A choking sound erupted from Miss Chilton-Grizedale, and Philip’s father paled. Philip actually felt a blush creeping up his neck. Bloody hell, he could not possibly be having this conversation. He dragged his hands down his face. “Your grace, I am not impotent.”

There was no mistaking the duke’s, or Philip’s father’s, relief. Before anyone could speak, Philip continued, “I am speaking of a curse, one written on a broken stone tablet I discovered just before sailing from Alexandria.”

Philip’s mind drifted back to Alexandria, to the day, months earlier, when he’d found the stone. Squinting against the bright sun, breathing in the hot, dry air that felt and smelled like no other… air redolent with the scent of history and ancient civilizations. Air that he would miss with an ache he couldn’t describe when he departed the following day for the country of his birth. To honor an agreement he’d made a decade earlier. An agreement he could postpone no longer, now that his father was dying.

He’d been nearly ready to quit for the day-his last day-but his reluctance to put away his tools-for the last time-to wipe the dust and dirt and sand from his hands-for the last time-propelled him to continue. And minutes later…

“The day before I was to depart Alexandria for my voyage back to England, I made a discovery-an alabaster box. Inside the box was an intriguing stone with writing upon it in an ancient language. As ancient languages are of special interest to me, I was especially excited about the find. I took the box and retired to my cabin on board the Dream Keeper in preparation for our departure at dawn. When I deciphered the stone, I realized it was a curse.”