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“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 death, refusing to release their grip on their land and people and the Nile itself?”
“I will admit your way is certainly more inventive. It is not however, especially accurate.”
“No?” She heaved a resigned sigh, cast a longing look at the sunrise then faced him again. “Tell me, Mr. Armstrong.” She held out her glass. “Do the pyramids not cast a shadow in the setting sun that grows as sunset approaches and stretches toward the Nile?”
“One could say that, I suppose,” he said and filled her glass.
She raised a brow.
“I admit, the Nile is to the east of the pyramids.” He took another pull from the bottle. “And the setting sun does cast a significant shadow.”
“And does the Great Pyramid not tower over the others?”
“Yes, of course.”
“So what exactly was inaccurate?”
“Admittedly, inaccurate might have been the wrong word.” His jaw tightened. This was exactly the kind of problem he had with her writing. “Fanciful is perhaps a better word. The pyramids are tombs, not the fingers of the hands of the pharaohs reaching out from death.”
“My, you are stuffy.”
He stared at her. She was right—he did sound stuffy. He laughed.
“You find that amusing?”
He grinned. “No one has ever called me stuffy before.”
She shrugged. “Perhaps no one had the courage.”
“Entirely possible.” He chuckled. He never used to be stuffy. But then he’d never been an earl with property and wealth and responsibility before either.
“In spite of the imposing rhetoric in your uncle’s letters to The Times, and the threatening manner he used, you do not scare me, Mr. Armstrong.”
“Does my uncle?”
She met his gaze firmly. “No.”
“I don’t believe he intended to scare you, nor do I.” Although he certainly had expected her to retreat or even ignore his letters rather than respond to what he could now see might well have been construed as intimidating.
Mrs. Gordon cast him a knowing smile—although he wasn’t at all sure what she thought she knew and it was rather annoying—then returned to her perusal of the sunrise. As much as he had expected and wanted to be alone, he had to admit he was enjoying this bit of sparring with the lovely widow. He took another sip from the bottle. All things considered, this was probably a better way to begin this journey than drinking alone on deck accompanied only by the memories of friends who were gone or had moved on with their lives. The past was the past and both good times and bad were best left behind where they belonged.
“You must be pleased to be returning to Egypt,” he said in an offhand manner.
“Must I?”
“As much as I disagree with your manner of writing as well as dispute your depiction of, well, very nearly everything, I will not deny you do appear to have a certain passion for Egypt. So, I simply assume you are happy to be returning.”
“Indeed I am. It has been some time since I was last there.”
“How long?”
“Quite some time. Years, in fact.”
“How many?”
“A number of years.”
“Specifically?”
“Specifically? Come now, Mr. Armstrong.” She shook her head in annoyance. “It’s obvious that you are trying to solicit information from me although I must say you are not especially good at it.”
His brow furrowed. “Was I that obvious?”
She cast him a disbelieving look. “Yes.”
“Not subtle, then?”
“Not even a bit. Subtlety, Mr. Armstrong, is an art.”
“One I apparently need to work on.” He paused. “Although soliciting information was really not my intention. I intended nothing more than idle conversation, the same as one would have with any fellow passenger. The kind of thing people do when they’re sharing a sunrise and becoming better acquainted.”
“I have no desire to become better acquainted and we are not sharing a sunrise.”
“Oh, but I believe we are.” He nodded toward the east.
“Regardless, as your declared purpose is to prove me disreputable, I am not inclined to share even the most innocuous detail with you. Furthermore, you did say that for the length of the sunrise, we would ignore the dispute between us.”
He grinned, he couldn’t seem to help himself. “I believe the sun is now fully up.”
“Then there is no need for me to remain and be plied with champagne,” she said in a lofty manner.
He nodded and reached over to top off her glass. “No need at all.”
“It is, however, excellent champagne.”
“I can afford excellent champagne.”
“Do you have a great deal of money?”
“Enough.”
“But you haven’t always had money.” She studied him curiously. “You said on your first trip you had the best champagne you could afford.”
“True.”
“But you are now a wealthy man. Did you make your fortune in Egypt?”
“Now you too are trying to solicit information.”
“What a shocking coincidence.” She smiled pleasantly. “But it does seem only fair.”
“Very well.” He thought for a moment. Her queries were fairly harmless. “The response to your first comment is yes and the answer to the second is no.”
“Oh.” She considered him thoughtfully. “Mr. Corbin said you were well-known among Egyptologists and yet I have never heard of you.”
He bristled. “Have you heard of every Egyptologist?”
“Yes.”
“Surely not.
She raised a shoulder in an offhand shrug.
He stared. “You’re extremely outspoken, Mrs. Gordon.”
“Am I?” Surprise widened her eyes.
“Indeed you are.”
“Oh.” Her brows drew together, then her expression cleared and she cast him a brilliant smile. “Thank you.”
He