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“Do you enjoy your tea with its pilfered sugar?” he asked.
“Oh!” she said in exasperation. She leapt to her feet and tossed the remains of her tea onto the fire. As satisfying as the hiss and sizzle was, she would rather have tossed her cup at his head. “I think you take pleasure in being perverse,” she said sourly. “You bait me with arguments about morality but refuse to speak when I ask a perfectly reasonable question about your sister.”
Mr. Evelyn chuckled. “And this from the lady who scoffs at boiled-turnip niceties.”
“That is hardly the point. Our situation”—she waved a hand to encompass the sleeping camel and their camp—“is dismaying enough as it is. Surely, it wouldn’t hurt to know a little more about one another.”
He was quiet for a moment as insects chirped about them, then he surprised her with a capitulation. “What is it you wish to know about my sister?”
Helen stilled at the question, but he appeared to be in earnest. She quickly recovered and took her seat again. “Well, I already know her name, and that she’s tall and fair-haired.”
“Don’t forget obstinate,” he reminded her.
“And obstinate. Although,” she added with a frown, “I suspect that might be a case of the pot censuring the kettle. Is your sister older than you or younger?”
“Older.” She prompted him with her silence until he added, “By ten minutes. We’re twins.”
“Twins! I’ve always thought it might be nice to have a twin.”
“Well, it’s not.”
She twisted to face him more fully. The fire cast shadows on his expression, but she could see his words for the lie they were. “It’s not? I can imagine the troubles you would encounter if you were of the same sex. A twin might take your favorite gown when you plan to wear it, for example, but what complaint can you have?”
He acknowledged her with a modest dip of his head. “I concede it would be vexing if Fiona always borrowed my favorite frock, but in truth,” he said softly, “I have no complaint.” The corners of his eyes turned down and Helen frowned, uncertain at his mood.
“I imagine a twin understands you better than most,” she said hesitantly. “That must be a comfort, to have another who knows you so completely.”
He remained silent for a long beat before saying, “Is that what you want, Miss Corbyn? To be known completely?”
Helen opened her mouth then closed it again. She didn’t think they were talking about siblings. “Yes,” she admitted. “That’s what romantic love must be, don’t you think? Two souls knowing one another, their edges fitting together so seamlessly that they can’t help but belong to one another.”
He didn’t respond, his gaze fixed on the fire before them, and warmth filled her cheeks. When she thought he might dismiss her words altogether, he spoke. “Rather like a key fitted to a finely crafted lock, I suppose.”
Her brows dipped low as she considered his words. The image they formed in her mind was so… right. “Yes,” she said on a slow breath. “Precisely that. When two souls are a match for one another, the door opens.”
“And where does this metaphorical door lead?”
She smiled, no longer caring if he thought her ridiculous. “To an adventure to surpass all adventures. To joy and peace—the sort that can only come from knowing you’re where you’re meant to be.”
His gaze shifted, his pale eyes shimmering and reflecting the light. “Such a thing must be rare indeed. If you don’t find this ideal, what then? Will you forsake marriage and a family, or will you compromise your desires?”
Helen didn’t have to think long on her answer. “This world is full of adventures, but I think I’d rather encounter them alone than with another who doesn’t share my heart.”
“A bleak prospect, to be sure.”
His gaze returned to the fire and Helen knew. “The photograph you carry… it’s your sister, is it not?”
“Yes,” he said softly, and her heart lightened. The beautiful lady wasn’t his betrothed. She was hissister. She began to smile, unaccountably relieved, but then he added, “Fiona traveled with me to Egypt. We were to make a holiday of it, but she was taken in Cairo nearly two months ago.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Miss Corbyn didn’t interrupt as Rhys told of his sister’s abduction, although he was certain she wished to. But she merely waited, hands folded in her lap as he spoke. “Now you know why I must press on to Cairo,” he finished.
The silence grew as Miss Corbyn absorbed all that he’d told her. Her fine brows pulled low over her eyes as her thoughts played across her features. The fire had nearly gone out and he rose to tend it.
“The Collector,” she finally whispered. “Your story about the lady and her artifact… It was true.” Then she gasped. “And I was right! Itwasyou in the museum that night.” The realization that he’d been the man in the shadows appeared as a charming blush on her cheeks before she continued. “You came for your sister’s amulet.”
Rhys snorted a disbelieving laugh, still not quite comprehending the farce that had become his life. “I argued with Fiona’s captors that I no longer had the piece—that it was bound for England, in fact—but they were insistent.”
