Page 23 of Of Gold and Shadows (Time’s Lost Treasures #1)

23

Bypassing the carafe of lemon water, Edmund poured three flutes of ginger beer, a tricky feat in the swaying train carriage. My, how different this ride was compared to last month’s trek to Oxford, not only in his choice of drink but that he was no longer alone.

He delivered the first glass to the professor, seated near a window with a book in his lap, his eyes finally open. The man had napped nearly the entire journey, forcing Edmund to postpone his toast until now. Ignoring the man’s arched brow at the offering, Edmund crossed over to Ami, opposite her father on the sofa. The thick tally ledger sat on the cushion next to her, the cover finally closed after she’d diligently gone over each and every item with him. Good thing the trek from Oxford to London hadn’t been any shorter or she’d not have finished.

He handed her a glass, then sat beside her. He’d not fully taken her father’s advice to woo her this past week, but he had gifted her a small golden brooch shaped as a honeybee, and it did his heart good to see it pinned to her collar—where she’d worn it every day since he’d given it to her.

“What’s this for?” She nodded toward the bubbly liquid. “We’re nearly to London.”

“A toast is in order, I think.”

A smile lit her face. “It is.” She held up her glass. “To you, Edmund. May your run for election be a smashing success.”

He shook his head, matching her grin. “Though I thank you for the sentiment, that’s not at all what I intended to salute.”

“Then allow me.” Setting his book on the table, the professor extended his glass. “Here’s to one of the finest collections of Egyptian artifacts I have seen in a long time. Though I can’t say I approve of leaving behind Mr. Fletcher to close the deal with Mr. Harrison, I understand there is good reason for it, so cheers.”

Edmund clutched his glass tighter. In light of Gil’s recent erratic behaviour, he didn’t necessarily approve of leaving him to conduct the transaction either, and yet in all the years he had worked with him, Gil had never once fouled up a sale. And Gil had just as much riding on the outcome as he did.

Edmund wagged his finger at the professor. “You are much closer to the mark, but not quite.” He lifted his drink, indicating them both. “This toast is to the two of you for a job well done. Your expertise and work ethic has been invaluable. Truly, I couldn’t have asked for a more knowledgeable pair. Professor Dalton, I am indebted to you for cutting short your dig, and to you, Ami, for sticking with the job despite the supposed curse of Amentuk. I owe you both my deepest gratitude. Cheers!”

They clinked their glasses together, but after hardly taking a sip, Ami scooched to the edge of the sofa and turned to him, lifting her drink even higher. “And to you, Edmund, cheers for taking a chance on me. If you’d not—oh!”

Brakes squealed.

The train jolted.

Ami clutched his arm, her drink splashing past the rim and dousing his waistcoat.

“Oh dear.” She dashed to the drink cart and retrieved a cloth as the train came to a stop.

“Don’t trouble yourself.” He brushed away the excess liquid.

“Of course I will.” She sank next to him, her cinnamon scent nearly overwhelming him as she dabbed the fabric. Were her father not here, he’d pull her into his arms and fill his lungs with her sweetness. But father or not, he couldn’t stop himself from gazing deeply into her changeable eyes.

The professor cleared his throat. “If you don’t mind telling me the address of where we’re staying, Mr. Price, I should like to hail a cab and stop by the British Museum on my way. Shouldn’t take long. Just wish to greet an old friend in the Egyptian department.”

“No trouble at all. It’s Seven Pembroke Terrace in Mayfair.”

“Excellent.” The professor retrieved his ratty old hat off the coat-tree. Clapping it atop his head, he tipped the brim at them. “I shall see you two later.”

He disappeared out the door while Ami gathered her own hat and positioned herself in front of a mirror. By the time Edmund had donned his bowler, she was still fussing with it.

“Blast!” She slapped her hand to her mouth, whirling wide-eyed.

Though he ought to be shocked at such vulgar language from a lady, he couldn’t help but grin. “Is there a problem?”

She waved her bonnet in the air—a single red ribbon dangling from one side—while her other fingers clutched the matching red trim. “I knew I should have restitched this ribbon before we left.”

He held out his hand. “Why don’t you let me see what I can do.”

She scrunched her nose—an adorable trait he’d never get enough of. “There’s hardly time to sew it now, but I am curious as to what you’re about.” She handed over her hat. “Here you are, Mr. Problem Solver.”

He promptly ripped off the other ribbon and offered it back. “There. Problem solved.”

She rolled her eyes as she jammed the thing on her head. “I should have known.”

He grinned as he opened the train carriage door, where a porter stood at attention in the vestibule.

The fellow dipped his head respectfully. “There’s a cab waiting just outside the station as you requested, Mr. Price. Your luggage will follow.”

“Thank you.” Edmund palmed him a few shillings.

“Thank you, sir.” The porter opened the door and stepped aside.

Edmund strolled to the opening, where he abruptly stopped. Bah! He should’ve known word would get out that he’d be in town for Bastion’s big soiree tomorrow evening, but this was more than the usual fawning females. This time there were journalists with pencils poised and even a camera or two.

Hands curling into fists, he glanced over his shoulder at Ami. “I probably should have warned you my arrival would cause a stir. Are you ready for London?”

She craned her neck to peer past him, then met his gaze with a spark in her eyes. “On the contrary, perhaps the question should be, Is London ready for me?”

Ami stared out at the multicoloured gowns and suits gathered around the train where Edmund descended, a mix of nerves and exhilaration fluttering in her chest. Pharoah himself couldn’t have attracted more attention. And no wonder. His wealth. His renown. Not to mention the way his suit rode the strong lines of his body whenever he moved. The moment his feet touched ground, he turned his back to the throng and offered up his hand to assist her.

Her.

A female Egyptologist with no fashion sense whatsoever.

She couldn’t have felt more chosen.

Warmth flared in her cheeks as she gripped his strong fingers. Some women sneered at her. Others looked as if they might swoon. And a select few gave her the distinct impression they’d drive a knife into her back to take her place without blinking an eyelash.

After only one step, a great gust of wind breezed in, pulling the hat from her head. Without thinking, she lunged for it. So did Edmund—but with a little too much gusto. He knocked into her.

She tipped sideways.

In one swift reach, he caught her and her bonnet. A collective “Oohh” hummed through the crowd as he set her on solid ground.

Pulling away, he handed her the hat. “Maybe you ought to just carry this for now.”

“Good idea,” she mumbled, far too preoccupied with the murmurs swirling about them.

“Did you see that gallant move? So chivalrous.”

“He rescued her hat with such urgency. How I wish that would’ve been me.”

“It was just like a romance novel.”

“Who is that woman?”

“Yes, who is she?”

“Mr. Price. Mr. Price! Have you a few words for the Times ?”

Edmund’s jaw hardened, his voice lowering for her ears alone. “We’ll have to make a dash for it. I’ll lead, breaking a path through the crowd. You follow closely. Are you ready?”

She nodded. “Lead on.”

“Pardon!” Edmund shouted above the swarm as he barreled ahead. “Coming through.”

Ami dashed after him, alternately bumping against shoulders and sometimes the train. It took an eternity to plow their way along the platform, yet eventually they reached the station—where just as many travelers milled about.

Though she tried to stick close to Edmund’s broad back, his long legs ate up way more ground than hers. The space between them widened—then widened some more when a man with a cane smacked against her as he passed by.

“Mind yer step, woman!” he grumbled.

She stiffened at the gravelly voice, a chill snaking down her spine when she realized who it belonged to.

And then her blood really did run cold when off to the side a tall monster of a man locked his gaze onto her. Unbidden, her fingers fluttered to her neck. If she swallowed now, she would no doubt still feel the cold metal of a blade pressed sharply against her skin.

“’Tis her, guv’ner! The filly with the statue.”

She shoved ahead, feet hitting the tiles hard, unmindful of how many people she crashed into. The only thing that mattered now was catching up to Edmund. Mr. Brudge and his henchman wouldn’t dare try anything with him at her side.

Would they?

“Hey now.” Edmund caught hold of her arm as she nearly tore past him. “I’m right here.”

She drew in a few deep breaths, desperate to pull herself together.

“So you are.” She forced a smile. Hopefully it wasn’t too wobbly.

“There he is,” a woman’s voice called loudly, growing in intensity. “Mr. Price is over there.”

“Time to move again.” Edmund pulled her out the station door. Not missing a beat, he lifted her into the carriage and hustled in behind her, slamming the door shut.

The moment he sat, he pounded his fist against the ceiling. “Walk on, driver.”

The cab jolted into motion. Ami leaned back against the seat, supremely happy to be out of the press of humanity.

And especially glad to be away from Mr. Brudge.

Across from her, Edmund tugged at his sleeve hems, straightening his rumpled coat after the mad dash. As he did so, he peered at her. “Are you all right?”

“I am.” Despite the chaotic experience, she grinned. “Is it always like this for you?”

“Unfortunately, yes.” He chuckled. “Now you know why I wore Jameson’s old set of clothes when I first met you.”

“I didn’t realize you were so popular. I mean, I did notice the looks you got when we boarded in Oxford, but I had no idea your good name would attract so much attention here.”

He ran a hand over his face, inhaling deeply. “I suspect it will only get worse should I win the election.”

“Of course you shall win, but even so”—she arched a brow—“that sounds perfectly awful.”

“I can’t say I like it much.”

The carriage swayed around a corner, and she gripped the seat to keep from toppling sideways. At least it had good springs, or they’d both have been smashed against the side of the wall.

“So why don’t you run away?” she wondered aloud.

“I did.” He smiled. “To India.”

“I thought that was because of Louisa.”

“Mostly, but not the only reason.” He grew pensive then, his gaze drifting out the window.

Which afforded her the best opportunity to study him unwatched. That jawline of his could intimidate the strongest of men should he choose to dig in his heels, and yet she’d seen it soften into compassion whenever he spoke of Sanjay. His blue eyes—ever dusky and intense—fixed on some point outside the glass, clearly not taking in the bustling street. He was miles away, lost in thoughts she couldn’t begin to guess at, and yet she itched to know ... just like so many other women, apparently. She hadn’t realized he was so sought after, and yet somehow that just made him all the more vulnerable, sparking a sense of protectiveness toward him.

And not just a small amount of jealousy.

“I must say I feel very privileged to be here with you,” she murmured, mostly to herself.

His blue gaze shot to hers. “No.” He shook his head defiantly as he scooted to the edge of the bench. Leaning close, he gathered her hands in his, the heat of his touch drying her mouth to ashes.

“I am the privileged one to have met you.” Without breaking eye contact, he lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a lingering kiss to her skin.

Oh my. It was stiflingly hot in here, yet she dared not pull away to fan herself. If her brow glistened, then so be it.

And it didn’t get any cooler when his voice turned huskier. “I’ve grown very attached to your company, Ami. Actually, I’ve grown very attached to you.”

There were promises in those words, hints of love, allusions to a happily ever after. Her heart, once solely devoted to her career, began to make space for the prospect of a shared journey with this man. She longed for him to choose her above all others, just as he had when he’d helped her off the train. But was that an absurd desire? The fact was, he could have any woman he wanted with naught but a crook of his finger.

She licked her lips, praying her voice would work. “I suppose I shouldn’t have laboured quite so diligently on those antiquities of yours, for I must admit I am loath to part from your company as well.”

A grin broke across his lips, so handsome her stomach flipped.

“Then it’s settled.” He squeezed her fingers. “I shall purchase another load of relics. Though you should know I value you more than your Egyptian savvy.”

“Easy now!” the driver called out as the carriage wheels slowed. “’Ere we are.”

Releasing his hold, Edmund stepped out, leaving a huge loss inside the cab without him. Of all the unfortunate timing. She’d much rather stay in this cocoon, soaking in his words of affirmation.

She grabbed her errant hat off the seat and followed, eager to once again grasp his hand as she descended.

Outside, however, that plan changed. She barely noticed his grasp. All she could do was gawk at the magnificent town house they’d parked in front of. The white stone walls shone fresh as if they’d been recently scrubbed of coal dust, as did the ornate cornices and mouldings up near the roofline. Lavish draperies peeked out at the edges of the many windows, and standing at attention on each side of the front door, tall columns reached to the heavens. It was a grand home, surprisingly more preten tious than Price House, as if it were a darling child who knew her ringlets and cherub cheeks inspired a second look. The renovators had done a brilliant job.

“What a beautiful house,” Ami breathed.

“I am sure Miss Woolsey will love to hear you say so.” Edmund guided her toward the front door with a touch to the small of her back.

Ami cocked her head. “Miss Woolsey?”

“Indeed.” He rang the bell, then glanced at her. “The renovations on my town house are not yet finished, so we are staying at the viscount’s.”

Leaning heavily on his cane, Brudge wheeled about, a curse launching off his tongue. Just as Scupper had said, there she was. The wily little Shadow Broker. The swirl of her plaid skirt and flash of her flowery jacket disappeared into the crowd. Scowling, Brudge pressed light fingers to his swollen eye, where a headache now throbbed beneath. Blasted woman. He had her to thank for this aching blinker. Her and Wormwell. If he’d been able to wrest that little statue from her, he wouldn’t have had to go to Wormwell begging for an extension of time.

And he wouldn’t have had to bear the knuckles of Wormwell’s henchman.

Scupper shoved his way closer to him. “Well now, guv’ner, we goin’ after the woman or the statue?”

“Shut up! Let me think.” Planting both hands on the cane’s head, he anchored the thing front and center, a rock in the stream of station patrons. As people flowed around him, he debated what to do.

Yesterday’s meeting with Wormwell had not gone as he’d hoped. The codger wouldn’t budge a tittle on extending the deadline to pay back his debt—which only gave him until midnight tomorrow night. Worse, though he had yet to actually lay eyes on Wormwell’s face, he had caught a glimpse of his own boy, Neddie. The young man was all knobs and sticks beneath his shirt and trousers, as if he’d not been fed a thing for days. A fresh hump disfigured his nose from a right hook. And when Brudge had complained to Wormwell about the treatment of his son, he’d taken a walloping himself.

No, it hadn’t gone at all as he’d hoped. He never should have entangled himself with such an infamous antiquities runner. Though Wormwell was the most well-known buyer and seller of questionably acquired relics, he was also the most dangerous.

He glanced at the train ticket poking out of his coat pocket. Should he risk wasting time on a trip to Oxford knowing that the woman was here in London? She might very well have brought that golden trinket along with her, intending to sell the piece to a more lucrative market. But he needed that little statue!

And he needed it now.

“Come on, Scupper.” Using his cane to knock travelers out of the way, he ignored the complaints and hastened to the door. And just in time too. The flash of a plaid skirt followed by a dark-suited man hiked into a cab.

He waved his arm, hailing a coach. “Cabbie! Over here.”

The nearest black hackney rolled on by, the driver oblivious to his call.

“Hang it all!” He pounded his cane against the cobbles as the woman’s coach lurched into motion.

An ear-breaking whistle ripped out behind him, Scupper’s baritone voice tailing the obnoxious sound. “Oy! Cabbie!”

Sure enough, the next hack pulled over to the kerb. Irritation burned up Brudge’s neck. Leave it to the long-limbed brute to get noticed.

“Follow that cab that’s just turning the corner now,” he shouted to the driver as he hoisted himself up. Pain shot through his leg as he landed on the bench seat, and even more so when Scupper banged into it as he folded his big body inside the coach.

The cab jerked into motion, and he bounced against the wall, adding further insult to his injury. “Blast it!” he howled. Would to God the festering gun wound would just heal already.

Across from him, Scupper ran his thumb and forefinger along his moustache, twirling it up at the ends. “So what we gonna do, guv’ner?”

“We’ll find where that scrappy little Shadow Broker is staying and see if she’s got that statue for us.”

“And if she doesn’t?”

He dropped his head against the wall, staring up at the stained fabric of the ceiling as he thought. If she didn’t have that relic to steal, then he ought to just steal her out of vengeance.

Now, there was a thought!

Obviously she was a favorite of the rich fellow, and he just might pay a pretty penny to get her back, enough pennies, in fact, for him to get Wormwell off his neck.

He straightened. It would take some doing to get a forger to match Dandrae’s handwriting, but in a town this size, he ought to be able to find someone to write her a note for a rendezvous she couldn’t refuse.