Page 13 of Lord of Fortune
“I’d also like to know why they’d steal a fake dagger,” she said.
“I think it’s likely they don’t know it’s a fake. As far as I know, I’m the only person who thinks the heart in the Ashmolean isn’t the real one. And you’re the first person I’ve told.”
She felt a bit of relief. “I appreciate you not publicizing your suspicions until you can prove them.”
“It will be hard to do that until I find the real artifacts.”
“That’s what you intend?”
He nodded as he stood from the chair. “Thank you for seeing to my hand.”
She gestured toward the salve on the table. “Take that—for you and Egg.”
“Are you sure?”
“I have more at home.”
He picked up the bottle and curled his fingers around the glass. “And where is that?”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “I don’t think that’s something I wish to share with you. I believe our association has reached its natural conclusion.”
He took a step toward her, and she came off the bed, a burst of energy shooting through her. “I don’t think so,” he said softly, but with distinct intention. “Your grandfather had secrets, and I’d like to help you unravel them.”
She scoffed at him. “Only because you think it will help you.”
He squared his shoulders, facing her from just a few feet away. “I won’t lie to you. Yes, it would help me, I think. I’m going to find the real heart, whether you share information with me or not.”
His pledge reminded her that they were at cross-purposes. “You may not lie, but you’ll withhold information.”
“Not if I think it’s important to your safety.” Cross-purposes, but in an apparently friendly way—if he were to be trusted, and she wasn’t sure that he was.
She folded her arms over her chest. It was the only thing she could do to put something between her and him. She couldn’t back up, not with the bed behind her. And why did she want to retreat? There was something predatory about his demeanor, but not threatening. It was…unsettling. But not unpleasant.Damn.
She lifted her chin. “You aren’t going to find the heart because it’s already been found.”
He lifted a shoulder, his gaze boring into hers. “Perhaps, and if that’s the case, so be it. I can’t say I’ll mind working with you.”
Was that supposed to be a compliment? A flirtation? No, it was an honest statement. She wasn’t sure this man flirted. Regardless of what it was, a delicious shiver raced down her spine.
“I haven’t agreed to that,” she said.
“No, but if you want help finding out what else your grandfather didn’t tell you, I’m offering my assistance. Starting with the letter he sent to Burgess. I’ll share it with you.”
“If I agree to work with you?”
He gave a single, slow nod. “It won’t be so bad.”
“What do you expect me to do?”
“I’d like access to your grandfather’s things—books, letters, anything you may think is important. Or not. Everything, actually.”
Reviewing his library and small collection of antiquities was precisely what she intended to do. Which didn’t mean she was ready to share them. Maybe she’d find the answers she sought without seeing the letter he’d written to Burgess. “I’ll think about it.”
The tension in his frame—and there’d been a great deal of it—loosened. But not entirely. His eyes gleamed before he turned from her. “Do that. Good evening, Mrs. Forrest.”
When the door closed behind him, Amelia sagged against the bed. What a puzzling, unnerving man.
And attractive.
