BUSINESS

Summary: The wife of the curator of the British Museum meets Med-Jai warrior Ardeth Bay. Ardeth, OC.

Category: Angst, drama, romance.

Rating: M

Author's note: Any feedback will be treasured for the rest of my life, and keep me going.

Chapter Seven

On Saturday morning, it was all the women could talk about. "Did you hear? Last night? The sounds? Heavens, you know what sounds." They were married women and mothers, but they laughed into their lace gloves anyway, as though such degenerate human actions were not their lot, had never been their lot.

Marjorie sat at the sofa in the lobby, looking over the edge of her newspaper at the six wives seated around the table in the far end of the room. Cup after cup of imported Earl Grey tea; the scent of bergamot was filling the air.

"I wonder who it was."

"Arabs, of course. I heard they were insatiable when it comes to… you know."

"No, it was in the Queen's English. I heard them myself."

"Then I wonder if…"

They weren't looking at her directly – they were too polite to deliver such direct accusations – but she felt their eyes anyway, boring like drills into the top of her head.

"What do you think you are doing?" A quiet baritone at her ear.

She turned around and saw Ardeth Bay standing behind her, staring at her with brown eyes that were so shaded under the fringe of heavy lashes that they were almost black.

She managed to swallow down her surprise. "Reading today's newspaper and enjoying the day. Ardeth, why are you—"

"What did you think you were doing last night?" he said under his breath, and she finally understood his meaning. Her heart twisted inside of her, and she became distinctly aware of the silence now that filled the lobby. The women at the tables were staring shamelessly like infants.

She tried to flash a smile at the Med-Jai – do something to make the women cringe, or twitter, or cover their rouged mouths in shock – but nothing happened. "It's none of your business, Ardeth Bay. What happened between my husband and me is private. How dare you—"

"Private?" He rounded the sofa and took a seat next to her. The sofa cushions dipped with his weight, and she steeled herself against the armrest. "You announced your activities to the entire hotel."

"You should have turned the other way and played dumb like any civilized man."

"Like any British man? Should I smile to your face, and say madam, and if you please, and then go amongst my brothers to talk about you behind your back?"

"Civilized society is run on lies, Ardeth. Just look at the women behind you."

He didn't. "Mrs. Harrington, if what you did last night was your way of seducing me, you are making a grave mistake."

"You? Seducing you?" she said, injecting as much offended incredulity into her tone as she could. "You think too highly of yourself, Med-Jai. And how dare you suggest that I don't love my husband?"

"You were calling my name."

"I was not."

"You were."

Had she? She suddenly remembered how a fleeting frown had come across Alfred's countenance as she rode him: "Margie, what did you say?"

"Jesus," she whispered. Then she held the Med-Jai's gaze and forced herself not to look away. "It meant nothing."

"Naturally."

"I knew you were out there, snooping around like a rat. It was meant to provoke you. I must have done an excellent job."

"You've done an excellent job of potentially setting your husband's fury against me, Mrs. Harrington," he replied. His voice was tense. "You are not worth the situation that might stem from this."

"My husband couldn't have noticed. He was getting his brains fucked out at the time," she said.

He flinched at her words. "You are not worth the—"

She cut him off with a laugh. "I know. I am not worth the fate of your precious relics," she said. "So prove it." She smiled at him. "Prove it to me in bed."

"You've gone too far, Mrs. Harrington."

"And so have you, Ardeth Bay," she countered, and tilted her chin to the group of women now huddled together, whispering like spirits. "They think we've been rutting like the horses in the stables for weeks. They fantasize about us when they're getting pinned by their husbands, and they imagine themselves to be in my place. And then they go to church on Sundays to pray to God."

"Have you no shame?"

"What about you? When you were looking at me last night, why didn't you turn away? Why did you stay there, analyzing my every move? Did you think about me when you worked yourself with your hand?"

He was silent, his features fogged with anger.

"We've both gone too far, Ardeth. You weren't spying on me because you were worried about a damned museum artifact. You were spying on me because you wanted this day to happen. Admit it."

"The basement. At noon."

"What?"

"You heard me." He got up from the sofa and grinned at her, widely, and then said in a loud voice: "Thank you for passing on the message from your husband, Mrs. Harrington. I'll be sure to take it into consideration."

"And send my warmest regards to your wife, Ardeth Bay," she replied, matching his grin, and extended her hand.

He shook it with a force that traveled all the way to her elbow, and the grin hardened upon his mouth, and he said: "Good morning, Mrs. Harrington."

And then he was gone, and there were only the women now, gasping among themselves as though they had witnessed the most shocking event of the week.

TO BE CONTINUED…