Empty.
There was nothing inside the box. She waited a moment to see if she felt any different, to see if some invisible power had settled over her. But she felt nothing.
Disappointment poured through her, and she was about to close the lid when she noticed something at the bottom. It looked as if it too might open, so she slipped her hand inside. Something touched her. She pulled back. A shimmering gold bracelet dangled from her wrist. It was beautiful. Thin and unadorned, the band was simple and elegant.
Excitement fluttered in her belly. Perhaps this was it— Pandora’s charm. Was it possible that by simply wearing the band men would want her? That she could finally know what it was like to walk into a room and have all men’s eyes turn to her?
A giggle erupted from within her. It was a mythical box, not a miracle box. She ought not get too encouraged. Perhaps it would assist her in the ways of womanly charms, but the chances of her becoming an irresistible siren were slim.
She held her arm up in the air, moving her wrist about. The light played against the sliver of gold. Something caught her attention, and she held the bracelet up to the light to admire it and noticed an engraving. A closer look proved the impression to be ancient Greek; a language she could read, but not one she was proficient in. Luckily for her, the text to decipher was short, only one word. She read the word and thought on it a moment, unsure if she’d translated correctly. Another glance and she was certain.
Lust.
With her other hand she attempted to remove the gold band, to put it back in the box, but it would not budge. No matter how much she tugged, the bracelet would not move past her thumb.
Splendid.
Her heart raced to a wild beating and her breaths came in short surges. This changed everything.
This wasn’t a charm. This was a curse.
CHAPTER 6
“Mr. Grey! Mr. Grey.” Esme came barreling down the looming staircase and stopped just short of running headlong into him. “Oh, there you are.”
Fielding nodded to the butler, and the servant turned and left. Here in his well-lit hallway, he could see now that her hair was clean it was more of a reddish-brown, with hints of gold peeking through the soft curls. “What is it, Miss Worthington, that is so pressing you must tear through the house bellowing my name?”
She frowned, and two small lines furrowed her otherwise smooth forehead. It transformed her face, and something about her ridiculous expression tugged at his lips, urging him to smile.
“I was not bellowing,” she said, attempting to compose herself. “I merely needed to find you in a hurry, and this place”—she made a sweeping gesture with her hand—“is rather large. I almost got lost on the third floor when you were nowhere to be found on the second.”
“Yes, well, you’ve found me now. I’ve made arrangements for out travel, and I see you’ve cleaned yourself up and found something suitable to wear. Although that dress is too long for you.” Not to mention a little snug around her generous hips. Esme Worthington had a luscious bottom. He’d noticed that straightaway through her thin nightdress, and still she was unable to hide it beneath this dress and all the underthings he knew women layered on. He cleared his throat, annoyed with his train of thought. “We may leave.”
“Yes,” she said excitedly. “Yes, let us leave; you must take me home at once. And I’m afraid I must speak with you.” The frown again touched between her eyes. “It is of grave importance.”
She fell into step beside him as he made his way to the study. He gathered the box and a stack of unopened mail. “How is your head feeling? Thatcher struck you fairly hard.”
“Your maids were able to remove all the blood, and one of them rubbed on an herbal poultice, which has all but removed the dull ache. I believe I shall recover quite nicely.”
“Glad to hear it,” he said.
“Now, then. There are many legends of Pandora’s box, and I’ve read quite a lot of them because, well, because as I said earlier, I’ve been studying the legend of Pandora’s box. I have many volumes that cover nothing but that particular subject.” She scarcely took breaths in between her sentences, and Fielding found himself growing anxious listening to her as they left the house.
He helped Miss Worthington into the carriage, and she never missed a beat.
“As you can imagine, with all the varied approaches and theories there are, a student of the subject would begin to lean toward some of them and away from others.”
He shook his head, unsure if he was following her logic. “Precisely what are you trying to say, Miss Worthington?”
“I had come to favor one particular theory about the box.” She leaned forward, and for the briefest of moments her enthusiasm was nearly contagious.
“You see, according to the legend, Pandora was known as a consummate beauty, and she was presented, as a gift, by the gods to the brothers Epimetheus and Prometheus. Epimetheus walked away from her because he felt she was too much of a temptation and would lead him astray, but Prometheus accepted her as his wife.”
Fielding didn’t bother trying to ask questions. He’d heard enough from the men of Solomon’s. Curses, Greek gods—it was all rubbish as far as he was concerned.
“Some scholars theorize that within the box are all the aspects that made Pandora the temptress she was,” she continued. “Her charms, if you will.”
Esme was talking so fast Fielding had a hard time following her words. He didn’t, however, neglect watching her mouth as she spoke. Her lips were full and lush and ever so tempting.
