Siren's Secret (28 page)

Olivia tilted her head to find the man’s face inappropriately close to hers. “Mr. Lampley,” she noted, with unease.

“My lady.” He winked.

She ignored the flirtation, though a smile threatened to twitch free regardless. Stafford folded his arms across his chest, impatient.

“What kind of mortal traps?” Stafford asked.

“The kind that kill,” Hugh said, turning serious. “We lost Queensbury when we first attempted entry. The initial chamber is a trap of poisonous darts.”

Olivia gasped.

Her father continued, “Then Peel died mysteriously in his sleep not long after. A heart ailment no doubt, but the coincidence did make us more cautious.”

“I see.” Olivia swallowed, uncertain. Maybe she didn’t need to go into all the tombs. And it seemed her father had never been in any grave danger. “Is that what you meant, Father, when you said getting this”—she touched the funerary cone on the table—“was a matter of life and death?”

“Yes. We believe it’s the key to safely open each room in the tomb.” Her father looked at the stone object with relief … and something else. Undisguised eagerness. The stone had nearly gotten her killed more than once, and suddenly he didn’t even see her.

“I’m most relieved to see it wasn’t your life, Father, that was in peril.” A bitter taste filled her mouth. She wondered how much to tell him. “You might have warned me of its true value before placing my own life at risk.”

Her father’s eyes widened. “I didn’t think you would bring it to me.”

“What did you think then? That I would entrust its delivery to a stranger?”

“Yes. I did. With a wily and discreet explanation as to what it was.”

“Did you also tell Grayson to leave it somewhere such that I could easily get it?”

Her father’s face flushed. “He wanted to help but could not be involved. He is a curator. You must understand, no one else could easily get access. Nor would anyone suspect
you.
You were the perfect solution—if only you had sent it to me as you have so many other items.”

Olivia fought for self-control. “You had little enough faith in me, it seems.”

“Not at all, Ollie,” Stafford jumped in. “I’m certain your father’s lack of faith is only in your thieving skills, which you shouldn’t be boasting about in any circumstance.”

Olivia’s stomach hurt. She pressed it, willing the knot away. No one seemed the least upset by this situation. Her father had set her up to be a thief, knew she would be inept at it, and then doubted her loyalty and love as a daughter to deliver the important object herself. And now that she had arrived, funerary cone in hand, he did not seem particularly happy to see her.

“Come let us sit. I’ll fill you in over luncheon.” Her father waved to a table of food nearby that had been hastily spread for them.

“I don’t need lunch. I’ll fill you in now.” Olivia knew her voice was tight. She was angry and hurt. It’s not as though there had been great shows of affection in her family, but was it unusual to expect something? And why did she suddenly need it?

“Food is usually good in these types of situations,” the duchess remarked. “And tea. Do you have tea, Mr. Lampley?”

Lampley nodded and stepped away to make sure tea was added to the luncheon fare.

“Grayson was murdered, Father. By people trying to get this ‘key.’ ”

To her satisfaction, her father’s face went white.

“And those same men have been trying to kill me. On more than one occasion. First when I tried to take the cone, next while asleep in my very own bed. They killed an innocent person in my place, Father. Meggie. Next they hunted us at the hotel where Mrs. Tisdale and I tried to hide, and last at sea—but that last incident may not be related. Honestly, what kind of madman would put a ten-thousand-pound price on an Englishwoman who had never stepped off the shores of our grand isle and who for all her life has been an obedient and dutiful daughter? Wait. Correction.” She turned to Mrs. Riedell for confirmation. “An
exemplary
daughter, is that not right?”

“Quite right, dear.” Her friend gave a pained smile, reaching for her husband’s hand, as if anxious.

“Actually—”

Olivia turned as the duchess rudely interrupted.

“Lady Olivia, as I understand from those who know rightly, and believe me, they have told me quite clearly, an exemplary English daughter would have been married by now, not an unmarried adventuress, roaming the Mediterranean and stealing ancient artifacts.” She reached for a sharp tool on the table and studied it, before turning her attention back to Olivia. “I think perhaps you need to rethink your justification for
exemplary.
If by
exemplary
you mean intelligent and accomplished and talented, using those gifts for a productive, or perhaps even higher purpose, then you might be an exemplary person. But you are most certainly not an exemplary
English
daughter.”

“Your Grace, how can you jest with me, when it is clear this is not a light matter?”

“I jest, Lady Olivia, because you seem to be the only one here unaware of the fact that
we
are the only ones unarmed, and a small army is slowly encircling us.”

Olivia looked up in shock. Her father did as well, though his look was more wary than surprised. The duchess was right. The men on the outer edge of the oasis stood guard, but a smaller contingent had quietly surrounded the group while her father distracted them. She studied her father anew, wondering whether the maneuver had been deliberate on his part. Olivia retrieved the funerary cone from the table and put it in her pouch. She turned to where her camel and traveling support remained. There was no doubt this was fast becoming a hostile situation.

Lampley returned to the table and diffused the immediate danger. “Forgive my men. They are meant to protect, not intimidate. I just received word that our new partner is joining us this afternoon. For now, luncheon is served.”

Olivia felt as though she were teetering on a cliff. Samuel gave her a nod to follow the man, assuring her it was safe … for now. They were invited to a long wood table nearby, complete with matching chairs and a table fitted with bone china and silver flatware. The expedition traveled in style.

Before she could sit, her father called, “Olivia, if you will escort me to my tent for just a few minutes. I want to show you something.”

Olivia didn’t hesitate. She would not disobey her father publicly, despite her uncertain feelings toward him. She also wanted some answers. Only, it made her uneasy that even when going to her father’s quarters, they were escorted by armed scouts.

His tent was large, equipped with a bed, a long desk area, and a small sitting table with three chairs in a corner. There was a shelf with books and a stack of writings that he had completed. He closed the heavy tent flap behind her and raised a finger over her mouth, indicating they should speak quietly. Olivia’s nerves went on alert.

She adjusted the heavy pouch on her shoulder more comfortably and took the seat her father offered. He sat across from her, elbows on the table, chin resting on folded hands. Finally, he breathed and reached a hand out to her palm up, imploring.

He looked sad. Regretful. Worried.

She took the hand.

“Father? What is it?”

“Olivia … I’m afraid … I’m afraid I’ve placed you in a danger more ominous than I ever suspected.”

“A
grave
danger?” she deadpanned, leaning forward, eyes earnest.

He blinked, surprised. Then laughed, his chest shaking with humor, a smile splitting his face briefly. “You can still jest. For that I am grateful.”

“After nearly a month of surviving grave dangers, Father, it is nearly all I have left. Why did you want the funerary cone? And why do you not want me here? You know I can help.”

“It is not that I’m not joyful to see you alive and in good health, Olivia, but now you and your friends might be trapped along with me.” He took a breath. “I had hoped only to keep the artifact from the wrong hands. Lampley’s, to be specific.”

Olivia didn’t speak for a moment, studying him. Then she said softly, “You have been at this for a long time, Father. How do you know that yours are the right hands?”

He gave a deep sigh and nodded. “You have grown in humor
and
wisdom, daughter.”

She pulled out the letter from her bag and handed it to him. “Stafford said I could give this to you. I read it.”

“Of course.” Her father examined the letter, smiling. “Nice job at sealing it again, dear.”

Olivia appreciated the compliment, but her humor disappeared quickly. “They were likely Grayson’s last words.”

He clutched the letter. “Good God. What have I done?”

“Father?”

“Queensbury, Peel, and now Lord Grayson. I never should have involved him. We have stumbled onto something here, Olivia. Something very valuable to some people who are very powerful.”

Olivia absorbed this, trying to piece together what she knew. “Grayson believed the librarian has something to do with a series of thefts. Of ancient astrolabes, strangely enough.”

Her father nodded, reading through the letter. “We initially thought it was a librarian of the Great Library.”

“It is. I’m certain!” Olivia insisted quietly.

“I agree, Olivia. But there are many ancient traditions, beliefs, even cults that we have yet to discover or understand. Through my correspondence with Lord Heatherly, who is currently in Egypt studying the pyramids, and from my letters in the last year from Duchess Worthington, who also knows Heatherly, I’ve learned about another myth—”

“Lilith.”

She caught a surprised glint in his eyes. “Yes.”

“I know all about it. Stafford told me.”

“The American?”

“His mother was English,” she defended.

“I wasn’t critiquing your choice, dear.”

“He’s not my choice. He’s my friend. And … he’s a good man, Father. But don’t tell him I said so. He’s ridiculously arrogant.”

“Arrogance doesn’t keep a man alive in his line of business,” her father said.

Olivia stopped. He had a point. She would think on that later and come up with a new flaw for the man. At the very least he was a bit of womanizer. And he was still
half-American.

“I digress. The symbol,” she said. “When I was able to steal the cone again, I showed it to Stafford—”

“Steal it
again?”

She sighed. “Long story, Father. Anyway”—she pulled out the cone to show him—“he recognized the symbol. It is used to represent a goddess named Lilith.”

Her father nodded. “Her followers used it as well. It’s at the entrance to the tomb and inside the first chamber. We stopped trying to get any further. At least, I did.”

“Why?”

“Did Stafford tell you the prophecy part of this ancient myth?”

Olivia shook her head, quizzical. “Just the two sisters. One kills the other, and Lilith kills them all until balance is restored to the earth.”

“The prophecy predicts that the balance will be restored when the correct sister makes the sacrifice,” her father explained. “Then once again, her family will retain wealth and power to control the earth.”

“But that makes no sense. They’re all dead. And the sacrifice was the deal of the lord of the underworld, not Lilith’s. She destroyed any possibility of restoring balance.”

“Descendants of the sisters survived,” her father said. “Or so it is surmised. This librarian might have been one of them. And might have the treasure from that realm hidden in the tomb—or a map to the treasure’s location.”

“And what? Hidden the location in the astrolabe?”

“Exactly.”

“What do you hope to find, then?”

“I no longer hope to find anything. I only wanted to put the funerary key back where it belongs and lock the entrance to stop anyone else from entering. It is meant to be left alone. Lampley wants to continue. He is hoping to make up his investment in treasure. He does not want to accept that those buried here had very little treasure entombed with them. He rests his hopes on this sealed chamber of the librarian.

“I know he sent someone to get the star cone in England. If so, he might be behind Meggie’s death. Five have died since we tried to enter the librarian’s tomb, including Queensbury. Lampley has invested as much as anyone else, but with more to lose. I thought he would be forced to leave by now, but he has held on. When he returned after his last trip, it was with funding and a new investor—one who is backing him specifically.”

Olivia absorbed all her father shared, relieved he seemed to be the same man. “But what of your motives, Father? You cannot put the cone back and expect no one else will try to enter. There will certainly be others.”

“Let them come,” he said. “We can only guard the entrance while it is our turn to do so. There is something there we are not meant to disturb.”

“But what about finding the ancient scrolls, or any number of artifacts that could add to our current body of history?”

“I don’t deny the thirst for discovery is strong, but not when the past can kill you. I would like to have a future, my dear. I have been unable to leave camp for some time. Lampley has made me an imprisoned guest until he can figure out the ‘best course of action.’ I want for nothing but freedom. Strange how it feels when that is taken. I have learned new lessons in my old age.”

Olivia started to ask another question, when they were interrupted by Hugh Lampley. “Lord Merryvale,” he said. “Our new partner has arrived.”

“Indeed?” Her father spoke with a hint of resentment. “That is timely.”

“Curiously, he’s asked to meet you, Lady Olivia.”

A chill went down Olivia’s spine and she looked at Hugh alarmed, dread filling her. Stafford had warned her, hadn’t he? Her mouth went dry as the desert. “What is his name?”

“Sir Jason Moreau,” he said.

“Son of a Moor,” she cursed, getting up.

“No, French,” Hugh corrected.

She shook her head and for once didn’t bother to explain. Moreau was their new investor? What did the bastard want? And more important, what would he do now that he’d found her?