‘The poor fellow is still asleep,’ Poppy announced as he entered the breakfast parlour and sat beside Janet.

      ‘I know,’ Janet said as she handed him a small porcelain cup of bitter coffee. ‘I couldn’t resist and peeked. He looks better now he’s washed and shaved, but he’s too thin, Poppy. You could cut stone with his cheekbones. I’ve told Ayisha to prepare the lamb stew he loved as a boy.’

      ‘Don’t fuss, Janet. You know he hates it.’

      ‘I never fuss.’

      Sam smiled to herself at how Edge’s appearance had transformed her hosts. She’d forgotten how deeply they loved Edge. Janet was lit from within, her movements sharper but more abstracted, and after his heartbreaking show of love when he’d embraced Edge, Poppy now appeared taller, more resolute.

      ‘He isn’t ill?’ Sam tried not to sound worried. He’d looked so haggard yesterday she’d lain awake a long time, waiting for the sounds of a household bustling around a sickroom. She knew desert fevers could be deadly.

      ‘No, child, merely exhausted. Nothing food and sleep won’t remedy.’ Poppy’s words were a little too hearty and Sam knew that, though Edge might not be ill, Poppy was worried.

      ‘Did you know he was in Egypt?’

      ‘No. We received a letter from him only a couple of months ago from Brazil, but it must have been sent long before.’

      ‘Good morning.’

      Janet wavered. Clearly she wanted to rush to Edge, but perhaps it was the sight of a very different but far more familiar Edge that stopped her. Daoud had done more than shave him, he’d trimmed his hair and found a set of clothes left by Lucas or Chase.

      In the flowing gown and the long cotton strip worn like the natives to protect the head and face from the sand and sun Sam had hardly recognised him. Now she was thrown back eight years to the last time she’d seen Edge—in this very room, she realised. He’d stood just as straight and withdrawn and watchful. And yet this was a different man. He’d lived a whole lifetime in those eight years, as had she.

      ‘Good morning, Edge. Would you care for tea?’ she asked. His gaze moved to her and then settled on the tea pot by her hand.

      ‘Yes, thank you, Lady Carruthers.’

       Oh, for heaven’s sake, Edge.

      The words almost spurted out of her, but she held them back and held out the cup.

      ‘Your tea, Lord Edward.’

      ‘You are very kind, Lady Carruthers.’ Something almost like amusement flickered in his eyes, but then Poppy’s patience ran out.

      ‘Now, boy, tell us when you arrived, why you didn’t inform us of your arrival, and what on earth—’

      ‘Let him eat first, Poppy,’ Janet interrupted and Edge sat by her.

      ‘It is all right, Aunt. I cannot stay long so you may as well hear everything now. Rafe has disappeared.’

      ‘Rafe? What is that fellow up to now? I’d expected he would be settling in as the new Duke of Greybourne.’

      ‘Unfortunately not. I received a communication from the embassy in Istanbul that Rafe was killed alongside the Khedive’s son Ismail in Nubia. The Greybourne lawyers instigated an inquiry, but that could take months so I came myself.’

      ‘He...he is dead?’ Janet faltered and Edge smiled, reaching out to take her hand. The transformation was so extreme Sam felt herself tense as if she’d just noticed a crocodile moving in the reeds.

      ‘No, I don’t believe so, Aunt. In fact, I have reason to believe that letter was sent by Rafe himself. I need to find out why.’

      ‘But you cannot go there,’ Janet said, horrified. ‘That whole area is in upheaval. You could be killed!’

      ‘I am glad I didn’t stop here on the way, then, Aunt Janet. I wouldn’t wish for you to worry.’

      ‘You already went?’

      ‘Yes. There are still skirmishes, but Defterdar Bey has the area well under his brutal thumb. I don’t know quite what Rafe is about, but I do know he did not take part in those battles.’

      ‘How do you know? He is a mercenary, is he not?’

      ‘He is, but for several years now he has chosen to involve himself in financial rather than political concerns. More to the point, Ismail was killed in November of last year and I spoke with a...an acquaintance of Rafe’s who met him and his valet Birdie in Alexandria only last month before he headed south. I followed his trail and there were enough people who recognised my description. They call him Nadab.’

      ‘Scar,’ Poppy translated, frowning.

      ‘Yes. I never imagined I would be grateful for Rafe’s accident. In Syene he was joined by a young man and they hired a guide and camels to take them north through the western deserts. I was several days behind so I decided to try to cut around them by way of the river.’

      Sam watched Edge as he spoke. She’d forgotten how blank his face could be. People showed more emotion speaking of the weather. But she knew better—she could see tiny signs, in the dip of his long eyelashes that shielded deep grey-green eyes, the flicker of tension in the lines cut on either side of his mouth.

      Janet sighed. ‘I know he swore not to take a penny of Greybourne money as long as your father lived, but why must he continue in this stubbornness now he is Duke?’

      ‘I don’t know,’ Edge admitted. ‘Six months ago he told me he intended to return to England and tried to convince me to go with him.’

      ‘Were you planning to return?’ Poppy asked and Edge’s smile turned wry.

      ‘No. But that is beside the point. What matters now is that I hope I have gained some ground on them by coming by way of the river, perhaps even enough to outflank them if I come through the oases. Which made me think of al-Walid. No one could cross his territory without him knowing, correct? If you could give me some testimonial, I will proceed there and if I find nothing I will continue to Cairo. I paid dragomen there and in Alexandria to keep an eye out for him so hopefully at some point my luck will turn.’