Where the Library Hides (Secrets of the Nile #2)

Capítulo Uno

CAPíTULO UNO

I kept Whitford Hayes waiting.

Twelve hours later, I still hadn’t made up my mind. It alarmed me how badly I wanted to say yes. If I’d learned anything from my time in Egypt, it was that I couldn’t trust my own judgment. A disappointing and terrifying realization. From now on, I’d have to be on my guard, no matter what my heart wanted. Besides, what would happen if I did marry him? Whit had made a promise to someone else, and while it hadn’t been his personal choice, he had given his word to another. He had insisted on keeping his distance, and we had agreed on a friendship, and nothing more. But then he’d kissed me when we thought we were dying, and so the scale tipped, and we lost our equilibrium.

Everything changed while we were locked up in a tomb.

Did his proposal mean he cared about me? Was he as deep in as I was?

I could have asked him, but then, wouldn’t he have made some kind of declaration when he proposed? A simple I adore you would have been much appreciated. Now that I thought of it, Whit hadn’t actually asked me the question. He’d said, Marry me instead , matter-of-factly. I’d been so rattled I hadn’t had the time to pick through my thoughts before he’d left the room. Instead, I teetered from terror and joy. All the good things I’d ever loved had been lost to me. The family I believed I had. Elvira. The discovering of Cleopatra’s tomb. All destroyed by one person.

What if Mamá somehow wrecked this, too?

I tugged on the scarf around my throat. My mother had given it to me to shrink dozens of artifacts from Cleopatra’s tomb, and for some reason, I had kept it when I probably ought to have burned it. This stretch of fabric was evidence of her betrayal. It felt like a chain, linking me to her. Maybe if I pulled on it hard enough, it’d somehow lead me to where she was hiding.

“Stop fidgeting with that scarf. Why are you dragging your feet?” Tío Ricardo asked, voice laced with impatience. “Whit will be waiting.”

I winced. Ah, yes, Whit’s perpetual state at the moment. “él es paciente, Tío.”

“Ha! Whit? Patient? You don’t know him like I do,” my uncle scoffed. “All I’ve eaten is broth for the last few days, y me muero de hambre. I need a hearty meal, Inez, and if you say one word in disagreement, I will start yelling.”

I threw him a disgruntled look, even though he didn’t see it. He was categorically not dying of hunger—I personally made sure of it. I was not a violent person, but I silently contemplated throwing something at his head. Tío Ricardo, once again , refused to stay in bed. One would think I were suggesting he bite into a raw onion like an apple. Instead, he tugged me along as we made our way to Shepheard’s lavish dining room, one hand holding tight to my wrist. His other arm was bound up in a sling, which he periodically glared down at, resenting anything that might keep him from Philae. He also kept eyeing every person who passed us in the corridor with deep suspicion. When two gentlemen entered the hallway leading to the main stairs, my uncle forcibly moved me down another turn and waited for them to pass.

This time I didn’t try to hide my exasperation. “Just what do you think will happen to me on the third floor of the hotel?”

Tío Ricardo wasn’t looking at me but was focused on the retreating backs of the pair of gentlemen walking, presumably, to their room. “Have you seen them before?”

I yanked my arm free. “You ought to be resting and not casting judgment on unsuspecting tourists.”

My uncle finally angled his bearded face toward mine. He towered over me, smelling of citrus soap, and his clothes, for once, were pressed, his shoes wiped clean. Direct results of staying in the hotel for the past few days. “Have you learned nothing? Lourdes’s contacts could be anyone .”

“If she wanted to kill me, she had plenty of opportunity. But she didn’t,” I whispered. “I’m still her daughter. Her only child.”

“You have proof of how far she will go to protect her interests. Don’t depend on any maternal affection she might have for you.” The deep lines gathered at the corners of my uncle’s mouth smoothed away. He regarded me with soft eyes the exact same color as my own—hazel, which changed hue, depending on our mood. Pity lurked deep within them, and I couldn’t stand it. “Trouble follows wherever she goes. You of all people should know that.”

My lips parted as a memory raced into my mind. A quick flash, like the swipe of a knife against my skin.

Elvira screaming my name—calling for me as the trigger was pulled, the bullet streaking toward her. And a moment later, her blown-up face. Unrecognizable. Blood pooling under her head, staining the golden sand.

If I could, I would give up years of my life for that memory to be struck from my mind.

“I think it’s safe to go on down,” he said, and resumed holding on to me, half pulling me down the hall with his uninjured arm. “We have much to discuss.”

Ordinarily I would have made some retort, but his words had chilled me through. I could never forget who my mother was. Master manipulator and a shrewd strategist. A liar and a thief. A woman who could and did betray her daughter, who was hungry for power and would do anything to acquire wealth. Coldly ruthless as she sacrificed Elvira without remorse.

A woman lost in the wind.

Be on your guard , I told myself. We continued our trek to the dining room, but this time, I joined my uncle in his careful observation of our surroundings.

Hotel guests filled the dining room, sitting at round tables covered in snow-white tablecloths, while servers nimbly carried trays laden with silver teapots and porcelain cups. Whit sat across from me, dressed in a blue button-down tucked into his standard khaki trousers. His brawny frame filled up the dainty seat, broad shoulders overtaking the back of the chair’s width. I didn’t need to look under the table to know that he wore his favorite leather boots, laced up to midcalf. He poured his second cup of coffee, and I knew he’d forgo sugar or cream, preferring to drink it black.

I tore my gaze away, conscious of my uncle sitting not two feet from me, and lifted my teacup to hide my burning cheeks. The liquid was hot on my tongue, but I swallowed it down to buy myself time. I felt the weight of my uncle’s gaze, silently assessing and watchful. The absolute last thing I wanted was to give myself away.

My uncle would not appreciate the depth of my feelings for Whit.

“We’ll depart in a few days,” Tío Ricardo said to him.

“Not what the doctor ordered, I’m afraid,” Whit said calmly. “He instructed you to keep off your feet for another day or two and warned of too much activity at once. Certainly no traveling long distances. Too much jostling and the like.”

My uncle let out a muted snarl. “Philae is hardly a long distance.”

“Only several hundred miles,” Whit said, still unperturbed by Tío Ricardo’s foul temper. “You could pull the stitches, risk infection—”

“Whitford.”

Almost against my will, my eyes flew in his direction. I couldn’t help it, much like I couldn’t help the soft laugh that escaped from my mouth. My uncle wasn’t only irascible with me, he dumped his acerbic manner onto Whit, too.

He just handled it better than I did.

“You’ll do what you want, but I did promise the doctor I’d issue his warning,” Whit said, smiling faintly. “And now, at least in this instance, my conscience is clear.”

You’d never know that hours earlier, he had spoken of marriage. His manner was the same as it always was, an amused air that hid a deep current of cynicism. He met my uncle’s eyes confidently; his words came out with nary a wobble. His hands were steady around the handle of the coffee cup.

Only one thing gave him away.

Since I sat down, he hadn’t looked in my direction.

Not once.

Tío Ricardo narrowed his eyes. “What else have you gotten yourself involved with? Or do I not want to know of the other instances?”

“I’d stay clear,” Whit said before taking a long sip. He still wouldn’t look at me. As if he worried that meeting my gaze might reveal all of his secrets.

My uncle pushed away his plate—he’d eaten pita bread, dipping it in hummus and tahina, and four fried eggs. Despite my frustration with him, I was pleased to see his appetite had returned. “Humph,” Tío Ricardo said, but he let the matter drop. “Now, Inez,” my uncle began, rummaging through his jacket pockets. “I have your train ticket to Alexandria. You’ll be leaving within the week, and hopefully by then I’ll have found you a chaperone for the journey. It’s a shame Mrs. Acton already sailed.” He threw me a vexed look. “By the way, I had a hell of a time calming her down when you walked out on her. She was deeply offended.”

I’d nearly forgotten about dear Mrs. Acton, a woman my uncle had hired to escort me back to Argentina upon my arrival in Egypt. I had tricked her and escaped from the hotel where my uncle had wanted to keep me under lock and key until he could pack me off. But I couldn’t scrounge up any feeling of remorse. I couldn’t even form a reply.

My mind stuck on my forthcoming departure date.

Within the week.

My uncle let out an exclamation of triumph as he pulled something out of his pocket. He held up two slips of paper and then slid them to me. I glanced down, refusing to touch the sheets: a one-way train ticket to Alexandria, and one passage booked for the port of Buenos Aires.

The noise level in the room died down, the constant chattering falling to a hush. I contemplated drowning the tickets in my water glass. I thought about ripping them intro shreds and flinging them at my uncle’s face. Whit’s marriage proposal loomed large, a way out of my exile. He offered a lifeline, a chance to make things right. Access to independence, a way to stop my mother and her heinous behavior. My answer to Whit’s question crystalized in my mind. Slowly, I lifted my face and looked in his direction.

And for the first time since I sat down, he met my gaze.

His blue eyes seared.

Whit arched his brow, a silent question that only I knew the answer to. He must have read something in my face because he lowered his coffee, pushed his chair back from the table. “I’ll be out on the terrace while you work out the details.”

Tío Ricardo murmured distractedly. His attention was on a dark-skinned man across the room, dining with his family. He wore a tarboosh on his head and a crisp suit pressed to perfection. Whit shot me a quick meaningful glance before striding away. My pulse raced, knowing he wanted me to find a way to meet him outside, away from my uncle.

“Excuse me a moment. I’ve found a friend,” Tío Ricardo said. “Wait here.”

“But I’ve finished my breakfast,” I said. “I think I’ll head back to my room—”

“Not without me,” my uncle said, standing. “I won’t be ten minutes.” He fixed me with a stern glare and waited for me to agree with his demand.

It was almost too easy. I set my mouth in a mulish line and gave in reluctantly. He nodded, turning away, and when I was sure he wouldn’t notice my empty chair, I walked out of the dining room, toward the terrace where Whit waited. The lobby teemed with guests from everywhere, several languages spoken audibly as I weaved through the crowd. The front doors were opened for me and I stepped outside, blinking in the sunlight. Overhead, a blue sky with nary a cloud stretched above Cairo. The city of all cities, as some renowned historians had called it, and I had to agree. Since the dawn of time, this place had been a marvel.

I hated the idea of leaving it behind me.

Whit sat at his favorite wicker table, painted a deep green, his back to the wall, facing out toward the street. From that vantage point, he could see the comings and goings. I marched right up to him, not bothering to sit. He’d observed me the second I walked out onto the terrace, of course, and he tilted his chin up in order to meet me head-on.

“Why did you kiss me in the tomb?” I demanded.

“Because I didn’t want to die without having done it once,” he said immediately. “At least.”

I dropped into the chair opposite him. “Oh.”

“For the first time in my life, I’m choosing for myself,” he said quietly. “I’d rather marry a friend than a stranger.”

A friend. Was that all I was to him? I shifted in my seat, trying to display the same cool nonchalance that he exhibited. In that moment, I hated his self-possession. “Won’t your betrothed be upset?”

“Darling, I don’t give a damn about her.” He leaned forward and held my gaze. His voice dropped to a husky whisper. “I’m still waiting for your answer, Inez.”

A zip of electricity went through me, and I fought to keep myself from trembling. It was a big decision—the biggest of my life. “Are you sure?”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my entire life.”

“Let’s get married, then,” I said, breathless.

It was as if he’d been a balloon filled with worry. His shoulders dropped as the tension eased off him. Relief relaxed his features, his mouth softening, his jaw loosening. I hadn’t noticed he’d been that agitated while he waited for my answer. A thrilling feeling thrummed under my skin, making my heart pulse. I’d made Whitford Hayes nervous.

But he recovered quickly and grinned at me. “Does three days from now work for you?”

“Three days? Is that even possible?”

“Certainly not impossible.” He tugged at his tousled hair. “Damn complicated, though.”

“Tell me.”

“We need a priest, a license, a church, and a witness,” he said, listing each off with his fingers. “Then I’ll need to submit notice to the British Consulate Office here in Cairo, where they’ll notify the General Register Office in Britain.”

I raised my brows. “You’ve spent quite a bit of time thinking about this.” Unease settled deep in my belly. “Were you so sure I’d say yes?”

Whit hesitated. “I hoped you would. It was easier to dwell on the details than the possibility of a refusal.”

“Details that have to be looked into while under my uncle’s nose,” I said. “We mustn’t get caught.”

“Like I said, damn complicated.” Whit never lost his smile. “But we still have three days.”

I held on to the edge of the table. I couldn’t believe the direction my life was taking. Exhilaration made me breathless, but I couldn’t help feeling that I was missing something. Papá always wished I’d slow down to pay attention to the details I constantly overlooked. I heard his dry voice in my mind, gently chiding.

When you’re moving fast, hijita, it’s easy to miss what’s right in front of you.

But he wasn’t here. I didn’t know where he was, if he was even alive. My mother said my uncle had murdered my father, but she was a liar. He could be locked up somewhere, waiting for me to put the pieces of the puzzle together. I shoved my worry aside. There were other details needing my attention. Somehow, Whit and I had to sneak off to get married without anyone knowing.

Especially not my uncle.

“What do you need me to do?”

He sat back in the wicker chair, folded his hands across his flat belly, and grinned. “Why, what you do best, Inez.” His expression was warm, half-amused, half-teasing. The smile said he knew me all too well. “I need you to be exactly where you shouldn’t.”

WHIT

This was, by far, one of the worst ideas I’d ever had.

The Khedivial Sporting Club loomed over me, a building designed in a European style, painted in bland colors and surrounded by lush palms and trees. Distaste coated my tongue, sour like wine years past its prime. Only British military and high-ranking English civil servants were allowed within. And while my name and title met requirements, I had—dishonorably— lost my place in the military. Britain’s disgraced son who wanted to remain that way.

No one would throw the doors open in welcome.

But I needed a priest, a church, a witness, and a license. In order for our marriage to have any credible weight, I’d have to ask someone inside for the last two items on my list. Someone I hadn’t spoken to in months. Christ, a year? Time had moved in a crawling blur after I was discharged. He’d been my friend, and even though I’d pushed him away, I kept up with him whenever I could, not that he knew. His parents were ranchers from Bolivia, and they had sent him to live in England when he was only eight years old. He rarely talked about his family; he never stayed still long enough to have that kind of conversation. He liked to ride and he liked to drink. He shied away from gambling but risked his life almost daily.

Fast horses, front lines, and hard liquor.

But Leo Lopez never let me fight my fights alone, except that had been when I still had my reputation.

I pushed the wooden doors open and strode inside, a knot of tension blooming along my jawline. I unclenched my teeth, forced myself to wear an expression that didn’t openly display my revulsion.

The foyer was as fine as any English drawing room, with plush chairs, expensive drapery, and patterned wallpaper. Swirls of cigar smoke cast the room in a hazy, warm glow, and the sound of boisterous chatter came at me from everywhere at once. Men dressed in tailored suits and polished shoes lounged across several alcoves of comfortable seating, low coffee tables, and potted greenery. It was my father’s kind of establishment. A place to hobnob with the cream of society, rub elbows with the rich and landed, while bemoaning his needy wife and her penchant for pearls and gems. I could picture my father here, stone-cold sober, assessing weaknesses and waiting to strike. He’d use everything he learned at the table later.

The door swung shut behind me with an audible slam.

I knew the moment I was recognized.

A thick quiet settled over the room, choking all conversation. No one spoke for several heartbeats. It seemed I had greatly overestimated my charm.

“What the hell are you doing here?” a man asked, swaying slightly as he stood. I blinked against the stark red of his uniform. It seemed incredible that I had worn the same one for nearly seven years. His name came to me suddenly—Thomas something or other. He had a sweetheart in Liverpool and elderly parents who liked port after dinner.

“I’m looking for Leo,” I said nonchalantly. “Have you seen him?”

Several others stood, their faces turning red.

“The sporting club is for members only.”

“Not for bloody defectors,” another shouted.

“For shame,” cried one.

“I’m not staying,” I said over the outraged exclamations. “I’m looking for—”

“Whit.”

I turned toward a doorway leading into a narrow corridor. Leo slumped against the frame, shocked, as if he’d seen a ghost. He looked the same as the last time I’d seen him, the handsome bastard. Neat as a pin, shiny boots, pressed uniform. His black hair carefully combed back. I had no way of knowing what kind of welcome he’d give me.

“Leo, hello.”

His eyes flickered over the room, expression blank, but I caught his understanding of the situation. I felt, rather than saw, several of the men pressing close, surrounding me. They looked between us, assessing our degree of familiarity. Leo opened his mouth, then closed it abruptly, a calculating gleam in his eyes. I recognized it at once—was I worth owing him a favor? I was a man without country, my name worse than a muddy puddle. But he knew I had a talent for collecting secrets. I gave him a rueful smile, arching a brow slightly. My chest tightened, air caught in my lungs. All he had to do was extend a hand and I could remain, if only for a few minutes. I waited to see what my friend would do.

Leo averted his gaze.

It was another sentencing.

Rough hands reached forward, tugging at my clothes, yanking me back toward the entrance. I offered no resistance, even as someone shoved at my shoulder and another kicked at my shins. Rage pulsed in my blood. I held my hands up as I fought to quiet the beast roaring inside. The urge to defend myself nearly overwhelmed me. I could not give in to the impulse. They’d look for any excuse to drag my ass to the Cairo prison. I’d been there once, and I still recalled the vile stench, the oppressive weight of despair, the emaciated occupants. If I went inside, I’d never come back out. I knew that was exactly what they wanted.

Reckless Whit, losing his temper. Dishonorable Whit, attacking an officer.

If I reacted at all, any chance of marrying Inez would disappear.

And I needed to get married.

The officers dragged me to the front doors and threw me out. I landed hard on my hands and knees, the scrape of stone stinging my palms. I hauled myself to my feet as the men cheered and locked themselves away, singing merrily.

Bloody hell. Now what?

The sporting club was a short walk from the hotel. I shoved my hands deep into my pockets and retraced my steps, my mind clouded with useless ideas. Leo wouldn’t see me—there went my witness. The army chaplain was out of the question, as was the license. Without that, I wouldn’t be able to officially register the marriage in Britain.

Shit, shit, shit.

I walked one block, mind whirring. I wasn’t on good terms with any of my other countrymen in Cairo. They were all dignitaries and diplomats, staunch imperialists who looked down their noses at men who couldn’t follow orders.

Footsteps sounded behind me, someone racing down the path.

“Whit!”

I stopped and turned, barely catching my grin. My old friend, coming through after all. Leo stopped, his neat hair not so neat anymore.

“That was stupid,” he said. “What possessed you?”

“I’m getting married,” I said. “And it needs to be aboveboard and acknowledged by the right people.”

His brows rose. “Christ. Should I congratulate you? Or offer condolences?”

I clapped my hand on his back. “Decide at the wedding—you’ll be our witness.”

I was in another bar.

We were fighting for twelve inches of space, the stretch of mahogany overtaken by dozens of patrons at Shepheard’s famous establishment. Leo had insisted he knew where to find the army chaplain, one Henry Poole, who apparently liked his beer pale and bountiful. When he dragged me back to Shepheard’s, the image of my future wife swam across my mind, clear as if she were standing before me. Dark curls that wouldn’t be tamed, alchemical eyes shining gold, lit by an insatiable curiosity. She was probably plotting sneaking out of the hotel without her uncle noticing. Even now, she could be learning Ricardo’s schedule or asking for the aid of an employee.

One never knew when it came to Inez.

“Buy him another before asking,” Leo said in Spanish from out of the corner of his mouth.

I flicked my gaze in his direction. How did he know I learned Spanish? While in the military, I had learned some phrases but nothing like how I spoke or understood the language now. It seemed like I wasn’t the only one who had kept tabs.

He took a sip of his drink and shrugged noncommittally. Then he jerked his chin in the direction of the army chaplain. He stood at my elbow, a smile tugging at his mouth as he took in the riotous scene in the lavish space. I’d been here before, many times, often on a job for Ricardo. Many people came by the famous watering hole, intent on a good time and not much else.

Henry leaned forward and shouted his order for all three of us at the bartender, who nodded briskly while also taking the order of half a dozen other people. I admired the competent multitasking. The chaplain glanced over, grinning. I got the sense he didn’t have too many friends and was eager for camaraderie. I had expected him to be stodgy, uptight, and ill-humored.

But he was jovial and chatty—truly bizarre for a Briton—and nearly drunk. He smiled too much and was the too-trusting sort, poor sod. The bartender pushed three more glasses toward us, filled to the brim, and I hesitated.

I had drunk two already.

“Is the gun absolutely necessary?” The chaplain hiccupped. “We aren’t in any danger here, surely.”

“I never go anywhere without it,” I said.

Leo bent and stuck his nose close to the weapon attached to my hip. “You still have his revolver? After all this time?”

“Whose?” Henry asked, eyeing it with interest.

“General Gordon’s,” Leo said in a hushed voice, before raising his glass in a solemn salute.

“ The General Gordon?” Henry asked in an awed whisper. “That’s his gun?”

I nodded tightly, reaching for the glass. Without another thought, I took a long drag of the liquor.

“But how did you get it?” the chaplain sputtered. “I heard he was decapitated—”

“Another round?” Leo broke in.

“We just got our drinks,” Henry protested.

“Something tells me we’ll want another,” Leo said, with an uneasy glance in my direction. He knew the full history of my disreputable time in the military, of course. I had been thrown out, with no time to say my piece or my goodbyes to the rest of them. Not that I cared—except, perhaps at times, for the way I had disappeared on Leo.

But even then, I had a feeling he would have understood, despite never being able to publicly take my side. It didn’t matter anymore, because he was here now.

“Bottoms up, as they say,” Henry said, between hiccups.

We raised our glasses. In for a penny, in for a pound.

As they say.

What bloody time was it? Leo’s face blurred in front of me. The singing had gotten louder. Lord, so loud . But I had won us more inches at the bar. Victory.

“Didn’t you have to ask Henry something?” Leo roared in my ear.

“Jesus,” I said, wincing.

He laughed, face red, not neat anymore.

Henry went to the other end of the bar, then came back with more beer. He always had more beer. He must have been made of it.

“I need to get married!” I yelled.

“What?” Henry bellowed.

“I NEED TO GET MARRIED!” I bellowed back. “WILL YOU DO THE HONORS?”

He blinked, slopped his beer over the rim as he laid a hand on my shoulder. “’Course! I hate funerals.”

“This calls for whiskey,” Leo said, then he let out a soft, rueful laugh. “ More whiskey,” he amended.

Relief cut through the fog blanketing my mind. I had a chaplain. I had a priest.

And I would have Inez.

Thank Christ.

I raised my glass and embraced oblivion.

The lobby was quiet by the time we stumbled out of the bar. Leo made it a couple of feet before having to lean against one of the immense granite pillars. My limbs felt loose, but my mind was steeped in a thick haze, making every one of my thoughts hard to grasp.

“He said he was going to do it?” I asked, trying to recall the chaplain’s exact words. He had left an hour ago. Maybe longer. I had stopped looking at the wooden clock inside.

Leo nodded and then winced. “Don’t you remember screaming that you were getting married?”

“What? No.” That would have been extremely stupid—no one was sup posed to know of our plans. Anyone could go back to the well-known Ricardo Marqués with the news.

“You were congratulated by nearly everyone inside,” he remarked. I stood a few paces from him, but even so, I could smell the hard liquor on his breath.

Even as the room spun, a feeling of unease rose. I swallowed down the taste of acid coating my tongue. We watched in silence as a parade of patrons exited the bar, some upright, others swaying, and a few who had to be carried out by friends. I was reasonably proud I was having no trouble remaining upright.

“Turn back,” Leo said suddenly, his eyes fixed on a large crowd loitering not ten feet from us.

I instinctively hid behind the pillar, away from the bar entrance. I peered at the group.

“Stop,” Leo hissed.

But it was too late—I’d already seen my former captain. Judging by the way he glared at my friend, it was quite clear he had seen the pair of us drinking—he might have even seen his chaplain with us.

Leo whistled sharply, and I heard several people draw near, laughing, talking loudly. I walked around the pillar, astounded to find my friend surrounded by soldiers. Several of whom had bought me rounds of whiskey. I knew Leo hoped to use their bulk to shield me from the captain’s observant gaze, but it didn’t work.

He approached, and the soldiers straightened, some scampering off to the hotel entrance. His decorated uniform showed off rows of ribbons and brass pins that shone brightly in the candlelight flickering around the room. The captain’s light eyes moved over me, assessing, his lips tight in disapproval. He took in my dusty boots and wrinkled shirt. My too-long hair and the alcohol on my breath.

“Whitford,” he said. “I heard you stopped by the club.”

It seemed best to keep my mouth shut.

“You’re still working for Ricardo,” he said. “Does he know you’re planning on marrying his niece?”

The blood drained from my face.

“I didn’t think so,” he said with a cold smile. “You’re exactly the same, Whitford.” He shook his head, contempt stamped across his stern features. “Your father deserved better.” His attention turned toward Leo, who was still using the pillar to remain standing. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

He walked away, shoulders straight, back stiff.

Thunder roared in my ears. “How did he know it was Ricardo’s niece?”

Leo let out a crack of laughter. “You said so in the bar, idiot.”

For fuck’s sake. There was no help for it now—Inez and I would have to marry sooner. If there was anyone who wanted to mess up my life, it would be the man who reported me to the military judge.

It was only after I said goodbye to Leo that I felt someone watching from the top of the stairs. I tipped my head back, mouth dry, eyes blurring. I stumbled on the first step and barely managed to stay upright. The figure looked familiar.

It took a minute for the shape to crystallize, the lines becoming sharper. It was a young woman, her expression hard to read. It might have been incredulous horror. She turned, walking briskly away, tying the sash of her dressing gown tight around her slim waist. Dark curls swaying around her shoulders. I recognized her at last.

Inez.