Ami clutched the vase in front of her like a shield. Behind the two, Barnaby tucked his tail and hastened away.
Mr. Price stabbed his finger at the overturned toolbox. “I’m afraid Miss Dalton and I took a tumble, my lord. As you can see, dangers abound.”
Though it’d been but several breaths ago, already it felt like a lifetime since he’d broken her fall, caught her up in his arms, and shared laughter like a glass of sweet wine.
With a strong yet gentle grasp, he guided her to her feet, giving a steadying touch to the small of her back before facing the duo at the door. “While you are very welcome here, I am a little confused as to why you’re at Price House, my lord. And why didn’t my butler seat you in the drawing room?”
“There is no fault with your butler. I insisted he bring us to you while he arranged for refreshments.” The man curled his fingers around his lapels, chest expanding. “I am afraid there is a matter of urgency that’s come up that I wish to speak with you about. Of course, once Violet heard where I was going, she would not be put off.”
Ami’s gaze drifted to the perfectly coiffed blond as Mr. Price righted the pedestal—the last object between them and his guests. The woman—Violet, apparently—was too young to be Lord Bastion’s wife. Then again, did age matter to a woman grasping for money? For no doubt she enjoyed a good shopping spree. Her emerald gown alone could finance an entire fieldwork project. The golden necklace and pearl earbobs would pay for travel costs to Egypt and back. There was an entitled air about her, as if the world owed her something, and though Ami really ought not judge so quickly, a seed of dislike took root deep in her gut.
Oh, how Father would scold her for not digging deeper before making assumptions.
Mr. Price tugged down the cuffs of his sleeves, rumpled from the fall. “Allow me to introduce you. Lord Bastion, Miss Woolsey, meet my resident scholar, Miss Dalton.” He turned to her. “Miss Dalton, this is the Viscount Bastion and his daughter, Miss Violet Woolsey.”
Still holding the vase, Ami bobbed a small curtsey. “Pleased to meet you, my lord, Miss Woolsey.”
“What, may I ask, is a resident scholar?” Though the woman’s tone was dulcet, there was a slight curl to her upper lip.
“I am an Egyptologist, Miss Woolsey.” Ami lifted her chin. “Mr. Price has hired me to catalogue and value a recent shipment of artifacts he’s acquired.”
The viscount’s falcon eyes narrowed on her. “But you are a woman.”
Biting the inside of her cheek, she set the vase atop the pedestal.
“Miss Dalton is the daughter of the eminent Oxford professor Archer Dalton, hence she has a lifetime of learning from the very best.” Mr. Price cut her a dashing smile. “I daresay her knowledge will one day surpass his.”
“Egyptology. How quaint,” Violet murmured.
Ami flattened her lips to keep from scowling. This sentiment was the exact reason she preferred dusty tomes and skeletons to the company of female society. Save for Polly, that is.
Lord Bastion sniffed. “If this professor is so proficient, then why did you not hire him?”
“He is in Egypt at the moment”—Mr. Price tipped the toolbox upright, tossing in the spilled gear as he spoke—“working at a dig.”
“Speaking of working.” Ami shoved a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I should be getting back to mine. It was lovely to meet you, my lord, Miss Woolsey.” She dipped her head respectfully, more than ready to be tucked away with a room full of silent relics that wouldn’t judge her.
“Would you like to see what Miss Dalton is working on?” Mr. Price asked cheerfully. “It will take a moment for Barnaby to bring refreshments to the drawing room anyway.”
Ami bit her lip.
Please say no. Please say no!
Violet snapped open a fan, giving her face a demure little puff of air. “I hope there aren’t any mummies to view. Dreadfulcreatures. I don’t see what the attraction is to such dirty old things.”
Dirty old things!The woman could have no idea the treasures Mr. Price had beneath this roof. Ami flung back her shoulders. “There is a great deal more to Egyptology than mummies, Miss Woolsey. Mr. Price’s acquisition is quite varied and extremely unique. There’s not a mummy in the lot.”
A relieved smile curved the woman’s lips.
“Leastwise not that I’ve yet uncovered,” Ami added, though she knew it was catty of her.
“It’s settled, then. Off we go.” Mr. Price strode to the door, and Lord Bastion fell into step beside him.
Leaving her to walk alongside Violet.
“So, Miss Dalton.” The lady arched a brow at her. “How exactly did you and Mr. Price meet?”
And once again Ami felt his arms around her, protecting her against a nasty fall, taking the brunt of a spill ... not that she’d breathe a word of that to this woman.
