The Lady Traveller's Guide To Deception With An Unlikely Earl. Victoria AlexanderЧитать онлайн книгу.

       CHAPTER FIVE

      “I SEE I’M not the only one who enjoys watching the sun rise over the ocean,” Harry said in his most cordial manner. It wasn’t easy. This was the first dawn of their voyage and cordial was the last thing he felt this morning toward this interloper.

      “Good day, Mr. Armstrong.” Mrs. Gordon’s gaze remained on the horizon.

      “I wouldn’t have taken you for such an early riser.” Perhaps she would scurry back to her cabin once she had fully absorbed the sunrise.

      “What a remarkable coincidence, Mr. Armstrong,” she said coolly. “I would not have thought to encounter you at this time of day either.” She glanced at him. “Especially not with a bottle of champagne in your hand.”

      “If I had known you were going to be here, I would have brought two glasses.”

      “I never indulge in spirits before breakfast, Mr. Armstrong.”

      “Perhaps you should, Mrs. Gordon.” He paused. He’d been trying for nearly a year now to be the kind of man he was expected to be—the kind of man an earl was supposed to be—and, even though she didn’t know of his title, he had decided not to reveal too much of his questionable past. Still, this was a fairly innocuous revelation. “When my friends and I first set off for Egypt, nearly twenty years ago, we marked the first sunrise of the first day with a bottle of the best champagne our collective resources could afford. Every voyage to Egypt after that, regardless of whether one or all three of us were traveling, we always greeted the first dawn with champagne. This bottle was delivered to my quarters before we left port from one of those friends.”

      “That’s really quite charming.” She considered him thoughtfully. “I would not have thought you so sentimental.”

      Rubbish. “I don’t think sentimental is the right word—”

      “Habit, then.”

      “I tend to think of it more in the manner of tradition.”

      “Regardless, I do not wish to interfere.” She smiled. “I shall leave you to your tradition.” She turned to go.

      “Join me,” he said without thinking.

      She turned back to him, her eyes narrowed. “Why?”

      “Why?” He grinned. “Are you always so suspicious?”

      “No. In fact, I am quite trusting of most people. Trusting you, however—”

      He winced. Not that he didn’t deserve her distrust.

      “—does not strike me as especially wise. I would be remiss if I did not question your motives. We are here after all because you are determined to prove me a fraud and I am determined to prove you wrong.” She shrugged. “Under these circumstances, suspicion does seem the wiser course.”

      “I’ll grant you that. However, just for the span of the sunrise, let us forget we are at odds. Do me the honor of joining me in the tradition of myself and my friends in a salute to what lies ahead. There is nothing as inspiring as watching the sun rise up out of the sea.”

      “Very well.” Her eyes twinkled. “But you have only one glass.”

      “Which I shall gladly sacrifice for the pleasure of your company.”

      “How very gallant of you.”

      “I can be very gallant. You should make note of that.” He opened the bottle, filled the glass and handed it to her, then raised the bottle toward the sun. “To the new day and the adventures it will bring.” And to those who are no longer with us, he added silently. He took a long drink from the bottle and sent a prayer of thanks to Ben. It was an excellent vintage, even straight from the bottle.

      “To the adventures that lie ahead.” She raised her glass and took a sip, then wrinkled her nose.

      “Is it not to your liking?”

      “Oh no, it’s quite lovely really but the bubbles tickle my nose.” She fluttered her fingers in front of her nose. “Which is perhaps part of the enjoyment. I will confess I rarely have champagne and never in the morning. But it is delightful.”

      “There is no better way to start a trip than with a glass of France’s finest.”

      “And there is something both optimistic and invigorating about watching the sun make its first appearance of the day over the ocean. I agree with you, Mr. Armstrong.” She sipped her wine and turned her attention back to the sunrise. “The champagne makes it even better. I shall have to remember that. This is indeed an excellent way to start a grand adventure.”

      “I must say I’m impressed. From reading your stories one would assume that the first dawn of a new journey toward Egypt would be rather commonplace for you. And yet you seem quite enthusiastic.”

      “Would you prefer I be jaded and cynical as you appear to be?”

      “I believe older and wiser a more accurate description,” he said coolly. “And I certainly didn’t mean to imply that you—”

      “I daresay, Mr. Armstrong, you know nothing about me except for those details I have put in my stories.” She glanced at him. “And I try not to focus on my personal habits.”

      “Why?” Curiosity sounded in his voice. “You are writing about your own adventures after all.”

      “It’s very simple.” She turned toward him. “Regardless of whose adventures they are, my purpose isn’t to make readers admire the author but rather to become the hero or the heroine. Precisely why I chose to give the heroine of my stories a name different from my own. People cannot lose themselves in the story if they are too busy contemplating the author. Whether she is an early riser or prefers lemon to milk in her tea, it’s of no importance. All that matters is that people who read my stories forget the tedium of everyday life and lose themselves for an hour or an afternoon in another world.”

      He stared at her for a long, disbelieving moment. “Rubbish, Mrs. Gordon. You can’t possibly be serious.”

      “I most certainly am.”

      “People don’t want to be swept away.” He scoffed. “People want to be informed and educated and enlightened.”

      “Good Lord.” She laughed. “What utter nonsense. While indeed many people read newspapers, as well as books, to be informed and educated and enlightened, the vast majority of readers want nothing more than enjoyment.” She turned back to the sunrise.

      “People want facts, Mrs. Gordon,” he said firmly. “Indisputable facts.”

      “Do you really think people want to know that the Great Pyramid at Giza stands four hundred and eighty feet, nine inches high with a base very nearly square of 764 feet per side?”

      “I find that extremely interesting.”

      She ignored him. “Or would they prefer to read how the Great Pyramid rises into the heavens, dwarfing its companions as if they were insignificant interlopers and casting an ever growing shadow in the late afternoon sun, the hands of long-ago pharaohs, even in