Title: To Breathe the Breath of
Isis
Author: Elizabeth Marx
Genre: Historical Romance/Time
Travel
Tour Host: Lady
Amber's Tours
Blurb:
One
woman. One man. An eternity of love hammered into twenty-one pieces of silver.
Marguerite
is a victim of a vicious attack. The resulting brain damage causes amnesia and
when she inexplicably appears in a tomb in Thebes, she insists she was coming
to meet Robert Bruton. Disorientated, destitute, and alone, she senses that her
necklace has led her to this familiar swashbuckler who takes her breath away;
however, he claims he does not know her.
Lord
Robert Bruton, eminent Egyptologist, and possible spy for the crown, has never
discovered anything as captivating as the young woman he recovers unconscious
on his dig. He has staked his career on finding the final resting place of
Queen Tiye and wonders why Marguerite possesses a piece of jewelry belonging to
the Eighteenth Dynasty queen. She could be a tomb robber, an American spy, or a
madwoman spouting fantastical stories.
As
the necklace’s curse is revealed, the fire of Marguerite’s and Bruton’s ancient
bond burns between them. But when Marguerite disappears, Bruton fears that the
wings of Isis have carried away the true treasure he has been seeking his
entire life.
For
to breathe the breath of Isis is to be reborn.
Author Bio:
Windy City writer, Elizabeth
Marx, brings cosmopolitan life alive in her fiction—a blend of romance, fast-paced
Chicago living, and a sprinkle of magical realism. Elizabeth resides with her
husband, girls, and two cats who’ve spelled everyone into believing they’re
really dogs. She grew up in the city, has traveled extensively, and still says
there’s no town like Chi-Town.
Author links:
BUY LINKS:
Excerpt:
Marguerite had spent two weeks in
the desert with her task master. He was quiet except for his constant
examination of her knowledge of Egyptian history. Lord Bruton had a rugged
swagger and raw strength that probably frightened most of the damsels of the
day, but because he seemed familiar to Marguerite she ignored his bravado.
They dined alone under the stars
most evenings, a fire mingling between their piecemeal conversation. Bruton
spent most of his nights playing records on his phonograph and studying her
under hooded eyes that revealed nothing of his thoughts. He tried to convince
her to sleep in one of the tombs to avoid the cool nights, but the thought of
the confinement was more than she could bear, so she slept on a pallet across
the tent from him.
She woke early this morning to
find him gone. It wasn’t the first time she’d awoken to his empty pallet, but
he usually snuck away in the darkest part of night. Marguerite tore her covers
off, dressed and went to work, telling herself that who he was with was none of
her concern.
Marguerite’s work table was
positioned so that the shaft of daylight fell over the surface, and she could
read the papyrus document. The stagnant air dancing with dust motes moved, and
a shadow fluttered down the stairs of the tomb. Down one step at a time, over
the surface of her sheltered respite, the silhouette bringing the dry scorch of
the desert. Marguerite stopped dabbing the hanky across her upper lip to glance
up from her transcription to stare at the figure whose features were hidden
under the brim of his hat.
Bruton put his hands on his hips.
“What on earth are you doing now?”
“I’m working.” She brought a
hanky to her brow, but it was dry, like the fine filament of a shroud. She
considered the rest of the tabletop, wondering about the location of her water
canister.
“Is there a particular reason for
your state of undress?”
Marguerite imagined the exasperated
look on his face, happy that she couldn’t see it because after fifteen days, it
was losing its desired effect. “I’m only partially unclothed. I came down
expecting to remain alone. You went roaming the desert without me, again,
remember?”
“Why?”
“Why?” She refused to look away
from the papyrus, drawing a magnifying glass over the textured surface,
forgetting the heat and the water canister. “Because you enjoy keeping me up to
my elbows in work while you traipse off into the luxuries of Luxor.”
“Why are you partially
unclothed?” He took the last of the stairs moving behind her, gazing over her
shoulder. “What is this?” he asked, snatching her corset, which was dangling
off the snout of a dog-headed ceramic figurine.
She eyed him from the corner of
her eye, pretending to squint from the reinfusion of light. “That would be the
most preposterous women’s undergarment. I plan on sacrificing it over the spit
at dinner.” She made another note in the margin.
“I believe that this is a
necessary woman’s undergarment for a woman with your kind of figure.”
Marguerite looked up with
narrowed her eyes. “I am too busy to care about your insults right now.”
“Knickers, you confuse insult
with observation.”
“Yes a very keen one,” she
started fanning herself with her sketch-pad, since the temperature seemed to
suddenly rise.
“Do you really have time for a
break when there is so much copying to be done?”
“Do the papers strewn everywhere
indicate inactivity?” She huffed. “Anyway, I’ve copied everything that you
asked for, Herr Kommandant.” She
extended her makeshift fan and was sorry for its loss.
Bruton opened the pad, amazed at
the accuracy in all the tomb drawings, which were beautifully rendered. She had
gone so far as to color in a section of each wall so that he had a feeling of
the overall color scheme.
It was more than he expected, and
he continued paging through the drawings until he came to a sketch of Zita, it
was detailed, capturing her sweet disposition in the thoughtful strokes around
her eyes. Dr. Beshwani was on the next page, and she had drawn his austere
manner in a handsome fashion. Agnes followed, without her habit, her hair down
around her elbows, and the overall effect was quite seductive.
He turned the next page and
stared at his own reflection. She had gotten him precisely right, down to the
fine lines just starting to form around his eyes. The only thing missing was
his goatee. “You must not care much for my facial hair,” he said rubbing his
jaw thoughtfully.
Marguerite turned away from her
work to wrangle the portfolio away from him. All her jostling drew his
attention to her shirtwaist which was partially unbuttoned, exposing the lace
of her chemise. She cleared her throat, trying to get him to look at her face
again, but when he didn’t, she said, “I don’t think the absence of the corset
bothers you as much as you let on.”
He gave her a wry twist of his
lips. “I never said I minded it at all, Knickers.” He winked as he released the
book, taking her in leisurely.
She turned back to her work. “You
know if I didn’t know better, I’d think you’ve been watching me.”
He couldn’t contain himself; a
broad smile erupted, exposing his teeth. “You are the most intriguing thing I
have to ponder.”
Thanks so much for hosting me. Happy reading and reviewing.
ReplyDeleteElizabeth