Instead of being offended by her dry comment, he found himself grinning. Then he laughed. He looked up to see warmth and concern in her gray eyes. He shook his head.
“I’m afraid my family can hardly be held up as an example of normalcy. At least I hope not,” he added hastily.
India chuckled then touched his arm. The small measure of reassurance comforted him more than he wanted to let on. That someone understood him was more than he’d ever dared imagine.
“Shall we retire?” He didn’t care to discuss the scene that had just transpired or answer the questions in India’s eyes. “We’ll visit your book seller on the morrow and see what he can tell us about Gabriel’s Bracelet.”
Chapter Seven
“Are you sure this is where his book shop is located?” Ridge asked as the carriage rolled to a stop.
India nodded though she could understand the viscount’s confusion. The buildings on the narrow street were shabby and in bad need of repair. Several had long since been vacated, the windows broken out. The shutters dangled and flapped about in the breeze sending an eerie echo down the cobblestone lane.
They descended the carriage, and India wrapped her thin cloak tighter around her. Ridge’s gaze skirted over her clothing and he frowned. A blush warmed her cheeks as embarrassment crept up her spine. She had never concerned herself with something so inconsequential as her apparel. In the places she and her father frequented, fashion certainly hadn’t mattered. But here in London, she looked no better than a street urchin.
She opened the door that housed the tiny shop, surprised when the door knob came loose in her hand. With a shrug, she shoved the door farther open with her foot and leaned her head in.
“Just bring the knob in. It’s forever coming off.”
She grinned at the familiar crotchety sounds of the older man. As she and Ridge stepped inside, she had to blink to adjust to the dim light.
After a few seconds, she was able to make out their surroundings. Shelf after shelf of books lined the walls. Dust, nearly an inch thick covered every imaginable surface, and a candle on a nearby desk provided the only source of illumination in the windowless interior.
She scanned the room. “Artemis, where are you?”
A scrape and then a shuffle and a few moments later another candle bobbed into view as an elderly man hobbled forward. “India, is that you?” he rasped.
In the vague light of the candle he carried, she could see he looked the same as she remembered. Long streaming white hair, hawkish nose and his shoulders hunched forward, making him appear several inches shorter than his actual height.
“Yes, it’s India.”
“Who is that with you?” he asked, casting a suspicious eye on Ridge.
“Allow me to introduce you to Viscount Ridgewood,” she said.
“I’m very glad to make your acquaintance,” Ridge offered politely.
Artemis sniffed and turned his gaze back on India. “What are you doing here in London? Didn’t think you would leave that country house of yours.”
She cleared her throat. “We were hoping you could help us. We’re looking for Gabriel’s Bracelet.”
Artemis paled and jerked around, glancing frantically around the room and to the still open front door. “Close the door, for land’s sake,” he said urgently.
Ridge blinked in surprise but retrieved the knob from India’s hand and walked over to replace it and shut the door. When he returned, Artemis blew out the candle he was holding and hurried toward the back of the shop.
“Well don’t just stand there,” he said impatiently.
India exchanged glances with Ridge and shrugged. The old man had always been eccentric, but his behavior was beyond odd. She followed in the direction Artemis had gone, Ridge falling in behind her.
As they walked through another door, Artemis closed it behind them and drew out a large ring of keys. He hastily locked the door then motioned them forward.
They descended a set of stairs into a narrow corridor. At the end, Artemis unlocked a series of locks on a heavy door and swung it open. Once through, he quickly bolted and fastened a whole series of latches on the door.
India shook her head in the dim light. “Where are you taking us, Artemis?”
A burst of light flared as he lit a wall sconce. He put a finger to his lips and jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “They might hear us,” he whispered. “Come. The information you seek is in here.”
He walked into the small chamber lit sporadically by half a dozen half burnt candles. Books littered the floors and desk in piles. Stacks of papers covered most of the remaining surfaces, and India picked her way carefully around the mess.
