“A word of advice, my new friend.” Bram clapped on his hat. “To protect the treasures of the past, one must understand the delicate dance between excavation, conservation, and the cultivation of present relationships ... and I’m speaking as muchto myself as to you.” The case clock in the corridor bonged, and he gave a nonchalant glance over his shoulder at the sound. “That’s my cue. Good-bye, Ami.” He dipped his head before wheeling about.
“Good-bye, Bram,” she called after him.
It felt a little strange calling the man by his Christian name after knowing him for only a day, but truly, Bram Webb seemed more of a brother than anything—unlike Edmund. After the way he’d spoken to her last night, and now with Bram’s declaration that he didn’t love Violet ... had those words whispered in the dark been more than a fleeting flirtation? Could she—should she—develop a relationship with him? Suddenly she felt torn between her duty to protect history, the desire to make history, and the craving to make a life with a certain blue-eyed man. Little tingles ran down her arms. Absently, she rubbed them as she turned back to work.
“I was hoping to find you here.”
Her heart skipped a beat at Edmund’s low voice, the tingles turning electric—but this was not the time to give in to fanciful emotions.
Pull yourself together, girl!
Inhaling deeply, she turned, veiling her true feelings. “Did you hear from the doctor?”
“Yes.” He pulled over a chair, lines creasing his brow. “It’s influenza. You’ll have to pack your things at once.”
Her heart squeezed at the thought of leaving Edmund and abandoning her work. “There are at least a dozen crates left to unpack. What about your deadline?”
“Unfortunately, it remains.” He rubbed the back of his neck, and judging by the slight tightening of his eyes, she guessed he had a headache. “I’ll just have to sell what you’ve already priced to Mr. Harrison and add in the rest at a flat rate.”
The thought of these priceless antiquities tucked away in some forgotten corner of England churned the milk and tea in her belly. “What about the Cairo Museum?”
He shook his head. “I haven’t heard back from them yet, andeven if I did, I suspect they would want a verified tally of each item, not boxes of unknown relics.”
She met Edmund’s gaze unwaveringly. “Then I shall stay and continue working.”
“No. I will not have you taking ill.”
“I won’t.” She swept her hand toward the only somewhat-empty corner in the room. “I’ll have Barnaby set up a cot in here so there will be no need for me to interact with anyone.”
“Absolutely not. I won’t risk it.”
“But I will.” She flashed him a smile, yet it did nothing to slacken his frown.
“Why?” The morning sun pouring through the windows highlighted the weariness in his eyes, and something more ... what? Surprise? Suspicion? Irritation? He gave his neck one last knead, then dropped his hand. “Your loyalty is, well ... I must say it astonishes me.”
“That’s an easy enough question to answer. For one”—she held the small clay seal she’d been cleaning in front of his face—“these items belong in the Cairo Museum, and if having them legitimately valued and priced is what is required, then I shall do it. It is imperative such rare antiquities be showcased and celebrated by their own people.”
“You’ve made that abundantly clear already. What’s the other reason?”
“Becauseyoumade it clear you need the money.” She set the seal carefully down on the soft cloth, then angled her head at him. “Though for the life of me I cannot understand why the wealthiest man I’ve ever met should need more.”
He splayed his hands. “I may be wealthy, but most of my money is tied up in investments at the moment.”
“So what is your pressing need that makes you require cash in hand? Surely you have everything you could want for.”
“By the grace of God, I do, but it’s not for me.”
She tapped her finger against the tabletop. Who would this man deem so important that he’d take on such a daunting task as this?
“Then who?” she asked point-blank.
A soft sigh escaped his lips—a mouth she’d been trying very hard not to stare at.
Thankfully, he rose and began pacing. “When I first arrived in India, I was quite green. I didn’t understand the culture, and I most certainly did not understand the land. Like a fool, I tried to broker all contracts myself, not trusting anyone to do so in my stead. One such deal, however, needed to be transacted on the other side of a mountain. The one—and only—road had been washed out, so I set off with a machete and the swagger of a twenty-two-year-old. I didn’t make it very far before I tripped and landed on a snake.”
He stopped in front of her, and with a quick roll of his sleeve, exposed the inside of his forearm. Two jagged lines, slightly irregular in shape, marred his skin. Raised. Slightly rough. Deeply pink. Less than a quarter of an inch, but deadly all the same.
“Oh my,” she breathed.
