by Amanda Quick
“It is possible that you could prove useful as my assistant, ray lord,” she said slowly.
“Partner, Mrs. Poole. Equal partner. Not assistant.”
“Hmm.”
His smile could have lured any unwary heroine into a crypt, Beatrice thought.
She cleared her throat. “Very well, sir. We have an agreement.”
“Perhaps we should seal this bargain of ours.”
“Seal it? How?” She scowled. “Do you wish to make a written contract, my lord?”
“No, my dear Mrs. Poole. I had in mind something a good deal more interesting.”
Without warning he lowered his head. His mouth closed over hers.
She knew then that if anyone was mad in this chamber tonight, it was she. Surely only a crazed woman would allow a man such as this to set fire to all her senses.
Beatrice wrapped her arms around his neck and held on for dear life.
Chapter 5
The dreadful silence was more ominous than any sound.
FROM CHAPTER FIVE OF The Ruin BY MRS. AMELIA YORK
Leo’s blood surged through his veins. The temperature in the room rose several degrees in an instant. He felt fiercely, violently alive. The sexual desire that poured through him was so intense that it bordered on painful.
He was nearly forty. Well past the stage where a man fell prey to the uncontrollable lusts of youth. His passions had been under tight rein for so long that he had forgotten how it felt to have them out of control.
He had not intended to kiss Beatrice. No, that was a lie. He had intended to kiss her. Indeed, he could see now that he had little choice in the matter. She affected him the way strong spices affected the tongue. She irritated and inflamed. And left him hungry for another taste. Sooner or later he would have kissed her, Leo told himself. But he had not planned to surrender to the urge just then.
Tonight was neither the right time nor the right place. Tonight he was not in full control of himself or the situation.
He was also annoyed because Beatrice had very nearly caused him to lose his temper, an extremely rare event. All in all he was not at his best. And to top it off, Beatrice had told him only moments before that she had once known the most perfect union of the physical and the metaphysical possible between a man and a woman.
He wondered if it was that claim that drove him now. He realized that he did not care for the notion that she had known such great happiness with another man. Whatever the reason, he was unable to resist the temptation to kiss her.
He knew he had taken her by surprise. He had seen the stunned expression in her eyes just before he lowered his mouth to hers. Nevertheless, she had responded to him.
In point of fact, the extent of her response dazzled him.
Her lips were warm, soft, and welcoming beneath his own. Her arms tightened around his neck. She stopped trying to flatten herself against the marble fireplace surround and pressed herself close to him. He could feel the gentle swell of her breasts beneath her loose wrapper.
Her body was graceful, vital, excitingly firm in all the right places. There was a fullness to her hips that begged for the touch of his hand.
A flash of triumph made him light-headed. He knew that he had not been mistaken earlier when he had caught her staring at his chest. At the very least, she was curious about him. Intrigued enough to open her mouth for him.
With a groan he deepened the kiss. Beatrice murmured something unintelligible, but she did not pull away.
He slid his hands inside her wrapper, moved them down to her waist, and then lower until his fingers rested on the curve of her hips. Only the thin lawn of her nightshift stood between him and the warmth of her skin.
He squeezed gently, settling her more firmly against his heavily aroused shaft. He felt the shiver that went through her in the deepest part of his body. Her scent stirred his senses and sent them reeling.
He thought about the sofa. It was only a few steps away.
“My lord.” With a gasp, Beatrice freed her mouth. She looked up at him with bemused eyes. “I believe you may have taken too much brandy for the pain. You will no doubt regret this in the morning.”
“No doubt.” He pulled her hips back against his erection. “Will you?”
She opened her mouth. Leo braced himself. Of course she would regret the kiss. Any lady in her position would be obliged by the conventions and dictates of society to proclaim herself deeply offended. And as if that was not reason enough for regret, she had once tasted ambrosia. Leo strongly suspected that his kisses did not taste of nectar.
Beatrice closed her mouth. Then she gave him a strange smile. “No.”
“No?” Relief surged through him. It was followed by a wave of exultant pleasure. He started to lower his mouth to hers once again. “Well, in that case—”
She put her fingers against his lips, effectively halting him?. “It was an extremely interesting experience.”
He stilled, intensely aware of her fingertips. “Interesting?”
“Indeed. One might even say it was inspirational.”
He grinned against her palm. “Mrs. Poole, you flatter me.”
She drew a deep breath. “Kissing you is certainly a very invigorating experience.”
“Invigorating?”
“Yes, but I believe it has gone far enough, sir. If we are to be partners, it would probably be best not to complicate the business with this sort of thing.”
His amusement evaporated in a heartbeat. “This sort of thing.” he repeated carefully. “I see.”
She slipped out of his arms and stepped nimbly around him. “I’m sure you’ll agree, my lord, that intimacy would only muddy the waters of our association.”
He reminded himself that at least he had achieved his goal of establishing an alliance. He would take this one step at a time.
“Indeed, Mrs. Poole.” He inclined his head with grave formality. “Speaking as your new associate, I suggest you take yourself off to bed.”
“But I am not at all sleepy, my lord. In fact, for some odd reason, I find myself very much awake. We may as well take the opportunity to discuss our plans.”
“Go to bed,” Leo said softly. “Now.”
She hesitated, but something she saw in his face must have persuaded her that tonight discretion was the better part of valor. “As you wish, my lord.”
She walked sedately to the door of the library, opened it, and quietly let herself out of the room.
Leo listened intently. He heard her footsteps quicken as she crossed the hall. By the time she reached the stairs, she was running. She flew up the staircase as though pursued by a character in a horrid novel.
He looked at Elf. “If I was not crazed before Mrs. Poole made herself my business associate, I will most certainly be driven mad before this affair is finished.”
THE NEW OWNER of the museum listened to the water clock splash softly in the darkness. The machine was not a genuine artifact. It was merely a copy of a strange eastern mechanism that had been designed to divine omens and portents. Tonight it marked the hour with a relentless drip, drip, drip.
The steady, ominous sound underscored the fact that time was running out. The first rumors of the Rings that had stirred the interest of collectors a few months earlier had finally faded. Most had concluded that the tales that had swirled through the antiquities shops were based on a hoax or a fraud.
But now the Rings had vanished once more. There was no way of knowing what had happened to them. How long before new rumors drew the attention of others?
A fresh wave of speculation about the Rings might well cause collectors who had dismissed the early stories to wonder if there had been a grain of truth in them after all. Among those who had ignored the initial round of gossip, there were some who could prove dangerous if they chose to take an interest in the affair.
Moonlight streamed through the high windows. The cold, pale glow illuminated a row of forbidding masks on one wall. It created pockets of dense sha
dows among the pedestals that held several small statues, replicas of some taken from an Egyptian tomb.
The museum housed an assortment of bizarre items. Most of the exhibits in the chambers here on the main floor were frauds and forgeries. Many, such as the magnetism machine in the corner, were the creations of charlatans and quacks, crafted to deceive the gullible.
The museum owner walked past a flat, carved stone that was an imitation of one taken from a Roman crypt. It was covered with astrological signs.
The candlelight fell on the face of the water clock. It was nearly two in the morning. An excellent time to view the museum contents. A good time to think.
There was, as it happened, a great deal of clever thinking to be done that evening. There had been very few mistakes thus far, but Lord Glassonby’s death had been a disaster. The Forbidden Rings of Aphrodite had slipped out of reach once more.
So close. So bloody close.
Breathe deeply. Calm your mind. There is still time to find the Rings. All is not lost.
The owner walked to a cabinet, opened the door, and reached inside with a gloved hand to turn a hidden lever. Gears ground beneath the stone floor. The entire case swung ponderously outward to reveal a flight of stone steps.
The owner went down the staircase into the windowless chamber below. The curiosity seekers who paid to enter the museum were never allowed into this tomblike room.
It was here that the genuine artifacts in the museum’s collection were housed. The new owner glanced around with a sense of satisfaction. An aura of antiquity and power seemed to fill the room.
Most of the relics in there had been acquired only a few months before. They had come from the collection of Morgan Judd, a man who understood the true nature and value of power.
Judd had died in a mysterious fire that had destroyed his country mansion. Few people knew that his collection of antiquities had survived the blaze. Even fewer were aware that some of them had wound up in this chamber.
The candlelight glanced across the surface of a strange vessel fashioned of an odd metal that gleamed dully. The previous proprietor of the museum had maintained that the artifact had once belonged to an alchemist. There was no reason to doubt the claim.
At the foot of the staircase the museum owner turned and walked past a glass cabinet. Inside were several leather-bound volumes that Judd had stolen from the forbidden-books room of an Italian monastery library. The medieval monks who had copied the manuscripts from much older texts had carved warnings into the thick leather bindings. Beware. Let no man open this book who has not first fortified himself with much fasting and prayer.
The owner rounded the end of the bookcase and went down an aisle created by two long display cabinets. Behind the locked doors of the cases were a number of devices that had once been used for occult purposes by the ancient peoples of an island in the South Seas.
At the end of the aisle, the owner came to a halt in front of a large wooden cabinet. The doors were intricately carved with a series of symbols and numbers and secured with a stout lock.
The owner inserted an old iron key into the lock and opened the cabinet doors. The flame of the candle flickered on the figure inside. It was hewn from a mysterious green substance—not quite stone and not yet metal—that defied the impact of hammer and chisel. So far as the owner was concerned, it was the most important artifact in the entire collection.
“Trull never knew your great secret, did he? But I recognized you at once.”
The alchemist’s Aphrodite was not large. If it stood on the floor, it would reach only as high as a man’s waist. It was a graceful nude that featured the goddess in a classical pose rising from the sea. The curves of her billowing hair echoed the waves at her feet. Alchemical symbols were etched around the base.
The museum owner stroked the cold green bosom. “It was only a small setback, my dear. A minor miscalculation. But I swear that I will find the Rings very soon.”
Aphrodite gazed unseeingly into the darkened chamber.
“In the end, you will yield your secrets.”
The candlelight flickered on the statue’s serene and silent features.
“Soon, my cold little goddess. There will be no more mistakes.”
THE GLOOM-FILLED shop in Cunning Lane boasted a faded sign over the entrance that declared it to be the premises of one A. Sibson, dealer in antiquities. In truth, the front portion of the musty, shabby establishment bore a close resemblance to a pawnshop.
The clientele was a mixed lot. It was composed chiefly of footpads seeking to fence stolen loot, and desperate, impoverished ladies wishing to dispose of family heirlooms. It also included the occasional collector of antiquities who had heard the rumors about Sibson’s back room.
The bell over the door chimed weakly when Leo entered. There was no sign of anyone about inside. He made his way through a maze of dusty display cases filled with grimy jewelry, antique coins, and chipped vases. When he reached the counter he stopped.
“Sibson?”
“Be with you in a moment.” The voice emanated from behind the drawn curtain that masked the rear portion of the establishment.
Leo leaned negligently against the counter and surveyed the small shop. Very little had changed since the last time he was there. A fine film of grit shrouded the fake Greek statues in the corners. The pile of rune-inscribed stones on the floor did not look as if they had been disturbed in years.
As an old client, Leo was well aware that the goods in the front of the shop were for show. Sibson kept his most interesting offerings in his back room.
“Now, then, what can I do for you, sir?” Sibson pushed aside the curtain and peered out. He gave a nervous start when he saw Leo. His whiskers twitched and his ferretlike eyes darted back and forth as though seeking escape. “Monkcrest.”
“Hello, Sibson. It’s been a while, has it not? I haven’t seen you since the day you tried to sell me that fraudulent Zamarian temple scroll.”
“See here, now. I had every reason to think that scroll was genuine.”
“Of course you did. You’d paid a great deal of money to that old forger Trull to create it. And I must say, he did an excellent job. I especially admired the delicacy of the dolphin-and-shell decoration.”
“Heard you were in town, m’lord. So kind of you to pay my humble establishment a visit. I’ve got some lovely things in the back.”
“I won’t have time to view your wares today. I’m here on other business.”
Sibson sidled forward into the light. Cadaverthin and sharp-boned, he seemed to be constantly in motion. Everything about him twitched or jerked or bounced.
“May I ask what brings you here today, m’lord?”
“I am in search of information. And, as always, I am willing to pay well for it.”
“What kind of information?”
“There is a rumor that certain antiquities have made their way to London. I wish to determine the truth of that gossip.”
“What antiquities would those be, sir?”
“A pair of Rings.” Leo said softly. “Keys to an old statue of Aphrodite.”
Sibson’s eyes widened suddenly. His brows jiggled. “There are always a number of Aphrodites and Venuses floating about but, as it happens, I haven’t got any in stock at the moment.”
“This particular statue is rather unusual. It is said to contain a fabulous treasure.”
Sibson made peculiar sucking sounds. “I know of no such statue, m’lord.”
“It is sometimes referred to as the alchemist’s Aphrodite.”
“Oh, that Aphrodite.” Sibson snorted scornfully. “‘Tis naught but an old legend. You of all people should know that, m’lord.”
“Come, Sibson. You are well acquainted with me after all these years. You know that I can be very generous.”
“I told you, I do not know of any statue that has a treasure stored inside.” Sibson’s scowl was petulant.
“What about the Rings? The keys to the Aphrodite?
I was told they may have passed through Ashwater’s shop.”
“Ashwater?” Sibson jerked and bounced with sudden rage. “Ashwater? The man sells nothing but fakes and frauds. Everyone knows that he has those vases and statues of his made in a workshop in Italy and shipped here to England. No reputable collector deals with him. Any tale that came from his establishment can be dismissed out of hand.”
“Ashwater seems to have left for the Continent for an unspecified period of time. Any notion why he would do that?”
“Gone to check on his Italian fraud business, I suspect. See here, I know nothing about Ashwater’s journey and I know nothing of any Rings either.” Sibson edged back toward the curtain. “M’lord, I fear you must excuse me. Very busy at the moment. A new shipment of artifacts just arrived from Greece. Got customers waiting.”
“Sibson.”
Sibson froze, one hand gripping the edge of the curtain. He swallowed heavily. “Yes, m’lord?”
“You will let me know immediately if you happen to learn anything concerning the Forbidden Rings, will you not?”
“Yes, m’lord. Immediately. Now, if you will forgive me …” Sibson disappeared into the back room and snapped the curtain shut behind himself.
Leo stood a moment longer in the silent shop, considering the advantages and disadvantages of pressing Sibson. He decided to wait. Sibson’s anxious behavior had told him enough for the moment. It confirmed what he had learned in other, similar shops tucked away in London’s maze of narrow lanes and alleys.
A few months earlier the rumors of the Forbidden Rings had circulated wildly through the community of shops and collectors who specialized in antiquities. The excitement had evaporated very quickly when the rumors came to an end at Ashwater’s shop. Sibson was right in his estimation of his competitor. Ashwater’s reputation as an honest dealer left much to be desired. It was, in fact, on a par with Sibson’s own.
Both men, however, had tentacles that reached deep into the dark seas of stolen and fraudulent antiquities. If anything stirred in the depths, they would be among the first to know it. Since Ashwater was out of town at the moment, Leo was obliged to deal with Sibson.
