Page 25 of Of Gold and Shadows (Time’s Lost Treasures #1)

25

A blend of too many perfumes hung on the air, thick as a November fog and about as pleasant. Edmund tugged at his cravat, struggling to breathe in the crowded ballroom. His election announcement and following dinner couldn’t happen soon enough for his liking. Anything to escape this press of humanity, particularly the clinging vine in an emerald gown who had attached herself to his sleeve the moment he’d stepped foot past the threshold. To be fair, though, at least Violet had calmed down since this morning.

As had her father. Stationed next to Edmund, Lord Bastion stood like a monarch, fingers curled around his lapels, his hawkish eyes surveying the room with aristocratic authority.

Edmund preferred to scrutinize the scene behind them, which he did frequently, hoping to spy a glimpse of some outlandish peacock feathers. Where was Ami? She’d missed the grand reception nigh on an hour ago. Even her father had appeared—albeit late as well—and was now engaged in what appeared to be a lively conversation with two matrons and a retired brigadier off in a corner. Had something happened to keep her up in her room? Or was she too mortified to appear in public after this morning’s fuss at breakfast? He’d tried all day—unsuccessfully—to speak with her, to let her know that despite the humiliation of such a public declaration of love, it was entirely true. He was in love with her. So much so that he’d reworked the first stanza of his poem and would—if given the chance tonight—share it with her. Once again he tugged at his cravat, the very thought of being so vulnerable cutting off his air supply.

And yet somehow he knew to the marrow of his bones that Ami would never treat him as Louisa had.

A rap on his arm pulled his attention back to Violet’s frowning face.

“You are very preoccupied, Edmund.”

“To be expected, daughter.” The viscount looked down his nose at her. “The man’s life is about to change tonight, eh, Price?” Chuckling, Bastion cuffed him on the shoulder.

And that’s when he saw her. Not entering from the front foyer, as expected, but sweeping in from a side door, Ami created quite a stir from those around her. Or rather the peacock feathers draping down her marvelous backside did. Edmund couldn’t help but grin as she ignored the stares with a defiant—and adorable—tilt to her chin.

“You are right, my lord,” he murmured. “This is an auspicious evening, and as such, I must beg your pardon and part ways for a few minutes.”

“Oh, Edmund, now?” Violet pursed her lips into a grand sulk. “Of all times!”

“Let him go, Violet.” The viscount freed her grip from Edmund’s sleeve and tucked her hand into his crooked elbow, then speared him with a sharp look. “But see that you return shortly, Price. Remember, I shall make the announcement at eight o’clock sharp. Don’t be late.”

He dipped his head as he pivoted away. While shouldering through the crowd, he met Ami’s gaze across the room, pleasure surging in his chest that she’d known he would seek her out. With a quick jerk of his head, he signaled for her to follow, then turned toward the front foyer. It wouldn’t do to attract attention. Not with her. Not now.

He handed out empty greetings and tight smiles as he worked his way to the master staircase, mind filled with a certain eccentric Egyptologist. He’d not had a word with her since the breakfast debacle. Which grieved him. Hopefully she’d not fretted about the situation overmuch.

He trotted up the stairs to fresher air and a quieter background—only a dull drone instead of the raging buzz of merrymakers. Crossing the landing, he paused at the entrance to a side-shooting corridor just long enough to make eye contact with Ami as she hiked her skirts up the stairway.

The din grew even quieter in this passage. He strode to the very end, where a cushioned window seat graced a curtained alcove. A perfect spot for reading—or an impromptu meeting without prying eyes and gossiping tongues.

Arriving ahead of Ami gave him time to appreciate her figure as she floated toward him. The closer she drew, the more his pulse raced. Her hair was done up, for once flawlessly pinned and curled into the latest fashion. Not a smudge of resin or dust marred her face. And though her colourful gown was unorthodox, it hugged her curves in all the right places. Her free spirit sparkled in eyes more green than blue or brown in this dim light, and her lips curved into a playful smile—one that hinted of shared secrets.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Stopping in front of him, she glanced over her shoulder, then back at him. “After this morning’s newspaper article, if anyone should see us alone, I would think that would only add kindling to the rumour fire.”

Grabbing her arm, he pulled her close, then yanked one of the draperies halfway, hiding them both. “There.” He smirked. “Problem solved.”

“Just like old times.” She grinned. “Mr. Problem Solver.”

Her nickname for him warmed his heart, but she was entirely wrong. This was nothing like the first time he’d met her on those college stairs. He’d been oblivious to her charms that day, and now ... well, now he could see—he could want —no other woman but her.

Slowly, he traced his fingers along the gauzy fabric of her sleeve. “I’m sorry to have left you to navigate the day on your own. Bastion sequestered me in that fusty study of his, and there was just no getting away.”

“I wasn’t weeping into my pillow all day if that’s what you’re worried about. Oh bother!” Reaching, she pulled out a hairpin and gave her head a little shake, freeing a length of hair to cascade down the side of her neck. “I am no frail flower except when it comes to puncture wounds on my skull.” She waved the hairpin in the air. “Nasty little torture devices.”

He grinned. “I could accuse you of many things, but never of being a frail flower.”

“Oh?” Her eyes twinkled. “Then what charges would you hold against me, sir?”

“For one, you have an impossibly keen mind that keeps me on my toes. For another, you are irrefutably true to yourself and to others, not caring a mite for popular opinion, which speaks highly of your character. And lastly...” He stepped toe to toe and breathed in her ever-present cinnamon scent. Surely that’s what heaven would smell like. Unbidden, his voice dropped to a husky whisper. “I would indict you with filling a man’s mind so that he can think of none other.”

Her smile faded, a vulnerability he’d never seen before glistening in her eyes. “I assume you came up with a plan to refute that incriminating photograph of us?”

His gaze never once left hers. It couldn’t. The pull of her was too strong. Meeting with her here had been a poor choice, yet he was powerless to step away now. And for once he didn’t mind such a weakness. “The Times will retract their insinuations of you and me in tomorrow’s edition.”

You and me. What blessed words.

Would that it might always be so.

Her nose scrunched ever so slightly. “How did you manage that?”

“By giving their lead reporter a press invitation to tonight’s gala.”

“Ah.” Her lips curved. “Bribery.”

“I prefer to think of it as incentive.”

“Ever the businessman and soon to be member of Parliament. I’m very happy for you, you know.” Her smile vanished, replaced by a sadness in the press of her mouth, a sorrow he couldn’t begin to understand.

At length, she murmured, “Oxford won’t be the same with you here in London.”

“About that...” Once again he ran his hand along her arm, more than pleased when she leaned into his touch. A good sign for a favorable answer to what he was about to propose. “I was wondering if, perhaps, you could be persuaded to take a position at the British Museum. Your father is friends with the Egyptian curator there. I’m sure he could get you in. It’s a purely selfish suggestion, mind you, but the thing is, I cannot bear the thought of such a distance between us.”

“Nor I.” Tentatively, she reached up and rested her palm against his jaw. “I’ve grown rather accustomed to seeing this face every day, and I should sorely miss it.”

“And I’ve grown rather accustomed to the lift of your brow when you’re curious.” He brushed his finger across her forehead. “Furthermore, I have adapted to the way you blush when I catch you looking at me.” His touch trailed to her cheek, then over her nose. “I am completely attached to your delightful freckles and...”

Boldly—quite irresistibly—he glided his hand beneath her chin, tipping her face toward his. “I find I can no longer live without tasting those lips of yours.”

Her chest rose and fell visibly. Several times.

“Then by all means,” she breathed, “do so.”

He didn’t require any further invitation.

His mouth came down hard on hers—or was that deep hunger of her lips against his? He’d kissed Louisa before—and kissed her well—but never had it been anything like this. The connection he shared with this woman went far beyond the physical ... and yet there was no denying just how pleasurable the physical aspect was.

He pulled away, heart racing, wanting more than he had a right to. “Ami, I ... I know this is too soon for convention, but ... well, what I mean to say is ... I wonder if—” Hang it all! He couldn’t put two words together if half the Queen’s army aimed guns at his chest.

Drawing in a huge breath for courage, he shoved his hand into his pocket and pulled out a slip of paper.

Then held it up.

Ami struggled to breathe, her heartbeat so erratic she gripped Edmund’s sleeve to remain standing. Polly had once tried to explain how a kiss felt, but this was nothing at all like the gushy warm feeling her friend had described. This was fire. Dangerous. Eternal. And altogether intoxicating. Either the small alcove she shared with this man was spinning or she was.

With her other hand, she plucked a torn piece of paper from Edmund’s fingers. A curious offering, given the circumstances, and yet when she gazed at the misspelled words, her heart melted.

Wut soft lite doth brake be-ond,

At donning, in this golden morn,

In yor eyes, my wurld’s reborn

New promis, new luv, for-ever sworn.

He’d written this for her? More than that, he’d risked showing it to her even after having his heart crushed when he’d done so with Louisa?

Overcome, she wrapped her fingers around the slip of paper, wrinkling it but not caring, owning it, possessing it, more than willing to become one with this man’s sentiment.

“Ami?” Edmund’s brow knit into worried lines.

“Oh, Edmund.” She cupped his cheek, relishing the feel of his freshly shaven skin. “I cannot imagine my world without you in it, for I love you as none other.”

He closed his eyes, nuzzling against her touch.

She stood stunned, hardly believing she’d voiced such intimate words to a man—and not just any man. To the most eligible bachelor in all of Oxford. How many times had he heard that same sentiment before? And yet here he stood with her.

Her!

Belowstairs, the deep reverberation of a gong sounded. Once. Twice. Thrice.

Edmund’s dusky blue eyes opened as he pressed his brow to hers, their breath mingling. “So how do we manage from here on out, with your heart set on Egypt and mine on Parliament? For I will not take away your dream.”

“And yet it seems you won’t have your dream if we linger here any longer. You heard the gong. Your election announcement is at hand. Time for you to pursue the path meant for you.”

Ever so slightly he shook his head. “You are my path now.”

A thrill charged through her, settling low in her belly. “I am happy to hear it, but I will not be a hindrance to your career. You need to run for office to change those tariffs that harm innocent men like Sanjay. If we are meant to be”—she pulled back and collected his hand, pressing a kiss to his knuckles—“then God’s will shall not be thwarted. He always makes a way.”

“You, my love”—mimicking her, Edmund pressed his lips to the back of her hand—“are an inspiration.”

“And you are going to be late.” Wrapping her fingers around his, she tugged him from the alcove and down the corridor, stopping before it opened out onto the landing of the grand staircase. Despite his declaration of love, it wouldn’t do to be seen together now. This was his night to shine, not to be shrouded in a cloak of romantic scandal.

Keeping to the shadows of a doorway, she turned to him. “You go first. You’re the man of the hour. I’ll slip in the side door of the ballroom like I did earlier.”

“Very well, but only if you promise me the first dance after dinner.”

“That won’t sit well with Violet.” She smirked. “This is her territory, after all.”

“True, but I am not.” He bopped her on the nose with a playful touch. “And I wish to dance first with the woman I love.”

Once again warmth surged in her chest. The words. The sultry look in his eyes. She swallowed hard. It was so much to take in, more than she’d ever imagined. He loved her. He loved her . She held the knowledge close inside, protecting it like a freshly picked rosebud to be admired as it bloomed.

Then she lifted her chin. “I suppose you are used to getting your own way. So, yes, I will dance with you, sir. Now off with you before the viscount sends out a search party.”

A grin spread on his lips—lips he pressed against hers in a mischievous kiss before he dashed away.

For a few more breaths, she lingered in the passageway, fingering her mouth in wonder. She relived every part of those stolen minutes alone with him in the alcove, branding his taste on her memory that she might never forget. Sweet mercy. If she’d have answered that call tonight to meet with Mr. Dandrae’s seller, she’d never have known Edmund’s kisses.

And if she loitered here any longer, she’d miss the big announcement for his candidacy.

Hastily, she tucked Edmund’s cherished poem up her sleeve, then scurried down a different corridor, taking the back stairway to ground level. And just in time too. The viscount’s voice was already booming as she entered the ballroom and lifted to her toes, scouting for her father. She caught his eye, thankfully, and he motioned her to the front of the circle, where he’d gotten a good position for the event.

“My esteemed guests,” Lord Bastion began. Edmund stood at his right hand, Violet next to him, all in the center of the crowd’s rapt attention. “It is my honour to have invited you here tonight, but as you may have guessed, this evening’s gathering is more than merely an opportunity to socialize. I have an important announcement to make, one I am supremely pleased to share in public.”

Murmurs bubbled all around. Edmund’s gaze found hers and held.

“I am sure everyone here knows the illustrious Mr. Edmund Price.” The viscount swept a hand toward him. “He is a man of remarkable achievements, a visionary leader in the realm of business, and a staunch advocate for the betterment of society. Edmund Price embodies the values and principles the heart of every Englishman holds dear.”

Ami smiled. She couldn’t be any prouder of Edmund. He would make such a fine MP. A stalwart one, championing causes for those who were powerless.

“And so”—Lord Bastion rubbed his hands together—“it is with great delight that I proclaim to you, my friends and colleagues, what can only be described as a monumental moment for me and for society at large.”

A collective breath whooshed around the room, ladies leaning closer, gentlemen tilting their heads.

The viscount grinned broadly, clearly reveling in the response. “It is my joy to announce the engagement of my daughter, Miss Violet Woolsey, to Mr. Edmund Price.”

Ami clenched every muscle from head to toe, waiting for Edmund to refute the absurd proclamation. Any second now he’d take command and tell the world this was a mistake. That he couldn’t possibly marry Violet because he loved her. He did love her! He’d told her so only minutes ago.

But he merely stood there, jaw tight, saying nothing. Absolutely nothing. She grabbed her father’s arm, craving support until Edmund laughed and said what a grand jest this had all been.

And still he said nothing.

Her stomach roiled, threatening to rebel right there on the ballroom floor. Thoughts from the very pit of hell swirled in her head like so many bats. Had Edmund known all along this would be the announcement tonight? Had he purposely led her to believe otherwise? Spoken so intimately— acted so intimately—only to secure her as his mistress before taking a wife? It wouldn’t be a stretch to believe a man of material conquest would carry that trait over to his personal affairs. That’s what the powerful and wealthy did, didn’t they? Yet he’d seemed so different from men like the viscount and other rich patrons she’d met over the years. Had she been so captured by his practiced charisma that she’d fallen victim to it?

But no. No! She wouldn’t—couldn’t—believe such lies. For that’s what such thoughts were. Vile, cancerous lies. Edmund couldn’t refute the viscount’s proclamation because to do so would be a stake in the heart of his candidacy. If he didn’t comply with Lord Bastion’s wishes, his chance at becoming a member of Parliament would be over before it began.

And she was the one standing in his way.

Hot tears burned in her eyes as she turned and fled, not caring who she shoved out of her way.