“Nonsense. Don’t tell me you’re the sort of man to let a few sniffles shut down your political ambitions.”
“Influenza is more than a trivial cold. I have two maids fighting for their lives even as I speak.”
A little shriek pipped out of Violet, and she edged away from his side as if he suffered the plague.
“Aha!” Gil rapped the table. “The curse of Amentuk strikes again, eh, old man?”
Shoving back his chair, the viscount rose. “You may be right, Price. The final wording can be accomplished via wire. You’ll be hearing from me. Come along, Violet.”
He strode out the door, Violet’s steps in double time to match his long strides.
Draining his cup, Edmund set it on the sideboard, then faced Gil. “If you hurry, you can ride into town with the Woolseys.”
Gil laced his fingers behind his head and leaned back in his chair. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“To stay might very well mean risking your life.”
He tipped his head, morning sunlight glinting an odd gleam in his eyes. “I will not leave until I have my portion of the profit from those relics.”
“You’d risk your life in order to collect a few coins?”
“I don’t see you dashing out of here.”
He bit back a wince. That hit home, for more reasons than one. Naturally, as master of the estate, leaving during a crisis could be seen as a dereliction of duty at best, and at worst, show he thought his life above those in his employ. A noble reason to remain, but not the only one.
He needed those antiquities sold. Soon. But how to do that without Ami’s expertise? For he must ask her to leave, yet she was only a little over halfway through valuing the artifacts. And when she did leave, there was no question she’d take his heart right along with her. He froze, a cold sweat breaking out on his brow.
Sweet, blessed mercy.
Bram had been right.
Edmund spun away from Gil, fists and jaw clenched. Gooseflesh prickled along his forearms. Hewasafraid. Terrified, actually. For eight long years, he’d steeled himself against ever going through this again, yet despite his carefully crafted barriers,somehow—some way—love had sneaked in like a killer in the night.
Only this time was different. During moments of solitude, he increasingly found himself contemplating the idea that perhaps his views on marriage were skewed. Maybe by witnessing the dismal relationship of his parents and experiencing his own shallow alliance with Louisa, he’d become soured on what ought to be a God-given gift. And, oh, how he yearned for something beyond the superficial, especially after holding Ami in his arms last evening. He knew for certain now he’d never loved Louisa as thoroughly as that mismatched pixie of an Egyptologist.
He swallowed hard, throat aching. If Ami betrayed him as Louisa had, he’d never survive it.
Pausing from yet again trying to authenticate the griffin, Ami flopped her arms on the worktable and buried her face, giving in to a few moments of rest. No doubt she looked a wreck, which was why she’d skipped breakfast. Violet would have engaged in several jolly pokes about the dark crescents beneath her eyes and her loose, unbrushed hair. It couldn’t be helped, though, for she hadn’t slept a stitch last night. Every time she closed her eyes, all she could see was Edmund’s face, his eyes, those lips. Bosh! She’d never desired a man so strongly. Which was unfortunate. There was no way a relationship could work between them. She knew nothing about his world of fancy dinners and political intrigues. Besides, had he truly meant it when he’d asked if she’d consider spending her life with him? It wasn’t actually a proposal, not a drop-to-one-knee-and-request-her-hand-in-marriage sort of thing. Surely his words were mere whispers in the shadows, a momentary lapse of formality caused by the late hour and romantic setting. And yet...
She pounded her forehead against the table. Why did she wish his proposal had been real?
Behind her, footsteps clapped on the parquet floor. She satupright, twisting her hair with one hand, then jamming the pencil through it to form a makeshift chignon.
Bram Webb entered with a grin. “Just popping in to say good-bye and extend a reminder that if you or your father are ever in Cambridge, I’m the man to show you a good time.”
No doubt he was. This charming scoundrel was part pirate, part scholar, and altogether mischief. Half a smile quirked her lips. “Thanks for the offer, but I wouldn’t hold my breath on that were I you. If I ever have the chance to travel, you can bet my best pair of cotton gloves it will be to Egypt. Still, it was a pleasure meeting you.”
He cocked his head. “But even more pleasurable for you to meet Price, eh?”
Heat crawled up her neck. Schooling her expression, she lifted her chin. “Mr. Price is a good man to work for.”
“He’s a good man period, so mind you tread lightly. I’d hate to see him crushed again by a woman.”
Interesting. First a warning from Phineas, and now him? She’d never once broken a heart, nor did she intend to do so. Shifting in her chair, she leaned her elbows on the table at her back. “You ought to be having this conversation with Miss Woolsey. She’s the one who means to marry him.”
“Maybe so, but Miss Woolsey isn’t the one he loves.”
Her breath caught in her throat. Was he seriously implying that Edmund was in love with her? Dare she believe such a thing? If she did, that could change everything. Her hopes. Her dreams. She bit her lower lip, worrying the skin between her teeth. Would she truly be able to set aside her aspirations of uncovering Egyptian relics, all for the sake of a man? No indeed. There was no way she could turn her back on her years of hard work for a mere man ... and yet there was nothing “mere” about Edmund Price.
