“Why, of course I can. I’m quite good at finding things,” she assured him.
Which begged the obvious question. “Then why haven’t you found it already?”
“It never occurred to me to try.”
“It never…occurred…to you.” He said the words slowly, as if that would help clarify things. It did not. He stared at her, baffled. “Do you not like emeralds?”
If she noted the sarcasm in his tone, she didn’t show it. Her white teeth sank into her rosy bottom lip. She chewed thoughtfully. “No, I don’t suppose I do,” she said at last. “They are very green. I like green, but it sometimes turns my complexion yellow.”
He laughed. He couldn’t help it. She was so utterly maddening. That emerald could support him, his friends, and his mother for the rest of their natural lives, but she turned up her aristocratic nose because of the color.
“Besides,” she said, “I could hardly do it alone, could I? If the hiding place were easily accessible, someone would have discovered it long ago. Finding Scipio’s hoard will be very dirty work. Treasure hunting usually is, I suspect.”
That, it was. Very dirty, and often gruesome and dangerous, to boot. A man sometimes had to pry treasure from cold, dead hands. Sometimes those hands were still flesh covered, and sometimes they were not. Either way, it was not a suitable endeavor for a lady.
He grimaced. “Lady Claire—”
“Yes?” Her gentle sway toward him was quite unconscious, he would wager.
He inhaled sharply. She smelled…expensive. Of sweet flowers and clean powder. How would she smell if he agreed to her mad scheme and allowed her to lead him on a treasure hunt? Of dirt, decay, and rot, no doubt. Her fine silk dress would be torn, her soft skin bruised and scraped. Lady Claire was not fit for such work.
They would not find the treasure.
And her father would kill him.
No. He would not allow her to tempt him from his determined path, not for all the emeralds in Africa. For all he knew, the jewel was naught but legend. Surely, he wouldn’t stake her life and his livelihood on an old wives’ tale.
No, he would not.
She was too coddled and innocent and—
He crossed his arms, and her cheeks turned a pretty shade of pink as her gaze dropped to the muscles that bulged in his arms.
And she was attracted to him, damn it all!
Wasn’t that just the terrible way of things? One always wanted exactly what one shouldn’t. Such as the answering desire he felt stir in his gut…
How galling.
Lady Claire would destroy them both, and the poor foolish girl hadn’t the faintest idea. It wasn’t that she was so beautiful, for she was not. No, indeed. It was far worse than that. She was interesting. That was so much harder to resist than a pretty face.
“As tempting as your scheme is”—and he was sorely tempted—“I must decline. My time here in Bath will be short and very busy. My answer is no.”
“No?” she repeated, as though she had never heard the word before.
Perhaps she hadn’t. Perhaps no one had ever faced those eager brown eyes and managed anything other than “yes.”
He took a self-preserving step back. “The scrolls will be delivered to the marquess this afternoon. Is there anything further you wish to see?” he asked politely.
She shook her head.
“Then I bid you good day, Lady Claire.”
He knew it was abominably rude to leave her standing there, but what choice did he have? Another moment with her, and he would weaken.
He chose to flee.
Chapter Six
Claire frowned at Colin’s retreating figure. That had not gone as well as she had hoped.
Nay, not just hoped. Expected. Colin was a treasure hunter. She was offering a treasure to be hunted. Why, therefore, had he declined? Was he so put off by her that he couldn’t stand her company?
But she hadn’t done any of the usual things that bored her friends and annoyed her mother.
“Claire!”
She looked up to see Adelaide bustling into the room. Claire instantly changed her frown to a smile. “Hello, dear.”
“I was only just informed you were here.” Adelaide looked about the drawing room, and her gaze landed on the scrolls. “Are you still awaiting Mr. Smith?”
Claire shook her head. “He has come and left already.”
“Good heavens. You weren’t alone for very long, were you? It’s no matter, really. Will you stay for tea?”
“I would like that, thank you.”
Adelaide rang a bell, and a maid promptly appeared. “Please have a tray brought in and ask Miss Mukherjee to join us.”
Claire perked up further. She did not understand Colin’s reluctance to find Scipio’s hoard, but perhaps Riya would be of help in some way. She had travelled a long journey with him, after all. She must have some information on how his mind worked.
The tea tray arrived, and Riya appeared, looking lovely in a blue morning dress, her hair once again bound in a long braid. “How delightful to see you again, Claire.”
“And you.” Claire cocked her head thoughtfully. The woman spoke English very well. Languages were not an easy thing to learn. Claire knew several ladies of the ton whose French was abominable. Surely, Colin would respect the opinion of a woman of such intelligence. And if that woman thought he should hunt Cleopatra’s Emerald, he might be inclined to agree.
Adelaide poured the tea. “Milk and sugar?”
“A little of each, please. Thank you,” Claire said, accepting the steaming cup from her friend.
“Was your meeting with Mr. Smith successful?” Adelaide asked as she made a cup for Riya.
“No,” Claire said unhappily. She peered into her teacup, inhaling the sweet aroma.
Riya turned to her in surprise. “No? He told me just now that you had purchased every scroll we have. Did you not like the price? I assure you it was fair. He would not cheat you.”
“I am satisfied with the price,” Claire said absently. Did Colin ever join the ladies for tea? Or did he deem it too frivolous? She sighed deeply.
Adelaide cleared her throat delicately. “Ahem.”
Claire looked up to find both women staring at her. Her cheeks turned hot.
“May I ask what you found unsatisfying, then?” Riya asked quietly.
Claire glanced between the women. She could not confess her sudden feelings for a man who was virtually a stranger. They were too new and far too dear. Best to keep those feelings locked away for a while longer, to protect them from those who would attempt to dissuade her. She knew it sounded ridiculous to fall in love with a man at first sight. But ridiculous or not, it was true. She loved him.
“I had hoped Mr. Smith would assist me with a project, but he was not interested,” she said finally. But perhaps Riya could change his mind. “You must know him well, Riya, having journeyed so far together. I requested his help to find a lost treasure of the Romans, but he declined, as he did not think it could be found. How might I convince him?”
Riya lifted one shoulder. “Offer him more money. That is what interests him.”
Ah! Why had that not occurred to her? “Of course. I shall do that. Thank you. May I ask, how did you convince Mr. Smith and your brother to bring you along?”
“A series of unfortunate events bound us together out of necessity.” Riya sipped her tea.
“Oh?”
“Mr. Smith had often worked for my father as an interpreter. He is quite skilled at languages and earned my family’s trust. Deb was a teacher, but he dreamed of traveling the world. Still, it was a good life, and if our parents had not drowned in a flood we likely would have stayed.”
Claire blanched. “Oh, Riya, I’m so sorry. How dreadful.”
“We loved our parents very much and were distraught at losing them. But it also allowed my brother to travel. He planned to go to Luxor with Mr. Smith, and I would remain with my eldest brother’s family in Tribeni.”
“But of course you could not resist the adventure.” Claire helped herself to a cucumber sandwich and looked at Riya expectantly.
Riya laughed. “I could resist the adventure quite easily, if I had been allowed to marry a man of my choosing. But alas, my brother disapproved of the man I loved, and insisted I marry another. I begged Deb to allow me to join him instead, and he agreed. I am grateful to him, and on the whole, I have enjoyed our adventures. But there were also long days that were dreadfully dull. Dusty tombs hold little interest for me. I prefer the present to the past, and, truth be told, I missed the companionship of women. At home, I spent much of my time with my aunts and cousins.”
“How fortunate you are in Bath, then, for ladies are quite plentiful here,” Claire said. “Have you been to the assembly rooms yet?”
Riya hesitated for the briefest of moments, her gaze darting quickly to Adelaide and back again, and then shook her head. “I have not received permission.”
“It’s my fault, I’m afraid,” Adelaide said with a rueful smile. “It seems my husband’s scandal has preceded us. Fortunately, we are still welcome in all the drawing rooms and dinner parties, if only to serve as entertainment. It is only the master of the assembly rooms that holds his lofty standards dearer than his curiosity.”
Claire frowned. “How absurd. It was only a very little scandal.”
Adelaide’s husband had a son out of wedlock. He had not named the mother, but she was rumored to be a Frenchwoman. Claire had her doubts, however, owing to the child’s mouth, which was remarkably similar to Adelaide’s.
“Half the peerage has done the same,” Claire declared loyally.
“Ah, but they do not raise their illegitimates in their own homes,” Adelaide said. “Nick broke with tradition there.”
“Then he is the better man for it,” Claire said firmly. “James is a dear boy.”
Adelaide’s face glowed with happiness and satisfaction. “I cannot argue either point.”
But Riya shook her head. “It is not you, Adelaide. I am the reason we are not welcome in the assembly rooms. The master finds me…objectionable.”
Claire pursed her lips, troubled. No one would mistake Riya for an English lady, nor even English. “He objects to anyone not found in Debrett’s. Likely, he does not know what to make of you. He does, however, know what to make of my father’s title. Let us try again tonight,” she suggested. “Perhaps your brother and Mr. Smith would like to join us?”
“My brother would like that very much, but Mr. Smith would like that not at all,” Riya said with a smile.
Claire hid her disappointed frown behind her teacup. “I thought Mr. Smith would welcome the opportunity to meet gentlemen who might be interested in purchasing his Egyptian curiosities.”
“Oh, he will be there. He just won’t like it.”
Claire’s spirits lifted again. She would make it worth his time. She would introduce him to the right people, and he would see that she was useful to have around.
If she could do that, surely he would reconsider the hunt for Scipio’s treasure. And once the treasure was his, he would fall in love with her.
Of course he would.
Chapter Seven
Colin awaited the Marquess of Chatwell with a mixture of hope and trepidation. As promised, Colin had come to Chatwell’s home to deliver the scrolls. But the butler, instead of promptly sending him on his way again, had ushered him into a sitting room, for the marquess requested a word with him.
Perhaps the marquess was interested in more than scrolls. Hence the hope.
Or perhaps the marquess had heard about this morning’s interview with his daughter. Hence the trepidation.
Colin tugged anxiously at his cravat. At least he was fully dressed this time, thanks to Nick’s insistence that he not leave the house without a jacket and neckcloth. But he had forgotten how damn uncomfortable English fashion was. He was being strangled by inches.
“Ah, Mr. Smith, here you are,” Chatwell said, entering the room. “Do sit down.”
Colin sat, eyeing the marquess warily as he did so. The man was shorter and rounder than he had expected. His eyes were remarkably similar to Lady Claire’s. There was a spark of intelligence there that could not be ignored. Colin had the uncomfortable feeling that the marquess saw everything.
“How can I help you, my lord?” he asked. “I have a number of items not yet spoken for. Although some magnificent pieces have been claimed, I always reserve the best items for those who can truly appreciate them. If you would care to have a private viewing, that can be arranged.”
“No—well, yes, but that is not what I wish to discuss at this moment.” The marquess pressed his fingertips together and pursed his lips. “What do you know of the Treasure of Scipio?”
A small bead of sweat trickled beneath Colin’s loathsome cravat. He would have lied, had he not been certain the marquess already knew the answer. “Only what Lady Claire told me this morning,” he said with more calm than he felt.
“She has already requested your assistance, then?”
“She has.” Colin hesitated. “I thought it best to decline, I’m afraid.”
“Naturally. The venture has no hope of success.”
Colin opened his mouth to protest and then thought better of it. There was a difference between no hope and miniscule hope, but it seemed unwise to belabor the issue.
“I will speak plainly and trust you to keep my confidence.” Chatwell furrowed his brow rather threateningly. When Colin solemnly nodded his agreement, the frown turned to a smile. “Excellent. Then let me begin by saying my daughter is extraordinary. Really quite extraordinary.”
Colin disagreed. She was…something that he didn’t quite have the word for. But he nodded dutifully.
“When she was eleven, she was nearly gored by a bull. Gave us the fright of our lives. Unfortunately, she rather enjoyed the experience. There have been similar incidents since. Not many, mind you. A mere handful. She sometimes grows restless. She…” The marquess paused, pulling at his mustache. “She puts herself in danger. The last time was when she was seventeen, just after her coming out. She broke her arm jumping from a rooftop. We were grateful it wasn’t her neck.”
Colin started. She broke her arm? Lady Claire purposefully put herself in danger? What madness was this?
Chatwell continued. “Her mother wouldn’t let her leave the house for several months as a result. Claire learned her lesson, I am sure. But she has not been the same since. Oh, she is still my sweet daughter, but she is not the same.” Chatwell held his gaze. “It is my greatest wish that my daughter is happy, and it is my greatest fear that she is not.”
What could Colin say to that? He was grossly unprepared for this frank conversation. By God, he did not know Chatwell or his daughter well enough to be invited so intimately into their lives.
“What would you have me do?” he asked, knowing this must be leading somewhere specific.
“Give her the adventure she seeks, but within necessary parameters to keep her safe,” the marquess said. “She wants a treasure hunt? Very well, she shall have it. But you will ensure that no harm comes to her, and I will ensure that she is not disappointed.”
Colin frowned. “She will be disappointed if she does not find the treasure, and I cannot guarantee she will. As you said yourself, the venture is not likely to be successful. Scipio’s hoard might not even exist. And if it does, it was probably taken long ago.”
Chatwell leaned back in his seat. “You leave that to me. I will arrange for a treasure to be hidden so that she might find it. Old coins, perhaps a knife with Scipio’s crest engraved upon the hilt, and jewels, of course. The emerald is a problem, but she will have to accept that it is merely legend. It was nearly two thousand years ago, after all.”
“You will create the treasure, and I will lead her to find it,” Colin repeated slowly, and somewhat incredulously. “You would deceive your own daughter?”
The marquess waved off
the notion. “Women are delicate creatures, Mr. Smith. Deception is sometimes necessary to protect them from unhappiness.”
Colin thought of the eager glow in Lady Claire’s eyes and hesitated. “Forgive me, but she does not seem unhappy.”
Nor did she strike him as especially delicate…although she clearly needed protection from rampaging bulls and broken arms. But what did he know? She was a lady and ladies were frail, fainting creatures, in his experience. Riya was an exception, but she was strong out of necessity. The opulence of Colin’s surroundings suggested Lady Claire had never needed anything, much less strength.
“At the moment, she is happy. I would like her to stay that way.” Chatwell poured two fingers of brandy and offered it to Colin, who took it reluctantly. “Do we have an agreement?”
“An agreement?” Colin repeated. He cocked his head. “It is my understanding that an agreement traditionally benefits both participants. If you will forgive me, my lord, I can’t help but notice that you have all the rewards, while I have only risk.”
The marquess furrowed his bushy black eyebrows. “What risk is there to be had? There is no real danger. Well, never mind that. You may, of course, keep your share of the jewels we bury. What else do you require?”
Colin considered for a brief moment.
“You have heard of Giovanni Battista Belzoni?” When Chatwell nodded, Colin continued, “I was with him in Luxor last year. He is now in Aswan, as he does not believe there are any further discoveries of interest to make in Luxor. I disagree. I would like to return to Luxor as soon as possible.”
“I see.” Chatwell’s eyes gleamed with interest. “Such explorations and excavations are risky ventures, indeed, and if the Great Belzoni thinks it not worthwhile, well…” He shrugged. “However, I also think Luxor still has great possibilities. I must think on this.”
Colin took a sip of brandy and fought back a grimace. It burned going down in a way beer did not. It didn’t taste very good, either. Why the wealthy insisted on such suffering was a mystery to him.
Wicked With the Scoundrel Page 3
