While she wrote to her friends, he composed a quick note to Catherine and his father assuring them all was well, and one to his solicitor as well. After instructing James to deliver the letters posthaste, he and Meredith set about the painstaking task of trying to arrange the dozens of pieces back together.
After several hours, the light began to wane, and Philip lit not only candles but the fire as well. He could tell that Meredith’s head was aching; indeed, his was as well, from staring at the minute bits of the ancient language, trying to fit them together. Andrew and Bakari arrived, and although they wanted to help, Philip refused them.
“I do not want you to be exposed to the curse. If I cannot break the curse, such exposure would prove fatal should either of you decide to marry in the future.”
They’d argued, but Philip stood firm. After they’d all eaten a quick meal, Philip insisted that Meredith rest. Bakari mixed her a draught, after which she curled up on the sofa in his study, Prince cuddled in her arms, and soon was asleep.
Philip labored into the night, eyes straining against the poor light, muscles cramping with fatigue. Yet little by little the words came to life, renewing his determination, as did the sight of Meredith sleeping, bathed in the glow from the fire.
As dawn bloomed, he fitted the last pieces together. It was clear that the pearl had indeed been secreted inside the missing piece, but he did not put it back in its place, instead leaving the gem on his desk. Several bits of the stone were missing, but it was mostly legible.
Heart pounding with anticipation, he dashed to his bedchamber, his stiff muscles screaming in protest. He extracted the original piece of the Stone of Tears from its hiding place in his leather satchel at the bottom of his wardrobe. Returning to his study, he set the stone beside the puzzle he’d just completed and read the ancient language:
He rubbed his hands over his face, the stubble of his beard abrading his palms. He knew the words. Now he just needed to figure out what the bloody hell they meant. He glanced at the clock.
He had less than twenty-eight hours left to find out.
Only twelve hours remained.
Striving to fight off the panic threatening to strangle him, Philip raked his hands through his hair. With Meredith’s help, he’d spent the entire day going through his journals, searching for a clue as to what the curse meant, but without success. For Andrew’s and Bakari’s safety, Philip refused to reveal the exact words he’d pieced together, but sent them off to the museum to search through the documents there regarding anything to do with pearls, a feast, or the price of true love. He’d suggested that Meredith write another note to Charlotte, asking that she, Albert, and Hope come to the townhouse so she could break the news to them and prepare them for the worst, but she’d refused.
“Not yet. To do that makes it seem as if I’ve given up hope, and I haven’t. I have every intention of being your bride.”
Forcing his gaze from hers lest she see the fear curling through him, he continued to pore over his journals. He swallowed his mounting dread, which increased with each passing minute. Another minute without an answer. Another minute lost. He refused to look at the clock, but each time the mantel clock struck the quarter hour, his mind registered that he was swiftly running out of time. He pulled another journal toward him, simultaneously praying and cursing. Damn it! The answer had to be somewhere. Had to.
“I don’t think we’ve paid enough attention to this,” Meredith said. He looked up. The enormous pearl rested in her palm. “Given its size and age, this single gem is no doubt worth thousands of pounds.”
Philip adjusted his spectacles, giving her his full attention. “I agree.”
“It’s the sort of gem that would be worn by someone very important. A queen, perhaps.”
“Yes, a queen such as Nefertiti or Cleopatra… both of whom were great beauties…” A memory tickled the back of his mind, mingling with the final lines of the stone’s message.
“What is it?” Meredith asked.
“I’m not certain, but you’ve sparked an idea.” Rising, he walked to the bookcase in the corner, then crouched to run his finger over the leather-bound spines on the bottom shelf. “There’s a story I recall reading years ago-” He found the volume he sought and slid it out. “Give me a moment.”
Bringing the volume to his desk, he flipped through the pages until he found the entry he sought. As he read the words, his heart began to pound and his hands to shake.
“I think I’ve found something,” he said.
She leaned over his shoulder. “What book is that?”
“It is one of my earliest journals, consisting of notes I took years ago when I had the opportunity to read Pliny the Elder’s
“Who is Pliny the Elder?”
“A Roman administrator from the first century. In
Understanding flared in her eyes. “A beauty, and a risky feast.”
“Yes. According to the story, she intended to convince Rome that Egypt possessed a heritage and wealth so vast that it was beyond conquest. That also fits in with the curse. Antony was her lover, and she was trying to prove she-Egypt-was strong, and ‘not the least.’ ” He could not keep the excitement from his voice as he read more of his notes. “The banquet indeed proved luxurious, but not any more so than Cleopatra had served on other occasions, and therefore Mark Antony thought he had won. But then Cleopatra, who was wearing a pair of large pearl earrings, removed one, crushed it, dropped it in her cup of wine, and drank it down, whereupon the judge of the wager declared that the astonished Antony had lost the bet.”
Her eyes widened. “Sheer daring.”
“Yes. It all fits into the words of the curse,” Philip said, his heart pounding with the certainty that this was the clue they’d sought. Jumping to his feet, he grasped her shoulders. “The last line of the stone.
