Only You (3 page)

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Theodosia Postlewaite.  What’s yours?”

“Soloman Grey.”

Soloman Grey…

A bell rang somewhere in her distant memory, as if she’d heard of him before, but she couldn’t imagine where or when it would have been.  She peeked up at him, deciding he was older than she was, probably thirty or so, and he looked older than that, as if he’d suffered some painful blows over the years.

“Have we met, Mr. Grey?”

“No.”

“I thought I recognized your name.”

“I suppose so.  Most people know it.”

He didn’t expound, and she asked, “Who is your family?  Are you from London?”

“An eternity ago, I lived in London, but my past is of no consequence to you or anyone.”

Well, he’d told her, hadn’t he?

If he was trying to pique her curiosity so she’d query him further, he was vastly mistaken.  She had no intention of being cordial.

He was magnificent and dashing, and he was definitely tough and brave, like a character out of a romantic novel, which meant she had no desire to chat.

After the debacle with Lord Trent, after she’d learned how dangerous a handsome man could truly be, she had no reason to pretend any interest.  She’d traveled to Egypt with her Aunt Edna to escape the gossip, to restore her tattered reputation, and she would exhibit pristine behavior at all times.

Mr. Soloman Grey could jump in the Nile for all she cared.

“How did you end up lost?” he asked, just when she wished he’d be quiet.

“I was shopping with my cousin, and we were…separated.”

She could have waxed on about Fenton, about his personal problems, about his dire need for attention, but she wasn’t about to air any dirty laundry in front of a stranger.

“How were you separated?” he inquired.

“I’m not sure.  I simply turned around and he was gone.”

“How old is your cousin?”

“Ten.  Why?”

“Where was your maid?”

“I don’t have one.”

“You were in the bazaar with your ten-year-old cousin?  That’s it?”

“Yes.”

He halted and glared.  “Are you a dunce?  Are you a fool?”

“No.”

“Then are you deliberately trying to get yourself killed?”

“Killed!  Honestly, Mr. Grey.”

“This isn’t London, Miss Postlewaite.”

“I realize that.”  She could have added,
and it’s Lady Theodosia to you,
but why bother?  She didn’t intend to ever see him again.

“The city is filled with cut-throats and pick pockets, with murderers and thieves.  You’re lucky I came along when I did.”

“Yes, I am, and I’ve thanked you, so you can cease lecturing me.  I’m feeling plenty wretched and I don’t need you making me feel worse.”

Very much against her will, tears surged into her eyes and dripped down her cheeks.  The prior few months had been a lengthy slog of misfortune:  her naïve encounter with Lord Trent, Hedley immediately severing their engagement, her father’s rage, his demand that she sail to Egypt with Edna to let the rumors die down.

Despite Theo insisting nothing had happened with Lord Trent, no one would listen to her.  She’d believed an abrupt departure from England would simply exacerbate the impression that she was guilty of misconduct, but her pleas had fallen on deaf ears.

It was typical that her initial foray onto the streets of Cairo would end in disaster, and she was beginning to suspect she was cursed. 

More tears flowed, and as she swiped at them, he scowled ferociously.  “Are you crying?”

“Yes.”

“I can’t abide a maudlin woman.  Stop it.”

“You’re a veritable fount of compassion, aren’t you?”  She didn’t want to cry anymore than he wanted her too.  She took several deep breaths, calming herself sufficiently that she could carry on a conversation.

“The brigand who accosted me?  Mr. Akbar?”

“Yes.”

“You’re acquainted with him?”

“I am.  This isn’t the first time I’ve caught him harassing a Brit.”

“He was adamant about absconding with me.”

“He definitely was.”

“What might he have done?  Have you any idea what he was planning?”

“I wouldn’t presume to explain.  The possibilities are too shocking to describe to a young lady.”

“Oh.”

She fought off a shudder of dread, not keen to be apprised of any details.

Throughout the voyage from England, Aunt Edna had expounded about foreign lands and the perils a traveler could face, how quickly a female could land herself in a jam without even noticing she had.

Theo hadn’t paid attention to the warnings, had rolled her eyes and ignored her aunt’s preaching.  Edna had spent decades in India, and she had very staunch opinions about the lower classes.  Clearly, Edna had experience and knowledge that Theo needed to heed.

She wouldn’t venture out again on her own, wouldn’t be stupid or reckless.  Most especially, she wouldn’t join any excursion suggested by Fenton, and she had to quit being such an easy target for his pranks.

Her palms were stinging, were cut and bleeding from when she’d fallen to the cobbles.  Her skirt was torn too, a few stitches at the waist having ripped loose.  There were dirt stains at her knees, and the toes of her shoes were scuffed. 

It dawned on her that she’d left her bonnet behind, and momentarily she wondered if she should request they go back for it, but she didn’t.  She couldn’t imagine he’d oblige her. 

He saw her scraped palms, and he frowned and clucked his tongue.  Like the gallant she wouldn’t have supposed he could be, he produced a white kerchief and handed it over.  She pressed it to her skin, wincing over the fact that she was hurt.

“Is that your only injury?” he asked.

“Except to my pride.”

At her reply, he barked out a laugh, and it didn’t sound as if he laughed very often.  “Then I expect you’ll survive.”

“I expect I will too.”

They were approaching the stone arches, and Fenton dawdled in the crowd, looking into the bazaar and watching for her to follow him out.  He was grinning, appearing cocky and proud of himself for having sneaked off without her. 

Suddenly, she felt very tired as she was forced to admit how awful the trip would constantly be.

She was trapped with Fenton and Edna.  With Edna’s daughter, Susan, too.  Susan was twenty and had grown up under the same conditions as Fenton, with Edna away in India, and Susan enrolled in boarding school in England.

The three of them were practically strangers.  Edna didn’t know how to parent her two children, and Susan and Fenton didn’t know how to act around her or how to accept her rules and regulations.  The whole situation was fraught with stress and misunderstanding, and as they sailed down the Nile to the isolated, desert archeological digs, it would only get worse.

She wished the past year had never happened.  She wished she’d never gone to London to stay with her father.  She wished she’d never let him arrange her engagement to Hedley.  She wished she’d never been dim-witted enough to dawdle with Lord Trent in that dark parlor on Christmas Eve.  She wished…wished…

Oh, what was the point?  She’d been banished to Egypt with her aunt and cousins, and she couldn’t return home until Aunt Edna decided sufficient time had passed for the scandal to have waned. 

Theo simply had to buck up and cope with the consequences.  There was no use complaining or feeling sorry for herself.

“Could I ask you a favor?” she said.

“Yes, but I likely won’t grant it.”

“Could we claim I fell back there?  I don’t care to have anyone learn of the episode with Mr. Akbar.”

“Why?”

“Why do you think?  If I confess that my cousin and I were separated and that I was accosted by a lecher, I’ll never hear the end of it.  I’d rather pretend none of it happened.”

“Fine by me.” 

He shrugged, and she exhaled a sigh of relief.

If he’d demanded Edna be told, Theo would have died from mortification.  And he’d competently dealt with the problem, hadn’t he?  He’d given Akbar a thrashing, so there was no reason to raise a huge stink.

Fenton glanced over and saw her, and his smug grin immediately became solicitous and concerned.

“Theo!  Where have you been?  I’ve been searching everywhere.”

“Have you?” she groused.

“I turned around, and I couldn’t find you.”

“I couldn’t find you either.”

“You didn’t buy a scarf for Mother.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Would you like to?  I’m certain she’d be happier if we brought her a gift.”

The little cur!  He actually assumed she’d agree to being tricked a second time!  Well, Theo was completely gullible and his mischief always worked, so why wouldn’t he try again?  He thought his shenanigans were funny.

“No, I don’t want to get a scarf,” she said.  “I’m very hot, and I want to go to the hotel.”

“Have you suffered a mishap?  Where’s your bonnet?”

“I…lost it.  I fell.”

“My goodness,” he ingenuously commiserated.  “Were you hurt?”

“No.”  She stared across the busy courtyard to the spot where their porters had sworn they’d wait, but she couldn’t locate them.  “Where are the porters, Fenton?”

He oozed innocence.  “Aren’t they over in the shade?”

She wouldn’t be surprised if he’d sent them away in the hopes that he could annoy her further.  Nor would she be surprised if they’d simply grown bored and left.

She blew out a heavy breath.  Why, oh, why was she in Egypt?  Why, oh, why had she let herself be roped into a lengthy holiday with her relatives?  She barely knew them and didn’t like them very much, and the close proximity was quickly wearing thin.

She peeked up at Mr. Grey, and he was studying Fenton, his censorious gaze roving over Fenton’s features.  He was taking the boy’s measure and seemed to have figured out his wicked temperament.

Fenton was blond and blue-eyed, tiny and slight, so he looked younger than he was.  He had the face of a cherub, which was why it was so easy for him to cause trouble, and he was always able to deny culpability.

Mr. Grey was a hard nut to crack though, and he asked Fenton, “How were you separated from your cousin?”

“I have no idea,” Fenton replied.  “One minute she was right next to me, and the next she wasn’t.”

He couldn’t hide a smirk, and Mr. Grey turned to Theo and said, “Shall we leave him here and see if he can get himself back to the hotel by himself?”

Fenton’s jaw dropped.  “You can’t do that!”

“Can’t I?” Mr. Grey fumed. 

“I’ll tell my mother,” Fenton warned. 

“So tell her.”  Mr. Grey gave a dismissive shrug.  “I think it would be amusing to abandon you.  What’s your opinion?” he asked Theo.  “Is he smart enough to get back on his own?  Or would he have his throat slit in some alley?”

“We’re not leaving him,” she said, wishing she had the temerity to behave so reprehensibly.  “How can I hire a chair?  The porters who brought us were from the hotel, but it appears they’ve departed.”

At the news, Mr. Grey’s expression was thunderous.  “I’ll have a conversation about it with the manager.”

“Again, Mr. Grey, how will I accomplish the hiring of porters?  Who would aid us?  Can you point them out?”

“I’ll handle it for you, Miss Postlewaite.  It’s obvious I can’t let you go off on your own.  There’s no predicting what sort of jam you might land yourself in.”

“I’m perfectly capable of getting myself to the hotel without incident.”

“Are you?”  He scoffed.  “You just admitted you can’t so much as rent a chair without assistance.”

“Besides that small problem, I can manage.”

“Sure you can, Miss Postlewaite.  Sure you can.”

He whistled to some men, and they rushed over.  In a matter of seconds, Theo and Fenton were deposited in the chair, and they’d started off.

Mr. Grey trotted with them, and while Theo tried not to glance out, not to notice how vigilantly he assessed the route, she felt safe with him standing so close and was very, very glad that he’d insisted on accompanying her the rest of the way.

S
oloman grabbed Fenton before
he could skip into the hotel. He latched onto the boy’s ear and yanked him to a halt.

Miss Postlewaite was already in the lobby. Soloman wasn’t really interested in following her in, but she’d invited him to meet her aunt, and to his stunned surprise, he’d agreed.

Normally, he’d have been running fast and furiously in the other direction, but he was unnecessarily intrigued by her. He was quite certain—given sufficient opportunity—the pretty, gullible Theodosia would provide hours of amusement.

She was that kind of adorable mess.

“If you pull another stunt like that,” he hissed at Fenton, “I will skin you alive.”

Fenton peered up at him with wide blue eyes.  “What stunt?”

“You can fool your cousin all you want, and I’m sure you can fool your mother.  But you can’t fool me.  You left her in that bazaar on purpose.”

“I did not.”

Soloman’s fingers pinched tighter, making Fenton squirm.  “This isn’t some parlor game in London.  This is Cairo, Egypt.”

“I know that.”

“It’s dangerous for a woman to walk about on her own.”

“Nothing happened to her,” Fenton snidely claimed.  “She’s fine.”

“Despite your mischief.  If you play such a nasty trick on her ever again, I’ll take a switch to you.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“I would.”

“I’ll tell my mother,” the little miscreant threatened as he had earlier.

“By all means.  Tell her.  Then
I
will tell her what you did to your cousin.”

“Try it.”  Fenton grinned a malevolent grin.  “Mother would never believe you over me.”

Soloman shoved him toward the grand front doors, and he laughed and raced away.  Soloman thought about chasing after him, administering a few hard whacks alongside the head just to prove that he could, but the spoiled brat wasn’t worth it.

Besides, Miss Postlewaite had finally realized he wasn’t right behind her.  She spun and asked, “You’re coming in, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I suppose I will.”

“My Aunt Edna will like to thank you for bringing us home.”

He didn’t imagine her aunt would think any such thing.  If he was lucky, she wouldn’t recognize his name.  Miss Postlewaite hadn’t, but her aunt might.

For that very reason, he rarely involved himself with the British tourists who wandered through Cairo, and over the prior decade, he’d met boatloads of them.  Their world was a small one, and he could spot a Brit at a hundred paces.  But his self-imposed exile suited him, so he couldn’t figure out why he would deliberately put himself in a situation where he would stir new gossip or be insulted to his face.

Yet apparently, he wasn’t finished with Miss Postlewaite.  From the moment he’d seen Akbar marching off with her, he’d been fascinated.  The silly woman was a menace who was in need of constant protecting.  No doubt she assumed the event was ended by his kicking Akbar several times, but once he’d chatted with her aunt, he’d return to the bazaar, would find Akbar and deliver a louder message.

More and more often, his temper was spiking, and he couldn’t seem to rein it in.  Miss Postlewaite’s appearance in his paltry universe had given him cause to vent a bit of ire at a reprobate who thoroughly deserved it.

She asked, “Could you speak to someone in a position of authority about the porters abandoning us at the bazaar?  I’m not sure who to tell or how to say it.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll definitely tell someone for you.”

“Is it common for them to do that?  We’ve only just arrived, so I’m not certain what’s customary and what’s not.”

“Yes, it’s common.  Typically, women are too sheltered.  They don’t have the experience or sense to avoid hazardous circumstances, so in a place like this, it’s easy for a criminal to take advantage.”

“What a charming compliment,” she sarcastically replied.  “I love being told I have no sense.”

“While you’re here, you have to be more cautious.”

“I plan to be.”

She flashed a smile that he felt clear down to the tips of his toes, and he gaped at her, wondering why she had such a strange effect on him.

It wasn’t as if he never crossed paths with European women.  It was all the rage to sail the Nile and explore the pyramids, so tourists were a penny a dozen.  And it wasn’t as if he was longing to interact with a beautiful female.  His paramour, Cassandra Valda, supplied plenty of entertainment.

Miss Postlewaite was very different from Cassandra though.  Cassandra was French, a lithe, willowy, auburn-haired vixen who was possessed of every wicked trait, so she was the perfect companion for a man of his jaded state.

In contrast, Miss Postlewaite was blond and blue-eyed, fresh and wholesome, like a dairy maid who had walked out of a verdant pasture.  She was short and slender, but rounded in all the appropriate spots.  Her skin was smooth and silky, the color of peaches and cream, and she had dimples that made her look as if she was always about to burst out laughing.

He was cynical and weary so he wanted to stand close to her.  She exuded goodness, as if she had such a kind nature she couldn’t hold it in, and he hoped some of her positive decency might rub off.  Then again, maybe he was simply a disgusting roué, and his interest in getting close had nothing to do with pure motives.

They started across the lobby when it dawned on him that he was underdressed for the occasion.  The ostentatious surroundings were opulent and lavish, constructed for the most discerning, wealthy traveler.  Fleetingly, he considered leaving, changing his clothes, then returning when he could present a better image.

As quickly as he pondered the notion, he discounted it.  He intended to say hello, then go.  He had no desire to linger and was still perplexed as to why he’d agreed to meet her aunt.  He was certain the encounter would end badly.

The British citizens who journeyed to Cairo either knew him or knew
of
him.  Since he’d just had to engage in a brawl on Miss Postlewaite’s behalf, he wasn’t in the mood for any rebuffs from her relatives.

Out on the verandah, a stern older woman was waving at them.  A young lady was seated with her, and she was waving too.

Miss Postlewaite peeked up at him.  “We don’t have to climb the stairs after all.  My aunt and my cousin, Susan, are having tea on the patio.”

“I see that.”

She leaned nearer and murmured, “Please don’t mention the…
incident
at the bazaar.  It would upset my aunt.”

“I’m sure it would.  How will you explain your missing bonnet and scraped palms?”

“I’ll claim I tripped, my bonnet fell off, and a camel stepped on it.  It was ruined, so I threw it away.”

“That will work.”  He grinned, liking her more than he should.  “Are you a skilled liar?”

“No.  I’m surprised to discover that I have any talent for deception.”

“Perhaps it’s a natural and previously unnoted aptitude, Miss Postlewaite.”

“Perhaps.”  She scowled.  “And…ah…when I introduce you, could you…ah…call me Lady Theodosia?”

She blushed a charming shade of pink, and he had to fight not to flinch. 

A bloody nobleman’s daughter!

There was no way his identity would remain a secret for much longer.  He would have turned and stomped out, but she stopped him simply by slipping her hand into the crook of his arm.

“Aunt Edna is a bit stuffy,” she whispered, “and a bit forceful, but don’t let her rattle you.”

“She couldn’t possibly,” he whispered in reply.

“She has a gentle disposition, but she comes across as a tad harsh.”

“I’ll try to hold up,
Lady
Theodosia.”

His tone was overly mocking, and her scowl deepened.  “Are you angry that I didn’t tell you sooner?”

“You might have warned me who you are.”

“There was no need.  I’m not anyone of consequence.”

It was much the same comment he’d made about his own antecedents.  Weren’t they a pair? 

With her pathetic statement quietly hurled, they exited onto the verandah and any opportunity for further discussion was cut short.

The wide patio looked out over the Nile, the majestic river flowing past.  Pleasure boats and fishing boats drifted by.  He never grew tired of the sight, and he could have dawdled there all afternoon, but Lady Theodosia yanked him over to her aunt’s table.

“Aunt Edna, how nice to find you here.  It’s so pretty and so much cooler by the water.”

“Theo.”  Her aunt appeared horridly grumpy, and she frowned at Soloman as if he were a dead rat the cat had dragged into the house.  “Who is this?”

“Edna, I had a little trouble at the bazaar,” Lady Theodosia said.

“What sort of trouble?”

“I fell and—”

“Honestly, Theo.  You’re never careful when you should be.”

“You’re too right, Aunt Edna,” she smoothly said.  “Mr. Grey helped me up and escorted Fenton and me to our chair, but our porters had fled, so we were stranded.  He hired a new chair for us and he followed us home to ensure we arrived safe and sound.  Wasn’t that kind of him?”

“Yes, very kind.”

Edna glowered, and Soloman suffered a burst of sympathy for Lady Theodosia.  What an awful traveling companion Edna must be.  What an awful way to see the pyramids, to try to have an adventure.

Edna was older, probably fifty or more, so she must have had her children later in life.  Stout and rounded, she was a
matron
in every sense of the word.  Her eyes were grey, her hair grey and pulled into a tight chignon, and her skin was lined with wrinkles as if she’d never enjoyed a minute of happiness. 

She was dressed in widow’s weeds, the black fabric dark and heavy, and it had to be incredibly uncomfortable.  A servant was standing behind her and frantically waving a palm frond to cool her.  Soloman could hardly keep from suggesting she consider changing her clothes.

The girl across from her, Susan, was obviously related to Lady Theodosia, but not nearly as fetching.  She was a few years younger, nineteen or twenty, so she was barely out of the schoolroom.  Like her cousin, she was blue-eyed and blond, with agreeable features and perfect manners, and he was already bored to tears.

A servant rushed over and held out a chair for Lady Theodosia and himself, and for a brief second, Soloman hesitated.  He was about to announce he didn’t intend to tarry, but Lady Theodosia smiled at him again, and he plopped down—even though he hadn’t meant to.

“This is my aunt, Edna Wallace,” she said, “and my cousin, Susan Wallace.”

“Hello, ladies.”  He nodded, trying to pretend he had acceptable manners too.

Lady Theodosia continued.  “Edna’s husband was the late Colonel Winthrop Wallace.  He served with the Horse Guards, Sixth Regiment, in India, and he had a long and distinguished career there.  Have you any family in the military?  Might you have known the Colonel?”

“No, sorry,” he responded.

“Edna, Susan, this is Mr. Soloman Grey.”  She grinned.  “But that’s all I can tell you about him, except that he’s very gallant.  He was enormously helpful to Fenton and me at the bazaar, and I wanted to introduce you.”

At hearing her describe him as
gallant
, he bit down a guffaw.  He wasn’t at all, and he kept his steady gaze locked on Edna Wallace, waiting for her reaction to his name.  It came quickly enough—as he’d suspected it would.

She’d been sipping her tea, and she paused and frowned, her cup stopping in mid-air.  Then she smacked it down on the saucer.

“Theo,” she asked, “did you say
Soloman
Grey?”

“Yes?”

Mrs. Wallace’s expression was furious and even a tad alarmed, and she studied him meticulously as if he might suddenly strip off his clothes and dance about naked.

“By any chance,” she demanded of Soloman, “are you kin to the late earl, Ralston Grey?  Was your half-brother, Caleb Grey?  Are you
that
Soloman Grey?”

“The very one,” he cockily retorted.

“Well…” Mrs. Wallace huffed.  “I’m at a loss for words.”

An awkward silence ensued, where Mrs. Wallace gaped with dismay, and Lady Theodosia and her cousin shared confused glances.

“What is it?” Lady Theodosia finally inquired.

“I’ll let your aunt explain,” he said.  “I’m certain she’ll do a bang-up job of it.”  He stood to depart.  “I don’t believe I’ll stay for tea after all.”

He spun away, but Lady Theo reached out and clasped his wrist.  “You’re leaving?  Why?  We’ve only just arrived.  Don’t go.”

“I shouldn’t have come in with you.  I hope you have a lovely holiday in Egypt.  Goodbye.”

She tightened her grip, but he yanked away and marched out.

“Mr. Grey!” she called, but he didn’t halt or reply.

He wasn’t hurt by Mrs. Wallace’s remarks, but he was definitely irked by them.  Didn’t Londoners have anything better to do than palaver over his family’s calamity? 

The tragedy had happened almost a decade earlier, when he’d been a stupid boy of twenty who’d had no idea how to handle the swirl of rumor and accusation.  His answer had been to flee England and never return.

It was probably asking too much to expect the debacle would eventually be forgotten, but there had been hundreds of scandals since then.  Why couldn’t some of them transfix people as his own had?  Why couldn’t people shift their attention to some other unlucky sot? 

He’d been intrigued by the very pretty, very gullible, Lady Theodosia, and for a few minutes, he’d imagined it would be amusing to befriend her.  But there were many other pretty women in the world, and they had many interesting ways to keep him busy. 

He left the hotel without looking back.