Shameful heat burned her face. “You see? This is why I disappoint him. I can't remember to keep my mouth closed.”
He smiled again. “I think it's kinda endearing. Who wants to marry a mouse of a woman? I like a gal with fire in her eyes.”
Somehow she couldn't see him with a woman who dared to express herself. Some petite woman with quiet strength might suit him better. Bothered by the image, she quipped, “Then solve all of my problems and propose, won't you?”
Abel opened his mouth, but snapped it shut again.
“See? I made a terrible faux pas. I don't know why he cares whether I become an old maid as long as I'm happy.”
He laughed. “You won’t end up an old maid.”
“No, he's determined to marry me off to Mr. Christensen's nephew.” She couldn't keep the revulsion from filling her voice.
The music ended, the crowd clapped and Abel stared down at her. One hand still rested on her waist. Why couldn't Woefield be a man like Abel? Strong and amusing instead of spoiled and pompous? One look at Woefield told her all she needed to know about him. They'd never suit.
“Andrew Christensen's nephew?” he asked.
She nodded, sick with the thought. “Samuel Woefield. Do you know him?”
“No, but if Maggard has half a heart, he'll never do anything like that to you.” Abel scowled, eyebrows drawn together over his eyes. “Christensen is a snake. I don't even want to think about what the rest of his family is like.”
“How do you know him?” Why was he so familiar with her father's associates?
“Doesn't matter. Let's leave it at I know the type real well.” He started to reach up to his chest, but stopped halfway.
The couples around them moved away from the dance floor. The colorful array of gowns and the gentle tap of shoes against the marble were drowned out by Romy’s desire to abandon herself to Abel's dark gold gaze. If she ever got her fill of that, she might think to ask him more about why he didn't like Christensen.
The ting of metal against crystal made Romy tear her eyes away from him. She looked up at the garland-strung balcony where Christensen stood with a glass of champagne in one hand. On his right, her father lingered behind their host. Staff in dark uniforms swarmed the dance floor, offering champagne to the guests.
Even angry with him, she couldn't deny how handsome Papa looked. In his late forties, with distinguished silver streaks in his dark hair, he never failed to catch the eyes of widows and even a few young, unmarried women. If only he didn't act so serious these days. She worried that settling in one place had ruined his health. The last few months, he acted restless and uneasy.
“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to my humble home.” Christensen's voice boomed throughout the ballroom. The guests’ laughter echoed in the room. “I'm glad each of you could attend tonight. You see, I have an important announcement to make. It concerns my old friend and colleague from the Smithsonian Institute.”
Maggard stepped forward with a short wave to the crowd. His smile didn't quite reach his eyes.
Christensen patted Maggard's shoulder. “Dr. Farrington has agreed to come out of retirement for one last expedition. He's going to search for the legendary Diamond of Uktena. The gem that will draw the medical community and the archeological community together.”
“What?” Romy gasped, covering her mouth with both hands.
Abel's grip tightened around Romy's waist. She tore her eyes away from Christensen to look at him. His expression was dark, his jaw tight.
“Congratulate him now, ladies and gents. He'll be leaving within the week. Most of the preparations are already taken care of.”
“He'll be too damned late.” Abel let go of Romy, turned and forced his way through the crowd.
Confused, Romy stared after him. “Abel? Where are you going?”
Her voice was lost in the thunderous clapping and cheering of the Christensen's guests.
Chapter Four
Abel wove through the crowd. Several people exclaimed at his rudeness, but he didn't pay them any heed. Huber waited at the bottom of the staircase, looking bored by the fuss over Farrington. His eyes glittered when he spotted Abel. “Have a lover’s spat, my friend?”
Abel made a frustrated noise. “Just lead the way.” He gestured at the stairs. Several emotions clogged his mind. Confusion and uncertainty led the race. Could Farrington have planted Romy—his own daughter—to distract Abel after offering his help? He couldn't bring himself to believe it. By her expression she'd been shocked to learn of Farrington's plans. Did she have any idea what Christensen intended to do with the jewel?
Huber cast an eye on the crowd, jerked his head and mounted the stairs. The ballroom was alive with excited talk about the trip and no one seemed to notice the pair leaving. Even in her absurd dress, he lost Romy in the sea of people.
“Stupid, stupid,” he muttered. He'd engaged Maggard's daughter in enjoyable conversation. Getting involved with Romy wouldn't keep her safe at all. He should have known who she was the second he heard her speak. There weren't that many Brits in the country.
The corridor in the south wing was empty. Huber entered the hall first and then motioned Abel in.
“Fourth door on the left. Good luck,” Huber murmured. “I've got to get back before I'm missed.”
Abel nodded. His heartbeat accelerated, partly from fear, the other part excitement. He proceeded down the hall, stopping in front of an ornate door carved with Chinese dragons and heavy brass knobs in the shape of snarling monster heads. He gave it a push; it opened without protest.
Thick rugs muffled the sound of his boots. The library was dark, but the heavy velvet drapes were open, letting in the cold, white light of the moon. He scanned the shelves, catching titles from around the world. But the wide, scarred map cabinet in the center of the room captured his attention.
The drawers opened with a low grate of wood. A neat stack of old maps from the time the French explored the Midwest in the late sixteenth century was on top. His heart thumped liked a frightened rabbit. Grasping the charm that hung from the leather thong around his neck, he ran his thumb along the smooth surface.
He flipped through several maps, studying the topography and pulled out one on the bottom. A crinkled paper showed a detailed layout of the Missouri River and Dakota Territory, though it wasn't as comprehensive as his own maps. Relief fluttered through him. A few scribbles in sloppy handwriting and carefully drawn circles confirmed his ideas about the location. Which meant he was on the right trail.
Beneath the map, a thick bundle of papers caught his attention. He pulled at the twine holding them together. Thumbing through them, he saw each one had information about the Cherokee legend of Uktena, the Horned Serpent. Papers he already had, if in slightly different versions. Disappointment made him frown. The best thing to do now would be to steal the items. It might give him a head start while Farrington's troupe struggled with their destination.
At the bottom of the drawer was a small, brown card. He squinted at the slanted handwriting that gave a brief description of an item and a large number he assumed was a price. There was no address or business name. It looked like an auction card for a set of undated fangs made from unidentified material. They'd been brought to Bismarck in Dakota Territory by an Indian who'd spoken of a curse. Christensen must have purchased them at an auction. Whether he'd learned of their real origin remained to be seen.
Gaslights flared to life around Abel.
He spun. The talisman hung against his shirt as he reached for his Bennett. Romy watched him with more than a hint of curiosity on her face, eyes illuminated by the lamps.
“What are you doing? Dammit, Romy, I almost had heart failure.”
She came closer, running her hand along the back of a tooled leather settee. “I found it odd that you professed to be a fan of my father's, yet you left before congratulating him. It had crossed my mind that you were using me to get to him.” Her eyes flickered over the maps. “I see I was wrong.”
&nb
sp; He sighed. “I wasn't using you. I didn't even know you were related until you mentioned it. Nothing personal, but I have business to take care of here.”
“So you said. What kind of business?” Her movements were casual, but deliberate. Tucking her hands behind her back, she pushed her breasts out.
He raised his eyes to her face. “The kind that doesn't involve women. You wouldn't understand.”
Ignoring the jibe, she came closer. Her eyes locked on his necklace. “What's that around your neck? A fossil of some sort?”
His hand flew to the pendant and stuffed it back down his collar. “Nothing.”
“As someone who's seen a lot of nothing, I can tell you without a doubt it's something. Full of secrets, aren't we, Abel?”
Her lower lip slipped out in a pout. Strawberry red and glistening with the dew from her soft tongue, it tempted him to put the card down and grab her. She stopped inches from him, turned her eyes on his face and smiled so radiantly he forgot what he was doing.
He barely noticed her fingers loosening his string tie, unfastening his collar, and examining the necklace. His gaze dropped down to her low-cut dress. Her stomach flattened against his hips. The ridiculous skirt bunched against his legs. She swayed just enough to entice him further. Choking back a groan, he struggled to raise his eyes again.
She turned the trinket in her fingers. “It's pretty, but not a fossil. A . . . dear me. A fang of some sort if I'm not mistaken.”
She looked up at him. Regaining his senses, he retreated until he bumped into the map cabinet. Abel cleared his throat. “You are mistaken. It's an old rock I found in Texas. There's nothing here for you to see. In fact, you should be downstairs luring in a husband.”
Her brow furrowed. “You're a terrible liar. It's a barb or fang, though I can't place what kind. Not like anything I've seen before unless it's prehistoric. It doesn't appear to be a fossil, yet it's so large.”
The fang wasn't the only thing in the room that fell under that description. The borrowed trousers were getting uncomfortably tight. He prayed she wouldn't notice.
His retreat didn't keep her from coming at him again. She plucked the fang from his chest and watched it gleam in the light as it dangled from the leather. She ran her finger from the top to the pointed tip. “There is a curious crack in it. What is it made of?”
His mind raced to catch up with the conversation. “Obsidian.”
“I doubt that very much. It's too light. I dare say it would fetch a handsome price on the market if it were a genuine artifact.” Blue eyes widened then narrowed, as she looked between him and the maps he'd lifted out of the drawer. Her coyness fell away like leaves in the fall. “You're a treasure hunter. You found out that Papa is going to search for the Diamond of Uktena, but you plan to steal it first.”
He snatched the fang from her fingers. “Why would I want to steal a—” He gave up the pretense. “First of all, it isn't stealing if it isn't in anyone's possession. Second, I'm not a treasure hunter.”
“Then why did you break into the party? Why are you sneaking around Christensen's house and why are you trying to hide the necklace? And it is stealing if you're going to sell a priceless artifact to the highest bidder on the black market.”
Her curls bobbed with each question. He frowned. “I don't need a lecture from some little chit whose daddy is the biggest treasure hunter in the world.”
Romy poked a finger into his chest. “Take it back. He's an archeologist and an adventurer. When he finds valuables he turns them over to the proper authorities.”
He pushed her finger away. “I'll bet you a thousand dollars he's not going to do it this time.”
Her eyes narrowed into slits, half-hidden behind a thick fringe of lashes. “You're wrong.”
“When characters like Christensen are involved, all they care about is the money.”
She eyed him suspiciously. “What do you mean?”
“I mean it would be the biggest discovery of our time. Of any time. It's no mere gem, no ornament to put on a shelf.”
"I have some knowledge of the Diamond," she defended.
The admission was too nonchalant. Which made him wonder why she wasn't brimming with excitement about Maggard's upcoming venture. Had mere curiosity led her to follow him?
He tucked the fang back inside his shirt. "I doubt anyone could put a price on its worth, but there are those willing to try. Christensen is one of them."
She stared at him dubiously. "Because it's supposed to come from a mythical serpent?"
"You really don't understand, do you?"
"I'm not familiar with all the native legends, no. There are quite a lot of them."
He debated telling her. It wouldn't benefit Romy to know what he was doing. After tonight it was unlikely he'd see her again.
"Ask your father. He might know more than I do. I have to leave now. I'd appreciate it if you kept our little rendezvous quiet. It was nice meeting you. Maybe we can do it again sometime."
He snatched up the papers, flashed a grin and started for the door. The rustle of skirts alerted him that she was right behind him, but he didn't slow down. Not until a cold metal barrel pressed against the back of his neck.
"Stay where you are."
Romy's voice was hard and all business. Abel raised his hands. She drew the gun back and came around to face him. The pistol was no little thing, not the type a dainty female would carry for protection. He stared at the brass-plated weapon. A Lighthouser .745, not as large as his Bennett, but no play toy either. The metal gleamed maliciously in the light.
“The 1885 model? I wasn't aware they were givin' those to just anyone,” he said, attempting to relieve some of the tension between them. Anything to distract her for just a moment.
She smiled at him, but it was frosty. "I'll have that bit of nothing, if you please."
"If I don't please?"
"I don't have to worry about bloodying Mr. Christensen's carpets. Not much, anyway. You're right, not just anyone can get one. It's all in who you know. The 1885 has a fine, but deadly beam. As soon as it hits you, it'll close the wound. How thoughtful of someone to design a weapon that both kills and cauterizes to minimize the mess."
Romy was a woman of many facets, like the fabled Diamond. She sounded perfectly cheerful about shooting him.
"I can't give you the fang." Trying to keep his voice steady, he watched the gun shake a little in her grip. It was too heavy for her and would be easy to knock out of her hand if he couldn't talk her into putting it down.
"I have the feeling it's a crucial detail in your mission, Mr. Courte."
He sighed. "I don't know for certain."
"Tell me what you do know. Or you and my Lighthouser may become a little better acquainted. I wonder how much noise you'll make if I shoot your foot?"
"More than you want," he promised.
A quick smile flitted across her face. "Don't count on it."
Not in any hurry to find out, he admitted, “The fang is solid proof that Uktena exists.”
She frowned. “And who is Uktena exactly?”
“Depends on who you ask.”
“I'm asking you,” she returned.
“Uktena isn't your typical serpent. It’s got a reputation for being very nasty. Souls are its favorite meal and its lair is supposed to be covered with the bones of all the warriors who fought it. Rumor has it that this sparkly rock stuck in its forehead can bring power and riches to whoever wields it. Better still, the Diamond cures illnesses. Any disease you can think of. You can see why Christensen would be interested.”
“And you believe in this jewel?”
Abel hesitated. “You wouldn't understand.”
The hammer clicked back. The pistol gave off a faint whine as the coil warmed up. “Let me be the judge of that.”
He didn't want to have that conversation. Through the open door he heard the chatter of the guests and the sounds of the instruments taking up again. He needed to go before Christensen or s
omeone else came upstairs. “A map can go anywhere, show anything, but the fang is the genuine article. Said to be pulled from Uktena's very head."
"But?" she prompted.
He frowned. "It's cursed."
The gun barrel dropped an inch. "Cursed?"
"Cursed is a matter of opinion. Everyone knows by the very nature of evolution some serpents have defense mechanisms that enable them to inject—”
She lifted the gun again.
He swallowed his wordy explanation. “Its fangs are venomous even when separated from its mouth.”
“Well, that's hardly a curse. Many species are venomous.” She looked him up and down like she was searching for proof he was an escaped mental patient. "You mean if one isn't careful, he or she might accidentally . . . what? Succumb to ancient snake venom? It seems quite harmless at the moment.”
The gun barrel wavered a bit. He saw her fighting skepticism and would've laughed if someone had told him about ancient snake fangs a few months ago. Now dread and sadness dragged his heart down. “That's what I mean.”
She moved the gun closer to his chest. “Since you aren't downstairs shaking my father's hand, but lurking around up here, I can only assume you mean to do him some harm with this fang of yours.”
“No, I—” He bit his tongue.
“Then what are you up to?”
“Finding the cure, Romy.”
“Cure?”
He shrugged. "An anti-venom. All I know is that the Diamond produces a clear, thin liquid that cures any malady. You only have to think a cure into existence."
"Sounds like someone is telling you fairy tales. Where did you get this information?" Her eyes glittered with disapproval.
A smile formed on his face. If she only knew. "You wouldn't have me give away all of my secrets."
"You're right. It's not important. Fortune seekers will do anything to get information. I don't like your kind, Abel. If the Diamond does as you say, it's worth much more than the usual archeological treasure. I'll see to it that Papa has your information. To keep it safe.”
“You can't do that, Romy,” he protested. “I have to find it before Christensen.”
The Treasure Hunter's Lady Page 4
