“Not at all. Your answers are simply too common. I daresay any man would spout travel and sport as a passion. You’re going to have to be more creative than that. What do you, Edmund Price, find intriguing enough to spend time studying?”
You.
The thought hit him broadside. Where the deuce had that come from? Banishing the outlandish idea, he allowed a slow smile to curve his lips. “Point taken. All right, then. Besides the textile, tea, and spice markets, I know an excessive amount about drinking chocolate, as it is a particular favorite of mine.” He wagged his finger at her. “And if word of that gets out to the social page, I shall have you boiled in the liquid.”
She ran her pinched thumb and forefinger across her mouth, twisting it at the end and tossing away an imaginary key ... the sprite.
He set his serviette on the table. “And my other interest is fingerprints.”
Folding her arms, she tapped a bitten nail against her lower lip, adorably puzzled. “As in you’ll scold a maid should some of the silver not get buffed clean of marks?”
“Clever, but no. I mean as in the mark of our Creator.”
She shook her head. “I don’t understand.”
“Palmistry—unlike fortune-telling—is a way to admire the handiwork of God. We are each fearfully and wonderfully made, yet few take the time to appreciate the little details that are right in front of our eyes. God’s character is displayed in creation as much as your character is revealed in visible ways.” He held out his hand. “Will you let me show you?”
A bold request, one that flew out before he could snatch it back. What on earth had possessed him to suggest such a thing? But the moment she laid her bare palm gently in his, he knew. Hewantedto hold her hand. Blessed stars above! He sucked in a breath, angry for having suggested this turn of conversation in the first place, and angrier still for entertaining such misguided thoughts about this woman.
“Mr. Price?”
He couldn’t back out now. Not gracefully. Hang it all. He bent over her hand, trying not to notice her smoky-cinnamon scent for it was far too enticing. “These lines on your fingers are unique to you, each one formed in a pattern before you were born. I see a prominent whorl, indicating you have a strong sense of purpose and direction in life. The ridges are quite deep, suggesting you are a person with a sharp mind, one who pays close attention to detail. And here.” He angled her index finger for a closer look. “These lines are long and curvy, suggesting you have a creative and imaginative streak.”
“All that from a fingerprint? I never would have guessed,” she murmured, then spoke louder as she pulled his hand toward her. “Let me try.”
While she fixed her gaze on his finger, he studied the smooth arc of her cheek, the endearing little mole at the edge of her jaw, the pulse gently bobbing at the curve of her neck.
“Your lines are very symmetrical, Mr. Price. I suppose that could mean you’re balanced.” She glanced up at him. “In logic and intuition would be my guess, the necessary traits of a successful businessman.”
He dipped his head. “Go on.”
She lifted his hand closer, focusing on his thumb. “There are deep ridges here, same as you said mine were, so that’s easy. Sharp mind, attention to detail. But this?” She squinted, her warm breath feathering against his skin. “Ah, a scar. From when you were young, no doubt. Good thing you didn’t lose the finger. A tangible reminder for us both, hmm? That despite tribulation, God’s goodness prevails.”
The truth of her words, her soft voice, her softer touch, and the glass of wine he’d taken on an empty stomach while waiting for her ... all made him feel suddenly light-headed. He pulled away, pushing back his chair to gain space from the bewitching woman. “Very good, Miss Dalton. Correct on all accounts. Now, about that discovery of yours?”
“Yes!” She grinned. “Would you like to see it? I’ll tell you about the history along the way.”
“Brilliant.” Indeed. Better to walk side by side than entertain the idea of gazing into her eyes for the rest of the evening.
“I believe,” she began as they strode from the dining room, “the item I uncovered today is a sacred artifact from the Old Kingdom, fourth century before Christ. According to legend, this statuette belonged to the Egyptian god Anubis. It is alleged to have the power to bring about great fortune and prosperity—until a rival kingdom stole it away for themselves. At that point, Anubis himself cast a curse upon his favorite relic.”
“Allow me to hazard a guess.” They entered the large front hall, steps muffled by Turkish carpets. “Anyone who now possesses that relic is doomed to ruin.”
Peeking up at him, she furrowed her brow. “You know the story?”
He shrugged. “Don’t all Egyptian tales end that way?”
“No. Some have happy endings. But you’re right. This one doesn’t. It is said that whoever owns this piece will face the wrath of Anubis.”
“Good thing I don’t believe in fairy tales.”
“Nor do I.”
Even so, it appeared a shiver ran across her shoulders. Was she merely chilled, or could it be the stalwart Miss Dalton hid an irrational fear based on myth?
But when she spoke, her voice didn’t quiver in the least. “At first I was going to suggest that after cataloguing and pricing your collection, you sell it to the British Museum where others could enjoy viewing such finds. But now after unpacking such a rare piece?” She shook her head. “I think it better if you simply send the whole lot back to Egypt where it belongs.”
“Don’t tell me you believe such ancient poppycock, Miss Dalton.” He snorted. “Some old chunk of pottery or figurine isn’t going to do me in, I assure you.”
