Page 9 of Lord of Fortune
“We’re coming,” Bowen responded. He helped Egg to his feet, then bent to pick up their bags.
Amelia swept up the lantern.
Bowen’s gaze conveyed a mix of gratitude and wariness. He retrieved the rope, and they started toward the horses. Amelia stole several glances at him. He bore the dark complexion and accent of a Welshman. His hair was also dark, but his eyes were a striking blue, like the lapis her grandfather had given her on her tenth birthday.
“Today has not gone as I planned,” Bowen said. “Beginning with you. How did you know about the dagger?”
She took solace in the irritation buried within his tone, glad to have stopped him from taking her grandfather’s dagger, even though it had ultimately been stolen. “My grandfather found it, as he did the heart.”
Bowen was quiet for a few steps, then said, “I wonder, did he know they were fraudulent when he found them, or did he believe them to be real? I should like to ask him, if I may.”
Amelia ground her teeth to keep her emotions at bay. “You can’t. He died this past spring.” Despite her efforts, the loss swept through her. She moved faster, hoping Bowen didn’t see her disquiet.
Bowen bowed his head. “My condolences. If your grandfather found these items, why is one in the Ashmolean and the other hidden in a cave?”
They’d reached Bowen’s and Egg’s horses, and Bowen set his items down to help Egg mount.
Amelia put the lantern next to the bags. “If you think I’m going to share information, you are mistaken.” Again, she relied on bravado. The truth was she didn’t know.
“I see. And here I thought you wanted to be helpful.”
“Offering to tend Mr. Howell’s arm has nothing to do with sharing secrets.” If anything, she felt beholden to Bowen for saving her from certain disaster with that brigand. And if she could glean something helpful into the bargain, so be it. “However, perhaps I ought to demand information from you in exchange for my assistance.”
Egg snorted. “I don’t want your ’elp, then, especially if you’re going to call me ‘Mr. ’owell’.”
Bowen turned to her once he had Egg situated. “Please call him Egg. I know it seems unlikely, but hewillbe more cantankerous if addressed too formally. Now, what do you want to know?” he asked politely. And perhaps with a bit of challenge.
She stiffened her spine. “Why do you think the heart is fake?”
He bent to pick up their belongings and began tucking them into Egg’s saddlebags. The rope and lantern went on Bowen’s horse.
He flicked his deep blue gaze toward her while he worked. “As I told you, I’m an experienced antiquary. I work at the Ashmolean where the faux heart is stored.”
She clenched her fists and bit back a scathing correction.
He continued, “I’ve seen a depiction of the heart by a source who would know what it looked like, and the heart in the museum doesn’t match.”
“In what way?”
Ignoring her question, he glanced about. “Where’s your horse? We can continue this conversation as we travel. Egg’s wound may no longer be bleeding, but it requires attention.”
She didn’t disagree. “Across the road.” She hurried over the dirt track and mounted her horse with the assistance of a rock. When she met them in the lane, Bowen swept his gaze over her.
“I was going to say I should’ve offered my help, but it seems you don’t need it.”
No, she didn’t. She’d been managing quite well on her own for some time now. Not alone, precisely, but her grandfather had been ill the last few years, and she’d spent the majority of her time caring for him.
She pushed his attention back to what she wanted to know. “Tell me why you think the heart in the museum isn’t the real artifact.”
“It’s painted, and the rock beneath it isn’t tourmaline.”
“Why does that prove anything?”
“Because in the picture I’ve seen, the heartistourmaline. It also isn’t gold, and there are no jewels adorning it.”
“That’s just one depiction. If you’re any kind of antiquary at all, you know that stories change over time. The more stories are copied, the more they become legend instead of fact.”
“You’re correct. However, this particular illustration was made directly from a source that would know what the heart looked like.”
