Daughter of the God-King by Anne Cleeland Page A

cannot say,” he replied. “Because I will honor your request that I be more honest with you.”
    “Oh—I see.” This was surprising, and seemed to indicate a softening of his attitude. “Have you lied to me before?”
    “Yes,” he admitted in the same even tone.
    Assimilating this admission without taking offense, she confessed, “I would like to have a turn at being mysterious—but I have no secrets whatsoever.”
    “It is a burden, sometimes.” He met her eyes and she had the impression he was referring to their rendezvous in her chamber—when he infamously would not kiss her—with a hint of apology, which was very much appreciated.
    She sighed. “I wish I knew more about all of this.”
    “It is best that you do not, Mademoiselle Blackhouse.”
    Quirking her mouth, she observed with regret, “I was ‘Hattie’ for a moment, but now I am demoted to ‘Mademoiselle Blackhouse’ once again.”
    He smiled, the wind blowing his hair about his forehead—she had to clench the railing to refrain from smoothing it down for him. “ C’est cela ; I do not wish to offend again—you are fearsome when you are angry.”
    “Then keep that to mind, and do not cross me,” she teased.
    Still smiling, he seemed disinclined to bring their conversation to a close and leaned against the railing beside her. “You enjoy the sea.”
    “Very much—although this is my first real voyage.” Equally disinclined to move away, she cast about for something to say in return. “Where in France do you hail from, monsieur?”
    He shook his head with regret, and glanced down to her. “I cannot say.”
    She stared at him in surprise. “Because it would be a lie?”
    He gave an ironic little nod. “ De vrai .”
    Knitting her brow, she met his gaze with amused exasperation. “Heavens; making an effort at honesty is rather complicated, apparently.”
    He glanced out over the sea, the smile still playing around his mouth. “I have never made the effort before, so we shall see.”
    So mesmerized was she that she didn’t notice the approach of the ship’s captain until he cleared his throat, standing beside her. “Miss Blackhouse.” Captain Clements was a bear of a man, whose ginger hair was grizzled with gray and whose manner was that of a lifelong seaman; unrepentantly bold and brash of manner. The shrewd gaze behind the spectacles shifted for a moment between Hattie and Berry, and she found herself blushing and hoping everyone aboard had not been an interested spectator to their quarrel.
    “I trust you find the accommodations to your liking.”
    Shading her eyes, she assured him, “Very comfortable, Captain. Thank you for taking us on such short notice.”
    The captain leaned on the railing to her other side, which forced her to turn her back upon Berry; she noted the men did not speak and wondered if perhaps they were at odds. He continued, “I must confess I have followed your parents’ work with great interest and so I was very pleased to find your name on the manifest, Miss Blackhouse; do you make the trip to visit them often?”
    With a mental sigh, Hattie girded her loins for yet another discussion about the tedious princess. “No, sir; this is my first visit to Egypt.”
    “Is that so?” The captain met her eyes in surprise.
    “I did visit their exhibition at the British Museum once, in London.” She didn’t want him to think she knew nothing about her parents’ work—although it did seem that Bing was much better informed and Hattie wished for a moment she was still present, so as to feed her a few lines.
    With a faraway gaze, the captain considered the vast ocean stretching away before the ship. “Yes—it was a unmitigated triumph; why, I can recall when they electrified the world when they discovered the Temple of Amon-Re at Abu Simbel—I can think of no other find that garnered such attention.”
    Pleased that she knew at least one fact, Hattie disclaimed, “I was not yet born, I’m