Mr. Impossible (The Dressmakers 2)

“She still has the copy,” Carsington said. “It isn’t so beautiful, of course, and lacks the illustrations. But she’ll persevere. She’s dauntless. I’ve never known a woman like her, not remotely like her. Did you see her last night, when those fellows were coming at us, that great lot of ruffians? She turned and cocked her pistol and fired, just as sure as you please. Got the fellow in the leg, too. Not that I was surprised, when I’ve seen her courage again and again. From the very start.”

He launched into the story: how Daphne had gone down into a dungeon of the Citadel to get him when no one else would help her…the murders in the second pyramid and the pluck she’d displayed then…the tour of the Pyramid of Steps at Saqqara, which had involved miles of narrow passages and during which she’d uttered no complaint — quite the opposite.

“I vow, she might have been at the Egyptian Hall in Piccadilly or making a tour of Stourhead,” Carsington said. “If she was uncomfortable, she took no notice — and you ought to know it was ninety degrees at least inside that pyramid, and the air thick with smoke and dust.”

“Daphne?” Miles said. “But she has a deep fear of small, closed spaces. Her voice goes up to a squeak, and she jabbers endlessly. It is very irritating.”

“She did not squeak with me,” Carsington said. “I saw she had a morbid aversion to such places, but she will not let the fear hold her back. I wish you had seen her when we were stuck in that caved-in robber’s tunnel in the tomb in Asyut.”

He went on to tell that tale while Miles listened, wondering if he’d got drunk again without realizing, because it could not be his sister Daphne of whom Carsington spoke with so much enthusiasm. And admiration. As though…as though —

“You’re in love with her,” Miles said. Then, “Er,” he said. Because he hadn’t meant to say it aloud. He stared hard at the mongoose. She licked his hand.

“In love?” Carsington repeated. “In love?”

“Er, no. Sorry. Don’t know what I was thinking. The heat. The shock. Couldn’t believe it was my sister you were talking about. Brave and dashing and and all that.”

Carsington’s countenance darkened.

“Not but what I expect she’d rise to the occasion,” Miles added hastily. He was not afraid of Carsington, exactly. Yet he had to admit the glare was a trifle daunting. In any event, it wasn’t good for the man to become overwrought. Daphne had said so. “My sister is a plucky creature, of course — continuing her work in spite of all the discouragement, and so forth.”

“You’ve got it backwards,” Carsington said. “It wasn’t her rising to the occasion. It’s the occasion rising to her. Egypt and this business with you and the papyrus have finally given her the chance to show what she truly is. She’s — she’s a goddess. But human. A real goddess, not make-believe. She’s beautiful and brave and wise. And fascinating. And dangerous. As goddesses are, as you know, in all the best stories.”

“I’ll be hanged,” Miles said. “You really are in love with her.”

The black eyes regarded him steadily. Then they regarded the cabin ceiling. Then the window. Then they came back to him.

“Do you know,” Carsington said mildly, “I’ve been wondering what it was.”

DAPHNE CAME AT sunset, accompanied by Nafisah. The Isis was still traveling upriver and would not moor until darkness made it too dangerous to proceed. The Nile was very low. Even in broad day, navigation wanted every iota of the helmsman’s attention.

Archdale had thought they might make it to Isna before night fell.

Rupert didn’t care where they were or where they would moor. He saw that Nafisah’s tray held utensils for two. Daphne intended to dine with him. Alone.

Perfect.

Nafisah set the tray on the stool and left. Marigold ran in, stood up and sniffed at the tray, and ran out again.

Ignoring both the mongoose’s antics and Rupert’s not very convincing protests, Daphne arranged cushions behind him. Only when she’d settled him to her satisfaction did she settle herself.

Rupert didn’t mind. She had donned a particularly fetching Arab-style ensemble comprising full but wickedly thin Turkish trousers, a thin crepe shirt, a silk sash draped provocatively over her hips, and a flowing silk overgarment. The faint scent of incense wafted about him.

This was all highly encouraging.

“That is a horrid temptation to put before a man who is forbidden to make vigorous movements,” he said.

“Is it really?” she said. “No wonder Miles did not approve. He looked daggers at me.”

“Maybe his face froze that way,” Rupert said. “He was looking daggers at me a few hours ago. Do you think he suspects?”

“I think he knows,” she said.

“I’m glad I don’t have a sister,” he said. “I should have to get over my aversion to killing people.”

She turned her attention to the tray. “If I remember my physic correctly, you need to strengthen the blood. You must take some lamb stew. Red wine, of course. The rice is cooked in chicken broth with onions. Some bread and cheese. Some fruit. A little —”

“I can’t eat just yet,” he said. “I am too — too —” He frowned. “Too something. Feelings.”

Her green gaze met his. “Feelings,” she repeated.

“I meant to wait,” he said. “Until I was better. Because I didn’t want pity to influence you.”

“Pity,” she said.

“On account of my wound,” he said.

“Don’t be absurd,” she said. “I shouldn’t pity you on account of a nick in the belly.”

“In any event, I can’t wait,” he said. “And I had better warn you that I don’t mean to be in the least sporting. If I have to go on my knees, and start bleeding again —”

“I can think of no reason for you to go on your knees,” she said severely.

“Then you’re not thinking clearly,” he said. “It’s the usual way these things are done.”

“These things,” she said, a degree less severely.

“I should have done it that way the first time, but I hardly knew what I was doing,” he said. “You said it was better to marry than to burn, and I was in a state of eternal conflagration, it seemed — but that wasn’t what it was at all.”

She shifted up onto her knees. “Perhaps you ought to take some wine,” she said.

“My strength is up to this,” he said. “I only hope my brain is, too. I want to explain first. Because you aren’t to think it’s completely on account of lust. Lust is a part, yes. A large part.”

She sank back onto her heels and regarded her hands.

“But I liked you from the moment I first heard your voice,” he said, “when I had no idea what you looked like. I thought it delicious, the way you bargained for me, as though I were an old rug. Then I loved the way you looked at me. Then I loved the way you ordered me about. I loved your patient and impatient ways of explaining things to me. I love the sound of your voice and the way you move. I love your courage and your kindness and your generosity and your obstinacy and your passion.” He paused. “You’re the genius. What do you think that means?”

She threw him a sidelong glance. “I think you’re insane,” she said. “Perhaps you have developed an infection which has gone directly to your head.”

“I am not insane,” he said. “A woman of your highly advanced intellect ought to be able to perceive that I am in love. With you. I wish you had told me. It was deuced embarrassing to find it out from your brother.”

Her gaze swung toward him, green eyes wide and flashing. “Miles?” she said. “Did he get into a snit about my honor and insist —”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said. “He has not lived the life of a recluse, as you have. You may be sure he knows all about me. I’ve no doubt I’m the last man on earth he’d want near his sister. Well, maybe I’m second to last. After Noxley. But never mind them. This is between us, Daphne. I love you with all my heart. Will you be so good as to marry me?”

“Yes,” she said. “Yes, of course. I should never have said no the first time. I have bitterly regretted the error, believe me. I could live without you, but that would only be breathing. It would not be living.”

He opened his arms, and she crawled toward him on her hands and knees and came into them. “I missed you,” she said. “I missed you so much.” She lay her head upon his shoulder. “Can we be married right away? I hate sleeping in my own cabin.”

“We can be married now,” he said, nuzzling her soft hair. “Remember?”

“Yes. But you must have a dowry.” She reached down and untied the silken sash. “This will have to do.”

He took it from her. It was quite heavy, even for a large piece of silk. “What have you got twisted up in this?” he said. “Rocks?”

“Five purses,” she said. “About thirty-five pounds.”

“You came prepared.”

“Of course I did,” she said. “When I want something, I will stop at nothing. Look at what I’m wearing.”

“I like what you’re not wearing, too,” he said.

“I am even so shameless as to take advantage of you when you are weak and wounded.”

“I’m not that weak,” he said. He dropped the sash onto the divan and put his hands to better use, roving over her shapely body. “We’d better get married right away,” he said.

“Yes,” she said.

Her hands weren’t idle, either. But her mouth, that soft mouth was even more dangerous, gliding over his neck and collarbone.