of knowing her machinations in forcing her into Chase’s company had borne fruit. In any case he would likely leave soon, she reminded herself sternly.

Although he did not appear to be hurried, Tubbs, his valet, had already packed all the cabinets in the Ghoulish Gallery—gone were the gelatinous amphibians and carved beetles and statuettes, and this morning two trunks appeared in the study, clearly ready to receive the books and papers they were reviewing.

And Chase would not be the only one leaving soon—she knew she must face the harsh reality that, with all the best will in the world, Henry had overestimated Huxley’s financial position. His plan to save Whitworth was proving just as unrealistic as pugs and hot air balloons. It was time to face the truth.

But she wasn’t ready. Not to leave.

Ready or not, Ellie Walsh—you will return to Whitworth and try to save what can be saved just as you will recover from this foolishness, she told herself resolutely, opening the next notebook on her stack.

Or perhaps not.

It certainly didn’t feel like any infatuation Susan described to her. There were no stars and sighs and she didn’t think he was perfect and above all mortals. But she did feel that saying goodbye to these days in the study would be like leaving herself behind, something true and real that was only just beginning to form.

It felt...wrong.

The words on the page in front of her blurred. She placed her hand over them as if afraid the threatening tears would burst their dam and inundate the world. But she breathed them back inside and turned the page. At least she could escape inside the foreign but strangely familiar world of Lord Huxley’s notebooks, if only for a while.

She glared at the first sentence as she noticed Chase’s name. She did not want to read about him at the moment. She debated picking up another notebook, but already her mind was ploughing ahead and she gave in.

‘Damned if I know how he does it. It wasn’t the first time Chase smoothed over matters with the authorities. Tessa says it’s a gift and curse, the way the boy can wrap people round his thumb without even appearing to.

‘Just like that time with Awal. By some means as yet obscure to me Chase talked Poppy into hiring Awal for the whole season even after Poppy swore up and down the Nile he had no use for a half-blind peasant come begging for al-Jinn Chase to help him. He even convinced Poppy it was his idea. If Chase ever lost his inheritance, he could make back his fortune with that silver tongue.

‘I told T. I would worry if Chase used it for his own benefits, but he only appears to do so when someone else is in trouble. T. said that worried her most of all and I must say she has a point. It’s the Sinclair curse—all those extremes of dark and light take their toll.

‘Poor Tessa. Sometimes I sorely regret she met Howard through me and other times I’m grateful—these three wretches have certainly enlivened my life. When they aren’t adding to my white hairs. This business with Khalidi’s cats was a step too far and, though Chase said the idea was his, I detect Sam’s fell influence. Chase is usually more refined in his machinations.

‘Still, he should have stopped her rather than taken a hand in such an outrageous endeavour. Khalidi would have been well within his rights not only to keep Edge in gaol, but toss Chase in with him and have the rest of us banished from Qetara. I’m only glad Lucas was in Cairo or he’d no doubt have joined the fray. I told T. she ought to ring a peal over them, they are too old for such nonsense. Abducting cats! What next?’

She turned the pages, but there were no more references to the abducted cats, so she searched the stack for the notebook preceding this, to no avail. Although at least it confirmed one of her assumptions.

‘Oh, bother!’ she exclaimed.

‘What have I done now?’

She looked up swiftly to see Chase watching her, the glinting smile in his eyes. It was like a flame flaring up too close to her face—she pressed back in the armchair, her hands tightening around the notebook to stop them from an instinctive need to press against the heat in her cheeks. His profile was bad enough, but faced with the warmth of his smile, that invitation to share, she became as soft and shapeless inside as a lump of kneaded dough.

‘Whatever it is, if it has struck you dumb, it must be bad. Should I apologise?’ he prompted, still with the same warm amusement.

‘It’s the c-cats,’ she stammered.

‘Cats?’

‘The ones you abducted.’

‘I...what?’

‘That is just it. I don’t know. It doesn’t say. And I cannot find the one before. And I really wished to know what happened.’

‘You do realise you are making no sense? Have you been tippling Huxley’s brandy behind my back?’

‘I don’t imbibe, Mr Sinclair,’ she replied, trying to sound sensible, but her mouth was already curving upwards in response to his teasing. I don’t need brandy to make a fool of myself, she thought morosely.

‘Never?’

‘Spirits are expensive and we rarely entertain at Whitworth.’ She didn’t add that the only visitors were creditors, local matrons trying to interfere in their lives, or Henry, and of these only Henry was encouraged to linger. The teasing warmth in Chase’s eyes was giving way to speculation and she looked away and turned the conversation back to the notebooks. ‘I wanted to know the story behind his account of you and Sam abducting this Mr Khalidi’s cats, but the notebook before this seems to be missing.’

Laughter drove away the expression that had made her uncomfortable.

‘Lord, I had forgotten about that. That was when Edge, Lord Edgerton, tried to rescue a damsel in distress and ended up in gaol.’

‘Was your sister the damsel in distress?’

‘Sam wouldn’t thank you for considering her a damsel in distress. At least not back in those days. No, this was Fatima, Khalidi’s daughter. Edge was a rather handsome fellow but not quite aware of his charms.’ He glanced up. ‘Here is your chance for a sarcastic comment, Miss Walsh. Along the lines of “the same cannot be said of a certain vain Sinclair”.’

‘A certain aggravating Sinclair. Stop being so clever and tell me what happened.’

‘Very well. Khalidi was a wealthy merchant who often did business with my cousin and Fatima was his eldest daughter and silly enough to tumble head over heels in love with Edge. When she learned he was leaving Egypt to join the army in Portugal, she escaped her home one evening and came to cast herself at Edge’s feet.’

‘How romantic!’

‘That’s what Sam thought, but Edge is one of the least romantic fellows you could meet. You should have seen his face when the poor girl burst into our dining room at Bab el-Nur and professed her love. He could be spectacularly obtuse and hadn’t even realised she fancied him. I always thought that was why his lovers were older, more experienced women; they must have made it absolutely clear they...’ He cleared his throat and continued. ‘Well, when he tried to explain he did not think of her in those terms, she burst into tears and threw her arms around him and of course that was the moment Khalidi and his head guard Abu-Abas barged into the house with a band of his men.’

‘Goodness. Couldn’t your cousin or your mother explain what had happened?’

‘Unfortunately, they were away that evening, I can’t remember where. But while I was trying to explain it to Khalidi, Abu-Abas ordered the soldiers to detain Edge. Again, unfortunately, Sam tried to stop them and managed to land on her behind to which Edge took offence and gave Abu-Abas a bloody nose and we were in the middle of a melee. By the end of it Edge was carted off to gaol.’

‘Oh, no! Poor Lord Edgerton.’

‘Since I was left to try to prevent Sam from disembowelling Abu-Abas, believe me, I would have preferred to take Edge’s place. She was spitting mad and terrified of what they might do to Edge. She thought it was her fault, which, to be fair, it was.’

‘Oh, the poor girl. I would have been terrified as well if something like that happened to one of my brothers. But what has this to do with cats?’

‘Well, they refused to release Edge because hawajis, or foreigners, weren’t very welcome in Qetara at the time and so Sam concocted a plan to put pressure on Khalidi by abducting one of his beloved cats.’

Ellie groaned. ‘That sounds like a plan Hugh would concoct.’

‘My sympathies. It was definitely not one of my better efforts. We brought a special reed box and sneaked into Khalidi’s house and found two of his most indolent felines. Unfortunately, we took a wrong turn on our way out and found ourselves face to face with Khalidi and his family. Sam panicked and dropped her side, which woke the cats and they started yowling.’

‘Oh, no—were they hurt?’

‘Not a hair on their pudgy bodies was harmed, I promise. But naturally we opened the lid and they darted out like bats from a cave and made straight for Khalidi and set to purring.’

‘Were you dreadfully punished?’

‘I certainly expected to be. But before I could say a word Sam began a speech in Arabic.’

‘Susan to the life.’ Ellie laughed. ‘What was the speech about?’

‘I can’t remember precisely, something about Edge being as thick as a plank and having no interest in Fatima, and that she would find a thousand ways to plague Khalidi just like in the Bible if he didn’t release Edge immediately. Luckily Khalidi began laughing.’

‘Thank goodness.’

‘I certainly did. He ordered Edge released, but he did exact punishment. He’d seen a sketch Sam had made of Fatima and demanded she draw each of his precious cats. There were more than a dozen of them so it took a while, but she didn’t complain. He is a close friend of ours to this day.’

‘And Edge? Was he hurt in the prison?’

‘Edge is also fluent in Arabic and apparently he lectured his gaolers on the abysmal conditions and the likelihood that their negligence would come back to bite them on the...would expose them to disease, so they were only too happy to see the last of him. He didn’t speak to Sam for weeks, though, which was a more serious punishment for her than having to sketch Khalidi’s cats.’

‘Do you know, it is quite strange. From your uncle’s notebook it is clear you were far more active than you portrayed. He says it wasn’t the first time you smoothed matters with the authorities.’

‘My cousin was prone to embellishments.’

‘He appears a very reliable raconteur to me. Was he embellishing about Awal as well?’

‘If he was writing about owls, then he was definitely embellishing. Or hallucinating.’

‘Don’t make game of my pronunciation. He writes you convinced Poppy to hire someone named Awal even though he was half-blind.’

‘Awal? He was near-sighted, but he had the hands of a watchmaker. Once we found him spectacles, he became one of Poppy’s finest workers—if anything needed mending Awal could do it.’

‘I presume it was you who found the spectacles for him.’

‘My honour was at stake—I had to prove Awal wasn’t the useless layabout they claimed.’

‘I see; it was purely self-interest. Not kindness towards someone in need of employment.’

‘I don’t deal in purity. And you are making a mountain out of a molehill, Miss Walsh.’

‘Of course I am. I apologise for making such dreadful insinuations about you.’

‘So you should be. I’ve called men out for less.’

His tone was humorous, but Ellie knew it for the smokescreen it was. She was struck by an image of a tall, dark-haired boy of sixteen, halfway to being a man. She could understand why his mother worried about Chase the overly responsible boy and why he’d diverged to choose the rake’s path in the end. She would be tempted to do the same given the chance to safely escape her own responsibilities.

‘I can’t help it. These tales are far too entertaining. Someone should compile his diaries into a book. I believe travel memoirs are very popular and certainly tales of Egypt are quite the rage at the moment, thanks to the Desert Boy books.’

‘I don’t wish to dash your fantasies to the ground, but to the best of my knowledge there are no magical sprites in Egypt.’

‘I know that, but the descriptions are so...vivid. Surely they are based on true places?’

‘Actually, I believe they are, for the most part. And I agree, they are very vivid. I know most of the places described there.’

‘You have read them, then?’

‘Of course, I could hardly not when...’ he paused and shook his head a little, as if surprised at himself ‘...when my sister Sam enjoys them so much. Huxley did as well. He was convinced he must know who wrote them and it vexed him no end he could not guess who it was.’

‘Would he likely have been acquainted with the author?’

‘Quite likely. He spent most of his winters there, both before and after his marriage, and was even there when Napoleon invaded. He knew most of the foreign nationals who spent time in Egypt, friend and foe. He was convinced it must be someone he knew and it irked him no end that he didn’t know who.’

Chase leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling, as if the mouldings held the key to some secret.

She stared at the strong line of his throat, the taut muscles and the shadowed hollow beneath his jaw. Her mouth watered, her cheeks began burning... She pressed her hand to her sternum, wondering if she was becoming ill.

His chair snapped back into place and she jerked upright as sharply as if she’d been slapped. What was wrong with her?

‘There’s another idea,’ he said lightly. ‘You shall travel to Egypt in the guise of a literary Bow Street Runner set upon the path of the elusive author of the Desert Boy books. What do you think?’

‘It is an improvement on being a companion to seventeen pugs. But aren’t Bow Street Runners men?’

‘Simply because they are does not mean they must be. Or if you would rather not be associated with Bow Street, you could go to Egypt as Madame Ambrosia, fabled occultist, who has received communication from her soul mate on the Other Side about the location of his treasure-laden resting place tucked beneath the step pyramid of Saqqara. All you need is a wealthy patron to finance your voyage.’

She tried hard to keep her mouth prim. ‘I see you are determined to persist in inventing one-thousand-and-one absurd ways to travel to Egypt. But since I don’t even know what an occultist is, this one is even less probable than the others.’

‘Occultists are fortune tellers who cloak their nonsense in talk of communication with the dead. It is actually quite clever—it gives you endless scope for invention.’

‘Well, with all due respect to your Madame Ambrosia, I find it had to believe anyone would be willing to pay my passage to Egypt on the word of a dead person.’

‘You will find people are willing to pay for the most absurd things. Why, I know a fellow who has four snuffboxes for every day of the year.’

‘One thousand, four hundred and sixty snuffboxes?’ Shock chased away her discomfort, her mind running ahead to calculate precisely what she could do with the monetary equivalent of that abundance. At one guinea per snuffbox...

‘You are very handy with numbers.’ He laughed.

‘I would hope so, since I am responsible for Whitworth’s accounts. And your friend is a profligate fool.’

‘I never said he was my friend,’ he replied meekly. ‘Merely someone I knew in Vienna. He had a room for them, too.’

‘A room for snuffboxes? A whole room only for snuffboxes?’

‘A whole room. Cabinets all along the walls, crimson-velvet-lined shelves and a footman whose only role in life was to lovingly polish each snuffbox in turn. It was like walking into a jewel box. I could hardly see for the glare of gold.’

‘That is just...just obscene! Why, at one guinea per box that would be enough to feed and house and clothe a family for years and years. All for snuffboxes! And if he was not a friend of yours, what were you doing in his room admiring his snuffboxes, Mr Sinclair?’

He looked a little less amused at her contempt.

‘If you must know, he wasn’t there at the time and I wasn’t interested in his snuffboxes, but what was in the room hidden behind those purposely distracting shelves. I have no more use for snuffboxes than you. And they were probably worth far more than a guinea a box, so you can heap more scorn on our profligate heads while you are all afire with missionary zeal.’

Ellie’s anger fizzled at the sting of hurt in his voice and also with curiosity.

‘I didn’t mean you are profligate, Mr Sinclair, and it was wrong of me to snap at you. I was merely imagining everything I could do with fifteen hundred guineas. And what was in that hidden room? And what were you doing there while he was away?’

‘Nothing and nothing.’ He shrugged and stacked the papers he had been reading, putting them to one side.

The room sank into silence and Ellie searched for something to say.

‘What does al-Jinn mean?’

He turned to her but his gaze was as suspicious as before.

‘Why?’

‘Your cousin writes Awal called you al-Jinn Chase. Is that how you say mister in Arabic?’

‘No. It means...spirit or demon...it’s just a nickname. It doesn’t mean anything.’

‘Oh.’ She wanted to ask more, but he spoke first.

‘Out of curiosity, what would you do with all those guineas if you had them, Ellie?’

He smiled suddenly, as if embarrassed at his ill temper, and she couldn’t help smiling back. She was so tempted to tell him everything and perhaps he would think of a way to save them... She shoved the thought away. She was not his problem.

She knew what she would do with such a sum. But what would she dream of doing?

‘I would sail to Egypt and discover a great temple filled with gold and riches and publish an account of my adventures which would be outshine even the Desert Boy books.’

‘A commendable plan. May I offer myself as a humble guide on your journey? I can be quite useful in a pinch, you know.’

‘So I can see from your cousin’s notebooks. You may come as my trusty squire. There, you may add that to your list of One Thousand and One Absurd Ways of Travelling to Egypt. Number four hundred and sixteen.’

The image she was weaving was so appealing she could almost see it roll out ahead of her as another path in life—one in which she walked side by side with this unaccountable, irreverent, sinfully seductive and often heartrendingly perceptive man. She looked down at her clasped hands, fighting the burn of tears.

It was almost over; the best week of her life.

Her sensible side tried to refute that foolish sentiment. How could the best week of her life exist while her family’s future was collapsing? Only an infatuated fool could believe that.

And yet it was.

Which meant that was probably precisely what she was.

She returned her attention to the notebook, turning the pages and seeing nothing at all.