Page 11 of Of Gold and Shadows (Time’s Lost Treasures #1)
11
In the past week since he’d heard Ami Dalton’s Egyptian tale, Edmund had come close to kissing the woman at least three times. First, when she’d read her story, for he’d been both shocked and pleased that she’d share such a personal piece of writing with him. It had been a vulnerable move, one she’d entrusted to him simply because he’d asked, not because she expected anything from him for doing so. Days later, he’d come upon her in the workroom with wood shavings caught in her hair. Helping her pick them out had seemed the gallant thing to do at the time—until it turned into something more. Her bright laughter and smoky-cinnamon scent had nearly driven him to his knees. Then yesterday in the breakfast room, he’d almost pulled her into his arms for no reason whatsoever.
And now ... well, he really ought to turn around and go back to his study instead of seeking her out, for the woman was becoming quite the preoccupation. He’d keep his distance this time, for her sake and his, and be thankful that Gil had been keeping his distance as well this past week.
He plowed his hand through his hair as he strode to the workroom. He didn’t have time for a relationship, not when he ought to be focused on pursuing a position in Parliament. And Miss Dalton had made it clear she aspired to be as renowned an Egyptologist as her father, so she didn’t have the time for him either. No, at this point, anything more than enjoying quippy conversation with the woman was out of the question. He’d do well to keep that in mind.
Thus fortified, he stepped into the workroom, trying hard not to notice how the August sun streaming through the window highlighted the copper strands in Miss Dalton’s perpetually ruffled hair. Most women couldn’t pull off such a devil-may-care appearance, but on her, it looked heavenly.
He cleared his throat. “Miss Dalton, I have something to show you.”
She peered over her shoulder at him. “Ah, Mr. Price. What a coincidence. I have something to show you as well.”
She shoved back her chair and approached the looming figure of Anubis. “It’s happened again. The statue moved overnight.”
His gaze drifted past her to the ebony giant. Sure enough, the jackal’s snout was now aimed straight at him. Despite his admonition to the butler, was Barnaby up to more antics?
“I shall have another word with Barnaby.” Edmund heaved a sigh as he faced Miss Dalton. “But first come with me.”
Her brow wrinkled far too adorably. “Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”
“How cryptic,” she murmured as she gained his side.
“You love a good puzzle.”
She smiled up at him as they left behind the corridor for the great front hall. “You are beginning to know me far too well.”
Not well enough.
Blast! There he went again. So much for mental determination ... which actually might be something to explore in his next poem.
“I wonder if you know your business partner is seeking press for the collection I’m working on?” she asked.
The thought of Gil snapped him from any romantic notions whatsoever. Though admittedly the man’s behaviour had toned down, he was still becoming a bur in his side with his ha-ha ’s and old man ’s. “He mentioned it in passing last night, but I told him such publicity isn’t the way to go about gaining serious buyers. I’d prefer it if Price House wasn’t turned into a circus.”
“Apparently Mr. Fletcher didn’t take the hint. Not an hour ago he asked if I would write down the story of the curse. He believes the tale of the golden griffin will increase the price of the lot, particularly in Mr. Harrison’s case.”
“I hope you refused.”
“Actually, I told him I could, but I’d make sure to include a disclaimer that any supposed curses are not included in the purchase price.”
He laughed, the sound echoing in the large space of the front hall. What a quick-witted mind she owned!
She glanced up at him as they passed by the bronze vases, the sweet scent of lilies mixing with her cinnamon fragrance. “I hope you don’t mind me asking, but I am curious about the exact nature of the business in which you’ve partnered with him?”
“I don’t mind at all.” In fact, he was pleased she took interest. “Shortly after my father died, so did his business manager. By God’s grace and the recommendation of several trusted associates at the time, I approached Gilbert Fletcher for the job of managing my financial portfolio. Gil is a genius with numbers, even more so when it comes to investing. He has a broad reach and exposure to different business sectors and quite the flair for emerging markets. Currently, he manages my holdings here in England, and in return, earns a hefty percentage for himself. Part of our net worth is intertwined, but he does have other ventures, as have I in India. Overall, he is a good business partner.”
“If not a rather erratic one.”
He sighed. “I do admit he’s been off-center.”
“So why keep him on? It’s not like you’re married to the man.”
“True.” He chuckled. Leave it to her to drill to the center of a matter. “But I owe him a great deal, enough to grant him some leeway.”
Ami paused at his study door, the colour of her eyes hovering somewhere between blue and green as she stared at him. “What could a powerful man like yourself owe to such a feckless fellow?”
“My entire fortune. I know”—he held up a hand—“hard to believe, but true. In my earlier years, I wasn’t quite as business savvy as I am now, and I entangled myself with some cutthroat capitalists. In the midst of a troubled business venture, Gil shielded me from impending legal disaster arising from a dubious investment that went sour. I was facing potential bankruptcy and accusations of fraud. But Gil—God love him—orchestrated a strategic defense, sparing no expense to protect my assets and reputation. His selfless sacrifice, shouldering legal consequences and fines on my behalf, forged a loyalty between us. So despite my suspicions of his recent behaviour, I find it hard to part ways with him. His actions during our darkest hour went beyond mere partnership. They represent a debt of gratitude I can never fully repay.”
“Mmm,” she murmured. “There are so many sides to you, Mr. Price, that I hardly know what next to expect.”
“Well, I hope what I show you next will be a good surprise.” He swept a hand toward the open doorway.
She grinned—but that smile vanished the moment they entered his study and her gaze landed on the mess near the bookshelves—the very same look the housekeeper had given him when she’d first seen the project. A large toolbox sat on the floor. A ladder leaned against the far side of the wall where sawdust mounded like fallen snow on the baseboards.
Miss Dalton slapped a hand against her chest. “Please do not tell me you are getting rid of the bookshelves.”
“Just modifying them, and that’s exactly what I wished you to see.” Taking care to avoid the Ming Dynasty vase on a pedestal, he stepped past the toolbox, then held out his hand to help her cross over it as well. “I had the woodworker inset this shelf”—he ran his fingers over the freshly sanded wood—“to provide plenty of space, leaving no room whatsoever for the chance of the item falling and getting damaged.”
“Very thoughtful,” she murmured. “But what item?”
“The golden griffin. I thought it might ease your mind to see the care I shall take of such a valuable artifact. Furthermore, I assure you when I move to London, every bit as much precaution shall be taken there as well. I have instructed the renovators to build a secure shelf much like this one.”
Her brow folded into deep creases. “I know that legally the griffin is your property to do with as you wish, Mr. Price, but I really think that artifact and the rest of the lot you purchased belong in the Cairo Museum. Those relics were created in Egypt and are an important part of the country’s cultural heritage, the golden griffin in particular, as it is a religious piece.”
When she was this fired up, he couldn’t help but admire the flame on her cheeks and spark in her eyes. He grinned. “Then you should be pleased to learn I have already written the museum. If they agree to pay market value, I will be happy to sell the relics to them. I am a businessman, after all.”
She pursed her lips, the mole at the edge of her jaw shifting in the most beguiling way. “Then why go to the effort of building this shelf?”
“I am open to selling the lot, not the griffin, but I will do everything in my power to keep it safe. Hence the fortification.”
She shook her head. “Why is that one piece so important to you?”
“I told you, it’s part of my family crest.”
“No.” She studied him as if he were a fresh find inside a sarcophagus. “It’s more than that.”
He huffed a long breath. The woman was far too perceptive. And as she’d already said, he knew her well enough by now to understand that she’d not retreat until she had the truth of the matter.
“In a sense, I suppose it is.” He rubbed the back of his neck, working out the knot of tension that never failed to form when thinking of the past. “My father was an unyielding man, Miss Dalton. Craving success more than anything. To be fair, he was successful ... and I never measured up to his standards.”
“But—” She spluttered. “How absurd. You are the most prosperous businessman I know, that all of Oxford knows for that matter.”
“It is kind of you to say so. My father never did.” He dropped his hand. He’d dealt with the bitterness of his father’s coldness long ago, but the loss remained ... and no doubt it would haunt him until his dying day. “That griffin, Miss Dalton, is a symbol of my family’s heritage, one I will live up to or die in the trying. I don’t expect you to grasp the sentiment, just to accept it.”
The lines of her face softened, as did her voice. “Your father was wrong about you, but I know my saying so doesn’t mean you’ll believe it. That’s the thing about fathers, they tend to have a way to make us feel like needy, negligible little children—save for our heavenly Father, that is.” Her gaze drifted to the ceiling, a profound peace radiating from her. “We are never insignificant in His eyes. It’s a promise I keep in my pocket and pull out when life takes a dreary turn.”
He inhaled sharply. What a wonder this woman was. Stalwart in her faith. Intelligent. Innocent in a refreshing way, yet beneath that simple work apron was a spine of steel. If he didn’t get away from her immediately, he really would pull her close and kiss those full lips of hers. “A good reminder, Miss Dalton. And now I shall let you get back to your work, as we should make way for the carpenter to finish up his labours in here.”
Wheeling about, he hastily stepped over the big toolbox—almost, that is. The hem of his trouser caught on the handle. He flailed, hand smacking against the pedestal holding the vase. The movement helped him catch his balance—but not so for the vase. It toppled sideways.
Miss Dalton lunged, catching the valuable relic— and crashing headlong into him.
He went down hard, rolling at the last moment to bear the brunt of her tumble as he cradled her.
“Are you all right?” He shifted her in his arms, gaze sweeping over her face.
Frowning, she wrenched the vase from between them and gave it a good look then relaxed against him. “I am now.”
Her eyes met his, her frown wavering. Good heavens. Was she near tears? He couldn’t take it if she wept. A woman’s tears were something he couldn’t control.
But she burst into laughter, shoulders shaking.
And though for the life of him he didn’t know why, he chuckled right along with her. Which only made her laugh all the harder. Eyes watering, heartfelt guffaws shook them both until at last they each lay flat on their backs, gasping for breath, the vase nestled safely between them. Why, he’d not enjoyed such a rollick since—
“Price?”
“Edmund?”
“Oh dear.”
The words came in unison at the door from three different voices.
He pushed up.
Then wished he hadn’t.
Barnaby, Lord Bastion, and his daughter, Violet, all gaped on the threshold.
“What is the meaning of this, Price?”
Ami eased into a sitting position as the question growled from wall to wall, an animal seeking prey. She revised that opinion the moment her gaze landed on the man who’d bellowed it. This was no beast but a fowl—a sharp-eyed falcon of a fellow with a beak nose. His pomaded hair was smoothed back like brownish-grey feathers, and she got the distinct impression she must move carefully around him, or he’d swoop against her.
And his talons would draw blood.
The woman next to him was just as dangerous, if the serrated stare she scraped over Ami and Mr. Price was any indication.
Ami clutched the vase in front of her like a shield. Behind the two, Barnaby tucked his tail and hastened away.
Mr. Price stabbed his finger at the overturned toolbox. “I’m afraid Miss Dalton and I took a tumble, my lord. As you can see, dangers abound.”
Though it’d been but several breaths ago, already it felt like a lifetime since he’d broken her fall, caught her up in his arms, and shared laughter like a glass of sweet wine.
With a strong yet gentle grasp, he guided her to her feet, giving a steadying touch to the small of her back before facing the duo at the door. “While you are very welcome here, I am a little confused as to why you’re at Price House, my lord. And why didn’t my butler seat you in the drawing room?”
“There is no fault with your butler. I insisted he bring us to you while he arranged for refreshments.” The man curled his fingers around his lapels, chest expanding. “I am afraid there is a matter of urgency that’s come up that I wish to speak with you about. Of course, once Violet heard where I was going, she would not be put off.”
Ami’s gaze drifted to the perfectly coiffed blond as Mr. Price righted the pedestal—the last object between them and his guests. The woman—Violet, apparently—was too young to be Lord Bastion’s wife. Then again, did age matter to a woman grasping for money? For no doubt she enjoyed a good shopping spree. Her emerald gown alone could finance an entire fieldwork project. The golden necklace and pearl earbobs would pay for travel costs to Egypt and back. There was an entitled air about her, as if the world owed her something, and though Ami really ought not judge so quickly, a seed of dislike took root deep in her gut.
Oh, how Father would scold her for not digging deeper before making assumptions.
Mr. Price tugged down the cuffs of his sleeves, rumpled from the fall. “Allow me to introduce you. Lord Bastion, Miss Woolsey, meet my resident scholar, Miss Dalton.” He turned to her. “Miss Dalton, this is the Viscount Bastion and his daughter, Miss Violet Woolsey.”
Still holding the vase, Ami bobbed a small curtsey. “Pleased to meet you, my lord, Miss Woolsey.”
“What, may I ask, is a resident scholar?” Though the woman’s tone was dulcet, there was a slight curl to her upper lip.
“I am an Egyptologist, Miss Woolsey.” Ami lifted her chin. “Mr. Price has hired me to catalogue and value a recent shipment of artifacts he’s acquired.”
The viscount’s falcon eyes narrowed on her. “But you are a woman.”
Biting the inside of her cheek, she set the vase atop the pedestal.
“Miss Dalton is the daughter of the eminent Oxford professor Archer Dalton, hence she has a lifetime of learning from the very best.” Mr. Price cut her a dashing smile. “I daresay her knowledge will one day surpass his.”
“Egyptology. How quaint,” Violet murmured.
Ami flattened her lips to keep from scowling. This sentiment was the exact reason she preferred dusty tomes and skeletons to the company of female society. Save for Polly, that is.
Lord Bastion sniffed. “If this professor is so proficient, then why did you not hire him?”
“He is in Egypt at the moment”—Mr. Price tipped the toolbox upright, tossing in the spilled gear as he spoke—“working at a dig.”
“Speaking of working.” Ami shoved a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I should be getting back to mine. It was lovely to meet you, my lord, Miss Woolsey.” She dipped her head respectfully, more than ready to be tucked away with a room full of silent relics that wouldn’t judge her.
“Would you like to see what Miss Dalton is working on?” Mr. Price asked cheerfully. “It will take a moment for Barnaby to bring refreshments to the drawing room anyway.”
Ami bit her lip.
Please say no. Please say no!
Violet snapped open a fan, giving her face a demure little puff of air. “I hope there aren’t any mummies to view. Dreadful creatures. I don’t see what the attraction is to such dirty old things.”
Dirty old things! The woman could have no idea the treasures Mr. Price had beneath this roof. Ami flung back her shoulders. “There is a great deal more to Egyptology than mummies, Miss Woolsey. Mr. Price’s acquisition is quite varied and extremely unique. There’s not a mummy in the lot.”
A relieved smile curved the woman’s lips.
“Leastwise not that I’ve yet uncovered,” Ami added, though she knew it was catty of her.
“It’s settled, then. Off we go.” Mr. Price strode to the door, and Lord Bastion fell into step beside him.
Leaving her to walk alongside Violet.
“So, Miss Dalton.” The lady arched a brow at her. “How exactly did you and Mr. Price meet?”
And once again Ami felt his arms around her, protecting her against a nasty fall, taking the brunt of a spill ... not that she’d breathe a word of that to this woman.
“At Oxford,” she said nonchalantly.
“Ah yes, where your father is employed.” Truthful words, but somehow Violet made it sound as if he were nothing more than a broom pusher. “I suppose if one must work, the halls of academia hold a certain dignity.”
Ami focused on the broad shoulders of Mr. Price to keep from rolling her eyes. Definitely time to change the subject. “Did you travel a great distance to come here?”
“Oh no, we just popped up from London, though the train ride was tedious. First class was booked on the express, so we were forced on the intermediate and had to share the carriage with a matron and her young protégé. It was very tiring.”
Hah! Rescuing that ushabti doll in the cemetery a couple of weeks ago had surely been more harrowing than a velvet-cushioned train ride. “Sounds grueling,” she muttered.
“Just so.” Violet eyed her as they entered the corridor to the workroom. “How long will you be staying here, Miss Dalton?”
“Until I’ve finished valuing the cargo, September at the latest.” Just the voicing of it stirred a melancholy she’d been trying to ignore. Once she was finished, she’d likely never again see Mr. Price.
“I suppose your attendant is anxious to return to your home. I know my maid isn’t fond of assisting me in a different house, even one as magnificent as this.” She gestured toward the gilt-framed portraits lining the corridor. “Servants can be so territorial, you know.”
Actually, no. She didn’t have the slightest idea and was glad for it. How stifling it would be to have a maid hanging about all the time, not to mention what a damper it would be to her brokering activities.
She smiled at Violet. “I don’t have an attendant, Miss Woolsey.”
Musical laughter bubbled out of the woman. “Surely you’re not staying unchaperoned beneath the roof of the most eligible bachelor in all of Oxford?”
“I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself, and I assure you Mr. Price is a perfect gentleman.”
“Indeed.” Violet’s brow puckered, then just as quickly smoothed. “But you are correct. My Edmund is a man of integrity. You must think nothing of my silly meanderings, Miss Dalton, for we shall be boon companions, shall we not?”
My Edmund?
Best of friends?
“Em...” Words snarled into a ball in her throat. What was she to say to any of that?
Thankfully she needn’t say anything, for they had finally arrived at the workroom. She immediately escorted Miss Woolsey to the display table, happy to stand on familiar ground. “Here is what has been uncovered thus far. As you can see, there are yet many more crates to go. It is quite an extensive collection.”
Without so much as a by-your-leave, Violet swiped up an intricately carved amulet. Her lips pursed into a pretty pout as her gaze swept over the shine of the gold and inlaid gems. “What is this?”
Ever so carefully, Ami retrieved the valuable relic from the lady’s hand, lamenting that neither of them wore gloves to handle such a precious item. “That is the only remaining scarab from the tomb of Seti.”
“The gems are beautiful, but other than that, it is frightfully ugly.”
“Every object has its own story, Miss Woolsey.” She lightly set down the amulet. “That scarab is a symbol of rebirth, so I prefer to think of it as a hopeful promise. Beauty is in the eye and heart of the beholder, is it not? Take, for example, your necklace.”
Frowning slightly, Violet patted her fingertips against the golden cross nestled against her bosom. “Surely you cannot argue its beauty?”
“I wouldn’t dream of it, for it is lovely. I see the crucifix as a representation of a holy God who came down to rescue those who reviled Him. It’s an icon of redemption, one I hold very dear. But other cultures wouldn’t see that. To some, you are wearing an instrument of death around your neck, which they would consider ‘frightfully ugly,’ as you put it.”
Violet dropped her hand, a soft intake of air hissing through her teeth. “You are very blunt, Miss Dalton.”
Ami grinned. “I shall take that as a compliment, Miss Woolsey.”
“While I am happy to see you ladies are getting on well,” Mr. Price said as he and Lord Bastion joined them, “I suspect my guests should like some refreshment now, Miss Dalton. We shall take our leave and see you at dinner tonight.”
Ami stiffened. Chatting with Violet for the past ten minutes had been taxing enough. “Oh, but Mr. Price, now that you have illustrious guests to dine with you, I hardly think you’ll require my company at mealtimes.”
“On the contrary, Miss Dalton.” His gaze found hers—and held. “Your knowledge of Egyptian artifacts makes for interesting table conversation.”
Violet edged closer to him, her pert little nose lifting slightly. “Until later then, Miss Dalton.”
As soon as they exited, Ami grumbled beneath her breath. She’d rather be buried in a tomb with live scarabs than sit through tonight’s dinner with her new boon companion.