Page 10 of An Enchanted Spring
Gregory, the efficient (if stodgy) host, led him through the public dining room, which was anchored to the left of the entrance by a wall-to-wall hearth. The back of it was blackened with soot, and the logs inside it were charred. A stack of logs and peat moss leaned haphazardly against the surround, drawing the eye to the stonework on the walls that looked as though they had stood in place for hundreds of years. The arches that broke the space into clustered areas looked smooth from time instead of a builder’s tools. The tables were crammed together in typical New York style, and the patrons clamored to be heard over the sounds of the open kitchen and bartenders slinging drinks. It was stunning in its authenticity—and if there was anything Aidan was a full expert on, it was medieval taverns.
Gregory led him through a heavy curtain, and when it fell closed behind him, the noise lessened considerably. Emma sat at the table, her deep golden hair piled atop her head in a haphazard knot, secured with two sticks that looked as though they’d be useful in a fight. Her face glowed in the candlelight, and her eyes brightened when she saw him.
“Mr. MacWilliam, hello,” she said warmly, standing as he came closer. He took her hand again and kissed the back ofher knuckles, careful to linger a fraction of a second longer than necessary. He caught her blush.
“Thank you for meeting me here,” he said. He handed his jacket to Gregory and said, “We’ll have whatever the special is tonight. Send back a bottle of Jameson and one of pinot noir”—he looked to Emma, who nodded her assent—“then we’re not to be bothered except by Cian, who will tell the staff of any needs we may have.”
“Very good, sir.” Gregory waited for Emma to sit, then fanned her napkin over her lap. Aidan waved him away, and as soon as the curtain dropped, she sat back and crossed her arms.
“This is a beautiful restaurant,” Emma said, smoothing the napkin over her lap. She glanced closer at it, then held it up. “Look! This is the same design as the front door!”
He’d been very specific in the creation of that door. The stained glass was thicker than regulation, and looked as though it had been pulled from the Book of Kells—intricately designed images surrounded a capitalC. Throughout many of the details, smaller instances of the letterMwere interwoven, with leaves of ivy snaking their way around each line of the letter, swords slicing through it. The linen napkins had that sameMembroidered in a light silver, in the corner. He was pleased she noticed it.
“Impressive,” she admitted. “Very impressive.”
“Hmm,” he replied, stroking his chin. “You could be talking of many things. My command of the English language? No, no…we already covered that.” He furrowed his brow in mock concentration, then snapped his fingers. “Ah. You must mean my memory. When a woman says she likes something, it behooves a man to pay attention.”
Emma regarded him curiously. “Actually, I was talking about yourcommandof the staff here. What is it about you that makes them snap to attention? Is it your presence? Your authoritative voice? Your good looks?” she teased.
“Or,” Aidan replied dryly, “it could be that I’m the owner.” He took pleasure in the way her mouth dropped open into a perfect littleO. “Which brings me immediately to business. What did you think?” He jerked his head toward the binder, which sat between them on the table.
Emma toyed with the edge of the tablecloth. “That innocent little binder holds a whole lot of information, Mr. MacWilliam.”
“Aye,” he agreed. He kept his breathing even and his face impassive, but he couldn’t control his heart as it sped up slightly.
“At first, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing,” she admitted. “I was quite surprised.”
“Surprised?” he asked.
She took a sip of her water. “Yes. Very surprised. It’s not every day I’m handed a binder that contains not just a lengthy and very thorough contract for publicity management, but also an entire lot of medieval artifacts up for auction.”
“I wonder what youarehanded every day,” Aidan mused.
“Nothing like this,” she replied in the same dry tone he used a moment earlier. “The point is, I thought it would be easy enough for me to search for these items online. Imagine my surprise when I couldn’t find any of them.”
“Surprise. There’s that word again,” he murmured. The server entered with the bottles of whiskey and wine, and Aidan waited for him to pour. Emma gave her nod, and the server left as quietly as he had come.
Aidan raised his glass. “To our partnership.”
“I haven’t accepted yet,” Emma reminded him, although she did tap her glass against his. “In fact, I’m quite interested to find out how you obtained these images. This auction is closed until twenty-four hours prior to its start. And, as this binder wasn’t made in the last hour, I have to wonder how it came to be in your possession.”
Aidan peered at the binder. “Did you sign the contract?”
“No.”
“Then I’m afraid I can’t tell you how it came to be in my possession.” He watched her struggle with herself for a moment as he enjoyed another sip of his drink. He smiled in appreciation. The more expensive whiskeys be damned; Jameson was a fine display of Irish excellence.
“I need to have my legal team—”
“Absolutely not.”
She leveled a stare at him that had, perhaps, made lesser men quake. “I am not a lawyer, Mr. MacWilliam. You’re asking me to sign a legal document, one that I don’t fully understand. That’s unfair and wrong.”
Colin would appreciate that mindset.Aidan reached across the table and opened the binder. “Then let’s go over it, line by line,” he suggested. He motioned her to move her chair around to him, and she complied, albeit grudgingly.
“Go ahead. Ask me your questions.”
“You’re not my lawyer,” she pointed out.
