by Lenora Bell
She should have gone to a hotel.
Being in the same house with him was like dousing a fire with oil.
This entire elaborate ruse of theirs—and the events that had led up to it—the hate-kissing, the faux wedding plans . . . the whisky incident. Was it all in the name of archaeology, all in the name of her noble goals? Or was it purely selfish?
Had she done it simply because she wanted to be near him?
Was that why she was here, in this house filled with family, pushed and pulled by their whims, when she could be in a quiet, lonely room in an anonymous hotel?
You know the answer to that question, her heart whispered.
She curled up in a chair. The Minerva coin was still around her throat. Her talisman against the dangers of love. Or was it something else?
She unclasped the gold chain and held the coin in her hand. Was she wearing this for another reason?
The thought skirting the edges of her mind was nearly too terrible to contemplate.
Did she still have some pathetic hope that Raven would suddenly come to his senses and . . . what? Declare that he loved her?
And if she secretly hoped that he might love her still . . . did that mean . . .
Bollocks!
She gripped the coin in her palm, the edges digging into her flesh.
She couldn’t love him. What a ridiculous thought. She would never be that stupid.
The noise of carriage wheels made her jump out of her chair and run to the window.
Raven alighted from the carriage but not Sir Charles.
She waited for the sound of Raven in the hallway. She thought he might stop by her chamber to explain where he’d been, but his footsteps passed her door.
No explanation. No apology.
They were supposed to be equal partners and she had a right to know what he’d been doing. She would not be excluded, or relegated to the role of silent observer.
She would not be his footnote, and she was going to tell him as much. Why should she be afraid to go to his chamber? She’d faced cutthroats in dark alleys. She was afraid of nothing.
Not even her own treacherous heart.
She shut the Minerva coin necklace in a small compartment in her traveling case. She didn’t need to wear it anymore.
She rolled up the map and stuck the list of suspects down her bodice.
His door was literally five steps from hers. Five confident, purposeful steps.
A business meeting between two professional colleagues with the same goal, nothing more.
The door was ajar. She knocked loudly and pushed it open.
She stopped cold.
Turn around. You’re not equipped for this.
Raven lounged in a chair by the fireplace in only trousers and a shirt. No boots. No coat.
His shirt hung open, exposing his neck and a breathtaking view of his upper chest.
Firelight glinting in copper eyes. Shadows playing across the delineated muscles of his chest.
Just like in her dreams, but even more beautiful.
She swallowed.
“What’s this?” he asked with the devilish grin that used to melt her heart. “I didn’t ask for a curvaceous lady with amethyst eyes to be delivered to my chamber.”
“And I didn’t expect to find a half-clothed rogue waiting for me,” she said indignantly.
Chapter 15
Raven stretched his arms over his head and cradled the back of his neck with interlaced fingers.
He didn’t have to hide the scars on his chest because she’d already seen them.
“I thought you were Sir Charles’s valet bringing my formal attire for tomorrow’s diplomatic event.”
“There’s a chill in the air, Raven.” Her gaze lingered on his chest. “You should be wearing more clothing.”
“That’s why I’m sitting by the fire. No point in dressing when he’ll only undress me.”
The heat in her eyes made his stomach muscles clench.
The way she stared made him want to give her a better show. He flexed his pectorals and her gaze intensified.
“Don’t you have a night robe?” She stopped staring at his chest and searched the room. “Ah ha! I see one there. Do put it on.”
He grinned. “Why, are you going to ravish me?”
“Certainly not. I’m here for a meeting between colleagues on a shared mission, and it won’t be much of a professional meeting if one of the participants is practically naked.”
“The valet could come at any moment. Do you really want to be caught in my room?”
She closed the door. “I’ll hide if anyone comes.”
He stood. “Can we make this a breakfast meeting?”
“No we cannot.” She unrolled the map she carried and spread it out on a table, weighting the edges with books she found on a shelf. “I don’t want to be teamed with you any more than you want to be teamed with me, but we must develop a plan of attack. In tandem.”
“In tandem usually implies that one of us will be in front of the other.”
“Together, then,” she said impatiently, touching the simple knot of hair at the nape of her neck. “As equal partners.”
Together.
The problem was that he liked the idea of being together with her far too much. Together as in . . . together.
Joined. Connected.
As in . . . his hands connecting with her hair and pulling that simple knot free so he could see her black hair tumble around her shoulders.
He buried the idea as quickly as it arose.
“I thought we had developed a plan,” he said lightly. “We attend the diplomatic event tomorrow and find out whether any other country has reported missing antiquities so that we may eliminate more suspects.”
“I thought we’d decided on a plan as well, but then you snuck out of the house earlier with Sir Charles, going Lord only knows where.”
So that’s why her eyes sparked brighter than the fire in the hearth. “You didn’t like being left alone this evening.”
She crossed her arms. “I did not.”
He wasn’t going to apologize for going out with Sir Charles. He’d done nothing wrong. They’d visited his club and Raven had talked to several European diplomats. “You didn’t enjoy your evening with Lady Sterling?”
She made an impatient noise in the back of her throat. “That’s not the point, Raven. Here’s the crux of the matter. You knew precisely what I was doing this evening. A quiet repast with genteel ladies. I, on the other hand, have absolutely no idea how you spent your evening. And I must say that my imagination ran away from me. You accuse me of being theatrical, impulsive, and unguarded, but you could say something in the heat of passion in a bawdy house and you could expose the entire mission and I won’t have—”
“Indy, I didn’t go to a bawdy house.” He hadn’t even thought that she might make that assumption.
She sniffed. “I don’t care if you did.”
She was lying. She did care. And he cared about making her think better of him. He was sick to death of trying to make her hate him.
He put on the robe and knotted it loosely around his waist. “I went with Sir Charles to his club with an eye to assessing whether any other diplomats might be aware that the stone is missing. All anyone could talk about was the theft of the chair from the Louvre.”
“Well you could have informed me that you were going out,” she said stiffly. “If I’d been the one sneaking off like that you would have scolded me for being reckless.”
“You’re right. I should have told you where I was going. I’m not accustomed to having to answer to anyone for my actions.” The Foreign Office left him mostly to his own devices. No questions asked if he achieved the desired results.
He approached her. “I won’t leave you alone again without an explanation.”
During the day, he amended silently. At night he would continue his preparations for the raid on Le Triton’s stronghold.
He needed to confirm the
exact number of guards patrolling the estate.
Malcolm had said he would assemble a team to assist with the mission, but Raven hadn’t yet received any sign.
He bent over the map. “What’s this, a map of Paris?”
“I’ve circled the residences of all the key players, as well as other locations that could conceal the stone.” She tapped her finger on the map. “Let’s approach this like an archaeological excavation. We know the item is in Paris, but we must narrow our search. We know it’s not at the Louvre, so that leaves the Russian ambassador’s residence, here.” She pointed it out on the map. “Or Le Triton’s estate, here.”
Why did she have to be so damnably intelligent? He had to throw her off of the Le Triton trail. “You didn’t circle the palace?”
“I don’t suspect the French monarch. I think he’s too busy suppressing the rumors of an uprising in his own court.”
“Agreed. But you haven’t yet consulted Lady Catherine. Doesn’t she know every antiquities enthusiast in Paris?”
“Lady Sterling informed me that Lady Catherine is on the guest list for tomorrow, as she’s a well-connected British citizen living in Paris. I’ll consult with her tomorrow.”
She’d thought of everything. “Excellent work.”
“Thank you. I also have a list of suspects.” She extracted a tiny scroll of paper from her bosom and handed it to him. The paper was still warm from being next to her skin.
He’d never envied a scrap of paper before.
She’d listed four suspects: Le Triton; Beauchamp (crossed off and replaced with “other antiquities party?”); the Russians (Ambassador Petrov); and . . . He scrutinized the list again. “Why did you include Sir Charles?”
“You may be too blind to see it, but his wife is extremely unhappy with him right now and that leads me to believe he may be having an amour with a courtesan, which would open him to blackmail and to being influenced on behalf of the French.”
Remarkable.
She’d just handed him the exact same list that Sir Malcolm had given him in the confidential dossier.
“I agree. These are our primary suspects.” He strode to the fireplace and threw the list into the flame.
“What did you do that for?” she asked indignantly.
“One of the first rules of . . . sleuthing.” He’d been going to say espionage. He was losing his edge. She made him careless. She made him care. “One of the first rules is leave no evidence to be found. The list could have fallen into the wrong hands.”
“You never make lists when you’re hunting antiquities?”
“I keep everything here.” He tapped the side of his head.
She snorted. “Forgive me if I’m skeptical. I’ve seen how much brandy you consume. Do you even have a strategy . . . or are you just hoping for luck?”
“I don’t require a strategy. I use my intuition. I know when I’m on the right trail, I scent antiquities like a bloodhound.”
“Intuition,” she scoffed. “Sounds to me as though you just don’t like preparing or planning for anything. You hate anything that might mean forethought, responsibility, or commitment.”
“My instincts and intuition have served me well. I found the Wish Diamond necklace in that rusted trunk in an abandoned farmhouse in Provence, remember?”
“You’ve been extraordinarily lucky, that’s all. But sooner or later, luck runs out. Then what will you fall back upon?”
“My good looks and charm.”
“I’ve had to rely on hard work and persistence.” She moved restlessly toward the window. “Why do you keep the diamond, anyway? Aren’t you afraid someone will try to steal it from your London townhouse?”
“I carry it with me.”
She stopped moving. “Right now? You have it with you, in Paris?”
He indicated the black velvet case sitting atop the escritoire. “It’s right there.”
“Are you serious? You keep a diamond that used to belong to Alexander the Great out in the open? I thought you would have it under lock and key and guard watch.”
“Sometimes hiding something in plain sight is the best way to ensure it’s overlooked. You didn’t notice it, did you?”
She opened the velvet box, lifted the sparkling necklace, and held it toward a lamp. She touched the enormous purple diamond at the center of the necklace. “It’s breathtaking. Such a true purple. This really should be displayed in a museum for the delight of the world.”
“It really should be displayed around your neck.” He said it without thinking. Probably because he’d pictured her so many times wearing the necklace.
Indy clad in the Wish Diamond and nothing more.
“I’ve never cared for jewels,” said Indy.
Despite her professed disinterest, she lifted the necklace and clasped it around her neck. The motion thrust her breasts toward him in an entirely distracting manner, even though she wore a modestly-cut gown of an olive-green hue.
She moved to the standing glass in the corner of the room and looked at her reflection.
She dangled the necklace against the base of her throat. The large purple diamond found a resting place over her breastbone. Not even a hint of curving bosom to be seen, but for some reason the innocent swath of skin was the most erotic sight he’d ever beheld.
Raven held his breath, attempting to prolong the moment. Indy watching herself in the glass, her eyes nearly the same color as the diamond.
He wanted to make her eyes spark with desire.
He wanted to give her joy.
Give her the necklace. Give her his dried-up husk of a heart.
“If Lucy saw you with that diamond around your neck, she’d insist on painting your portrait,” he said, moving closer, drawn by her beauty.
She wasn’t looking at him; she watched her own reflection in the glass, so he allowed himself to gaze at her with all of the longing and regret filling his mind, expanding his heart.
“Isn’t the necklace in high demand by collectors?” she asked.
“Many have attempted to purchase it from me.”
She turned abruptly and he struggled to mask his emotions. “I have an idea,” she said, her eyes shining. “You said that Le Triton’s estate is impenetrable.”
Had he said that? He thought back to their conversation in her brother’s study. She’d accused him of being friends with Le Triton, and he’d responded by saying that Le Triton ran a criminal organization from his impenetrable stronghold in Paris . . . Gods! What was wrong with him? He really was cocking this up.
“Ah,” he cleared his throat. “I think you’re right to focus on the Russian ambassador, Mr. Petrov. He’ll be here tomorrow and—”
“Raven, I have an idea.” Her smile glowed with excitement. “I know how we can solicit an invitation to visit Le Triton’s estate. I’ll wear the Wish Diamond to his gaming house at the Palais Royal. He’ll see me wearing it, you’ll offer to negotiate a sale, but only if he shows you his prized collection.”
“Absolutely out of the question.” Raven stalked to the fireplace and rested his hands on the mantelpiece. “I won’t use you as bait.”
Malcolm had made the same suggestion and Raven had refused. The word was already out that he wanted to sell the necklace.
Indy approached him from behind. Don’t turn around. She could persuade him to do anything with those eyes of hers. Don’t look at her.
“You’re right, Raven. You won’t use me for anything. I won’t be used. Ever. I demand to be respected, listened to . . . trusted. I’m asking you to meet me halfway in this endeavor. You keep making these decisions that you think are for my own good and I will not have decisions made on my behalf.”
“I won’t put you in danger.”
“Put me. Use me. You seem to think that you control everything and I control nothing.”
He turned around and then wished to hell he hadn’t. The hurt in the depths of her eyes made him want to bash his head against the marble mantelpiece.
&nbs
p; She wanted him to meet her halfway, to trust that she knew what she was doing and that her skills on this mission were as valid and valuable as his own.
She demanded his respect and he could give that to her. She demanded that he trust her enough to involve her in the plan to topple Le Triton. As much as his entire being railed against the idea, perhaps it was time to trust her skills, and her ideas.
“Indy,” he began, but had to pause for breath, for calm. “You’re drawn to these powerful women in history because you’re proudly carrying their standard into the modern era. A queen such as Cleopatra would have worn a jewel such as this into battle.”
Her challenging gaze faltered. “You’re agreeing to my plan?”
“I’m saying that I . . . that I trust you.” And he trusted himself to protect her. They’d go to the gaming house for an hour, no more. She’d display the diamond, he’d bring her home safely.
The pain in her expression receded. “The necklace will dazzle everyone into spilling their secrets tomorrow.”
“You’ll dazzle them.”
“Not I. I’m not much of a seductress. I don’t have any feminine wiles, as my mother loves to remind me.”
He drew another deep breath. Move this conversation back to surface topics. Keep everything light and joking between them.
“You don’t require feminine wiles with a bosom like yours,” he said in a joking voice.
She glanced down at her chest. “That’s not enough. I may have to use flirtation to encourage the suspects to talk. I should practice the art of seduction. I know that’s one of the tools in the espionage arsenal.”
“No, no.” Not a good idea. “You don’t require practice. You’re quite seductive enough already.”
“Flattery will get you nowhere, Raven. You know that’s a load of horse droppings. I’m about as seductive as a porcupine.” She tilted her head to one side. “Though with the right accoutrements . . . perhaps I could pass for a coquette.”
“I really don’t think such artifice is required for—”
“Picture me in a low-cut evening gown with my bosom thrust up by my corset,” she said with a wicked little smile.
