10.

"Do you think it wise to imbibe? We must be on the qui vive tonight."

~

So I carried Evelyn to her bedroom and tucked her in. I seemed to be doing a lot of that lately--but it didn't mean I was getting anything out of it besides a goodnight kiss. Although... that wasn't exactly true. Not anymore. Just when I'd thought I knew her inside and out, when I figured I could guess how she'd react in any situation, she'd turned around and surprised me once again.

God, she was amazing.

I stood by her bed for a while, just watching her sleep and wishing like hell that she would wake up. She was completely down for the count, sleeping off the aftermath of a drinking binge she didn't even get to enjoy. But even hung over, she was just about the best thing I'd ever seen. Face flushed, hair all messy, half-lidded eyes, pouting mouth... it reminded me of those days travelling back from Hamunaptra. And those nights. She made it clear, on that first night, how far she was willing to let me go; the one time I did try to push my limits, just a little bit, she made me get up and go sleep next to Jonathan. We were already talking about marriage by that point, in the same roundabout way we talked about most things. I mean, both of us knew we could never be with anyone else. So I didn't really understand what the big deal was, but I figured, if it was important to her, the wait wouldn't kill me. I hoped.

The point is, I'd gotten used to wanting to do things to Evelyn that I knew she wouldn't allow; the impulses were always with me, like a toothache, distantly painful but familiar. And sometimes I'd let it show, let her know that I was in a pissy mood because she was making me wait. I knew she had her reasons. But, not being the sharpest tool in the shed, it never occurred to me that one of those reasons might be that she was just plain nervous.

My first time... that was no big deal. I was drunk, she was much older than me, we met in a bar, it didn't mean anything. I didn't even take my boots off. There had been a few others--not as many as you'd think--names and faces I couldn't remember any more. It was just an act, a way to pass the time, something I was better at than paying them compliments or listening to them talk. I never made a real connection with any of them. Not the way I did with Evelyn.

I was going to be Evelyn's first. And the more I thought about that, the more nervous I got. Which was probably one of the reasons I wanted the whole thing over with. But she deserved better than that, and I damn well knew it.

When she let me touch her, I meant to take things slow. I understood that she was scared, and I was prepared for just about any reaction: asking me to stop, pushing me away, looking scared, going cold, tears, yelling, slapping me, locking herself in her room. What I wasn't prepared for, though, was that slow, sexy smile. I went all to pieces. It was like being seventeen again, all body and no brain, being pulled in ten different directions at once. I went in the direction that seemed most appealing.

I couldn't feel too bad about it though, in the end. I mean, she was right there with me, in the moment. Ready, willing, and able. It didn't take her long to catch on, and to come up with a few tricks of her own that I hadn't expected. I realized, looking down at her beautiful, sleeping face, that I could no longer think of my sweet little fiancée as a "nice" girl. Because, let's face it, nice girls don't kiss like that.

I reached down and absently traced the line of her throat with my fingertip. I was sorry she'd have to wear a scarf for the next little while, but she didn't seem to mind. She almost seemed flattered. Can't say I'd ever had that reaction to a hickey before. That crack about "someplace rather less obvious" nearly killed me, though. At the time I was sure she hadn't meant it the way I'd interpreted it. But now, I wasn't so sure. One thing was certain: compared with the raging torture of wanting to do things to Evelyn that she would allow, the familiar old toothache seemed like a day at the beach.

She half-smiled in her sleep, and tilted her head back a little, as if inviting me to pick up where we'd left off. I hoped she was dreaming about me. I bent down and kissed her--on the chin, for a change of pace--and then pretty much ran out of the room when she sighed. Otherwise I was going to wake her up, and then all kinds of things would happen that she probably wouldn't thank me for in the long run.

Once I was safely back in the sitting room, I stretched out on the still-warm sofa, but I knew I wasn't going to be able to sleep. Well, I was right about that, as it turned out, although I sure guessed wrong about why.

Jonathan was bored with his book, apparently, and thought he'd pass the time of day with me instead. I must have been off my game, because I didn't even know he was there until I felt something tap my foot. He's a sneaky little bastard when he wants to be, that's for sure. I blinked the sleep from my eyes and sat up to find him standing over me, a glass in one hand and a funny look on his face.

"Ah, fine, you're awake," he said, throwing himself into the armchair opposite. "Where's Evie?"

"Sleeping." I pointed to her bedroom door.

"Good, good. I say, you're not going to go making this a habit, are you?"

"Making what a habit?"

"Getting my sister drunk."

"I didn't get her drunk." I've always been a lousy liar, and this time was no exception.

"Now that, my boy, is poppycock. D'you think I don't know a hangover when I bloody well see one?" His tone was jovial, but I could tell he was a little irritated. "Exhaustion, my lily-white arse. You could smell it on her."

"Look, it's not what you think--" I started, but he didn't let me get any further.

"I'll stand for a lot, old man. I've been very patient, looking the other way whenever I can, pretending I didn't know what was going on when you two fed me that story about Evie having trouble with the mosquito netting."

He was starting to get worked up. I hoped he wasn't going to try to fight me. I didn't want to hurt him. But I should have known better: Jonathan never uses his fists unless he's really against the wall. And usually not even then. He hits a guy with the best weapon he's got--his mouth.

"But damn it, man, it just isn't sporting to get a girl so blind drunk she can't tell you from the bedpost. Especially when the girl is my sister!"

He really had a blind spot when it came to Evelyn, I realized. As far as he was concerned, she was a sweet, innocent girl, and I was the heartless jerk who had come along and corrupted her. Well, I figured I'd try explaining myself one more time. And if he wouldn't give me a chance to talk, I might have to smack him.

"I can explain," I told him.

"Well, you had better bloody start."

"Look, you can't tell her I told you this, okay?"

The anger on Jonathan's face melted into skeptical curiosity. "All right..."

"I had to put a couple of stitches in her. From when she sat on the glass."

"Oh--oh, I say!" He squirmed in his seat in sympathy.

"Yeah. I didn't want to hurt her, so I had her drink until she couldn't feel it. Anyway, she's real embarrassed about it."

"I should say so. Good heavens."

"And, just so you know, I never..." As I said, I'm a lousy liar, and after what had just happened, I couldn't exactly say I'd never touched her. "I never took advantage of her," I finished finally. "You can even ask her. I spent the whole night out here, guarding her door."

Jonathan reviewed my explanation mentally. It seemed to pass muster, and he smiled. "Well, all right. I knew you were a decent sort, O'Connell."

"Always have been, Carnahan." I grinned.

He stood up, good spirits completely restored. "You do make a good point, in your inimitable fashion. If we're to be brothers-in-law, the formalities are going to have to cease, aren't they?"

"Sounds like a plan."

"Righty-o, Rick, old boy."

There was a knock on the door. I jumped up, but Jonathan ran to it and threw it open before I had a chance to stop him. It goes without saying that I was pissed about that, but I'll say it anyhow. I mean, never mind that the guy had been kidnapped from his bed by a group of unidentified men who were now after his sister--let's just let everyone in without even asking who it is first!

When Sir Hugo Whatever-Whatever and a couple of his titled buddies minced into the room, however, I heaved a sigh of relief and sank back down onto the sofa. They'd left a message for Jonathan that they'd be dropping by.

"I have brought a bouquet for the patient," Sir Hugo announced, holding up a very pricey-looking bottle of bourbon. The other two placed bottles of equally expensive booze onto the sideboard as they followed him in. Beats the hell out of flowers, I'll say that.

Jonathan definitely seemed to agree. He cracked open the bourbon and was pouring out within seconds. "I say, chaps, it's awfully decent of you to come up and see me like this." He handed me the first glass. "Oh, by the way, this is my sister's fiancé, Rick O'Connell."

One of the "chaps" was the same little rat-faced swell who had called Evie a crackpot the other night. I grinned at him. If he didn't remember me now, he sure would before he left.

Sir Hugo sank onto the sofa beside me, and delivered a hearty clap on the shoulder. I don't like strangers touching me as a general rule, but I figured I should make nice for Jonathan's friends. At least until I could get that one guy alone. "Yars, of course... I believe we bumped into you the other night, isn't that so?"

"That's so," I echoed.

"Yars, capital. Jonny, none of that bourbon for me, it upsets my stomach this early in the day. I'll just have a gin and water, if you'd be so good..." He turned back to me. "I understand the big day is looming large, young feller-me-lad."

I nodded and sipped my drink. It was the best I'd had in a long time; possibly ever. I didn't even know you could get booze like that in Cairo.

"Starting to get a touch of the old, er, jitters, I say, what?"

I shrugged. "Nah." For once, I wasn't just being cocky; if there was anything in my life I could be certain of, it was Evelyn.

He gave a sort of blustery exclamation that I figured was supposed to be a laugh. "Capital, capital."

"Fine girl, your Evie," piped up the little rat-faced guy, taking a seat as far away from me as possible. "Absolutely smashing. Lovely as can be."

There were nods of agreement from Sir Hugo and his other pal. Evelyn was topping, ripping, simply splendid, as dashed pretty as a little Monet. And so on.

"Thanks," I said, since it seemed like I was supposed to say something. The way they talked about her bugged me--like she was my pet or my property. "I had nothing to do with it." They all laughed even harder at that.

Jonathan didn't seem concerned about this; he looked around at his friends, beaming. For someone involved in so many rackets, he was a surprisingly credulous person. In his way, he was even more gullible than his sister. Evelyn was savvy enough not to make the same mistake twice; it was just experience of the world that she didn't have, and that would come with time. Jonathan had seen and done worse things than she'd ever even thought about, and he didn't really seem to learn from any of it. As soon as his money was pissed away, these guys would suddenly have full calendars, and he'd be back picking pockets in the casbah. Then again, it was his life, and he seemed to be happy. Who was I to judge?

He raised his glass. "A toast," he announced. "To my baby sister."

Well, I'd drink to that any day of the week. I hoisted up my own glass, and everyone else followed.

"May she always have happiness in her life--or O'Connell here will have to answer for it."

Snorts and whinnies of laughter from around the room.

I nodded. "Sounds fair."

"To Evie," he concluded.

"To Evie," the rest of us repeated, and slung back our drinks.

The bourbon rushed through me, liquid heat, setting every nerve ending on fire. I suddenly wanted Evelyn so badly it was painful, and I wished all these guys, Jonathan included, would just get lost so I could go into her room, wake her up, and unfix those damn buttons for her.

"You know, Rick," Jonathan chattered, happily oblivious to my predicament, "I won that little trinket for Evie from old Hugo here. Rick doesn't believe I won the thing, fellows. He thinks I... what was the word you used, old boy? Swiped? He thinks I swiped it."

"You swiped the paper," I retorted, only half-listening to the conversation.

"That I did, and a pretty bit of a thing it was, too! Wasn't it, Jerrers?"

The rat-faced man nodded. "Wherever did that end up, Jonny?"

"Oh, it's lying about somewhere, I'm sure," said Jonathan, waving his hand vaguely in the direction of his sister's bedroom. "It's got to be. She never throws anything away. Right bloody pack rat, is my sister. You'd better buy yourselves a big house, Rick--you're going to need it to store all of her bric-a-brac."

Sir Hugo got up and poured everyone generous refills from the various bottles, waving Jonathan off as he tried to help. "The Good Lord gave you a seat, old man. Use it, and do stop bloody hopping about. You're the invalid, you shan't do anything more strenuous than lift a glass." He started handing out the drinks. "Now, I say we drink another toast--to the bride and groom. Happiness to their sheets, as Shakespeare would have it."

I could feel myself going red, mostly because I'd already been thinking along the same lines, in terms that weren't quite so refined.

Sir Hugo winked as he placed a full glass on the table in front of me. "D'you know the Bard, young fellow?"

"Not personally." What I knew about Shakespeare could have been written on the palm of my hand--although Evelyn assured me that some of the bloodier tragedies would be right up my alley.

Sir Hugo guffawed, and patted my shoulder again. "Good man. Excellent."

Jonathan seemed less enthused about this toast, but he drank just the same. So did I.

I put my hand over the top of my glass when Hugo started pouring out again. "I'm good for now," I said neutrally. Not that I'm opposed to getting nice and shit-faced every once in a while, but one of us needed to be on our guard, and I was definitely starting to feel the influence of the bourbon. Besides, I wanted to be in full control of my reflexes for when Evelyn felt better.

Sir Hugo tut-tutted me, tried to pry my hand up, and failed. "Come now, O'Connell!" He gave me a nudge. I gave him one back, winding him nicely.

"Be a sport, Rick!" cheered Jonathan, complacently offering up his own glass. Sir Hugo filled it while the other guys helped themselves from the sideboard.

"You must have just one more," said Sir Hugo, rubbing his stomach. He picked up my glass--which was funny, since I didn't remember taking my hand off it. "We're drinking now to your future brother-in-law and his little adventure the other night."

I glared at Jonathan. "You told them about that?" I demanded.

"Ooh, yesh, of course!" He was starting to slur already. I wondered how much he'd already had before his friends turned up. "It was quite exciting, dontcha know."

"I do know. I was there," I reminded him pointedly. I looked around the room, which seemed to be wobbling a little. There was something I wanted to say, but it just slid right out the back of my head before I could get a good hold on it. "Can someone grab me a glass of water?" I asked, closing my eyes for a second and pinching the bridge of my nose. When I looked around me again, everyone was watching me expectantly. "You guys like it stronger than I'm used to," I explained, swiping a hand across my forehead. I was sweating like a pig all of a sudden.

"I'll get--" Jonathan leapt to his feet, suddenly looked very seasick, and then fell forward, landing with a crash on the coffee table. His half-full glass spilled all over the carpet. We all cheered.

"To Jonny!" cried the rat-faced guy, and knocked back his drink. I didn't want to punch him any more, couldn't really remember why I'd wanted to do that in the first place.

"Damn, that's gonna hurt tomorrow," I said, feeling pleasantly detached from my surroundings. Everyone laughed. I remembered what it was I'd wanted to say before. "Hey, when did you guys have time to talk to Jonathan, anyhow?"

"Come again, my good man?" asked Sir Hugo pleasantly. His face seemed huge, then suddenly telescoped away.

"You--he told you about last night... but we've all been here since... and nobody--never mind, I... I can't think."

"That's quite all right. Now, why don't you be a good lad and take a little nap like Jonny here?"

"Wait--you--" Everything exploded into my brain at once. Jonathan had gone down way too fast--and these guys knew more than they should about everything that had happened the night before--and only Jonathan and I had been drinking the bourbon...

My mind flashed on Evelyn, sound asleep in the other room, and I took a clumsy swing at Sir Hugo, then another. He skipped out of my reach easily, chuckling. He said something, but by now his words had stopped making sense. Everything was flat and out of focus. After swaying for what seemed like hours, I lunged for him again, stumbled, and hit the floor like a ton of bricks.

I either said it or thought it, but the last thing in my mind as the darkness closed in was, Evelyn...