Page 13 of Marigold and the Marquess
“I don’t,” he said tersely. He still had the scars from his last interrogations while held prisoner, so this was not a preferred pastime of his by any means. “I am not in the habit of answering to anyone.”
“Lord Muir,” the curator said in a helpful tone, “I saw the whole thing and can tell the constables anything they wish to know.”
“That would be most appreciated,” Leo acknowledged. “Thank you, Mr. Smythe-Owens.”
Having resolved this matter, the curator and Marigold now set about opening the crate. “Watch your fingers, Miss Farthingale. The wood is a bit splintered.”
Leo sank into the imposing leather chair behind the duke’s desk and watched the curator and Marigold begin to methodically sort through the crate. They took note of each artifact and assigned to it a specific series of letters and numbers. “The letter represents the animal to which the bone or skull belongs,” Marigold explained as she worked. “We also assign two sets of numbers to the particular fragment. The first indicates its exact position on the animal and the next simply indicates the number it corresponds to in our logbook.”
She then returned to her work.
Leo did not think he would get anything done if she were his colleague and they were assigned a project together.
She was utterly delicious and he could stare at her all day.
Fortunately, they did not have much reason to be thrown together going forward. She would be caught up in the whirlwind of her debut and the excitement of putting together a new museum exhibit.
Either one of those duties would keep her fully occupied.
He doubted she would have a moment to catch her breath.
It was for the best.
He had no time for Marigold while on the hunt for the traitor who had ambushed his royal delegation and put him into enemy hands.
This traitor to England probably thought him long since dead.
He was not.
Indeed, he was very much alive and thirsting for revenge.
Things were about to get nasty.
“Miss Farthingale, are we done? Shall I close up the crate?” the curator asked, awaiting her direction.
Leo decided he liked this little man because he treated Marigold with respect. It was no small thing because she was young and beautiful. Few men would ever take her seriously. Even he had spent much of the time gawking at her.
How could he not?
She was so lovely.
Leo rose from the duke’s chair. “It is getting late, Miss Farthingale. I had better get you and your maid home.”
“But what about the constables?”
Mr. Smythe-Owens jumped in to respond. “I’m sure Mr. Carver and Mr. Finn are at this moment telling them everything they need to know. I’ll add my statement to theirs. I expect the magistrate himself will come around to see Lord Muir at his home within the next day or two. Do not worry for your safety, Miss Farthingale. Those men will never be released.”
“Thank you, Mr. Smythe-Owens,” Marigold said with a nod. “I’m sure they will remain locked up, but I would like to know their names. I intend to report them to the Duke of Lotheil. He is chairman of the Royal Society and must be made aware. These academic societies have lowered their standards to a shocking degree.”
Leo frowned.
This innocent was on a crusade to make the world a better place, which meant she was bound to run into trouble. He fully intended to protect her, but he had other matters on his mind and did not need to be constantly pulling her out of scrapes. “Miss Farthingale, I suggest you concentrate on your skull and bones. Mr. Smythe-Owens will report their names to me and I will speak to Lotheil about them.”
She did not look pleased. “Why you and not me?”
“Because I am a marquess and you are not.”
A blush he recognized as the heat of anger ran up her cheeks.
