The Most Eligible Bachelor Romance Collection: Nine Historical Romances Celebrate Marrying for All the Right Reasons (57 page)

“All right. Let it fall.” He stepped back a couple of paces.

From the top of the scaffold, the men released their hold on a cylindrical bundle. In a flourish, a waterfall of fabric unrolled down the wall.

Alicia gasped. The face of a serene woman with obsidian eyes and dusky skin stared out from the banner, twenty feet high. Down the left side were hieroglyphs and T
HE
T
REASURES OF A
P
RINCESS
.

“What are
you
doing in here?”

She turned at the peevish tone. The other man she’d encountered yesterday—the disagreeable, insulting one—approached, his thin mustache drawn down.

“You can’t be in here, miss. I declare, you girls are getting worse every day. Is there no place you won’t try to invade?” He took her elbow and began marching her toward the door.

“I’m not invading anywhere. The door was open. Unhand me, sir.” She tugged, but his grip tightened. Embarrassment heated her cheeks at being involved in an altercation two days in a row.

“Yoakum, release the lady.”

Her captor halted, but he didn’t let go. “Max, this is none of your affair.”

She looked over her shoulder at Max advancing quickly, and her mortification doubled. With her free hand she stuffed her sketchbook into her pocket lest he realize she’d been drawing him.

“I’m afraid it
is
my business. You’ve been quite rude to this young lady twice now. She is here as my guest, and I must ask you once again to unhand her.” He reached over and plucked Yoakum’s hand from Alicia’s arm, flicking it away as if it were a dead fish.

“Your guest?” Disbelief twisted Yoakum’s brow and his voice.

“That’s correct. I’ve been looking forward to showing her through the galleries once we finished hanging the banner. Now, I’ve a rather tight timetable today, so if you will be sure to secure the door on your way out, I’d be most appreciative. After all, we don’t want just anyone wandering in.” He sent a quick, meaningful look Alicia’s way, so full of humor she almost giggled.

The slender man’s mouth flattened, and his eyes went cold. Without a word, he turned on his heel and marched away, slamming the wooden door behind him.

Alicia let out her breath. “Who is that man?”

“Clarence Yoakum, one of the museum directors.”

“I hope he’s not your boss.” She tucked her pencil into her hair then realized what she’d done and yanked it down. He’d think her completely uncouth. A curl slid onto her shoulder.

“He’d like to think he is. In fact, it’s galling him that he isn’t.” He stuck out his hand. “I’m Max, and you are?”

“Ally.” For some reason her father’s pet name for her slipped out. And yet, it seemed right. Her museum self
was
Ally. “Thank you for rescuing me.” She put her hand in his. A jolt of awareness shot up her arm straight to her chest. His eyes were even bluer than she’d realized behind his glasses.

“Excuse me, sir. If you’re done with the banner, they’re ready to move the chariot whenever you say so.” A workman stood to the side.

“I’ll be right there.” He let her hand go and drew a sheet of paper from his pocket, unfolding it with a concentrated frown. “May I borrow your pencil?”

She handed it to him, and he carefully drew a line through one of the items. “Hang banner. Done.”

“That’s some list.”

“You have no idea.” He stuffed the paper back in his pocket and her pencil along with it. “Would you like to see a Nineteenth Dynasty chariot?”

She took his offered arm, bemused. “I’d love to.”

He led her to a small side gallery. “This is where we’re installing the chariot. Have a seat right here.” He led her to a small bench set along the wall. “I have to see to the uncrating.”

Ally watched, fascinated. A large crate, bearing markings in English and Arabic, sat beside a raised platform. Overhead, strong electric lights shone down, spotlighting a platform. Max took a crowbar from one of the workmen and applied it to the lid on the crate. With creaking groans, the nails and wood parted. The waiting workmen lifted the lid away, and Max went on to remove one side of the crate as well. A solid wall of what appeared to be cotton batting appeared.

“Gently, this chariot is three thousand years old.” Max and the workers began removing bats of cotton. Within moments, Ally caught a glint of gold. Spokes and a rim. Then what appeared to be woven wicker or reeds, but gilded like the wheel.

Her breath caught as they drew the chariot out into the room. It appeared heavier than its structure, and she assumed it must be all the gold. Every inch was gilded. Light raced along the curves as they moved it into place on the platform. From another crate, Max drew out the long staff that was the tongue to which a pair of horses would be hitched. He placed it in a special bracket in the display prepared for it, so it appeared ready for a team of spirited animals to whisk it across the desert sands.

Dusting his hands, he hopped down. “Get the ropes up now. I wish it were behind glass, but it’s just too big. Maybe someday. At least the ropes might keep the public from touching it. We’ll have a security guard posted in this room at all times.”

Ally stood and approached the platform. “It’s beautiful. Somehow I expected it to be more… substantial?”

“Of course, war chariots weren’t gilded like this one. Those were light and fast, in order not to get bogged down in the sand. Each chariot carried two men, a driver and an archer. The driver would race the chariot toward the front lines of the opposing army then turn sharply so the archer could get a good broadside look at his target.” Max pantomimed shooting an arrow. “This invention changed ancient warfare and made Egypt a great power.”

“Where did this one come from? And how do you know it’s three thousand years old?”

His brows lifted. “This is from the tomb of Princess Meryat-Kai, one of the many daughters of Pharaoh Ramesses II. Her tomb was discovered last winter in the Valley of the Queens near Thebes. The treasures of the tomb will go on display here at the museum in just a few weeks. Yoakum’s got brochures at the front desk, and the advertising has begun in the newspapers.”

“I always bypass the front desk. I’ll have to stop and pick up a brochure. Do you mind if I sketch the chariot?” She took out her sketch pad and box of pastels.

He frowned. “As long as you don’t make it public until after the exhibit opens. The museum is choosing a few select pieces for the advertising, but the bulk of the exhibit will remain under wraps until the grand opening.”

She nodded her understanding, and with soft strokes sketched in the basic shape of the chariot. Slipping a tortillon from her pocket, she blended and smoothed the lines and shading, giving the illusion of curve and sheen.

“You’re very good.” He watched over her shoulder. “Where did you receive your training? Or are you still in school?”

She shrugged. “I never went to art school.” She’d had private tutors, but her mother had been appalled when Ally had suggested attending something as pedestrian as an art college. Mother was of the opinion that women in general and Van Baark women in particular might go to a finishing school, say in Paris or Geneva, but college was out of the question.

The workmen strung thick, velvet ropes, and Max stood back to survey the exhibit. “Good job, men. Take an early lunch break then finish the painting in galleries 123 and 124. Barker, check with Yoakum about the benches and potted palms for the East Gallery. They’re supposed to be arriving today.”

They hustled away, and Max began gathering the packing material and tossing it into the open-sided crate.

Ally put her art supplies away, wondering what to say, if she should go. He’d been gracious, but she didn’t want to overstay her welcome. She stood and wiped her palms on her coat.

Max glanced up. “I’ve been here since five and could use a little fresh air. Would you care to walk in the park with me?”

Her heart lifted. He wanted to spend more time with her. “I’d like that.”

Max took her elbow on the concrete steps and when they reached the sidewalk, turned right to enter Central Park through the Niners’ Gate. To their left lay The Ramble, and ahead and to the right rose the imposing walls of the Croton Reservoir Pools. Matrons strolled by pushing prams. Children ran. Up the walkway a cart sold peanuts and candy. The trees, fully leafed now in late spring, swayed in a gentle breeze.

The delicate floral scent of perfume drifted up to Max, and Ally’s skirts made a soft, rustling sound as she walked. He wasn’t sure what to call the garment she was wearing, but he supposed it had something to do with protecting her dress. Buff colored, long sleeves, with huge, apron-like pockets on the front. Most utilitarian and sensible.

Her dark eyes took in everything, alight with curiosity and life. So many young ladies her age affected boredom—a haughty, brittle exterior that did little to hide the shallowness of their lives; but this girl was different.

What was he doing, wasting time like this? He had so much to do, and yet here he was, acting like a besotted idiot. Max let go of her elbow and stuffed his hands in his pockets. Trying to justify being absent from his work. He
did
need some air, after all. He’d been cooped up inside for hours. Surely a short walk wouldn’t hurt. His feet followed a familiar track around to the west side of the museum.

He should think of something intelligent to say.

“I like to get outside when I can, but I can’t resist the lure of Egypt, even on a walk through the park. When my schedule and the demands of the museum get to be too much for me, I head out here to contemplate the obelisk.” He took off his glasses and pointed with them to the sculpture known as Cleopatra’s Needle. “What a ridiculous name, though. This is dated from long before Cleopatra’s time. It’s a monument praising the accomplishments of Thutmose III and later Ramesses II. It says so right up there.”

“You can read the hieroglyphs? Can you read some for me?” She turned those eager, dark eyes on him, and his heart rate kicked up a notch.

Trying not to sound smug and fearing he failed, he looked up.

He glanced down at her. “That’s one of the names of Thutmose III.”

She nodded. “Go on.”

She tapped her lips, gazing up to the point of the obelisk more than seventy feet above them. “It’s fascinating, and yet so sad, too. Their idolatry was such an integral part of everything they did. Every piece of artwork, every document, every statue. Their pantheon of false gods permeated everything.”

Max nodded, pleased with her perception. “If you study ancient civilizations for any amount of time, you’ll find that true in every one. The Greek and Roman gods, the Babylonians, the Persians. And if we’re honest, current civilizations. Every people group has their own gods, whether carved idols or spirits or ideas. Some today worship money, some science, some art, or health, or possessions. And these false gods permeate our lives. God didn’t instruct us amiss when He made the first of the Ten Commandments that we would have no other gods before Him. The Israelites, coming out of such a long captivity in Egypt, needed the reminder that there was only one, true God. They’d been so steeped in the Egyptian pantheon—”

He stopped, spreading his palms. “I apologize. You’ve touched on a topic dear to my heart, I’m afraid, and I tend to ramble on. In fact, it’s the subject of a lecture I’m giving at a women’s college tonight where I’m the guest speaker. I guess I got started a little early.”

“Don’t apologize. It’s fascinating. I’ve never really considered our present-day idolatry. I suppose anything you put before God is an idol. Whatever you value more than Him.”

She stood with her fingers laced under her chin, looking up at the obelisk. “It really is a thing of beauty though, isn’t it? The oldest object in the park, by far. It gives both a sense of permanence and at the same time of life being a vapor, doesn’t it? The hands that carved it have been gone from this earth for millennia, yet the names of the kings remain.”

He marveled that she should so eloquently capture what he felt every time he unearthed a treasure from antiquity. The way he felt when he thought about his own life in perspective to time.

Odd that he should feel so comfortable with her and yet have every sense heightened in anticipation of he knew not what. She was intelligent, inquisitive, sensitive, artistic, and beautiful. Had he stumbled upon a real treasure in the heart of New York City?