“Not at all, Miss L’arbre,” he assured her; his voice a little hoarse, until he swallowed a bit more wine. “I find myself intrigued. Iamfond of Roman architecture and would love to hear your opinions as well.”
It wasn’t a lie, and when he asked her thoughts on the ruins on the Dumpkins estate, he was utterly charmed at how animated she became. No longer the blushing young wallflower; Olive was a veritable scholar of Roman antiquities and wasn’t shy about sharing her knowledge.
I think I’m in love.
As the conversation continued on, Phin realized he’d completely monopolized her thus far during the meal, and although Lysander would be shocked, he decided he just didn’t care. The guests around them seemed content in their own conversations, and Phin was enjoying himself too much to relinquish her attention to someone else.
“Ye ken, I’m something of a collector of antiquities.”
“Oh, really?” Her eyes were shining with interest. “Do you buy them from catalogs?”
“Nay. I prefer to get them from the sites themselves.” This much was true, although not the complete story.
Still, it was the correct thing to say, judging by her reaction. Her fork hung, suspended, as she stared at him.
“You have…traveled, you said?” Her voice sounded strained as she slowly replaced her fork and shifted.
He realized she’d shifted closer to him, nearer to the edge of her seat. When he slowly nodded, she gave a little bounce—of excitement he thought—and nibbled on her lower lip.
Steady, laddie. Ye havenae been out of polite company long enough to forget cockstands at the dinner table are still considered rude.
“Will you—” Her voice was breathless. “Will you tell me about your travels? Tell me about some of the pieces you have collected?”
Ah. Well, she wouldn’t be the first woman he’d charmed with tales of his adventures. Chuckling lightly, he offered her a smile. “Certainly.”
Which would be the least offensive but still sound exciting to someone as inexperienced as she? The time a maharajah had him eat a live snake to prove his sincerity? The way he learned giant metal gongs were bullet-proof? Thevaquerowho taught him to use the bullwhip?
Ah…he knew just the one. Exciting, but inoffensive, assuming he left out the nastier bits.
“Once, I was on site in southeast Asia. There was a temple there I’d been researching, and the locals had tried to warn me away from it, claiming it was cursed.” He stretched his legs outand crossed them at the ankles, settling into story-telling mode and appreciating the way her eyes flashed with excitement. “I acquired a guide at great expense, and we made our way up the mountain to a small cave opening. Once inside, I was surprised to discover the temple took up much of the interior. It must have been carved over hundreds of years!”
“Oh, I have always adored Khmer Empire art. They were so talented.”
Surprised, although he suspected he shouldn’t be, Phin raised a brow, impressed. “Indeed! The artifact I was after, a small golden idol, was well-guarded. As it should be.” Sitting forward suddenly, he held his hands out in front of him, still remembering the way it felt to hold the idol for the first time. “It rested on a pressure plate, which I was able to determine in time. I filled a leather bag with sand from the floor of the temple, and it was a nerve-wracking few moments as I tipped the idol into my hands and replaced it with the sand, so as not to trigger the defense mechanisms!”
Instead of awe, or fright as most women reacted when he told of his adventures, Olive’s expression softened to something he didn’t recognize.
“It was an anxious time, but nothing as bad as the booby traps on the way out,” he assured her.
But instead of smiling once more, her expression turned to suspicion.
“Booby traps,” she repeated flatly, and he hurried to explain.
“My guide had triggered one of the pressure plates, and there were flying darts and giant stakes which flew out of the wall at chest height.” He demonstrated with his hands.
By now, she was frowning, and Phin scrambled to think of something to impress upon her the danger he’d endured for that artifact for the Society’s collection. “My guide wasn’t lucky enough to make it out, but I was.”
As he recalled, this was the point in the story where his enthralled female audience would blanch or sigh sympathetically. But not Olive.
Her voice was cool, her lips still tugging downward, when she said, “I suppose next you will tell me you triggered the mechanism which released a giant ball, which tumbled down an incline toward you as you ran for your life toward the entrance, managing to slip out of the cave before it crashed through, sealing the cave and the temple forever?”
Phineas blinked, knowing he’d never been more surprised in his life than he was now.
“Well…aye.”
A range of emotions flashed across her face: first anger, then disappointment, then sadness. Without another word to him, she settled herself back in her seat, turned to the matron on the other side of her, and struck up a conversation about the lamb being served.
Good lord, what had he done wrong? It wasn’t that he’d scared her off; she’d been interested at first. Whatever it was, he had to make it up to her.
