He sucked in air. “So your answer is yes?”
“My answer is...” Bending close, she kissed him full on the mouth and didn’t stop until his chest heaved. Only then did she pull away. “Yes.”
In one smooth movement, he yanked her from the sofa, both of them tumbling to the train car’s plush carpet, where he gathered her into his lap. “Then, my dear”—he looked down his nose with an imperial yet impish gaze—“allow me to state my one condition before I agree to be your husband.”
“Intriguing. What is it?”
“No more shadow brokering. As my wife, I would not have you in harm’s way ever again.”
She bit her lip, the delicious waft of his ever-present scent of curry making it hard to concentrate on the many reasons why his simple request bothered her so much. Of course he was right, but still ... she’d been rescuing relics for years now, placing them where they rightfully belonged, and yes, were she honest, perversely relishing the thrill of the deal—except in London. She could easily agree to never broker another deal there ever again.
“Ami?” Questions darkened the blue in his eyes.
“I...” She rested her palm against his cheek, seeking an anchor in her swirl of thoughts. “I’m not sure I know how to be me without rescuing the forgotten fragments of history.”
He covered her hand with his own. “I’m not requiring you to give up who you are or to forsake your God-given desires. I’m merely asking you to find a method of salvaging those forgotten fragments without putting yourself in danger. There is always more than one way to fulfill your calling in life. The Red Sea didn’t stop Moses from leading his people to safety. We shall both pray—and trust—that God will make a clear route for you to preserve artifacts without the threat of having your throat slit. Is that not reasonable?”
Sighing, she rested her head against his shoulder, peace washing over her despite the racket of departing train passengers. “There you go again,” she murmured.
“What?” The question rumbled against her ear.
“Solving all my problems.”
“Not me, love.” He chuckled. “Only God can do that.”
All was right in the world. Edmund had smiled for the entire carriage ride to Price House. She’d said yes! He still could scarcely grasp the idea that soon Amisi Dalton would be his wife.Hiswife! What a wonder. What a God-given wonder. Not only that she loved him but that he was able to fully love her in return ... a miracle he never expected to experience after Louisa.
Yet now as he trotted up the few stairs to the front door, his step hitched. Though he’d soon be wedding his best friend, it was time to let go of an old one—and the thought of it punched him in the gut. He may as well be cutting off his right arm.
But it must be done.
He doffed his hat and set it on the foyer table, running his fingers through his hair. Like yanking off a soiled bandage, it would be painful to confront his butler, and yet sooner would be better.
Hardly a few steps into the great hall, he spied Barnaby crossing the expanse, hefting a tea tray. The moment the butler’s gaze landed on him, the man smiled.
“Welcome back, sir! Happy to see you home.”
“Thank you.” Edmund advanced. “But I don’t think you’ll be so happy once I say what I must. Why don’t you set down that tray?”
“As you wish, sir.” Barnaby’s brows furrowed as he complied. Once relieved of his burden, he faced Edmund, chin dipping. “How can I be of service?”
“Allow me to come straight to the point. I cannot abide lying, Barnaby, especially not under my roof and by my most senior staff member at that. If what I have heard is true, then I am afraid I must ask you to pack up your belongings and leave posthaste.”
“But, sir!” Barnaby’s head snapped back as if he’d taken a hard slap. “I assure you I have never once deceived you about anything.”
Oh, if only that were true. But Ami had gotten it straight from Gil’s mouth that a certain prank-loving servant had been his right hand in pulling off the supposed golden griffin curse. Edmund rubbed his jaw, hating to ask a horrible question for which he already knew the answer. “Did you or did you not aid Mr. Fletcher in turning the Anubis statue as part of a prank to further the rumours of the curse of Amentuk?”
Barnaby straightened to full height. “I most certainly did not, sir! And as a matter of fact, I had intended to discuss this very matter with you tonight.”
An interesting deflection. Broaching the very topic for which one was accused was a business tactic he’d often employed himself to keep a prospective buyer or seller off their guard. He narrowed his eyes. “Is that so?”
“Yes, sir, most emphatically so. I discovered it was the footman Crawford who partnered with Mr. Fletcher to conduct his nefarious deeds about the house. Apparently Mr. Fletcher paid him handsomely to partake in his hijinks. When I found out, I dismissed him posthaste. Furthermore, you have no need to worry that any further tomfooleries will take place in the future, for I have banned any and all pranks.”
The man was full of surprises this evening. Edmund shook his head. “What of your camaraderie building, as you call it? Are you so willing to part with that idea?”
“No, I’ve merely had a more civilized idea as to how to go about that. A literary circle. I shall induce household solidarity by discussing books, sir.”
“Not all the staff is literate, nor do I suspect the chambermaids will relish adding one more chore to their already busy day.” Edmund kneaded the back of his neck. The more he thought on it, the more absurd the idea grew. “I don’t think Mrs. Buckner will be so keen on the idea either. She keeps her girls on a tight leash, and I don’t imagine she’ll loosen her hold for the sake of running off to spend time reading a book.”
