Page 10 of Of Gold and Shadows (Time’s Lost Treasures #1)

10

There was a certain honesty in a game of billiards. Truth slid out easier with the clacking of balls, as if the sound of the game drowned out the fear of judgment. Closing one eye, Edmund sighted down his cue stick, then took his shot. The red ball banked off two sides, entirely missing the other two balls. A loss, but a respectable failure he could amend next turn ... and that’s what he loved about the game. Men could be vulnerable without feeling weak. And he especially hoped that sentiment proved true with the hornet’s nest of a conversation he intended to open with Gil.

But better to ease into such a dialogue with a lighter topic. He faced Gil. “You have yet to tell me of your good news.”

Across from him, Gil chalked the end of his stick. The man had indulged in a long lie-down earlier that afternoon and, while still sporting a pallid complexion and a bandage, appeared to be in good health. “What good news were you hoping to hear, old man?”

“Whatever it was you mentioned in your last letter.”

“My—? Oh. Ha-ha! Nearly forgot. You should be happy to know I tidied up my office.”

Gil was the most fastidious of men, so that didn’t ring true in the least. Edmund fiddled with his stick, casting it back and forth between his hands, a twang in his gut. “While I am happy to hear all is in shipshape order, I am surprised to learn it was disheveled to begin with.”

And even more surprised that such an event would count as good news—because it wouldn’t. Clearly the man was hiding something.

Gil set down the chalk cube as if he hadn’t a care in the world. “Just trying to keep the correspondence lighthearted, you know.”

No, actually, he didn’t. “Is there something you’re not telling me? Because something is definitely off, and I demand to know what it is. What happened on the Continent? You were there at the behest of Mr. Durand, were you not? Did something go wrong with his investments?”

“Ha-ha! Nothing of the sort. I merely finished the Durand business in record-breaking time, hence my early arrival.” He eyed the tip of his stick. “I wouldn’t keep secrets from you, you know. We’ve been partners far too long for that.”

He’d like to trust in their past history, and he would— if Miss Dalton’s suspicion weren’t roaming around the corridors of his mind. He cleared his throat. “Miss Dalton tells me there are some coins missing from the workroom.”

“Is that so?” Gil drawled.

“Yes. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

“Perhaps you ought to ask her.” He bent over his stick, lining up just the right angle. “She probably counted incorrectly.”

Of all the blame shifting. How dare the man accuse the very one who’d caught him in the act! Edmund white-knuckled his stick so hard his fingers ached, yet he kept his tone casual. A cornered badger was never one to carelessly poke. “Miss Dalton saw you, Gil. She came upon you as you stood near the coins this morning, putting your hand into your pocket.”

Gil jabbed at the cue ball and missed. Frowning, he straight ened, the fresh bandage on his head stark white against his reddening face. “All right. If you must know, I took them.”

“You—?” Edmund choked. “Why?”

“As a surprise for you.” He shrugged. “I intended to get them restored and mounted as a gift when we make the sale with Harrison. It’s your shot.”

Edmund stood motionless. Why did everything about Gil seem so off? “And yet you took those coins before Harrison was even here.”

“Well, I didn’t mean him per se. The fact is, you’ll sell the load to someone, and at that point, I planned to award you a congratulatory token of the deal. Blast it, Price! It wasn’t like I stole them.” He puffed a disgusted snort. “Besides, I didn’t realize you were such a saint.”

“And I didn’t realize how much you’d changed while I’d been abroad.” Seething, he smacked the cue ball with a satisfying clack. The white sphere slapped around from bumper to bumper, knocking his own ball into a pocket and following right behind it. He jammed his hand into the netting and yanked them both out, thwacking them on the table as he faced Gil. “What’s happened to you?”

“Ha-ha! Don’t be a fool.” He took a shot and potted his own ball, then moved in for another shot. “Perhaps it is you who has changed. Ever think of that? I am the same as I always have been, old man.”

Edmund gritted his teeth, the old man moniker proving his point. Gil had never called him anything other than Edmund, trendy terminology or not. “I beg to differ. The Gilbert Fletcher I know is a patient man, honest to a fault, doesn’t imbibe, and wouldn’t dream of lewd comments in the presence of a lady. You’ve hardly been here more than twenty-four hours and already blown those traits out of the water.” He lowered his voice, the gravity of what he was about to say sitting like a brick in his gut. “I demand to know why, Gil. For though it pains me to say so, I am seriously considering cutting ties with you despite the fact that we’ve worked together for so many years. If I didn’t owe the protection of my family wealth to you, I’d have already sent you packing.”

A sigh sank his business partner’s shoulders, and his next jab hit the ball sideways, sending it aimlessly spinning across the green felt. Gil straightened, his face ashen, the pool balls temporarily forgotten. “Very well. Though I hate to admit it, the truth is, you couldn’t be more right. I haven’t been myself lately, not for the past few years, actually. You see, I ...”

Snapping his mouth shut, Gil snatched the chalk and rubbed the cube on the end of his cue stick as if his life depended upon it. “Loneliness has a way of carving the heart right out of a man.”

Edmund shook his head as he strode to the end of the table. “With all your friends and associates in London? Surely you have far too many social engagements to fall victim to melancholy.”

“It was like that ... at least it used to be.” Gil tucked his chin, eyes on his shoes.

Whatever was on his mind couldn’t be good. Edmund set his stick to the table, focusing on the yellow ball.

“I met a woman,” Gil began. “Charlotte and I were kindred spirits, or so I thought. I pursued her hard for a year, met her family, introduced her to mine. Things were going swimmingly.” A low breath shuddered out of him. “But then she stopped seeing me. Not a word as to why. No excuses. Nothing. I have no idea what I did wrong, and it’s been eating away at me ever since.”

Edmund punched the stick against the ball, sending the thing over the edge of the table and cracking to the floor. He knew well how a woman could bring a man to his knees. “Women,” he grumbled as he reset the ball on the table. “God’s gift and torture.”

“Would that it were only that.” Gil spread his hands. “Business matters have been a struggle as well. You know the stock exchange. Of late it’s been a battle to stretch my pennies—which weighs heavy on my mind. The failures. The loss. As you’ve noticed, I’ve turned to drink to cope with it all. I’m not proud of it, but I don’t know how else to manage. Yet manage I must, and the only way to do that is to get more money.” He tossed back his head, a desperate look in his eyes.

Edmund stared, stunned, and not just a little horrified. “Are you telling me our business is nearing bankruptcy?” His words were a growl.

“Ha-ha! Don’t panic, old man. It is my affairs that are wanting, not yours.”

He racked his pool cue, as done with the game as Gil appeared to be. “And yet many of our affairs are entwined, are they not?”

“True ... and so perhaps you will now share the same urgency I feel in selling that lot of relics to Harrison.”

Edmund exhaled long and low. “Why did you not tell me of this matter sooner?”

“Thought I could handle it on my own.” Gil rolled his stick between his palms, back and forth, staring at the motion for a long while before snapping his gaze back to Edmund. “But no need to fret like a housewife. We’ll simply sell the load to Harrison, and all will be well.”

Edmund eyed his business partner, seeking truth. He’d trusted this man all the years he’d been in India, and never once had Gil let him down. Besides, he knew better than most the depths to which a heartless woman could drive a man. Save for the odd behaviour and the great amount of alcohol Gil had partaken of since yesterday, there were no other tangible reasons not to have confidence in him now—especially in light of his tale of womanly woe.

But that didn’t mean he must continue putting up with such boorish manners.

“Very well, Gil. If you say so. But”—he leaned back against the table, pegging Gil with a resolute stare—“I will not tolerate any more drinking or dishonesty.”

“Yes, yes! Of course.” Gil racked his stick, then grabbed him by the shoulders. “I am trying to change, to become better, for my sake and for those around me. Please don’t cut ties with me. I need your support now more than ever. I need that cargo sold at the earliest possible date.”

The words hit home. Sanjay needed Edmund’s half of the funds even more urgently than Gil did. Edmund rubbed the back of his neck, working out a tight knot. “Trust me, I share your sense of expediency. Your candor, however, is refreshing, though I wish you would have told me of these things as soon as you arrived.”

Gil dropped his hands. “Lesson learned. Forgive me, old man?”

“Just see that you return the coins to Miss Dalton, and all will be forgotten.”

The part about Gil pocketing the coins he could easily disregard. And it helped to know of Gil’s woman trouble and subsequent money issues, for at least that accounted for much of the change in his partner’s looks and demeanor.

And yet, despite the hope of selling the Egyptian cargo, none of this boded well for the future.

Candlelight flickered in the shadowy workroom, wind skritching branches against the windowpanes like the clawing of a beast set on breaking the glass. A night such as this was meant for letting the imagination run far and free. Ami sat on the parquet floor, back against a crate, her pencil flying across the page of her journal. The tale she’d been working on for so long was finally nearing a finish.

Pausing, she tapped the end of her pencil against her lip, rereading a few sentences. Strange. When she’d begun this saga of Egyptian adventure, she’d pictured the hero with almond-shaped eyes and a shaved head. Now, though she tried hard not to, all she could picture was the dusky blue gaze and dark wavy hair of Mr. Price.

Absently, she rolled the pencil between her fingers. The more time she spent with Mr. Price, the more she found herself navigating uncharted territory. It was now his warm laughter that echoed alongside her dream of leading a dig in Egypt, her personal and professional aspirations slowly tangling into a knot ... one she wasn’t sure she’d be able to untie. Could one lead expeditions while also building a life with someone?

Her fingers froze at the sudden shift in her usual train of thinking. How could a blue-eyed man cause such a derailment from her formerly single-tracked ambition?

As if the mere thought of the man conjured him, Mr. Price stepped into the room, his presence warming her in ways she couldn’t explain.

“Miss Dalton? I’ve brought you some—” His gaze shifted between her and the chair. “Why are you on the floor? Are you all right?”

With a soft chuckle, she rose, clutching the book to her chest. “Tell me, Mr. Price, do you like to write?”

He paused, his eyes searching hers. “Sometimes, particularly at the end of a grueling day. Ah, a rough one, was it? Don’t tell me you’re penning verse?”

She shook her head, a grin tugging her lips. “I am many things, Mr. Price, but I am not a poet. I couldn’t make words rhyme for a king’s ransom. What have you got there?” She tipped her head toward the mugs.

“Since you missed dinner, I thought you could tell me of today’s discoveries over a cup of drinking chocolate. If you like, that is.”

“How lovely!” Her heart fluttered at the kindness, yet she shoved away the feeling as she brushed aside the papers on the table. Laying her journal atop them, she then grabbed the candelabra from the floor.

As Mr. Price handed her a mug, their fingers brushed, sending a shiver down her spine. So much for shoving away random feelings!

“What were you writing?” he asked as he pulled up another chair.

“Nothing of consequence. Just a little story.” But even as she spoke the words, an inconvenient truth rose up. It had been him she’d been writing of, not Amun. Her thoughts were beginning to be consumed with the man sitting across from her. And as she gazed into his eyes, she couldn’t help but wonder if he felt the same way.

Stars and lightning! What an absurd idea. What was happening to her?

She sipped her chocolate, delightedly distracted by the sweet, creamy flavor. If joy could be sold in a cup, this was surely it. “Mmm. Not only do I understand your obsession with this drink, I share it.”

“I should like to hear it, you know.” He took a sip of his own, his gaze lingering on her.

“Very well. Today I—”

“No.” He eyed her over the mug’s rim. “I mean, yes, I do want to know what made for such a rough day, but first I’d like to hear your story, if you’re willing.”

She toyed with the handle of her cup. She had no trouble whatsoever in submitting articles for archaeological journals, but this? This was far too personal. She shook her head. “I am certain you would not enjoy it.”

He reached out, stilling her hand, and once again his touch jolted through her. “You’d be surprised. I have a fondness for fiction of all sorts.”

An image of his massive bookshelves in the study flashed in her mind. She fingered her journal but didn’t open it. Sharing her work was just so intimate.

She peered up at him. “I must have your word you’ll not laugh at my storytelling attempts or have me committed to Littlemore.”

He snorted. “It would be a crime to lock up your keen mind in an asylum, and I vow I shall not laugh.” He slapped his hand to his heart.

She paused a beat more, then gave in to the sincerity in his eyes. “Very well.” She flipped through the pages until she found the spot where she’d picked up the story earlier that evening.

“As the first blush of dawn kissed the sands of ancient Egypt, a solitary figure stood at the Nile’s edge. Lotus blossoms perfumed the air, but Amun took no notice, for his gaze fixed on the horizon where the ruins of a once-glorious temple rose from the earth like a phoenix reborn. Each weathered stone of Seti-Ama whispered to him from the past, like a lover long gone yet unwilling to let go.”

Edmund arched a brow. “This is poetic! I had no idea you—”

She held up her hand, thoroughly embarrassed. “Either I read this all at once, or I don’t read it at all, Mr. Price.”

He pressed his lips tight, and for a moment, she reveled in her power.

Then she went back to reading.

“Amun splashed across the river with long strides, the water cool against his skin. If he didn’t reach the ancient shrine before the sun fully embraced the sky, it would vanish—and wouldn’t reappear for another hundred years. Or so it was said. He wouldn’t live long enough to get another chance at snatching the healing balm from inside the temple.

And Safiyeh wouldn’t live the week if he failed.

His heart quickened with each step. Lungs heaving. Thighs burning. Onward he pressed, taking the temple stairs by two. He tore past the entrance pillars, the acrid scent of sacrifices wafting across the centuries. Blinking in the sudden shadows, he pressed ahead to the altar and grabbed hold of the sacred urn. He had it! In his hands. The famed healing balm of Ko-tesh!

But then the earth trembled. The walls shook. Stones crumbled like the desert sands. Amun tore off like a whirlwind, clutching the urn beneath his arm.

He had barely descended the last stair when a mighty force shoved him face first to the desert floor. Spitting out grit, panting for air, he pushed to his feet, clutching the urn to his chest. Slowly, he turned. Nothing but an endless desert lay barren where once a mighty temple stood. A triumphant grin stretched across his lips as he crushed the urn to his chest in a strong embrace.

‘For you, my sister,’ he whispered. ‘Only for you.’”

Ami closed her journal, fearing to see what sort of reaction played on Mr. Price’s face.

“I had no idea you were such a storyteller, Miss Dalton.” Mr. Price’s crooked finger lifted her chin, forcing her to look into his eyes. “That was beautiful.”

Her heart raced. He’d always looked kindly upon her, but this time something more sparked in his eyes, almost as if he were seeing her in a completely different light—not just as a hireling but as a woman worth cherishing.

Her pulse galloped in her ears.

His gaze flicked to her lips, and her breath hitched. Could it be he wished to kiss her? The idea thrilled—and terrified—for she’d never been kissed before. Never had she time for such triflings. And yet now she leaned closer, drawn by his spicy curry scent.

But just as she was about to end the distance between them, a pang of self-doubt stabbed her chest. She was a bookish miss. He a sought-after bachelor of wealth and power. He couldn’t possibly be interested in her—the person inside her, that is. He had likely pulled this same charismatic trick on countless other women. Used them and tossed them aside, for that was the way of businessmen, was it not?

Pulling away, she set her journal on the stack of papers. “Thank you, Mr. Price. I am happy you enjoyed the story.”

“I did.” He smiled warmly. “Very much.”

Once again her pulse took off. Bosh! As much as she’d like to, she couldn’t deny the attraction of his intelligence, his wit, his rugged charm. But it was more than unwise to pursue a romantic relationship with him. Quite frankly, it would be a train wreck. They were from vastly different worlds. She wouldn’t know how to carry on inane conversation for hours on end at formal affairs, and he wouldn’t have a clue how to read hiero glyphics if his life depended upon it. Besides, she wouldn’t want to risk losing his friendship if the relationship didn’t work out.

She cleared her throat, promptly changing the subject. “Now, about my day,” she said, hoping to sound nonchalant.

“Indeed.” He picked up his mug, finishing off his drink. “What was it that drove you to such distraction?”

“Several things.” She sighed. “First there was the whole business of the missing coins with Mr. Fletcher, though to his credit, he did return them and explained the situation. Then there was this.”

She beckoned him to the end of the long table to a broken mummy mask. “See here?” She pointed to a jagged edge on one kohl-blackened eye. “The cartonnage has been chipped, either from hasty grave robbers or during transport. Hard to say which. And down farther”—she slid her finger to the chin—“there is excessive discoloration, likely from light exposure, though it could be from moisture as well.”

Mr. Price frowned. “Some missing coins and a damaged item are hardly worth ruining your day.”

“That was just the beginning. When I opened a crate of papyrus scrolls, I found several of them badly torn and stained, one of them beyond repair or deciphering. But most troubling is this.” She waggled her finger as she led him to the door, where a sobering jackal-headed Anubis stood watch.

Mr. Price’s eyes flicked over the statue. “It appears to be whole.”

“It is, but it’s not in the same position as it was this morning.”

“Somebody moved it.” He shrugged.

Ami swept her hand toward the imposing figure. “Give it a go.”

“Challenge accepted.” He winked, then widening his stance, grabbed hold of the larger-than-life figure. His suit coat strained tightly across his broad shoulders as he put his weight into shifting the thing.

The statue didn’t budge.

He tried again, the muscles on his neck bulging as he used all his might.

Anubis remained firmly in place.

Breathing hard, he retreated a step.

“As you see, Mr. Price, no man alone can move this piece.”

He tugged down the cuffs of his sleeves. “True. So perhaps Barnaby had some of the staff shift the thing for cleaning.”

Ami shook her head. “After the cat incident, I gave your butler strict instruction not to allow anyone in here.”

“Well, clearly someone was ... a few someones.” He smirked.

“Impossible. I was in here all day.”

“ All day?” He cocked his head.

She bit her lip, reviewing how she’d spent her daylight hours and ... Bother! “I guess I did go check on the cat, and when I did so, Phineas asked me to hold the ladder for him while he pruned some of the branches on the willow.”

“There. You see? I shall speak with Barnaby and remind him no one is to be admitted to this room.”

“Thank you.”

Though the matter was settled, her gaze drifted back to the ebony snout and soulless black eyes of the god of embalming and mummification. It was kind of Mr. Price to reiterate her wishes to the butler, yet the fact remained it was highly unlikely Barnaby would have ordered two servants to shift this monstrosity a mere forty-five degrees. Doing so would serve no purpose whatsoever. But the worse alternative was that Barnaby hadn’t asked his staff to move it at all, because then there was only one explanation.

The curse of Amentuk had shifted it, and she couldn’t—she wouldn’t —believe that.