Without thinking, she slipped her hand from Kenneth’s arm and reached for the canopic jar. She was wearing her gloves, and vaguely she felt Kenneth move to stand at her shoulder, blocking the view of their host and anyone behind her.
She would have to thank him for that, just as soon as she… “Hmmm.”
“Hmmmlike a good thing? Orhmmmthis looks mighty suspicious?” Kenneth murmured in her ear.
Yes, he reallywasclose, wasn’t he? Unfortunately that realization distracted her, and Barbara’s fingers fumbled with the jar. His response was lightning-fast; Kenneth’s hand darted out to grab the jar and the back of her hand, holding them both.
Keeping them safe.
“Th-Thank you.” She managed a shuddering breath as she tipped the jar back into its place on the display.
But he didn’t release her.
With her gloved hand cradled by his palm, his forearm framed hers as well. The warmth of him, even through the wool of his coat, soaked into her, making her shiver with need and sweat with overwhelm.
And also, because she was an academic at the heart of things even when her arousal was hopelessly piqued, she frowned at the canopic jar.
“Barbie.” His low murmur stirred the hairs at the back of her neck. “What did ye notice? What has ye worried?”
How did he know her so well? She turned her head just slightly, and the movement brought her lips within inches of his jaw. Focusing on the shadow of growth there, she parted her lips…
“Sweetheart.” His lips curled devilishly. “Ye’re no’ helping me in my efforts to forget how delightful ye feel in my arms.”
“What?” she blurted out.
He was the one to clear his throat and drop his hold on her hand, stepping away. She swayed, confused, room spinning, her fingertips still brushing the stone of the jar…
And he watched her with a faintly amused grin, one that showed off his dimple. Not mocking, but as though they were sharing a joke.
“The other night, when we were touring the Earl’s collection, ye noticed something on one of the jars.” He nodded to the one they stood before. “Now ye’re focused on something about one of Nutt’s canopic jars. I’m no’ wrong, am I?”
Barbara shook her head, forcing herself to focus on his words. On what she’d noticed. With a deep breath, she turned back to the set of jars.
It did not make sense.
“These belonged to Tanetmit.” She traced the air above the hieroglyphics. “Beloved Singer in the Temple of Amun-Ra, one of the major gods. Only those of high standing had their tombs in the Valley of the Kings—members of the royal family, priests, that sort of thing. She was a priestess, making her interesting all on her own.”
“But ye’ve seen these afore, aye?” With his hands clasped behind his back—as if assuring her he wouldn’t reach for her—Kenneth moved beside her. “Ye’re familiar with Nutt’s collection?”
“I was here at his wife’s last salon, about six months ago. He had to leave town for a long while and has only just returned.”
“Aye, I ken,” he murmured, bending slightly. “Do ye think something’s changed?”
Barbara glanced about, and was relieved to see none of the other salon-goers were paying them much attention. She was loath to acknowledge what she thought she’d seen, knowing all too well how viciously academics could mock others, especially if she was presumed to be insulting the collection.
But Kenneth was the only one here, the only one who could hear her.
Carefully, she lifted the jar again, knowing her gloves would protect it from wear…if necessary.
“The patina is wrong,” she whispered.
“Patina?”
“The natural evidence of aging.” She pointed to spots near the base of the jar. “The wear seems concentrated here, rather than all over the jar.” Gingerly, she replaced Tanetmit’s liver jar and picked up the one which once held the long-dead priestess’s stomach. “See? There are no microcracks in the surface, which should be there.”
“All four follow the same pattern,” he pointed out.
“Yes, which means all four are wrong.”
