Ramses the Damned Read online

  Now it was Julie’s task to deceive both Edith and Alex as to her own transformation. And whatever her plans for the future, Julie would use the betrothal party to express her great affection for Edith and Alex, keeping inside the pain of the gulf that now forever divided them.

  Out of all the people who had joined them on their Egyptian adventure, Alex remained the only one who still thought Mr. Reginald Ramsey a mysterious Egyptologist who had simply fallen into their group, who still thought the mysterious woman with whom he’d shared a night of passion in Cairo was just an old friend of Ramsey’s gone mad.

  And it was Julie’s conviction that Alex must never learn the truth. The shock of the truth about her, about Ramses, about Cleopatra, about his own father—it would destroy Alex utterly.

  No, her every thought must be for the recovery of Alex from what he had already endured.

  After Cleopatra had gone to her supposed death, Alex had retreated into himself. On the ship home to London, he had confessed to loving this woman he did not truly know, but he had also vowed to forget her. He would return to the motions of living, he had insisted. They all would.

  And she’d thought it a ghastly phrase then. The motions of living.

  She thought it a ghastly phrase now. Surely Alex was recovering. Surely his wanting to give this betrothal party was evidence of his recovery. Surely the flow of money coming from the earl had underwritten a new confidence in Alex, a new willingness to look about him at the many eligible heiresses who would value his breeding, his title, his subtle charm.

  Ramses took her hand. Somewhere a church bell chimed. It was late, and the walkway along the Seine was deserted.

  “You think now of Alex or his father?” Ramses asked.

  “Alex. I must confess something to you because the confession of it will free me from the need to do it.”

  “Of course.”

  “There is a part of me that wishes to tell Alex everything.” Was that true? Her own words had shocked her. But yes, it was true. It was the deeper truth beyond pity, beyond sympathy.

  “This is a confusion of guilt. Revealing this truth will not change the fact that you never loved him. And you should feel no guilt for this. This marriage was almost forced on you for financial reasons alone. None of its architects cared what might be in your heart.”

  “Of course. Of course. But…”

  “I am telling you how you feel. Forgive me. I was a counselor far longer than I was a king. The role returns to me with too much speed.”

  “I wish to change him, Ramses. I never loved him. But I care for him deeply and I wish to see him changed so that…”

  “So that what, Julie?”

  “So that he would be able to drink of the world as we do. So that he would see its colors and its magic. So that he would be willing to risk injury, to his body and his heart, if it be in the pursuit of deepening his experience of being alive.

  “This is my great worry, you see? In fact, it seems my only worry now. That I will wish to share the change that has overtaken me with everyone for whom I care deeply.”

  “Share the elixir, you mean?”

  “Of course, it’s not mine to share. But you know what I mean. You must have felt similar things throughout your existence.”

  “I have, but know this. The experience you are having is yours alone. The elixir did not really change you. Oh, it’s made you stronger, more resolute. Of course. I enjoy this very much, these changes. But it has not changed your heart. It has unleashed what was already there. It has set your loving nature free. It will not do these things in everyone to whom it’s given. But I know it’s tempting, this belief.”

  “But if the fear of death is removed, does the person not…”

  “Not what? Become good? I brought Cleopatra out of death itself and removed her fear of it. And did she not bring death to innocents in Cairo?”

  “That’s different, Ramses. She is a different creature. One for whom we do not even have a name.”

  “The elixir cannot cure a broken soul. Trust me in this. Your experience of it, it belongs solely to you.”

  “And you belong solely to me,” she whispered. “And you are part of this experience I don’t wish to share with anyone. Not in that way.”

  A kiss, deep and fearless and without regard for passersby. Then he pulled back from her and took her hand. “Come,” he said. “To the cathedral.”

  “No, darling,” she said. “Not on this our last night. I want to seek the dark corners of Paris again, the dark narrow lanes, the taverns and cabarets where I would never have dared to set foot in the past.” She laughed. “I want to see all the dangerous places. I want to see the thieves eye us as prey and then instinctively, inevitably, as they always do, turn away from us—as if we were angels.”

  He smiled. He understood, as much as any man could understand, she thought. Any man, who had never known what it means to be a woman.

  And off they walked together, away from the river, and towards parts of Paris unknown to them, two adventurers of which the mortal world knew nothing.

  7

  Monte Carlo

  The Englishman made love like a Frenchman, and for this Michel Malveaux was blissfully grateful.

  The waiters and croupiers in the casino had referred to the man as the Earl of Rutherford, and that was how Michel preferred to think of him now. The title was an elegant reminder of how different he was from Michel’s other clients.

  He’d taken Michel to bed with the same vigor with which he had played the casino’s tables for several days now. The vigor of a man half his age. The vigor of a man half Michel’s age, for that matter. There was no sense of hurried shame in his movements. Neither was there hesitancy or nervousness. Indeed, the handsome, blue-eyed aristocrat stroked and probed and tasted Michel’s body with the same abandon as the young men Michel had experimented with in the vineyards behind his family’s farm when he was a boy.

  No, nothing at all like his other clients, those men and women who invited him back to their hotel rooms with furtive, coded signals. Who bid him a hasty farewell once the deed was done, but not before giving him the requisite gift. Money, jewels, or the promise of a fine meal, all intended to buy both his discretion and perhaps his return the next night under similar circumstances.

  Even the room was different.

  Michel had been inside most at the Hotel de Paris, but not this particular suite, with its wallpaper the color of a cloudless sky, its soaring windows so easily opened onto the sea, and its small balcony. And how fearless of the earl to leave the windows open, to allow the ocean air to kiss their naked bodies as they engaged in a passion most would find unspeakable.

  But it was this very fearlessness that had first drawn Michel to the man several days before. The earl was one of the best gamblers he had ever seen. Possessed of an almost otherworldly ability to read the deck, the wheel, and the croupier’s expressions. And at the very moment each day when it seemed he might draw the suspicion of the house, he would graciously push back from the table. Then he would generously tip the waiters, who had kept him well fed with a steady supply of the small nibbles that seemed to sustain him.

  What were his tricks? Michel was desperate to know. For this was why he’d come to Monte Carlo years before: to learn the secrets of the best gamblers, to master luck itself, so that he could support his ailing, widowed mother.

  His poor mother.

  She believed he had achieved this goal. It would have broken her heart to know the money he mailed home came from servicing the private, sensual needs of the wealthy. He’d recently sent her an emerald ring encrusted with diamonds, and she’d written just the other day to tell him she wore it proudly and with great joy whenever her sisters came to visit. If she knew it had been gifted to him by a German general and his wife after he’d brought them both to simultaneous moments of release, she would be shattered, he was sure.

  But he’d been a younger and more foolish man when he’d left home. And after
only a few months of living in a crowded apartment with several croupiers, he’d been forced into realization. He was already an excellent lover, but it would take him some time to become a better gambler. No choice but to put his first gift to use while he sought to acquire the second.

  But now there was so much more he wanted to know about this man, beyond his tricks at the tables. So very much more.

  And when the earl brought him to climax, the cries that escaped from Michel sounded both pleading and ecstatic, and the Earl of Rutherford seemed to delight in them, for he increased his thrusts until the two of them lay in a heap in the tangled sheets.

  Drowsiness overtook him.

  His companion, on the other hand, didn’t seem remotely tired. He stroked Michel’s sweat-matted hair from his forehead.

  “The Earl of Rutherford has many secrets and skills,” Michel finally whispered.

  “Perhaps after another moment like that, I can convince you to call me Elliott.”

  “You are a man of great mystery and skill, Elliott.”

  “Do you speak of my skills at the blackjack table or…?” With one finger, the man drew a slow circle across Michel’s stomach.

  “Both.”

  “I see. And so the whispered rumors of you are true, young Michel Malveaux.”

  “What rumors?”

  “That you’re skilled in the art of seduction. That it’s made you a handsome living. Perhaps this is why I was so eager to show you the extent of my skills as well.”

  “Are we dueling courtesans then?”

  Elliott laughed. “No, hardly.”

  “I’m sure. You have a title.”

  “And what exactly does this fact allow you to presume about me?”

  “Nothing,” Michel whispered. “I can presume nothing about you, for you have already defied my every expectation. You have none of the reserve of an English aristocrat and none of the pretense. At least when compared to the ones I’ve met.”

  “How many have you met, dear boy?” he asked with an impish smile.

  “Be kind, Elliott. We have not all descended from great wealth. We do what we must to survive.”

  “To you I wish to be nothing but kind,” he said, and gave him a gentle kiss, “repeatedly and with great enthusiasm.”

  “And so the rumors about me don’t disturb you?”

  “Not at all. My life is in a period of great transition. As a result, I have been freed from old restrictions and labels.”

  “Is your title one of these labels from which you are now free?”

  “If it is my title that permits me to access beauty such as yours, young Michel, I wish to never be free of it.”

  “This fearlessness, Elliott. It defines you. Where does it come from? Do your skills at the tables give you this confidence?”

  “You wish to learn my tricks, is that it? You think I’ve been counting cards?”

  “I wish to learn many things about you, Elliott.”

  Ah, and there it was, a little crack in the man’s façade, a suddenly distant look in his crystalline-blue eyes. Had he said too much? Was there too much longing in these words? Almost sympathetic now, the way Elliott grazed the side of his face with his bent fingers.

  “You might say I am on a grand adventure. But I am also working to repay some debts. Now I’m privileged enough to combine the two endeavors.”

  “Repaying debts. With your winnings?”

  “Yes.”

  “And soon you will move on?” he asked, hoping he had poured ice into his voice this time.

  “Yes.”

  “To Baden-Baden, or the next casino, where you will employ your skills until you draw the suspicions of the house.”

  “You are a clever boy, Michel. It is clear you have seen much of the world.”

  “I have not. I have seen much of Monte Carlo. And much of the world now comes to Monte Carlo.”

  “Much of the world that has money comes to Monte Carlo. But there is much of the world that does not have money. And there is much of the world that remains shrouded in great mystery.”

  “How much of this mysterious world have you seen, Elliott?”

  It appeared as if Elliott had suddenly been captured by memories so vivid they took his mind far from this beautiful hotel suite with its commanding view of the sea. Now Michel felt as if he were merely a screen Elliott was gazing through, and this wounded him more deeply than he wanted it to. It was a cruel reminder that they would soon part. That soon the Earl of Rutherford would become just another traveler whose generosity and attentions he had known for only a moment.

  “My dear Michel,” Elliott finally whispered. He had clearly forgotten himself and the words that came from him now were unbidden. “I have of late seen things in this world that defy all explanation. Things which have led me to question everything I once believed about life and death. All thanks to a king.”

  A king? But he said nothing. To do so would be to shatter the man’s sudden, hypnotic candor. But Elliott remembered himself almost instantly. A fearful expression passed over his face. He sought to conceal it with a sudden, warm smile, but he was a second too late.

  “Wash, and then we shall sit on the balcony and enjoy the view.”

  The temperature seemed to drop several degrees the second Elliott’s weight left the mattress. It had felt like a dismissal, but at least the Earl of Rutherford had not asked him to leave. Michel was not being hurried from the room. Not yet, anyway. And so he washed, just as the man instructed.

  When he emerged into the bedroom, Elliott was seated on the balcony outside. The smoke from his cigarette rose in a serpentine curl next to his head.

  There was a letter on the dresser next to Michel’s wallet, and even though he had no need of his wallet in this moment, for some reason, their proximity seemed like an excuse to steal a peek at the few pages of handwritten cursive.

  Knowing that this blissful evening would soon be at an end, that these words were perhaps the only real glimpse he’d get inside the man responsible, Michel scanned the letter with what felt like desperate hunger.

  The author was the man’s son, an Alex Savarell.

  He was grateful Elliott had finally cabled to give the date of his arrival in Monte Carlo. The sums of money Elliott had wired home for his family were much appreciated. As a result, their estate in Yorkshire had been reopened and they had added staff to it once again. It was there that they would host a betrothal party for a woman named Julie Stratford and her new fiancé, a Mr. Reginald Ramsey.

  On additional pages, he spotted repeated pleas for Elliott to return home. But there were no mentions of what exactly connected this Julie Stratford and Reginald Ramsey to the Earl of Rutherford and his son. References to a “grand, calamitous adventure through Egypt” but no other details, aside from the implication that Elliott was traveling, in part, to escape the implications of this “adventure.”

  A scrape of metal outside startled him.

  He dropped the letter, stepped back from the dresser.

  Elliott had simply braced one foot against the balcony rail so he could tip his chair back onto its hind legs.

  His spying had gone unnoticed. Or had it? The man seemed to have a supernatural ability to read the gambling tables. Could he now detect Michel’s furtive actions a few feet away?

  He made a noisy show of sliding into his trousers.

  When he stepped out onto the balcony, Elliott greeted him with a smile and gestured to the empty chair next to his.

  The harbor below sparkled.

  There were so many questions he wanted to ask the earl, Elliott of the beautiful blue eyes, so much he wanted to know, but he feared the effort would be the same as reaching too quickly for a falling balloon; a simple touch would send it floating away with sudden speed.

  Things which have led me to question everything I once believed about life and death. All thanks to a king.

  What could these words possibly mean?

  And why was Elliott smiling at him
now?

  He knows, Michel thought, he knows I read the letter. He could sense it the same way he could sense what cards the croupier might deal next.

  “You are young,” Elliott finally said.

  “Why remind me of this?” Michel asked.

  “Because you wish to go with me when I leave. And so it is my duty to tell you that this would be a wretched idea. Splendid for me, perhaps, but terrible for you.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Because you are young, my dear boy.”

  “And you have the confidence of someone as young as I.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because you assume I would leave here with you at a moment’s notice.” He managed a wry smile which Elliott returned.

  “Tell me I’m wrong,” the earl whispered.

  He could not. Indeed, he could barely manage to meet the man’s curious gaze, and he could feel himself blushing and pouting despite himself. “Your tricks at the tables. Perhaps that is all I’m after.”

  Elliott laughed warmly, unoffended. “Luck, my dear boy. That’s all. Simple luck. The same luck that brought me such a lovely evening with the likes of you.”

  “You flatter me.”

  “No. I speak with greater directness than you are used to.”

  Yes, Michel thought. Because you are fearless, and it is the source of your fearlessness I wish to know. To savor.

  “A wife is meeting you at your next port of call,” Michel said.

  “Not at all,” Elliott said.

  “She is. A wife and a family of small mewling children and it would be impossible to explain me as your new valet because I am so handsome and young. And French!”

  “Ah! I knew it! You do wish to join me,” Elliott responded.

  “Your luck makes my tongue loosen, I fear.”

  “My wife and I have an understanding and separate lives, each lived with an appropriate degree of expectation of the other, and our only child is grown. And neither one is the reason I will have to bid you goodbye at the end of this night. But enough about me. What about you, Michel? Is there a special woman in your life?”