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though.  Cassandra was French, a lithe, willowy, auburn-haired vixen who was possessed of every wicked trait, so she was the perfect companion for a man of his jaded state.
    In contrast, Miss Postlewaite was blond and blue-eyed, fresh and wholesome, like a dairy maid who had walked out of a verdant pasture.  She was short and slender, but rounded in all the appropriate spots.  Her skin was smooth and silky, the color of peaches and cream, and she had dimples that made her look as if she was always about to burst out laughing.
    He was cynical and weary so he wanted to stand close to her.  She exuded goodness, as if she had such a kind nature she couldn’t hold it in, and he hoped some of her positive decency might rub off.  Then again, maybe he was simply a disgusting roué, and his interest in getting close had nothing to do with pure motives.
    They started across the lobby when it dawned on him that he was underdressed for the occasion.  The ostentatious surroundings were opulent and lavish, constructed for the most discerning, wealthy traveler.  Fleetingly, he considered leaving, changing his clothes, then returning when he could present a better image.
    As quickly as he pondered the notion, he discounted it.  He intended to say hello, then go.  He had no desire to linger and was still perplexed as to why he’d agreed to meet her aunt.  He was certain the encounter would end badly.
    The British citizens who journeyed to Cairo either knew him or knew of him.  Since he’d just had to engage in a brawl on Miss Postlewaite’s behalf, he wasn’t in the mood for any rebuffs from her relatives.
    Out on the verandah, a stern older woman was waving at them.  A young lady was seated with her, and she was waving too.
    Miss Postlewaite peeked up at him.  “We don’t have to climb the stairs after all.  My aunt and my cousin, Susan, are having tea on the patio.”
    “I see that.”
    She leaned nearer and murmured, “Please don’t mention the… incident at the bazaar.  It would upset my aunt.”
    “I’m sure it would.  How will you explain your missing bonnet and scraped palms?”
    “I’ll claim I tripped, my bonnet fell off, and a camel stepped on it.  It was ruined, so I threw it away.”
    “That will work.”  He grinned, liking her more than he should.  “Are you a skilled liar?”
    “No.  I’m surprised to discover that I have any talent for deception.”
    “Perhaps it’s a natural and previously unnoted aptitude, Miss Postlewaite.”
    “Perhaps.”  She scowled.  “And…ah…when I introduce you, could you…ah…call me Lady Theodosia?”
    She blushed a charming shade of pink, and he had to fight not to flinch. 
    A bloody nobleman’s daughter!
    There was no way his identity would remain a secret for much longer.  He would have turned and stomped out, but she stopped him simply by slipping her hand into the crook of his arm.
    “Aunt Edna is a bit stuffy,” she whispered, “and a bit forceful, but don’t let her rattle you.”
    “She couldn’t possibly,” he whispered in reply.
    “She has a gentle disposition, but she comes across as a tad harsh.”
    “I’ll try to hold up, Lady Theodosia.”
    His tone was overly mocking, and her scowl deepened.  “Are you angry that I didn’t tell you sooner?”
    “You might have warned me who you are.”
    “There was no need.  I’m not anyone of consequence.”
    It was much the same comment he’d made about his own antecedents.  Weren’t they a pair? 
    With her pathetic statement quietly hurled, they exited onto the verandah and any opportunity for further discussion was cut short.
    The wide patio looked out over the Nile, the majestic river flowing past.  Pleasure boats and fishing boats drifted by.  He never grew tired of the sight, and he could have dawdled there all afternoon, but Lady Theodosia yanked him over to her aunt’s table.
    “Aunt Edna, how nice to find you here.  It’s so pretty and so much cooler by the