“A job you no doubt enjoyed, what with your passion for honeybees.”
A lovely pink deepened her cheeks. “You remembered.”
I remember everything about you.
Blast! So much for treading carefully.
He set down his fork, no longer hungry. “I realize it is far too early for you to estimate what my shipment is worth, but I do have an interested party stopping by my study tomorrow morning at ten o’clock. I wonder if you might be there to verify the value of what you’ve uncovered thus far?”
“I could, but . . .” She bit her lip.
“But what?”
She pushed away her plate, finished as well. “It might be better if I merely give you a tally for you to relate the information.”
“If this is about your worry of taking time away from the cargo, think nothing of it. Meeting with sellers is part of the business as well. I find that bringing in an expert lends credence to a sale.”
She met his gaze, fire in her eyes. “And I find that men have a hard time believing a woman can be an expert.”
“Rubbish.” He snorted. “You’ve proven to me you know what you’re about.”
Those same eyes suddenly glistened, and if he didn’t know any better, he’d suspect the intrepid Miss Dalton was near tears.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
For the life of him, he couldn’t think as to why he’d evoked such a clear emotion. “While I appreciate the gratitude, I wonder what it is for?”
“In my line of work, Mr. Price, it is a rare compliment for a woman to be acknowledged as a historical authority.”
He peered at her closely, saddened by whatever hurts she’d suffered for the sake of men’s pride. “Some men are far too insecure in themselves.”
“Yet you are not.” She met his gaze—and held it.
“A trait I was forced to learn at a young age.” As was every lad at boarding school, for it was either learn to stick up for yourself or take a beating.
“I suppose we have both learned, then, to stand our ground. It is an attribute I must hone if I ever hope to lead a dig in Egypt someday.”
He angled his head. A commendable goal and quite bold for a woman. “So that is your great aspiration, is it? To lead an excavation in the Egyptian sands?”
“It is.” She flashed a brilliant grin.
“Then I pray that one day your dream shall come true.” He lifted his glass. “To dreams.”
She lifted hers in response. “To—”
Footsteps pounded into the dining room, Barnaby’s usual slicked-back hair hanging loose over his brow. “Pardon the interruption,” he puffed, “but you must come at once, sir.”
“Where?” He shoved back his chair. “What’s happened?”
“It’s Mr. Fletcher. I went to check on him as you asked and—” His gaze darted to Miss Dalton. Whatever he had to say couldn’t be good.
Edmund dipped his head. “Lead on.”
He followed Barnaby’s long legs out the door, down the passageway, and across the great front hall to where Gil lay on the marble floor.
A pool of blood near his head.
9
