He Shall Thunder in the Sky - Elizabeth Peters [149]
He appeared quite unperturbed for a man who has a sharp point an inch from his jugular, but he obeyed the order. “An engaging little accoutrement,” he remarked. “Put it away, my dear. You won’t use it; you are incapable of cutting a man’s throat unless your passions are aroused, and I have no intention of arousing yours. Not that sort of passion, at any rate.”
His gray—hazel—brown eyes sparkled wickedly. What color were they? I leaned closer. Sethos let out a little yelp. “Please, Amelia,” he said plaintively.
A thin trickle of blood ran down his bared throat. “That was an accident,” I said in some confusion.
“I know. I forgive you. Do sit down and give me a cup of tea. There is no need for this combative approach, you know. You have won. I yield.”
“Have I? You do?”
Sethos leaned back, his hands on the arms of the chair. “I presume you have left the usual message to be opened if you fail to return home, so I can’t keep you here indefinitely; your husband and son will not be back for some hours, but there are others who may be moved to come looking for you, including that charming little tigress, your daughter. She isn’t really your flesh and blood, though; sometimes, Amelia, I am filled with wonderment at how you can be so clever about so many things and miss others that are right under your nose.”
“Confound it!” I cried in considerable confusion. “How do you know . . . What do you mean by . . . You are trying to get me off the subject. We were speaking of—”
“My surrender.” Sethos smiled. “I apologize. Conversation with you has such charm, I am always moved to prolong it.”
“I accept your surrender. Come with me. I have a cab waiting.” I took up a position of attack, feet braced, sword at the ready. Sethos’s mouth underwent a series of contortions. Instead of rising, he leaned forward, his hands clasped. They were long-fingered, well-tended hands, and the bared forearms to which they were attached had a symmetry many younger men might have envied.
“You misunderstand me, dear Amelia. You have already captured my heart, and the rest of me is at your disposal, but not if you want to dispose of it into a prison cell. What I meant was that you have destroyed the usefulness of this persona. The Count will never be seen again in Cairo. Now sit down and have your tea, and we will chat like the old friends we are. Who knows, you may be able to trick me into betraying information that will enable you to put an end to me once and for all.”
His mouth twitched again. He was laughing at me! All the better, I thought; in his arrogance he believes me incapable of catching him off-guard. We would see about that!
I sat down on the sofa behind the tea table, leaned the parasol, still unsheathed, against one of the cushions, and placed my handbag at my feet. My position was greatly improved thereby, since it left both my hands free. I had been unable to extract the handcuffs or the pistol or the length of rope from my bag while I held the sword. I would defeat him yet! But before I took him prisoner I wanted explanations for several of his enigmatic statements.
“How do you know Ramses and Emerson will not be back for some hours?” I inquired, pouring the tea. “Milk or lemon? Sugar?”
“Lemon, please. No sugar.” He leaned forward to take the cup from my hand. His eyes met mine. Surely they were brown?
“And how dare you refer to Nefret so familiarly?” I went on, pouring a cup for myself. Excitement had made me quite thirsty, and I knew the tea could not be drugged since both cups came from the same pot. “And what were you implying when you informed me of a fact I know quite well, namely that she is not—”
“Wait!” Sethos held up his hand. “A little order and method, my dear, if you please. Let me take your questions one by one.”
“Pray do.”
He indicated the plate of sandwiches. I shook my head. His smile broadened. “They have not been tampered with.” He took one, seemingly at random, and bit into it.
“But you expected me. How did you know I would come here today?”
Sethos swallowed. “Another