A smile lit her face. “It is.” She held up her glass. “To you, Edmund. May your run for election be a smashing success.”
He shook his head, matching her grin. “Though I thank you for the sentiment, that’s not at all what I intended to salute.”
“Then allow me.” Setting his book on the table, the professor extended his glass. “Here’s to one of the finest collections of Egyptian artifacts I have seen in a long time. Though I can’t say I approve of leaving behind Mr. Fletcher to close the deal with Mr. Harrison, I understand there is good reason for it, so cheers.”
Edmund clutched his glass tighter. In light of Gil’s recent erratic behaviour, he didn’t necessarily approve of leaving him to conduct the transaction either, and yet in all the years he had worked with him, Gil had never once fouled up a sale. And Gil had just as much riding on the outcome as he did.
Edmund wagged his finger at the professor. “You are much closer to the mark, but not quite.” He lifted his drink, indicating them both. “This toast is to the two of you for a job well done. Your expertise and work ethic has been invaluable. Truly, I couldn’t have asked for a more knowledgeable pair. Professor Dalton, I am indebted to you for cutting short your dig, and to you, Ami, for sticking with the job despite the supposed curse of Amentuk. I owe you both my deepest gratitude. Cheers!”
They clinked their glasses together, but after hardly taking a sip, Ami scooched to the edge of the sofa and turned to him, lifting her drink even higher. “And to you, Edmund, cheers for taking a chance on me. If you’d not—oh!”
Brakes squealed.
The train jolted.
Ami clutched his arm, her drink splashing past the rim and dousing his waistcoat.
“Oh dear.” She dashed to the drink cart and retrieved a cloth as the train came to a stop.
“Don’t trouble yourself.” He brushed away the excess liquid.
“Of course I will.” She sank next to him, her cinnamon scentnearly overwhelming him as she dabbed the fabric. Were her father not here, he’d pull her into his arms and fill his lungs with her sweetness. But father or not, he couldn’t stop himself from gazing deeply into her changeable eyes.
The professor cleared his throat. “If you don’t mind telling me the address of where we’re staying, Mr. Price, I should like to hail a cab and stop by the British Museum on my way. Shouldn’t take long. Just wish to greet an old friend in the Egyptian department.”
“No trouble at all. It’s Seven Pembroke Terrace in Mayfair.”
“Excellent.” The professor retrieved his ratty old hat off the coat-tree. Clapping it atop his head, he tipped the brim at them. “I shall see you two later.”
He disappeared out the door while Ami gathered her own hat and positioned herself in front of a mirror. By the time Edmund had donned his bowler, she was still fussing with it.
“Blast!” She slapped her hand to her mouth, whirling wide-eyed.
Though he ought to be shocked at such vulgar language from a lady, he couldn’t help but grin. “Is there a problem?”
She waved her bonnet in the air—a single red ribbon dangling from one side—while her other fingers clutched the matching red trim. “I knew I should have restitched this ribbon before we left.”
He held out his hand. “Why don’t you let me see what I can do.”
She scrunched her nose—an adorable trait he’d never get enough of. “There’s hardly time to sew it now, but I am curious as to what you’re about.” She handed over her hat. “Here you are, Mr. Problem Solver.”
He promptly ripped off the other ribbon and offered it back. “There. Problem solved.”
She rolled her eyes as she jammed the thing on her head. “I should have known.”
He grinned as he opened the train carriage door, where a porter stood at attention in the vestibule.
The fellow dipped his head respectfully. “There’s a cab waiting just outside the station as you requested, Mr. Price. Your luggage will follow.”
“Thank you.” Edmund palmed him a few shillings.
“Thank you, sir.” The porter opened the door and stepped aside.
Edmund strolled to the opening, where he abruptly stopped. Bah! He should’ve known word would get out that he’d be in town for Bastion’s big soiree tomorrow evening, but this was more than the usual fawning females. This time there were journalists with pencils poised and even a camera or two.
Hands curling into fists, he glanced over his shoulder at Ami. “I probably should have warned you my arrival would cause a stir. Are you ready for London?”
She craned her neck to peer past him, then met his gaze with a spark in her eyes. “On the contrary, perhaps the question should be, Is London ready for me?”
