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Brows pulled low, she approached the wooden structure. Unclear what he wished for her to see, she looked at him inquiringly.
“The other side,” he said.
She stepped around to the side facing the canal. Leaning down, she peered more closely, only to straighten quickly at the words painted on the wood in faded black Arabic lettering:Kafr Abu Homs.
She swallowed as the last of her hope faded, and the stark reality of their situation landed solidly in the pit of her stomach. They’d not catch the Tyndales. Once theTamariskleft the canal for the Nile, it would move under its own steam to make good time to Cairo.
As long as she’d held hope that they might overtake the craft or encounter the professor as he returned to Alexandria, she’d been able to convince herself the events of the day were only a minor, albeit inconvenient, delay. Not an outright disaster.
Now she must face the truth: she was well and truly stranded.
Emotions poured through her, each one hot and burning and more intense than the last. Disbelief. Worry. Anger. She settled on the latter as it was the only one capable of cutting through her mind-numbing fear.
“We should have crossed the lake like I suggested,” she said a bit sharply, and Mr. Evelyn frowned. She pushed on. “We’d have reached Atfa by now. What if Professor Tyndale returned to Alexandria by that route? It’s possible we’ve missed him altogether.”
Why had she let this man, an utter stranger, convince her otherwise? His argument had seemed reasonable at the time, but she should have known, by the mere fact that men wereshootingat him, that his counsel wasn’t to be trusted.
Her mind raced as her rational self argued that all would be well. It would. They’d simply return to Alexandria. She’d take a room, perhaps at Rey’s hotel, and await the consul-general’s return. Sir Rupert would wire his contacts in Cairo. All would eventually be sorted, but probably not before the professor alerted her father to her disappearance.She closed her eyes on that thought. Oh, how her family would worry, and for no reason. All would certainly come out right in the end. She must believe it.
“Lake Edku would not have been any faster,” Mr. Evelyn said tightly, recalling her to the conversation. Gone was the man who’d held a basin for her. The soft, persuasive voice he used with his camel had turned to steel. He strode past her to where they’d left their things, and she hurried her steps to follow him. “We’ll leave the canal to cross the delta,” he said over his shoulder. “You can rejoin the Tyndales in Cairo.”
She blinked. He’d offered no discussion, given no consideration to her thoughts on the matter. And certainly, no concern for her reputation and what days alone with a gentleman—betrothed or not—would do to it.
“No,” she said firmly. “It will be better if we return to Alexandria.”
“I’m not returning to Alexandria. In case you’ve forgotten, there are men back there intent on my demise.”
She conceded he made a sound point, but it hardly recommended him as a safe escort. But as he happened to be the only escort she had for the moment, she thought she should know more. “Who were those men?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well then, do you knowwhythey were shooting at us?”
His eyes narrowed, the fine lines at the edges tightening. “No.”
She studied him for a long beat. Then, pulling a heavy breath, she said, “I find that hard to believe, Mr. Evelyn.”
He looked up from where he’d begun folding Fiona’s blanket. His pale eyes were hard in the moonlight, like chips of ice, and she swallowed.
“Believe what you will, madam.” He set the blanket aside and knelt to untie Fiona’s lead from the base of the palm. “But know that I leave in five minutes, with or without you.”
Stunned, she stared at his back. “You’d simply leave me here?”
He stood. His back was straight, his shoulders broad, and her disbelief evaporated. Something had happened since she’d held his hand to wrap it—and it was something to do with the photograph of his lovely lady if she were to guess. Her stomach dipped uncomfortably on that thought, and she wasn’t even close to the sea.
Whatever the reason, Mr. Evelyn was determined on his course, and she didn’t doubt that he would take his camel and leave her standing in the dust of Kafr Abu Homs. Her anger rose again. “You are no gentleman, sir!”
“On that, we are agreed.”
“And after I treated your hand!”
“I believe the verb you are looking for is ‘drugged.’ After youdruggedme.”
“How was I to know you have a sensitivity to opium? It was the merest bit, truly. Certainly not enough to fell a grown man.”
He frowned but didn’t respond.
Helen, who’d gained quite a bit of steam, added, “And this is a poor thank-you for the simple courtesy of rescuing and returning your bag to you. I should think your escort back to Alexandria is the least you can offer.”
