He studied his appearance. Years spent in the sun had tanned and weathered his complexion so he looked more like a native of this part of the world than Scotland. He had also dyed his hair dark brown so he wouldn’t stand out as a Northern European. He’d stop the dyeing so that by the time he reached the British Isles, his natural light hair would have grown out.

His gaze moved around his office and the many shelves holding his favorite archeological treasures. Constantinople had been a trading center for centuries, and goods of all nations could be found here. He’d shipped many objects back to London and had made a good deal of money in the process, but these items were the ones he loved. They’d have to be carefully packed for the journey home.

He lifted a richly decorated silver mirror from Renaissance Italy. Gisela would have loved it. If she’d lived, the shape of his life would be completely different, yet he could barely remember her face. She’d been sweet and funny and very, very pretty. He would have returned from Edinburgh and married her and they’d likely have children by now.

Ramsay would never have seen the sun set behind the pyramids, but he wouldn’t have known the loneliness of his solitary years. Would his life have been better or worse if she hadn’t died? Impossible to say. Certainly it would have been very different.

Face set, he left his office and headed down a floor to see the ambassador. There was no reason to delay handing in his resignation. Once he did that, his life here would be officially over.

He thought he’d have to make an appointment, but the secretary said, “Sir Robert is available so you can go right in.”

No reprieve here. Ramsay knocked on the door, then entered. Sir Robert Liston glanced up from his desk. A Scot, he’d studied languages at the University of Edinburgh as Ramsay had done several decades later. Ramsay had used their common history to persuade the ambassador to create this unusual position as part of the British delegation.

Sir Robert started to rise, then settled back into his chair with a frown. “The evil day has arrived?”

Sir Robert was a perceptive fellow. Ramsay replied, “I’ve just received a message summoning me back to Thorsay.”

The ambassador’s frown deepened. “Have you considered refusing the summons? Surely there are others who would leap at the chance to become the next laird, but there is no one who can do the work you do here. Your skills are unique.”

“My deviousness and affinity for disreputable rogues, you mean,” Ramsay said dryly.

Sir Robert smiled. “Exactly. Most of the young gentlemen who join Britain’s diplomatic corps are entirely too conventional. Good for many things, but not for what you do so well.”