Edmund grinned. Miss Ami Dalton was a sight, all right. One he’d been anxious to see again if only to confirm whetherhis memory of the anomalous woman was fact or fiction. And he was not disappointed in the least. There she stood in all her mismatched glory. A jaunty blue hat sat askew on hair that had slipped some of its pins. She wore a loose-fitting blouse with part of the collar folded in on her neck, a yellow cutaway jacket, and a striped burgundy skirt that would serve better as a pair of draperies. Shiny boot tips peeked out from the hem. New ones. So she had in fact used the money to get herself some shoes.
Even so, his grin faltered. Now that she knew his identity, would she transform into one of the many bubbleheaded women who swooned at his feet, hoping to become the new Mrs. Price, with all the wealth and prestige attached to that name?
Her eyes widened. Her fine little nostrils flared, the freckles on the bridge of her nose riding the wave.
Blast. Here it came. The fawning. The flattery. All the inane coy giggles and fluttering of eyelashes. Edmund stiffened.
“While I thank you for your greeting, Mr. Price, I cannot help but wonder if you are frequently given to deception? Because if I am to work here, that could be a troublesome problem, one I cannot abide.”
Jameson snorted a laugh, yet to his credit, he quickly turned it into a cough by pounding his chest with his fist. The action did nothing, however, to hide the mirth in his eyes. Bah. The steward would have this little comeuppance spread from one end of the estate to the other, for the man was a bigger gossip than all the old tabbies in the Ladies Aid Society combined.
Edmund swept his hand toward the front hall. “How about we take our conversation to the sitting room, Miss Dalton? I am sure Jameson here has business to attend.”
“As you wish.” She strode past him.
He arched a warning brow at his steward. Not that it would do any good. Jameson could no more keep a good tale to himself than stop his heart from beating.
In several long-legged strides, Edmund caught up to the saucy Miss Dalton. “I trust your journey here went well?”
A playful grin lit her face. “I hardly traversed the Sahara toget here, Mr. Price, but yes. Aside from a squeaky spring, the coach ride was uneventful. Oh, could perhaps one of your staff collect my trunk from the drive? It was a bit too heavy for me to haul up the stairs.”
“I take it that means you’ve decided to stay?”
She eyed him for several steps before answering. “For now.”
Once inside the sitting room, he indicated the sofa. “Shall I ring for anything else? Tea, perhaps? Coffee?”
Surprise furrowed her brow. “I am not a guest, Mr. Price. I came here to work, and I am most eager to begin. But first, I’m afraid I must insist on an answer to my earlier question, for if a working relationship is not based on truth, then it isn’t a relationship at all.” She angled her head like a curious tot. “Why did you not tell me who you were when you offered me the job?”
“As I recall, Miss Dalton, I offered your father the job, not you. This employment is due more to your machinations than mine.” If that made her prickle, she didn’t show it. She merely stared up at him, a living Mona Lisa. “However”—he grinned—“if your career in Egyptology doesn’t go well, I suspect you’d make a fine businessman.”
“Ah, but I am a woman, sir, so that would go over about as well as my scholarly endeavors. But to the point, you purposely hid your identity from me, and I begin to think I can guess as to why.”
A dog with a bone, eh? And an inventive one at that. He took the adjacent chair, intrigued beyond reason and not just a bit wary. “Go on.”
“I was hoping you’d say as much.” She settled on the sofa cushion, eyes gleaming. “Everyone knows you’ve been out of the country for years, and yet here you are now, showing up in Oxford incognito. It is my premise that you wish to keep your presence a secret because you’re working undercover for the Crown. Maybe trying to crack some sort of smuggling ring that’s moving relics from country to country or the like. No, no! I’ve got it.”
She leaned forward, face alight with conspiracy. “You’re not seeking to bring down smugglers but a counterfeiting gang that is flooding the market with fake artifacts. You’ve somehow managed to buy such a load of supposed relics and are eager to prove their fabrication. That’s why you sought my father, for in the past he has worked with government agents. Am I correct, sir? If so, rest assured your answer will go no further than my ears.”
He laughed. Really laughed. This was becoming a habit in her presence. An enchanting tale, but not nearly as endearing as the quirk of Miss Dalton’s lips. Truly, it may have been a mistake to have invited her into his home, for this woman could leave an indelible mark if he wasn’t careful. “Allow me to revise the career path I suggested. You have a very promising future in the publishing world penning novels of espionage and danger.”
She frowned, which was just as appealing. Why, he’d not enjoyed a woman so much since ... no. Dredging up that tragedy now would ruin the fun of bantering with Miss Dalton.
She shifted on the cushion. “I would prefer a career as an expedition director at an Egyptian dig.”
Rising, he strode to the beverage cart and poured two glasses of lemon water. Miss Dalton shook her head at the offering, so he set hers on the tea table and drank a few swallows of his. “Well, at any rate, as much as I hate to dash your fine stories to bits, I am afraid my truth is not so clandestine. The sad fact is I merely wanted to avoid money-hungry mothers who wish to saddle me with their daughters.”
She narrowed her eyes. “There wasn’t a single mother or daughter in my father’s office when we spoke.”
“But there was you, and you are female.”
“Surely you’re not suggesting...” She gasped. “Youaresuggesting!”
Laughter pure as a summer morn rang out of her, so much that she dabbed the corners of her eyes with her knuckles. “Oh, Mr. Price, that is hilarious. Of course you cannot be expected to know my partialities for we have only just met, but you willsoon find I am not the average female. My head is turned by a finely wrapped, mummified corpse, not a flesh-and-blood pile of muscles.”
“Muscles, eh?” He set down his glass with a curve to his lips. “So you do find me attractive.”
“What I find is a man who’s been told he’s attractive so many times that he’s come to believe it.” All her humor fled as she pressed her fingers to her mouth, a flush pinking her cheeks.
