“Did you lie to our friends back at the ruins? All your warnings about the dangers of the box?” he asked.
Her shoulders rose in a light shrug. “There are many stories about Pandora’s box and what it might contain. Personally, I’ve never subscribed to any of the theories that it holds plagues and all other sorts of nastiness. I was simply attempting to save my neck and warn those two oafs in the process.”
“It’s unlikely they would have heeded any of your warnings no matter how grave.” He paused, then continued, “I wouldn’t have.”
The stranger smiled at her and her breath caught. He looked much younger when he wasn’t scowling. She glanced at the ratty bag sitting next to him on the seat. Her heart stopped and she held her breath. “Might I see it?” She had waited long enough.
He eyed her for a moment, then reached into the bag and withdrew the box. “Don’t break it.”
“That is a priceless relic. I’d no sooner break it than I’d smash the Rosetta stone.”
“I need it unscathed when I deliver it,” he said.
“To whom?” she asked, smoothing her hands across the wooden sides.
“None of your concern.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “At least tell me your name and who those men were.”
“Fielding Grey. And those men work for a man known as the Raven.”
Ordinarily she would have pressed him for more information, but right now she couldn’t seem to take her eyes off the box. She couldn’t see much of it in detail since the interior of the carriage wasn’t well lit. But she could see the recessed shadows of carvings and felt the smooth etched metal beneath her fingertips. Now that she held it close, she could see that it was made of solid gold.
Anticipation skittered her nerve endings. Here it was, in her hands, her life’s ambition.
And she wasn’t supposed to open it.
She’d read many of the legends; she knew almost all of them told of the inquisitiveness that led to Pandora’s demise. She knew of the warnings and dangers that went along with lifting the lid of a seemingly simple box. Even knowing all the potential hazards the box represented, her desire was strong for one . . . tiny peek.
The carriage jolted and Esme sat upright. She pulled back the tightly gathered curtain and saw that daylight had arrived, although it proved to be a dreary, rain-filled day. The flat coastland had given way to gentle hills. Pushing the curtain back in place, she examined the man across from her.
He still slept, and his features had softened in his slumber. His brown hair was cropped short, leaving his face open for her perusal. At least two days’ worth of beard lined his jaw and would have given him a hardened look, were it not for the seductive curl of his lips. She caught herself before she sighed, then rolled her eyes.
Honestly, he was merely a man. A handsome one, she’d grant him that, but a man nonetheless. She was eyeing him this way only because he’d saved her life. It had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that she longed for male companionship, a relationship like all her friends and her sister had found. This happened in every adventure novels—the damsel always harbored romantic notions about her hero. It was a purely natural reaction. But it needn’t mean anything.
Without his intense brown gaze upon her, she reached for the tattered bag sitting on the carriage seat next to him. The carriage jostled again, and she paused to see if Mr. Grey would awaken. But he did not. Evidently he was a sound sleeper, which boded well for her, at least in the current moment.
She reached into the bag and felt a thin chain loop around her finger, her pendant. She’d feared Thatcher still had it, but apparently he’d stashed it in the same bag in which he’d stowed the box. She pocketed the trinket, then pulled out the box. It didn’t look as dingy as it had the night before. The gold shimmered in the morning light. She could see the etchings more closely and admired the handiwork.
On each side was a miniature carved mural of gods and goddesses. Zeus was, of course, prominently displayed on the top, with other deities carved into the sides. She quickly looked at each in turn until she found what she was looking for. There! Eros and Aphrodite, each a symbol of love and passion. Satisfaction surged through her. Her theory was right. It had to be. Within this box lay Pandora’s charms, the very key to being irresistible to men.
Some women, like her sister, were simply born with such charms. Esme knew she and Elena were different, not simply in age and appearance but in demeanor as well. Elena always had suitors lined up waiting for a chance to spin her around the dance floor, while Esme had been resigned to the seats lining the ballroom—the chairs reserved for elderly women and the girls no one would dance with.
It wasn’t only her sister, though. It seemed most women had at least a modest ability to seduce men, to walk into a room and command attention, as all the girls she knew had managed to snag a husband. But Esme, well, she’d never so much as caught a rogue glance in her direction. Then again, she’d been the only one to correct the Duke of Devonshire in a roomful of people. She shouldn’t have, probably wouldn’t have, if he hadn’t have been spouting off incorrect history.
Thus had ended her short-lived time in the marriage market and any hope of landing a good match. So here she was, seven and twenty and as undesirable as ever.
What other woman in all of England could manage to get herself abducted by a pair of nasty villains and come out of the experience with her virtue completely unscathed?
Of course she didn’t want to be ravished. Well, not by the first two men, at least. But Mr. Grey… She mentally chided herself for the thought. A thought made all the worse by her realization that she was staring at the man, studying the fullness of his lips, the growth of beard shadowing his cheeks.
She shook her head to rid herself of such useless thoughts. There would be no ravishing from anyone. And there was little point in feeling disappointed by that.
But she could lay claim to those female charms now.
All she needed to do was open the box.
Which, of course, she couldn’t do. She placed her hand on the lid of the box to make certain she didn’t open it. At least not intentionally. But if by sheer will she could force the lid open and not have to take responsibility for her actions should any evils come pouring out, that would be another matter. She stared intently. Nothing happened.
