He closed his eyes, and against his better judgment, savored the declaration.
“Well, Price?”
The professor was persistent, he’d give him that. Inhaling deeply, he donned his businessman mask. A cowardly retreat, perhaps, but the safest route for now. He’d do what he could to protect her—and himself—from heartache and disappointment, for well did he know those were the trappings of love.
He strolled back to his chair and met the man’s gaze, choosing to handle the remainder of this discussion as if it were a deal to be negotiated. “I cannot deny I care deeply for your daughter.”
The professor scooted to the edge of his chair, eyes narrowed, studying him so hard that Edmund wouldn’t be surprised at all if he whipped out his magnifying glass. “No, Mr. Price, I sense there is more to your feelings than mere care. The questionis, Are you man enough to admit it not only to yourself but to Amisi?”
By all that was right and good, was he ready for that step? To become vulnerable to a woman again? To open himself up to complete destruction? True, Ami was no Louisa, but loving anyone was risky.
He plowed his fingers through his hair, wishing now he’d kept his study door shut. “You give me much to think about, Professor Dalton.”
“As is a professor’s wont.” The man stood, the many lines on his face softening. “I have made the mistake of putting my profession ahead of personal relationships, and I’m afraid I’m too old now to change my ways. You have many years ahead of you. Don’t do the same. Woo Amisi. Pursue her. You will not find a finer woman, and she deserves to be cherished. God knows I’ve done a poor enough job in that department.”
Wheeling about, he strode away, leaving the haunting words behind.
“Woo her.”
“Pursue her.”
Edmund pinched the bridge of his nose. He did love her, God help him, but even admitting that to himself drained the life out of his bones. As a young lad he’d loved his father, only to have it thrown back in his face in front of the family for being such a disappointment. He’d loved his mother as well, and she’d loved him right back, but a tragic fall down some stairs had ended that relationship when he’d been but eight years old. He’d also loved learning despite all the jumbled letters and strain to comprehend, and that had ended with a humiliating dismissal from school. And then there’d been Louisa. Opening himself up to that woman had stripped him of any shred of pride. Then again, Ami wasn’t his father, his headmaster, nor a grasping, arrogant woman.
And she owned his heart as none of them ever had.
He scrubbed a hand over his face. Could he overcome the scars of the past to pursue her as her father suggested?Shouldhe?
Another knock on the door was followed by Barnaby’s rather pale visage entering with a paper in hand. “A message for you, sir.”
Edmund rose to meet him. “Thank you.”
The familiar header of a telegram from Lord Bastion scrolled across the top. He skipped to the content.
Dinner and dance at my London town house next Saturday. Arrive on Friday. Time for the big announcement.
Once again he strolled to the window, this time with a smile curving his lips. With the election happening in just shy of a month, it was more than time to publicly announce his run.
And more than anything, he wished Ami to be at his side when the declaration was made.
Ami put all her angst into rubbing the last bit of shine onto the hind leg of an ebony statue of Bastet, still shaken from last night’s encounter with Mr. Brudge and his associate’s knife. She’d never come so close to getting seriously hurt. And it was even more humiliating that it’d been such a ragtag operator who’d gotten the jump on her. Either she’d grossly underestimated him, or she was losing her touch.
Puffing out a breath, she surveyed the cache of relics she’d cleaned the past hour. Five clay figurines. An alabaster jar. A lovely ankh pendant, and ten pieces belonging to what must’ve been an extraordinary game of hounds and jackals. Amazing how much work one could get done when agitated—leastwise for her. Farther down the table, her father yet brushed at the same small Isis amulet.
An item he’d finished yesterday.
She set down her cleaning cloth. “All right, Father. Out with it.”
“Out with what?” He spoke without sparing her a glance.
“Any more work on that amulet and there’ll be nothing left.You’ve been agitated ever since you returned from your morning constitutional. Whom did you cross paths with while on your walk?” Couldn’t have been Phineas. Despite his penchant for asking any warm body to help him with a task, he was a delightful old soul who wouldn’t put anyone in a foul mood. Actually, most of the staff were pleasant. She nibbled the nail on her pinky, thinking hard until an idea hit. “Let me guess, Mr. Fletcher?”
“Bah! I don’t take anything that man says seriously.” He glanced at her sideways, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “Personally, I think he’s got one too many bats in his belfry.”
True. The man was a bit unhinged at times, but that didn’t explain her father’s sudden obsession with the amulet. “Well, if it’s not Mr. Fletcher, then what has got you so preoccupied? And don’t try to deny it.” She aimed a finger at him. “I know your penchant for fixating on an object when you’re deep in thought.”
“Too smart for your own good,” he muttered as he set down his brush. “The truth is, I didn’t take my usual outside stroll. Instead, I stopped by Mr. Price’s study. I thought to have a word with him about these antiquities.”
Her lips twisted into a smirk. “So that’s what did it.”
