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Sunburn. Miss Corbyn had been stranded and shot at and all but chased out of Alexandria andthatwas what had her near tears? Then, in a rare flash of insight, Rhys realized it wasn’t the sunburn that caused her misery but the thought of disappointing a loved one. And that was a torture he knew all too well.
She sniffed delicately. He wished he had a clean handkerchief to offer, but in their flight from Alexandria, he’d not had the opportunity to retrieve fresh linen. With a resigned sigh, he put one finger to her chin and lifted her face toward him.
Her eyes widened as he pushed a stray tress from her cheek. The lock curled against his finger like a length of cool satin ribbon, and he tucked it behind the soft shell of her ear. She watched as he opened her bottle and poured a measure of the fragrant elderflower liniment onto his fingers.
“Come now, Miss Corbyn,” he said, smoothing a stripe of the lotion across her forehead. “Surely, your father will be distressed to hear of your troubles, as any father would be, but I can’t imagine he’ll be disappointed. The man you described knows you would have done everything in your power to keep your promise. And besides, what’s happened to ‘All will come out as it’s meant to’?”
He rubbed more lotion along the thin line of her nose. Her skin was smooth like the petals of a flower, and her eyes watched him curiously, assessing. They were wide, deep green rimmed in blue and fringed with thick auburn lashes. They shimmered with her tears and put him in mind of a verdant oasis, lush and life-sustaining. His gaze dropped unexpectedly to her lips, which were full and pink in the twilight. His chest suddenly felt tight, his throat dry, and he lowered his hand.
“You’re right, Mr. Evelyn. I needed that reminder. Allwillbe well.” Her words were crisp and firm, and he wasn’t sure if she aimed to convince him or herself.
——
Helen swallowed asa breeze ruffled the palm fronds above their camp. Mr. Evelyn stood near enough that she could count the dark whiskers above his lip. His sandalwood scent spiced the air between them, and she fisted her hands before she could lift them to his chest. Her cheeks heated at the thought, although that could well have been the sunburn.
When his gaze dropped to her lips, her face ignited. That, most definitely, wasnotthe sunburn.
He thought to kiss her, she was almost certain of it. It would be imprudent to permit such a thing. Highly improper, of course. Although… it was sure to be educational, and she was a firm believer in a proper education for females.
She couldn’t claim the quantity of beaus of which Lydia Tyndale boasted, but Helen had received some kisses in her time. Four, to be precise. The year of her come-out, she’d permitted the occasional peck from an interested suitor, but none had caused her face to heat.
And then there’d been Mr. Stevens, a Cambridge gentleman who’d studied with the professor two summers before. He’d stolen a kiss behind the museum’s Lycian Room, his lips quickly sliding across hers to land wetly on her cheek. The incident had been blessedly swift, and she’d spent the rest of the summer devising ever more creative excuses to avoid the man’s company.
So, while her kissing experience wasn’t completely lacking, none of her forays supported the amount of poets’ ink and paper devoted to the topic. She was certain there must be more to a proper kiss, and she was curious to know if Mr. Evelyn might fill in the missing bits.
But, as disastrous as her travels had been thus far, she’d enough sense not to complicate them further. Her reputation was already teetering atop a steep cliff. There was no need to give it a push. And then there was the matter of the photograph he carried.
Before she could sort her thoughts onthat, he dropped his hand and stepped back, and the air around them cooled. Helen swallowed and forced aside thoughts of kisses and dark whiskers.
With a start, she recalled the kettle on the fire. “The tea!” She hurried to set out cups then used her scarf to lift the kettle from the fire. “I hope you take yours strong, Mr. Evelyn. And without milk, although I believe Malik has sent some sugar cubes. He’s a resourceful young man to have outfitted us so well on such short notice.”
Mr. Evelyn snorted. “He is resourceful, I’ll grant you that. Although, I’ve decided it’s best not to question the source of his finds.”
Helen stopped her pouring and eyed their small camp with a frown. “What do you mean? Does he steal them?”
“Not everything, I imagine, but some. It allows more of the coin to go into his own pocket. Or rather, his family’s.”
“But,” she stuttered, “but that’s wrong!”
“It’s survival, Miss Corbyn. Malik has a mother and eight sisters to feed. Would you fault a man for doing what he must to protect his own? Would you have his sisters suffer for his honor?”
His gaze was intense as he awaited her answer, and Helen felt she was being tested. She considered her words carefully. “But there must be another way he can earn his wage. Stealing is against the law, not to mention God’s commandment,” she said firmly. She added a lump of sugar to her cup then at his nod, she dropped two into his. It was the strangest thing, debating morality by the light of an Egyptian moon, and over tea at that.
“What about honoring thy father and mother?”
Helen narrowed her eyes as she stirred. “You can’t use one commandment to justify breaking another.”
“Come, Miss Corbyn. You seem like a milk-in-first sort who’s not averse to breaking a rule now and then to suit your purposes. A lady scholar is hardly one to march to society’s tune.”
“A ‘lady scholar’ is not illegal.”
“But what if your parents had forbidden it? Would you have honored them and abandoned your studies? Or is the commandment against thievery the only one you prize?”
Helen stopped stirring and frowned. Opened and closed her mouth. “But they didn’t forbid it,” she said finally. “If they were the sort of parents to forbid a child’s education and learning, rather than foster and encourage it, then I wouldn’t hold the same academic aspirations. So, Mr. Evelyn, your question is utterly without merit.”
“Utterly?” he repeated.
“Utterly.” The fire popped in the silence as Helen sipped her tea.
