The Taming of a Scottish Princess

  Michael eyed her sourly, even more unhappy when Mary looked as if she might join in the laughter. “Blast you both! I wish these fools would just mail me a cheque and leave me the hell be.”

  “So do I,” Jane said in a soothing tone. With a deft touch, she smoothed his lapels and tucked a corner of his cravat back into his waistcoat. “But fools that they are, they seem to think they’ll enjoy speaking to you. I’m sure that if they knew you as I do, they’d never wish to speak to you at all.”

  “Thank you,” he snapped.

  “You’re welcome. But that’s what happens when you allow a nice person to write a newspaper serial for you; now the world thinks you’re nice, too, which is silly in the extreme. Sadly, it’s a burden that you must bear.”

  “Hold it. If I have to speak to that fool, you do, too.”

  “No, I don’t. I now realize that though I’m wearing my best gown and my favorite hat, I’m woefully underdressed and so must leave before I damage your prospects. I shall take Ammon with me, too.”

  Michael was about to answer with a strong “You’ll do no such thing!” when Mary added, “Miss Smythe-Haughton, since you’re leaving, I’ll escort my brother to meet the duke.”

  “A perfect plan.” Jane’s brown eyes shimmered with mockery as she met his gaze. “I’m so disappointed not to meet the duke, but you know how it is.”

  “Fainthearted twit.”

  “Cravated grump.”

  “Saucy, foul wench.”

  “Ham-fisted curmudgeon.”

  “Shrill shrew—”

  “Please!” Mary interjected. “Both of you!”

  Michael kept his gaze locked on Jane. “Admit it: you have no more wish to talk to that fop than I.”

  “Oh, no,” she returned gravely. “It’s my dearest wish, especially as you’ll be answering questions about how many crocodiles you’ve wrestled.”

  “Damn it, it’s a blasted false story, and—” He realized that Jane’s eyes were once again alight with laughter. “You’re a pain in the rear.”

  Mary moaned. “Oh, Michael, pray attempt to be less rude!”

  But Jane just twinkled up at him. “Hurst, need I remind you that I will not work for you if you don’t have the funds for my very considerable wage?”

  “No, you don’t. You’re already far too fond of reminding me of that fact.”

  “Because it’s true. So you’d best find a sponsor, and soon. You’d find it very inconvenient if I were to leave your employ. Who would make certain your favorite pillow is in your tent each night?”

  “I don’t have a favorite pillow.”

  “Yes, you do; you just don’t know it. You also like your meals on time, your notebooks stowed in a particular order, certain foods upon your table, and clean socks at every stage of the journey.”

  He couldn’t refute that, so he just glowered.

  She didn’t seem the least bit upset by it. “If you wish those things to continue, then you’d best set about wooing a sponsor . . . or ten, if need be.”

  Damn it, he hated it when she was right. He searched for a scorching response but had to be satisfied with “It would serve you right if I dismissed you.”

  “Which you won’t do, because no matter what you say, you do like having your favorite pillow with you when you travel and I cannot, for the life of me, see you washing your own socks.”

  Does she wash my socks, too? He couldn’t remember ever seeing her do so, but he had to admit that he’d never faced a dirty pair on any of their long sojourns.

  Jane turned to Mary. “He pays me quite well, you know, but I’m worth every penny.”

  “I don’t doubt it,” Mary said fervently.

  Jane held out her hand. “Lady Erroll, it was lovely finally meeting you.”

  Mary clasped Jane’s hand warmly. “It was lovely finally meeting you as well! I can see that Michael is in good hands when he’s on expedition.”

  “I do my best. Now, if you’ll excuse us, Ammon and I will slip out the terrace doors. Hurst, I’ll stop by your town house tomorrow afternoon and we can plan our expedition to pursue the Hurst Amulet.”

  “No,” Michael said, seeing a way to exact vengeance upon his dulcet companion. “There’s been a slight change of plans.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. I’ll tell you about them tomorrow. We’ll leave at six.” He waited for that to register before he added, “In the morning.” He grinned at her frown.

  Her gaze narrowed, but she didn’t balk. “Fine. I’ll be ready. At six.” She dropped a stiff curtsy. “Good evening, Mr. Hurst.” Jane delivered a much friendlier and more graceful curtsy to his sister. “Good evening, Lady Erroll. I hope to see you again soon.” After again clasping Mary’s hand, Jane turned and made her way to the terrace doors, her large hat wreaking havoc as she went.

  Michael grinned until he noticed that the bumpkin who’d so eagerly spoken to Jane on her way in was already pressing through the crush, trying to reach her once again. The blasted fool had better not importune her. Michael would deal with such an impertinence swiftly and without pity.

  Fortunately for them all, Jane slipped through the terrace doors, her yellow hat and Ammon’s tall, dark figure disappearing from sight. Her would-be admirer was left trapped in the middle of the crowded room, looking disappointed.

  “Serves the fool right,” Michael said.

  “What fool?” Mary asked.

  “Never mind.” He patted his neckcloth again and then left it to its fate. “Now, where’s this duke of yours? Jane’s right about one thing: I’ll be damned if I wash my own socks on my next expedition.”

  CHAPTER 3

  From the diary of Michael Hurst:

  I never feel more alive than when I’m standing at a newly opened tomb or vault, on the precipice of a new discovery. It’s the pure excitement of the find combined with the golden possibilities of what-may-be; one of bated breath, thundering heart, damp palms, and trembling limbs; a mixture of excruciating hope and the painfully exquisite fear of disappointment.

  It’s a feeling that only another adventurer can truly understand.

  Pardon me, sir, but you must arise.” The deep, faintly accented voice intruded into Michael’s sleep.

  He opened one eye, fighting off an absurd dream in which Jane sat upon a large silk pillow while dozens of love-struck men danced waltzes in her honor.

  “It is time, sir.” Ammon stood by the bed, holding Michael’s robe, a single lantern the only light in the otherwise dark room.

  Irritated at being awakened and from such a silly dream, Michael growled, “What time is it?”

  “Almost six, sir.” Ammon shook the robe invitingly. “I warmed the robe by the fire.”

  Michael closed his eyes. “The bed is warmer.”

  “I have coffee waiting, too.”

  That was tempting, but the lure of the comfortable bed was stronger. “I’m sleeping.”

  Ammon sighed. “Sir, I do not wish to alarm you, but Miss Jane is awaiting us downstairs.”

  Jane? Downstairs? Why— “Oh, yes. I told her to come.” What the hell was I thinking? “It’s still dark.”

  “Yes, sir. Miss Jane had the coaches ready to travel a half hour ago. It is only by my hand that she has not marched into this room and awakened you herself.”

  Michael had only said such an early hour to tease her, but he’d promptly forgotten to inform her that he wasn’t serious. Last night had been too filled with triumph after Devonshire had promised to support Michael’s next three expeditions.

  Three expeditions, he thought, gloating once more. No more starched cravats for three entire years.

  Downstairs, the sound of a strong feminine voice could be heard delivering a string of instructions.

  Michael rubbed his face. “I suppose Jane has the whole damn army ready?”

  Ammon dipped his turbaned head. “If by ‘army’ you mean myself and the other servants, yes. We are all ready. Everyone is ready except you.”


  “I don’t plan on being ready until I’ve had a leisurely breakfast, so you’re all just going to have to wait.”

  “Miss Jane says that if you are not downstairs in ten minutes, then she is coming up to fetch you herself.” Ammon’s voice held grudging respect. “She is standing before the great clock, watching the minutes.”

  “Damn that woman. I’ve never met a ruder, more demanding witch of a—”

  Ammon shook out the silk robe, the rustle sounding like a quiet rebuke, which it probably was. Jane always said that the Egyptian culture was subtle, but forceful. Michael was inclined to agree with her.

  Scowling, he pushed himself up on one elbow and brushed his hair from his eyes. “Give me one bloody good reason why I should drag myself from this bed.”

  “Miss Jane will descend upon us like the locusts in only eight minutes. I do not want that.” Ammon’s dark gaze met Michael’s. “You do not want that.”

  “You said I had ten minutes.”

  “I was downstairs when she said ten. I had to come upstairs, set your breakfast tray upon the table, and—”

  “Fine, fine. I’m getting up, blast you.” He sat upright, groggily running a hand through his hair. “Miss Jane is becoming more and more impertinent and high-handed.”

  “Oh, yes. But once you are awake, you will show her who is the head of the household.” Though Ammon’s voice was soothing, Michael had the feeling that the servant didn’t believe his own words.

  He sniffed the air. “Is that bacon?”

  “Yes,” Ammon said, disapproval thick in his voice. “Miss Jane insisted upon it.”

  Michael gave Jane a lot of latitude, but then again, she was solely responsible for every comfort of his life—including the wonderful meals he ate while out on expedition and even here, in his own home. Before she’d joined his expeditions, the food had been so horrible that he’d worried about starving to death. Once she’d arrived, he’d had to worry more about gaining weight, which more than made up for the innuendos and numerous rude comments his fellow explorers made when they realized Michael had a female assistant. It was an unfortunate fact that even well-educated men could be blind fools.

  Michael’s stomach grumbled, so he stood and stretched, then allowed Ammon to help him into his robe. Then he crossed to the breakfast tray, heartened by the sight of so many dishes.

  “I made coffee.” Ammon filled a cup from a small pot as he spoke, the steam curling into the air.

  The coffee would be strong, too, for no one made it like Ammon. Michael didn’t know how the servant did it, but every cup was hot and rich and held just enough bitterness to engage the tongue and wake up the body.

  He lifted the cup and took an experimental sip. “Ah, Ammon. You are a true artist.”

  Ammon looked pleased.

  Suddenly starving, Michael ate. Within moments, he’d finished his bacon, eggs, and kippers, and was spreading marmalade upon a piece of toast. Perhaps it was a good thing to leave so early. He would sleep in the coach while Jane made certain they traveled at a decent pace. “I assume we’re already packed for our journey?”

  “Yes, sir. Miss Jane and I did most of the work last night.”

  “Good. Put out my clothes, but not the razor. I’m not going to shave.” That always irked Jane. Serves her right for being in my dreams, where she most certainly was not invited.

  He looked at Ammon over the edge of his coffee cup. “Last night, at the ball, did you notice the man who paid such attention to Miss Jane?”

  “Which one?”

  Michael set down his cup. “What do you mean, which one?”

  Ammon shrugged. “I did not notice any who paid more attention to her than she usually receives.”

  “When have you seen any men pay attention to Miss Jane?” Michael demanded.

  Ammon pursed his lips. “Well, there were the camel traders when we were setting out from old Alexandria. They wished to know how many camels we’d require for her.”

  “Yes, but that was because they liked how she rode her horse. They went on and on about that, and not because they found her—” Michael waved a hand.

  “Attractive?”

  “Call it what you will. Personally, I wouldn’t give five camels for her.”

  Ammon lifted his brows.

  “Fine, I’d give five camels for her, but only because she’s so good at this—” He waved a hand toward his finished breakfast tray.

  “She is quite good at organizing, but I assure you that the camel traders did not wish her to organize anything. They were interested in her as a woman. As was the sulfi who held you prisoner. He was most taken with her, too, if I remember correctly.”

  “Don’t remind me of the sulfi. He was as crazed as a Nubian. I had to rescue Jane and risked my own neck to sneak her out of his fortress in the middle of the night.”

  “She shouldn’t have danced for him,” Ammon said solemnly.

  “I warned her about that, but she was determined to do it. The silly woman thought she could gain the sulfi’s favor while I was being held prisoner. What a stupid, harebrained idea that was. She’s a horrible dancer, too. She can’t even clap in time. We’re fortunate that the sulfi was amused by her display and didn’t order us both killed on the spot.”

  “No, instead he wrote a sonnet to her mouth and offered to purchase her for a casket of jewels.”

  “He must have been drunk.”

  “The sulfi does not drink. His religion does not permit it.”

  “How the hell am I supposed to know how a crazed man thinks?” Michael growled.

  “He was a pious man.”

  “Who wanted to purchase my assistant as if she were a horse!”

  Ammon just went quietly to the wardrobe and prepared Michael’s clothes.

  Michael rubbed his eyes, irritated for no reason he could discern. That damned dream has set me off this morning. “I’m in a foul mood this morning. I apologize for my temper.”

  “Yes, sir.” Ammon laid Michael’s clothing upon the bed. “If I may ask, why has this topic become of interest to you? You don’t normally notice Miss Jane.”

  “And I don’t notice her now, but last night there was a man at the ball who seemed to see her as—” Michael struggled for the word. “Not attractive, of course. But he looked at her as if he were interested in her.”

  “Ah. And you have never seen her in such a light.”

  “How could I? She’s just Jane.” He waved a hand to show how inadequate he knew his phrasing to be, but he could think of no other way to say it.

  Ammon apparently agreed, for he inclined his head somberly. “Indeed.”

  “I suppose I should have paid more attention. Now that you mention the camel traders and the sulfi—”

  “And the goldsmith in Syria, the nawab’s son in India, and the wealthy trader we met while crossing the Sahara. I’m sure there were others, but those were the only ones who spoke of it aloud.”

  Michael could only blink. “They were all interested in her?”

  Ammon nodded.

  Bloody hell. “I never knew any of that.”

  “Because they did not approach you, but her.”

  “What? They made advances to her?”

  “She is not a slave, sir. If she wished to leave you, she had only to say so.” Ammon shrugged. “They made offers; she did not accept.”

  “Ah, offers! Then they were trying to hire her, which I perfectly understand.”

  “No, sir. Though they offered money, there was no talk of ‘hire’ as you use it. They wished to own her. For themselves.”

  Michael tried to wrap his mind around this discovery. “I suppose I should be glad she wasn’t wooed away in midexpedition.”

  “Oh, you’d nothing to fear.”

  “I should hope not.” Loyalty should count for something, after all.

  “No, you pay her quite well.” Ammon poured some more coffee into Michael’s cup, unaware that he’d just sent Michael’s lofty thoughts tumbling. ??
?And you are from her home country. That is worth something, I’m sure. She certainly seems less irritated in your company than anyone else’s.”

  Michael grunted and took a sip of his coffee, wondering why he was now in an even grumpier mood. Jane should be thankful he’d hired her all those years ago. Since then, he’d paid her a staggeringly high wage and provided her with excellent working conditions, not to mention including her in the excitement of his expeditions. Furthermore, he never importuned her with salacious offers, which he was fairly certain she would have received from other explorers, many of whom were a rough lot.

  Still, it was irksome to realize that one of his employees had been leered at right under his nose and he hadn’t been aware of it. But what really grated on his nerves was that she’d never breathed a word about the offers she’d received. Not once. He growled into his coffee cup. Damn it, I shouldn’t discover such things from the servants.

  Downstairs, a clock chimed. “Mr. Hurst!” came a call up the stairs, the voice feminine and undeniably perky.

  Michael snapped his cup onto the saucer with enough force to rattle them both, threw down his napkin, and stood so quickly that his chair thunked to the floor. He strode to the door and threw it open. “I’ll be down in a bloody minute!”

  There was a moment of silence followed by “One minute only, for if I have to be up at this hour, so do you.”

  “By Ra, who is in charge here? You’ll wait until I’m ready!” Michael slammed the door. “That woman is a thorn in my side!”

  Ammon, who’d just placed his master’s boots beside the bed, wisely didn’t answer, and Michael was left to dress in stormy silence.

  Within moments he’d finished dressing, slipped his reading spectacles into his pocket, and stomped downstairs.

  “Good morning, Hurst!” Jane came forward, looking annoyingly cheerful. She was dressed in her usual gray gown, a brown pelisse clasped about her neck, a bonnet held in one gloved hand. “I was just telling Snape here that we won’t be gone long, for we know exactly where we’re going to fetch the amulet and—”