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“I’ve no doubt he’s recognized me for a fool, but how do you mean?”
“He’s outfitted you as a young Arab on the hunt for a wife.”
She smiled—a cheeky curving of her lips—and he couldn’t help his answering grin. Then, with a suggestive wiggle of his brows, he said, “Only one wife? Perhaps he thinks me a married man looking to expand my harem.”
She considered him for a moment then dismissed the suggestion with a soft snort. “No, I don’t think he took you forthatmuch of a fool.”
He laughed, immeasurably grateful that if he must divert from his purpose, at least he’d been fortunate to land with Miss Corbyn rather than someone like Miss Tyndale.
But that didn’t lessen the urgency behind his mission. Grateful or not, the sooner he saw Miss Corbyn returned to her party, the better. Then he could focus on tracking down the elusive Collector, finding his sister and leaving the dust of Africa far behind.
——
Helen’s cheeks warmedbeneath Mr. Evelyn’s pale gaze as they spoke of wives and harems. She didn’t consider herself a missish sort of female. She’d come across a number of ancient texts detailing highly inappropriate themes and had rarely—or barely—batted an eye.
But those had been far-away tales of people long dead—certainly not living, breathing men with wiggling eyebrows. Her imagination conjured him as a sultan or sheik with a contingent of beautiful wives garbed in bright flowing robes. Would he have a favorite? she wondered. And how did a man with multiple wives decide where to lay his head each night? Certainly, there’d have to be a schedule of sorts—
She checked her thoughts before they could stray too far down an inappropriate path.
He took her carpet bag and began distributing the weight of her books between the saddle bags. Relieved at the prospect of such an unimaginative task, she hurriedly lent her assistance, passing him her volume ofLarcher’s Notes on Herodotusthen Champollion’sPhonetic System of Hieroglyphics, Letters and Grammar. Captain Smyth’sAlexandriaand Parke’sNubiawere next. She held Wilkinson’s guide to the last so it might end up on top.
Mr. Evelyn accepted each volume in silence with only the lift of his brow to indicate what he thought of her extensive preparation. But when she handed him her folded copy of Colonel Leake’sMap of Egypt, he paused before carefully tucking it within reach.
Next, she handed over her box of medicines and finally, the sleeping apparatus she’d yet to try. In its unassembled state, the thing appeared little more than a bundle of bedsheets and reeds. Mr. Evelyn’s eyes narrowed in curiosity as he studied the parcel, but he held his silence and added it to the rest of her things.
The boy returned with two more bags, and thankfully, no tailor.
“Well done,” Mr. Evelyn said. “Shukran.” Malik grinned his gap-toothed smile before disappearing, and Mr. Evelyn began securing the additional bags.
All that remained was the man’s satchel. Helen retrieved it and hesitated. It seemed excessively forward to open the man’s bag, but surely the camel would be more comfortable if the weight she carried were evenly distributed.
“I have it,” he said gruffly as he snatched the leather bag from her hands.
She nodded and held her tongue, although she thought he was rather tetchy about something which, only hours before, he’d carelessly left on the street. Now, he settled the strap across his chest like the scabbard of a Berber warrior. With one last check of the camel’s tack, he looked to Helen.
She swallowed. While she eagerly welcomed adventure, she’d never expected it would come in the form of such a large creature. Or that she’d be required to ridewithMr. Evelyn on said creature. She wasn’t an expert on camel saddles, but this one appeared a bit small for two people. The pair of them would be pressed quite closely to one another. Heat filled her cheeks as he gave her a brief bow.
“Your chariot, my lady.”
——
Miss Corbyn, who’dmaintained a healthy distance from his camel thus far, hesitated. Her manner left Rhys to assume the many tomes he’d just packed in his saddle bags had not sufficiently prepared her for the experience of riding such an animal.
He lifted a hand to rub the pale fur of the camel’s neck and spoke in low tones. “Approach her slowly from the side. You always want to remain out of kicking range.”
Miss Corbyn glanced at him, her brows pitched in a steep V. “Yes,” she said, nodding. “I’ve read that it’s best not to agitate a camel.”
“They’re friendly, by and large. Show respect and she’ll do the same.”
“Are you very knowledgeable about the beasts, Mr. Evelyn?”
“Passably so,” he said, dropping his hand.
“That’s hardly a recommendation.”
“I’ve been traveling in Egypt for some time now. While I don’t consider myself an expert, I think I can manage to get us up on her properly. It’s not as difficult as it seems.”
Miss Corbyn quirked an eyebrow at him. “It looks quite awkward to me.”
