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His camel, who’d been pleasantly quiet so far, chose that moment to issue one of her low, throaty groans. “Mnaaaaaarrrrrhhhh!”
Miss Corbyn stopped at the sound, her apprehension obvious.
“Camels are vocal creatures. She’s only trying to make your acquaintance.”
“What do you call her?” Miss Corbyn asked.
He hesitated long enough that the lady angled her head at him in expectation. “Fiona,” he finally replied.
She considered him and the camel, and he knew the precise moment she made the connection, for she coughed a surprised laugh. “You named your camel after your sister?”
“The similarities can’t be ignored.”
“Truly?”
“Both ladies are tall, fair-haired and a trifle obstinate.”
Miss Corbyn smiled, the action lighting her face, and her shoulders relaxed somewhat. As she reached his side, Rhys settled himself on the saddle. Then, taking her hand, he said, “Place your foot there and steady yourself with the pommel.”
Her eyes narrowed as she studied the saddle, then with a decisive nod, she placed her hands and feet where he’d instructed. He assisted her to a sidesaddle position then instructed her to lean toward him.
“I beg your pardon?” Her shoulders went rigid again, her torso board-stiff as she held herself as far from Rhys as she could.
“The animal will come up on her hind legs first. The way you’re positioned, you’ll sail right over her neck like a rag doll.”
“Oh!” Miss Corbyn adjusted her position slightly but not nearly enough. Rhys hesitated then wrapped one arm about her to pull her close. Her frame was slight but nicely curved, a sharp reminder of the night he’d held her in the museum’s shadows. Somewhere, there must be an etiquette guide warning against precisely this scenario. If there wasn’t, there ought to be.
Never take a lady up on your camel, no matter the circumstances.
Even with the scarf covering her hair, Miss Corbyn’s wild jasmine scent drifted up between them. He drew a slow breath for fortitude. Then with a slight motion on the reins, the camel rose. With his arm still around Miss Corbyn, Rhys leaned them both so they remained upright as the camel got her front legs beneath her.
“Ha!” Miss Corbyn said. “We’re up!”
Her delight put him in mind of his sister’s first camel excursion. Fiona’s worldly sarcasm had yielded to glee once she was settled atop the animal. Miss Corbyn surveyed their surroundings from her high perch, and the warmth of her smile spread through his chest.
CHAPTER TEN
They left the livery and Rhys guided them along the brackish canal. The streets and alleys were still lively with the sounds of the ancient city. He scrutinized their surroundings for any sign of his pursuers, but there were no shouts to indicate they’d been found.
The waters of the canal were a wide ribbon flowing smooth and dark in the late afternoon, and he began to relax. Perhaps this would be an easy matter, after all, to return Miss Corbyn to theTamarisk. He might be able to set out after the Collector before too much time had passed.
Before he could allow that thought to take root, he pushed it aside ruthlessly. In his experience,nothingin this land was as easy as it ought to be.
Despite Miss Corbyn’s earlier pleasure at finding herself atop a camel, she’d grown stiff again. Her shoulders had climbed toward her ears, and she leaned as far from him as she could without falling over the camel’s neck. They had miles ahead of them; she’d be horribly uncomfortable by the time they reached Kafr Abu Homs if she remained so tightly coiled.
He cleared his throat and loosened his grip at her side, which had grown tighter than he realized. In an effort to put her at her ease, he said, “Is this your first time on the African continent, Miss Corbyn?”
She canted her head at him, clearly bemused by such an ordinary question amidst their extraordinary situation. “No, Mr. Evelyn. In truth, I was born in Cairo. My family returned to England when I was an infant, but it’s always been my greatest wish to come back to Egypt.”
“And is it all you hoped it would be?” A flush climbed his neck as the ridiculous words left his mouth, and he added, “Present circumstances notwithstanding, of course.”
She laughed softly. “To be honest, it’s quite a bit more than I imagined. Everything seems… louder. Larger, somehow, but delightfully so.”
“Yes,” he agreed, “Egypt certainly makes an impression. How did you come to be traveling with the Tyndales?”
He leaned his head to listen as she explained the professor’s post as emissary for the British Museum. Miss Corbyn was to aid him in cataloguing the latest antiquities that were being unearthed.
“The professor has enjoyed a long correspondence with not only the Egyptian Museum but the Order of Osiris as well. The Order,” she explained, “was established by the governor himself for the express purpose of preserving Egypt’s heritage.” Her eyes cut to him as she added, “Their task is a noble endeavor. The illegal trade of antiquities poses a grave threat to Egypt’s cultural heritage. It imperils ancient sites and undermines the veracity of the historical record.” All of this was spoken with a measured intensity, and Rhys had the impression he’d just received a lecture.
