Lion in the Valley - Elizabeth Peters [138]
His meaning was unmistakable, for he gazed again into my eyes with an expression of intense interest. I burst out laughing. “That is a very pretty speech, Mr. Sethos, but I am afraid you have undermined your claim to be a connoisseur by abducting me. Emerson is the only man—”
“Please do me the favor of refraining from mentioning that person every few sentences,” he interrupted fiercely. “You are right, though; the professor and I are more alike than he would care to admit, and his appreciation of your charms is only one of the things we share.”
“I can’t stop mentioning him, because he is constantly in my thoughts.”
His eyes fell. “You have the power to hurt me,” he muttered. “Your laughter wounded me deeply.”
“I really don’t think I owe you an apology, Mr. Sethos. If I have wounded your amour-propre, you have done me a more serious injury. This is the first time I have been abducted by a man who claimed to have been moved to madness by my beauty, so I don’t know the correct way to behave.”
My little attempt at humor was not well received. Sethos looked down at me. “How could you have missed the attentions I paid you?” he demanded tragically. “How could you have supposed, as you apparently did, that I intended to harm you? Why, scarcely a day has passed since your return to Egypt that I have not managed to speak to you or at least admire you from afar. Not only was I the three individuals you mentioned—I was a tourist, a snake-charmer in the Muski, even a digger in your own excavations. Everything I have done was designed to demonstrate my deep passion—”
“Such as whisking Ramses off the top of the Great Pyramid?”
“That was a scheme that went awry,” Sethos admitted. “I was—as you have probably guessed—the American gentleman who spoke to you atop the pyramid. My intention was to stage a daring rescue of that appalling child and restore him to your arms. However, I was foiled by Donald Fraser, curse him.”
“I see. And on another occasion, when your horse ran away with Ramses—”
“The same rascal interfered to spoil my plans.” Sethos’ lips curled back in a wolfish snarl. “He at least will have occasion to regret his interference. I had determined to slaughter his even more rascally brother the moment I learned he had fired a shot that might have struck you. Ronald was a tiresome fellow anyway, and so stupidly single-minded, I was afraid he would continue to endanger you by making further attempts on Donald. So I did away with him, and it gave me a particular satisfaction to incriminate Donald when I did so. Surely you must have understood why I went to the trouble of carrying his body all that distance and laying it at your feet? I returned the communion vessels because, in a newspaper interview I read, you expressed your disapprobation of that particular theft. I sent you flowers—you know the meaning of red roses in the language of love—and a golden ring bearing my name! How could you have overlooked their significance?”
“Good Gad,” I exclaimed. “So that is what was troubling Emerson! Poor dear man, he must have thought—”
“Emerson again!” Sethos flung up his hands.
My poor dear Emerson! (I continued my soliloquy in my thoughts, since it did not seem sensible to irritate my companion further.) Emerson had correctly interpreted the signs I had missed. It was not surprising that I should have done so, for my inherent modesty had clouded my normally clear intelligence. My thoughts were in a whirl, for a new and terrible thought had invaded my calm. Was it possible that Emerson believed—that he suspected—that he entertained for a single instant the slightest doubt of the wholehearted sincerity of my devotion? Was he—in short—jealous?
Impossible, my heart cried out. Surely Emerson could no more question my affection than I could doubt his. But if he did—if he could—then my disappearance must raise doubts. . . . It was a thought more terrible than any fear of imminent annihilation.