What the River Knows (Secrets of the Nile, #1)

I glanced down and read a few lines, translating the French in my mind, my mouth watering. To start, a mushroom and onion soup, followed by a fresh salad featuring a medley of roasted vegetables. I particularly looked forward to the main dish, roasted lamb with a mint jelly sauce, accompanied by buttered asparagus and whipped, creamy potatoes.

“It looks wonderful,” I said, knowing full well he’d only asked the question in order to turn the subject of conversation away from him. When the waiter came by, my uncle ordered wine for the three of us, and then proceeded to have a conversation with the gentleman on his right.

That was the last he spoke to either of us for the rest of the meal.

I didn’t blame him for his anger, his frustration that I had believed so little in him. To think him capable of murder. I was disappointed in myself for having been taken in by my mother’s lies.

If I couldn’t forgive myself, then I certainly understood why my uncle couldn’t forgive me.

But I regretted that he still wanted to send me back to Argentina, taking away my chance to make things right. A part of me knew that I’d carry that regret with me for the rest of my life.

*

The dancing began shortly after dinner, and incredibly, my cousin and I were never short on partners. As the clock drew closer to midnight, I was whisked off onto the dance floor, and twirled around in time with the band playing modern songs. Elvira danced with a tall blond gentleman who looked vaguely familiar. I lost sight of her several times, but we eventually found each other by the refreshment table, laden with bowls of lemonade and chilled white wine.

“That last one was a bore,” Elvira said, limping toward me through the tight knit of ladies hovering by the dance floor. “He stepped on my toes. Twice.”

“My last dance partner only spoke Dutch,” I offered in commiseration. “He thought you were my twin.”

Elvira laughed in between sips of lemonade. “We’ve heard that before.” Her gaze flickered through the crowd. “There are so many foreigners here. I’ve had at least one American talk down at me.”

I watched her closely, a smile already waiting on my mouth. “What did you do?”

She shrugged. “I insulted him sweetly in Spanish, and he thought I was complimenting him.”

I laughed. “That’s my girl.”

Elvira’s gaze widened. “Well, he’s finally arrived.”

Curious, I pivoted and searched the crowd for my uncle’s familiar tall form and disheveled dark hair. I found him immediately, next to a broad-shouldered man with auburn hair and brawny arms. He wore black from head to toe, and it suited him. A dark knight with a heart of gold.

Whit.

“Doesn’t he look as if he’d win a fistfight?” Her voice had taken on a dream-like quality.

“I don’t encourage violence,” I said, my words coming out high-pitched.

Elvira raised her eyebrow.

Across the ballroom, Whit turned away from my uncle, his brows pulled into a tight frown. His blue gaze scanned the room until it landed on mine. We might have been the only two people in the room. With determined ease, he parted the crowd, his eyes never leaving my face.

“You are in so much trouble,” Elvira whispered-yelled.

The man in question reached us, and inclined his head toward me, and then my cousin.

“Hello, Whit. Allow me to properly introduce my prima, Se?orita Elvira Montenegro. Elvira, this is Whitford Hayes.”

“Lord,” he said with a slight smile. “Lord Whitford Hayes.”

“You’re a lord?” I asked, dumbfounded.

He inclined his head and then addressed my cousin. “You’ve been found. I meant to congratulate you earlier.”

“Accepted,” she said. “It’s wonderful to meet you, Lord Hayes.”

Whit’s blue eyes flickered to mine, crinkling in amusement. I folded my arms across my chest, furious that he’d failed to mention that he was a peer of the realm. No wonder he had to rush home. His future wife was probably a duchess or a princess.

“And how do you know my cousin?” Elvira asked. “Why is she addressing you by your first name? Why haven’t I heard anything about you?”

Whit regarded my cousin with a peculiar expression that was at turns amused, annoyed, and insulted. “We worked together,” he began dryly. “She addresses me by my first name because she’s earned it, and”—he slanted the annoyed look my way—“I don’t know why she hasn’t said anything about me. We’re colleagues, so to speak.”

I was not, under any circumstances, imagining the slight emphasis he’d placed on the word colleague.

“What game are you playing now, Whit?” I asked, unable to keep the anger from my voice.

“No game,” Whit countered. “Only clearing the air. Dance with me.”

“Was that a question?” Elvira asked. “I really don’t think it was. Inez, would you mind clarifying if we’re rooting for Mr. Hayes’s pursuit?”

Before I could reply, Whit replied, “I’m here as a friend. I thought, at the very least, that’s what we were.”

“We are,” I said quietly.

“How dull,” Elvira added. “But I’ve just seen your uncle heading this way, and he doesn’t look pleased. I suppose I’ll have to ask him to dance now. You can thank me later with punch.”

She disappeared in a wisp of tulle and lace, heading off my uncle’s determined stride.

Whit ducked his head to look into my face. “Would you like to dance, Olivera?”

He held out his hand and I took it. In no world would I be able to refuse dancing with Whit. He pulled me close, and for the first time, I noticed that his eyes were ringed in a deep blue. His sun-drenched skin glowed golden in the candlelight. The music swelled, and Whit slid his hand down to the small of my back. I lifted my chin to look up into his face, and his warm breath danced across my cheeks.

“So, you’re a lord.”

Whit visibly weighed his response before coming to a decision. “My father is a marquess.”

I frowned as he turned us round and round across the ballroom, nimbly guiding us through the other dancing couples. I didn’t care that had a title or that he came from money. I cared because it was another part of him he didn’t want to share. He had so many secrets, and it pained me to know that I’d never uncover all of them. “Why have you never told me? I thought I would have earned that much.”

“What would it have mattered?”

“I’ve made my life a mess,” I said. “I’ve been vulnerable, and embarrassed and ashamed. My mother is a criminal, my father is probably dead. You’ve seen me at my worst. And I still don’t know your name.”

His arms tightened around me. “Yes, you do.”

I shook my head. “Not the one that comes with your title.”

“It’s Somerset,” he said softly, his breath brushing against my cheek. “But I never want you to call me that.”

I forced myself not to loosen, not to melt into his hold. I didn’t want to soften. I didn’t want to break any more than I had already. I’d given him so much, and there were still parts of him that he held out of reach.

“Inez,” he said. “I was trying to stay away from you, and I didn’t want you to know me, or I you.”

I narrowed my gaze to hide my disappointment. “So what’s changed?”

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