“Now, there you are mistaken, sir. The more compelling the narrative, the more interest in your artifacts. The public will gobble up the story of how you left the country because of a lady and have now returned for a fresh start with a new woman, especially one so ... novel. Do tell.” This time he licked the tip of his pencil, then set it to paper, fingers poised to write. “How long have you two been in a relationship?”
The blush of a summer sunset lit fire on Miss Dalton’s cheeks. “Mr. Price and I are not—”
Gil held up a finger. “About this griffin—”
“Stop right there, Mr. Kane.” Edmund cut them both off. “Miss Dalton and I hold to a strictly professional relationship, nothing more.”
“Perhaps.” He hissed theslike the snake he was. “But once word of this arrangement leaks out, you can be sure another newspaper will sensationalize the situation. By giving me leave to write a wholesome yet intriguing account, not only will you endear the masses to you and Miss Dalton, you’ll also be sure to attract potential buyers for your cargo in droves.”
Edmund gripped the edge of the table to keep from throttling the man. Of all the oblique threats! Narrowing his eyes, he stared down the journalist, the sudden tension in the room thick enough to choke an elephant.
“Allow me to make myself abundantly clear, Kane.” He used his deal-gone-bad tone, gunmetal hard and deadly low. Not only would a fake scandal damage his run for office, it would undoubtedly harm Ami. “Your purpose here is to present these artifacts in their historical and cultural context, not to gain blathering fodder to further your career or increase theJournal’s circulation. If you dare exploit Miss Dalton’s reputation or tarnish the integrity of her work, I will not hesitate to take drastic measures.”
Unease flickered across the journalist’s face, his tongue darting in and out with a mind of its own.
“So”—Edmund leaned closer, driving home his point—“I suggest you tread carefully, sir. Mine is not a warning to takelightly. You may think you hold the power of the pen, but I assure you, I have means of my own. Stick to the story you were invited here to obtain, nothing more.”
The words swung in the air like a noose in the wind. Miss Dalton stared wide-eyed. Gil smirked, his moustache twitching.
Red crawled up Mr. Kane’s neck as he retreated a step. “I did not mean to offend, Mr. Price.”
“Ha-ha!” Gil clapped his hands. “I’m sure you didn’t. Now then, behold the golden griffin, Mr. Kane.” He tugged the man to his side. “Trust me when I say you’ll find nothing more sensational than the curse of Amentuk, and this is the very artifact that houses such a dark evil. Already this wicked little beast has broken a man’s leg, sent a maid into hysterics, tripped me up on the stairs, and see that statue over there?” Clapping an arm around Kane’s shoulder, he nudged the man to face the imposing Anubis standing guard at the door.
“Don’t tell me that one is cursed too?”
“Not that I know of, and yet it mysteriously moves in increments each day. But here’s the real kicker—it is far too heavy for a man to move alone.”
Pulling away from Gil, the journalist turned back to examine the griffin. “Can you verify Mr. Fletcher’s claims, Miss Dalton?”
“These things have happened, and there is a legend attached to the griffin.” She frowned like a displeased school matron. “But I highly doubt they are related.”
“Of course they are.” Gil aimed his finger at her. “You’re the one who told me the story in the first place.”
“Of the curse, yes, but I don’t recall speaking of the workman’s broken leg or the movement of Anubis.” Her brow arched at Edmund.
He gave a slight shake of his head. He’d not been the one to inform the man. Had Barnaby? “How did you know that information, Gil?”
“Servants talk.” He shrugged. “But that’s neither here nor there. The thing is, Kane, that whoever purchases this lot will no doubt have an exciting time in store for them.”
“Or a dangerous one.” Mr. Kane straightened, then flipped to a clean page in his notebook. “Tell me the details of this curse, then.”
Gil rubbed his hands together. “It is quite the juicy tale. You see—”
A light touch to Edmund’s sleeve pulled him away from Gil’s story.
Miss Dalton peered up at him, whispering for his ears alone, “Might I have a word with you, Mr. Price?”
He glanced at the men, Gil animatedly serving up all the sordid morsels he knew—and no doubt sprinkling in even more imaginative tidbits—while Kane’s pencil danced across his page with loud scratches. With both of them so engrossed, Edmund guided Ami aside. “My apologies for Mr. Kane’s insinuation about us. When I hired you as a professional, I didn’t think your reputation would be tarnished. Apparently I was wrong.”
She clicked her tongue. “The only reputation I seek to protect is my Egyptologist status, which you very nicely defended.” Her eyes narrowed. “In fact, I’ve never met anyone so keen for such validation on my account. Why is that?”
“Let’s just say I understand how difficult it is to be recognized as proficient without acceptable credentials.” Hah! What an understatement. Had it not been for the family name, he’d not be where he was now, though it was that very name he hoped to infuse with integrity instead of the often-unscrupulous dealings of his father.
Her nose scrunched, freckles bobbing. “What would a successful businessman know of that?”
“The answer may surprise you.” He held up a finger, warding her off. “But now is not the time. What did you wish to tell me?”
Curiosity gleamed golden in those changeable eyes of hers, yet to her credit, she didn’t pry—an urge Violet Woolsey would not have been able to conquer.
