Linley scrambled upstairs to her bedroom and poked her head between the curtains. The window overlooked the garden below. If she was careful, she could spy down onto the breakfasters without being noticed.
She saw Archie picking at the croissant she left unfinished on her plate, and as she scanned the other tables, she spotted her Englishman seated beneath the shade of a date palm. The tree hid most of him from view, but she could see enough to know he wasn’t thinking about breakfast.
The menu lay in front of him, untouched. Either he was a man who already knew what he wanted or he was a man too preoccupied to bother.
Linley hoped it was a little bit of both, because she liked her men to have a mind, but she also liked for them to have an appetite.
Or rather, she thought she would if she ever knew a man to have.
Archie, Reginald, and Schoville did not count. They were more like brothers than anything else. And Linley’s world was so small that she hardly ever came across a gentleman worth more than just a passing glance.
But this English fellow, he was something quite different.
She watched as he removed his straw hat and sat it on the table. Without it, his hair was the color of rich, brown coffee, but his skin was white as milk. He would not be able to withstand the heat of the Moroccan sun for long, even in mid-morning. Linley counted the seconds until he slipped the hat back on his head, and when he did, she smiled to herself.
“You see,” she whispered. “I already know you.”
Perhaps he was her man to have. And if not her man, then at least good practice for when the real one came along. At the very least, he could be a friend.
Linley wanted a friend—someone who did not think in terms of the Stone Age, and the Bronze Age, and the Iron Age. Or belong to the Royal Archaeological Institute. Or have even ever heard of the Royal Archaeological Institute.
But what did regular Englishmen think of?
She had no idea.
He could teach her! He could probably teach her things not even Archie or Reginald knew, and Reginald, being one of Lord Bredgebury’s sons, knew more about ‘real’ life than anyone she knew. It never crossed her mind that this Englishman might not know anything worth learning. He must know everything about the world—he looked so much a part of it.
CHAPTER FOUR
Linley sat alone in the hotel garden. She toyed with the beading of her gown, humming along to the music flowing through the open windows above. Dinner ended hours ago. Her father had retired to his rooms, and the rest of the men escaped to the bar—part of the boys club that, no matter how hard Linley tried, she would never be a part of.
Shouts of laughter echoed from the balcony above as two gentlemen stepped out for a cigarette in the balmy night air. The wives of these men sat in the dining room or milled about the hotel lobby, perhaps exchanging decorating ideas for the villas they would have when the ville nouvelle was completed.
“Excuse me…” a voice said. “May I join you?”
Linley turned her attention to the speaker. It was the Englishman from before, only he wore black evening clothes instead of white flannels.
She blinked up at him for a moment, a little stunned, and then, recovering herself, motioned to the wicker chaise beside her.
Patrick sat down and handed her one of the two liquor glasses in his hands. “I thought you might like a drink,” he said. “It’s brandy and soda-water.”
“Thank you,” Linley replied, taking it from him.
Easing back into the chair and stretching out his legs, Patrick took a long swallow from his glass. “Isn’t it rather cruel of your friends to abandon you? Especially on such a beautiful night as this.”
“I don’t mind. They’re stuck with me for the rest of the year, so they may as well enjoy themselves while they can.” In one fluid movement, she angled toward him and held out her slender hand. “I’m Linley Talbot-Martin.”
Normally, Patrick would have introduced himself as Lord Kyre, but for some reason, at that exact moment, those two words brought a bad taste to his mouth. “Patrick Wolford,” he finally said, extending his hand.
“All right then, Mr. Wolford,” she said. “What brings you to Morocco?”
“A shipwreck, actually. I was on my way to South Africa when we were forced to put in here. I had figured I’d try my hand at the big game this year instead of following the country house circuit.”
Linley took a sip of her brandy. “Are you a sporting man?”
“I like to shoot as much as the next fellow.”
“Well, if you were planning to shoot in South Africa, then you were going about it all wrong,” she informed him. “It’s too crowded there. The best hunting has moved further north.”
“Do you know much about Africa?”
Linley choked back a laugh. “I know more about Africa than you. Obviously.”
Patrick laughed, too. “Then forgive me for not consulting you first, Miss Talbot-Martin.”
“I will, but only because you didn’t know me before.”