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Hester recognized the dark-haired Italian at the head of the group and gave an audible groan.
Harry peered at her. “Do you know him?”
“Unfortunately, yes. That’s Bernardino Drovetti, a treasure hunter working for the French. The British Consul, Henry Salt, warned me about him. He and Salt are dreadful rivals, each one vying to get their hands on the most interesting artifacts. Drovetti’s reputation is rather unsavory. He mistreats those who work on his archaeological digs. I wouldn’t trust him any further than I could throw him.”
They watched as the procession drew nearer. Drovetti wore a loose, pale linen jacket and a white shirt open at the throat, displaying an alarming amount of chest hair. His face was deeply tanned. He directed his camel toward them, dismounted, and raised his white hat in greeting. He bowed low over Hester’s hand and ignored Harry completely.
“Signora Morden!” he beamed, showing gleaming white teeth. “I am overjoyed to have found you.”
It took Hester a great deal of willpower not to whip her arm away when his lips touched her skin. She extracted her hand from his clammy grip. “I thought you were working over at Thebes, Mr. Drovetti?”
“I was, my dear. I was. But my good friend, Signor Salt, he send me to look for you. He hear of the death of your uncle and was most concerned that you were out here alone.”
Hester sent him a polite smile. “That is very kind of you, sir, but unnecessary. I do not require protection. My uncle’s bodyguard, Suleiman—”
“Has abandoned you,” Drovetti finished with dramatic relish. “Yes! The locals, they tell me of his desertion. Perhaps after the death of your uncle he did not want to work for a female? Or perhaps he is simply a coward.”
Hester stiffened. “I am sure it is neither of those things. It is most unlike Suleiman to go anywhere without telling me. I am concerned.”
Drovetti shrugged. “Forget him. Allow me to offer my protection back to Cairo.”
Harry stepped forward, and Drovetti eyed him with instant dislike.
“She’s not alone. She has me, a fellow Englishman. She doesn’t need your assistance.”
“And who might you be, sir?”
“Harry Tremayne. I’m a friend of the family.”
The Italian gave a stiff, formal bow. “Bernardino Drovetti. Such a pleasure to meet a European in this land of infidels.” His insincerity was almost comical.
The masculine hostility between the two men made Hester want to roll her eyes. Really, they were like two wild dogs, squaring off against one another, fighting over some scrap of meat. Which madeherthe scrap. That was hardly flattering.
Drovetti stepped back. “I must set up camp before dark. We shall speak again, signora Morden.”
* * *
Harry watched the newcomer leave.The man’s black hair had been slicked back with some kind of oil or pomade. He looked like a greased weasel. Women probably found him desperately attractive, but there was something calculating about his black eyes. They glinted with cunning. Surely Hester wouldn’t be taken in by such a poseur?
Harry had always been an excellent judge of character; the war had taught him how to size up a man quickly, how to discern who would be good to have at his side during a skirmish, and who would turn tail and run at the critical moment. Drovetti, he was sure, was the kind of man who would hide under a pile of bodies and play dead until the fighting stopped.
“I hope you’re not fooled by that oily display,” he said.
Hester laughed, and something inside him eased just a fraction. “Of course not. Come on. Let’s have some dinner.”
Chapter 7
Drovetti reappeared as the sun was setting in a blaze of red behind the mountains. Harry glared at him over the remains of the lamb he’d roasted over the fire, but the Italian didn’t take the hint that he was unwelcome. He strode through the lengthening shadows straight to Hester, his expression curiously intent.
“I hear you had a lucky discovery in the sand?” he said without preamble. “A necklace of some antiquity. May I be permitted to see it?”
Harry stood and moved closer to Hester, but she remained seated by the fire, apparently unconcerned. She reached into her pocket. The scorpion glimmered enticingly in the firelight.
Drovetti let out a long, slow whistle and his eyes gleamed. “What a find!” he murmured. “Quite remarkable, my dear. Middle Kingdom, perhaps?” A muscle ticked in his jaw, and he seemed barely able to contain his excitement. “Such a thing would be the highlight of any serious collection. I will give you a thousand English pounds for it.”
Hester shook her head.
“Two thousand,” he said quickly.
