be as perfect a course as man and nature could devise. But rather than the usual sense of satisfaction such contemplation provoked, he instead felt distrait and edgy.
He swore softly, and his mount turned its head in response. Sam stroked his horse's strong neck. 'It's not you, Duff. I'm just losing my mind,' he told the animal, a faint grimace lifting his mouth. 'Over a damned woman.' No matter the softness of his tone, the thought was staggering. He wondered how he was going to reclaim his life-or, more to the point, get through the next two days.
Alex had slept the sleep of exhaustion, and when she woke she was startled to see it was midmorning. Throwing off the covers, she quickly rose and dressed, keeping one eye on the clock. She had only minutes to spare before her first scheduled meeting at the Kensington Museum, where she was a member of the board. After that, she'd promised to listen to proposals for the new children's wing at St. Anne's Hospital.
Hurrying to her carriage house behind the garden, she felt a renewed sense of purpose in her return to the advocacy that was such a large part of her life. There was enormous satisfaction in helping others, in having her wealth serve the public good, and while the pleasure Sam offered couldn't be faulted, there was more to life than self-indulgence.
Especially with a man like Sam, whose self-indulgence was legend.
Breathing in the sweet-scented air of her garden, she looked forward to her responsibilities and obligations. Should she put all her diplomatic skills to use, she might convince old Mr. Tristam that buying the Courbet painting of two half-dressed women in a wooded landscape wouldn't condemn him to an eternity in hell. And with luck, the young architect of the new children's wing would have finished his drawings so she could finally move on to the building of it.
Since her trust fund was the principal financing behind the project, she had the last word. Something much less certain in her relationship with Sam. She smiled. Obviously, he didn't understand how often she exercised her authority in the world at large.
When she returned to her studio late that afternoon, the Courbet painting finally acquired and the children's wing scheduled for groundbreaking the following week, Alex was in fine spirits. She'd stopped for flowers to celebrate her successful day. Walking up the path to her front door, her arms full of delphiniums and white roses, she was surprised to see Ben seated on her doorstep.
'Harry sent me,' he said quickly, rising to his feet. 'I hope you don't mind. Harry said he'd meet me here.'
Alex took note of the satchel at his feet. 'He's coming here to paint?'
'He thought we could finish the sketches from yesterday. But if it's inconvenient…'
The young man looked embarrassed, his downcast gaze almost servile. Alex immediately attempted to put him at ease. 'It's not inconvenient at all. I'm finished with my appointments for the day. Please, come in.' She smiled. 'I'd enjoy painting after a busy day.'
'Harry should be here soon,' the young man offered, picking up the satchel. 'He asked me to bring some new robes.'
After unlocking the door, Alex led the way into her studio. 'Let me put these flowers in water and I'll be right with you. If you'd like to change.' She waved toward a doorway. 'Use my study.'
When she returned a few minutes later, Ben, garbed in a gleaming cerulean blue djellaba, was seated on a chair conveniently placed in front of her easel. It was impossible not to be impressed by the quality of the glamorous silk garment. Alex complimented him on his robe.
'My father gave me this before I left home. I think of him every time I wear it.' Sadness overcame his features and tears welled in his eyes.
'You must miss your family,' Alex said kindly.
He nodded. 'After the earthquake I had to leave the village to help support them. London can be lonely.'
'I imagine it can. Are you hoping to return soon?'
'Not soon, but eventually, God willing,' he said. 'Harry promised to find me more work modeling so I can earn extra money. Most of my pay from the museum goes directly home.'
'Harry can be depended on, you can be sure. Would you like something to eat before we begin? I think I missed lunch.' She hadn't, but the young man didn't look as though he had an abundance of food.
'If you don't mind, miss. I haven't eaten since yesterday.'
'You poor man. Come to the kitchen. I'll find us something.'
In short order, Ben was seated across from Alex at a large monk's table, an array of food before him.
While he ate, Alex kept him company with a slice of Madeira cake and a glass of hock, and between mouthfuls he gave an account of his family and the village poverty that had brought him to England.
It was a poignant tale typical of so many immigrants to the city, one she'd heard many times before. As the story of his plight unfolded, Alex offered not only sympathy but in the end also a well-paying job at her father's warehouse. 'You could still help at the museum. I'm sure my father would allow you flexibility in your hours, and you'd be able to send more help home to your family.'
Ben's eyes filled with tears again. 'Thank you, thank you, kind lady.' His voice vibrated with emotion. 'It was the most fortunate of days when I met young Harry and you.'
'We're more than happy to help. Once Harry arrives, he'll tell you himself.'
'Bless you, my lady.' Ben's bottom lip trembled. 'You are our benevolent angel.'
'Well, well, well…' a lazy voice intoned. 'What do we have here?'
Alex spun around at the low drawl, saw Sam looming large in the doorway, and immediately frowned. 'What are
'You probably should run along.' Sam gestured at the man seated across from Alex. 'And tell your sister to stay out of my life.'
Alex's gaze swiveled to Ben and then back to Sam. 'What's going on here?' A hint of temper vibrated in her voice. 'What sister? Ben's modeling for me.'
'I'll bet he is.'
'You know him?'
'You might say so. And I doubt Mahmud's up to any good.'
'His name is Ben.'
'Today maybe.' Sam snapped his fingers at the young man and indicated the door with a jerk of his thumb. 'Get out, Mahmud.'
As the young man scrambled to his feet, Alex put up her hand to stop him. 'You needn't leave,' she said, taking issue with Sam's peremptory commands. 'I won't let Lord Ranelagh hurt you.'
'You decide, Mahmud,' Sam gritted out, soft menace in his tone. 'Do you think this lady can save you?'
Slipping around the end of the table, Mahmud bolted for the back door, and a moment later silence filled the kitchen.
Alex rose and faced Sam, her annoyance plain. 'Would you care to tell me what that was all about?'
'Would you care to tell me what you were doing with him?' Sam returned, a minute edge to his voice.
He filled the doorway, his broad shoulders brushing the jambs. Resentful of this unwanted intervention, she said, 'You're not my keeper. You have no right to question me, and I
'He's not your friend. He's Farida's brother and he's not here because he likes the color of your eyes. Let me rephrase that. If he likes the color of your eyes, you're damned lucky I showed up when I did.'
'He was modeling for Harry. He's perfectly benign, and don't think just because your liaisons come to disastrous ends that Ben, or Mahmud, or whatever his name was, would necessarily be a danger to me.'
Sam blew out an impatient breath. 'That brother-and-sister duet are predators, and danger follows in their wake as sure as the sun rises in the east.'
'I beg to differ with you. He's not a predator. For your information, he comes from a village near Damascus that was nearly destroyed by an earthquake and he's working very hard to support his entire family on very little money, and-'
'He was born and raised in Cairo.'
'How do you know?'
'I know because Farris had them investigated. They're thieves. They have been most of their lives, and while I
