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.“I suppose in the end The Fire was a godsend.”That damn fire.She hadn’t intended to set the blasted papyri ablaze.It had been an experiment with a magnifying glass gone horribly awry.“How’s that?”“At least it finally convinced Mrs.Braxton to send the chit away somewhere she could be managed.”The memory of The Fire was usurped by another of her mother, eyes unnaturally bright, standing in the foyer of the Misses Timwells’ School of Edification and Improvements.“Egypt is too dangerous a place for a girl as inquisitive as you.There are too many opportunities for disaster, and you seem bent on taking them all.”Ginesse had pleaded with her parents, insisting she would be more careful, more prudent, that it would never happen again.No one, including herself, had believed her.The two broken arms, a head contusion, sprained ankles, and more bruises and scrapes than she could recall weighed heavily against her.“They didn’t even attempt to get her into any of the more selective finishing schools but settled for an establishment known for indulging willful children.”And even there, Ginesse had never been able to completely tame her magpie curiosity, her thrill-seeking heart.It wasn’t that she didn’t want to study; she wanted to study everything.Her mind was like a sieve at the end of a fish trap, catching anything that came within its vicinity, a jumble of facts and curiosities, anecdotes and histories, nothing more valued than the next, nothing less interesting for being less weighty.But ultimately determination had won out.She was here, wasn’t she? She sat straighter, refusing to be cowed.How she loathed them.“I don’t wonder that she’s come back.London society is far more excusive than we allow ourselves to be.She might be husband hunting…”How dare they use her embarrassment, her exile, and her life as a way to pass the time between scones and flounder? She was on her feet, heading around the vase before she even realized it.Luckily, Riyad intercepted her before she could act.“Ah, Miss Whimpelhall,” he said.“If you will follow me?”He escorted her to the front desk and left her to register, after which she was handed off to a young bellhop.The lad took her valise and led her into the Great Moorish Hall, where she finally felt free to remove the dark glasses.They started toward the grand staircase at the far end, its bottom steps flanked by a pair of life-sized Nubian maidens.Along with Mr.Runyan and Mr.Bradley, bankers who were great favorites of her mother’s.“Hassan,” Mr.Runyan hailed the bellhop.“Good lad.We were just requiring an impartial judge to settle a dispute—Oh! What ho? I do apologize.I didn’t see you there.Thought old Hassan was quite alone.” He smiled politely, eying her with evident interest.Especially her hair.She stopped walking, forcing the bellhop to pause as well.They were a good twenty feet away from the bankers, and the lighting in the hall was dim, the window shutters having been drawn against the late afternoon sun.She could only hope it was enough to disguise her.They waited for her to say something, and when she didn’t, Mr.Bradley stepped forward, smiling graciously if with a touch of perplexity.She had to figure out some way past them and quickly.“By jingo, it doesn’t look as if there’s anyone about to introduce us properly,” he said and chuckled.“But seeing as we’re in a foreign country, I don’t suppose there’s any reason to stand on ceremony.”She took a deep breath and headed briskly toward them, the bellhop falling into confused step behind her.“I’m Donald Bradley, and this is—”“I am afraid I must disagree, sir.There is always reason to abide by the niceties of social convention, and I, for one, intend to do so.” She swept past them.“What are we, sir, savages?”Somehow, she refrained from turning to see their expressions, certain their mouths would be hanging open.They were both such nice gentlemen.And she had been so vile.But it had been necessary.Neither gentleman was likely to recall a thing about her other than that she was red-headed and a first-rate…Lady Sukmore.CHAPTER SIX“Find me some clean clothes by the time I’m done here and there’ll be another piaster in it for you.Here.” Jim flipped the kid some coins to make the purchase.He caught them in midair before bowing his way backward out the door, leaving Jim alone in the public bath’s private room.It was growing late, and the small window high in the tiled wall had darkened over, leaving the room in a misty semidarkness illuminated only by the sconce over the door.Wisps of steam rose from the raised pool in the room’s center to collect on the ancient tiled ceiling and drip back to the slick stone floor.The room was hot and sour-smelling.But then, Jim thought, that could be him.He raised his arm and sniffed.Fine.Pomfrey’s future bride had a point; he did smell.Though why she’d informed him of it in that insulted, haughty manner was a mystery.She couldn’t have taken exception to his saying she was safe with him? Most unmarried ladies would be only too grateful to be so reassured that their guide would be conscientious with their reputations, reputations being stock and currency in the English marriage mart.But then, she was not your standard-issue English miss.Oh, without a doubt she was a young lady.The mellifluous upper-class accent, the haughty wing-shaped brows, the imperious angle of her chin: they were all the products of a first-rate finishing school.As was her unquestioned superiority to all other people and cultures.Which meant she wasn’t different at all [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]