The Egyptian Sculpture Gallery was crowded. They had to keep their distance from each other for appearance sake. Linley listened to a museum attendant give a lecture on how the Egyptian race more closely resembled Europeans in color and stature than their African neighbors while Patrick stood a few feet away, wondering if she weren’t actually thinking about their kiss and not hearing a word the man said.
It was a good kiss, perfect for someone’s first time, but it could have been better. Of course, Linley had nothing else to compare it to, but Patrick hoped she wasn’t one of those girls who expected the sky to open up and angels to sing. Next time he wanted to really kiss her. To wrap his arms around her and run his tongue between her teeth. But a man didn’t kiss a woman like that unless he planned to take her to bed, and Patrick had absolutely no intention of doing that…although with her bright mind and natural curiosity, he couldn’t help but think she’d be quite an enjoyable partner.
What the hell was he doing thinking things like that? This was Linley Talbot-Martin—a young lady, not some good-time girl from the Gaiety he could take for a toss. Patrick was no sex-crazed lunatic, but if he weren’t careful, he’d end up with a very uncomfortable situation in the middle of the British Museum. That hadn’t happened to him since university, and while it may have been excusable then, it would be very hard to explain to a group of mortified museum patrons! He needed to find something else to think about. And quickly.
“Do you think you could show me the Rosetta stone?” he leaned forward and asked.
Linley turned her head at the sound of his voice, nodded, and backed out of the crowd. She spent the majority of her life in Egypt, slogging through the sands of Giza, Memphis, and Thebes. If anyone was capable of giving someone a tour of Egyptian antiquities, it was she.
“The Rosetta stone is the most popular exhibit in the entire museum,” Linley explained, leading Patrick over to its display case. “The French originally discovered it, but we took it from them after the Napoleonic Wars.”
The large black slab, broken off at the top and bottom, bore three incomplete inscriptions: two in Egyptian and one in Ancient Greek.
“What does it say?” Patrick asked.
“My Egyptian hieroglyphics are spotty, but according to the Greek, it says something about King Ptolemy,” she ran her finger across the protective glass. “Archie could read it much better, though.”
“I’m not interested in what Archie can do.”
Linley grinned, scattering her freckles across her face. “But you are interested in the Rosetta stone, and without its discovery, no one would have any clue what the hieroglyphs mean.”
Further down the sunlit, columned gallery stood the colossal bust of Ramses II and the head of Amenhotep III. They presided over the space, dwarfing everything else in their presence, demanding the attention they deserved.
Linley and Patrick walked between them, craning their necks back for a better look.
“No one could call the Egyptians subtle,” he said.
“No,” Linley laughed. “They certainly could not.”
Patrick pointed to the gargantuan bust in front of him. “Now, who is this fellow?”
“That is Ramses the Great. ‘Ozymandias, king of kings.’ ”
“Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair,” Patrick said, finishing her words.
Linley looked up at him. “You know the poem?”
He nodded. “I read literature at Oxford.”
“Oxford? Then surely you must know Greek.” She looked back toward the Rosetta stone. “Why didn’t you tell me you could read it? Were you testing me?”
“Not at all,” Patrick said. “To hear you speak so passionately and knowledgeably has had quite an effect on me.”
Linley put her hand to her chest. “I have an effect on you?”
“Certainly,” he said, smiling down at her. “I don’t just go around kissing anyone.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Patrick sat awake in his modest rooms just off Pall Mall. He preferred sleeping at his club, as opposed to drafty Kyre House, or even to his sister’s home on Curzon Street. Of course Georgiana begged him to stay on at Hereford House, unable to understand that, even in an enormous private mansion, there was just no room for him.
“Something on your mind, my lord?” his valet asked, noting the absent way Patrick stared into the fireplace.
“Hmm? Oh, yes. Quite a great deal on my mind tonight.”
“Anything I could help with?”
Patrick kept his eyes fixed on the fire. “Do you think I’m being unreasonable refusing Hereford and Georgiana’s offer? I just feel that with the baby on the way…”
“Unreasonable? No,” his valet said. “Stubborn? Perhaps.”
“They’ve barely been married a year. How could they possibly want a houseguest? You know how I hate to be a burden to anyone.”
The valet shuffled around the small room, picking up Patrick’s clothes and setting aside his shoes to be polished. “I think Her Grace invites you to stay on because she misses you. And if you don’t mind me saying so, my lord, your sister loves you a great deal.”
“I know she does,” Patrick said, turning in his chair to face him. “What time is it?”