Wicked With the Scoundrel

by Elizabeth Bright

  But she did not say no. She did not answer the question at all, in fact.

  “Was it a very small goat?” she asked.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “The goat the crocodile stole from your boat,” she explained. “Was it very small? A creature with the snout and teeth you describe cannot chew. It would be impossible. Did the crocodile swallow the goat whole, I wonder? But to do so, it must be even larger than you described. Unless the goat was very small.”

  Colin blinked slowly.

  She had a quite dramatic way of speaking. Her voice went up and down in a rhythm that was almost musical. It was the sort of voice he expected from an actress on the stage. But she was not an actress. She was a lady, standing in the drawing room of another lady, demanding that he explain the gruesome manner in which a crocodile devoured its supper.

  This was not normal.

  “The goat was not small,” he said finally. “Neither was it eaten whole. The crocodile dragged the goat into the water, where it rolled over and over again until the goat was wrenched in half and its entrails spilled into the Nile.” He demonstrated the motion with his hand as he talked. “The smell was—” He didn’t like to think of the smell, actually.

  The lady wrinkled her delicate nose.

  Well, she had asked.

  His audience had mostly dispersed when Lady Claire inquired about the goat’s size. The last two men looked slightly green as they hastily retreated. Damnation. This was no way to sell a crocodile tooth. Men liked tales of gore told from a safe distance, but there was a line that divided enthralling from grotesque, and that line was generally entrails.

  He tried not to glare at Lady Claire.

  “What is the price?” she asked.

  He considered the tooth in his hand. He had pulled it from a half-decayed crocodile carcass on the bank of the Nile. He had several more from the same animal. Luxor was full of merchants hawking such teeth and getting no more than a penny or two for their troubles. Fortunately, he was not in Luxor, and Colin could ask a higher price.

  However, ladies did not have the same ready blunt that men had. No doubt the marquess provided his daughter with an allowance, but who knew what mysterious ways a lady chose to spend her money? Perhaps she spent it all on hats.

  “Two pounds,” he said.

  “All right,” she said. She opened her reticule and gave him the notes. He dropped the tooth into her waiting palm. Her hand closed into a fist around it, and she beamed a satisfied smile.

  Something hit in his gut. Guilt? No, of course not. He had no reason to feel guilt, not for his treatment of their kind. They had money. He did not. They lived lives of excess and indulgence, while he fought for every hard-earned penny and his mother slowly went blind. The two pounds meant nothing to her, and so much to him.

  But she looked so pleased. So…happy. As though she believed she had made a smart bargain.

  Which she had not. He had. She must be made to understand that.

  He tucked one note into his pocket and held the other out to her. She looked at it and then slowly lifted her gaze to his face. But she did not take the note.

  “You ought not to have agreed to anything more than ten shillings,” he admonished. “You could have had it for a penny in Egypt.”

  “You ought not to have agreed to anything less than five pounds.” She grinned outright. “It would have cost me two thousand pounds, four months, perhaps a bit of seasickness, and one penny in Egypt. I daresay I cheated you quite handily.”

  He narrowed his eyes. Once again, he found it impossible to determine her meaning. Did she pity him? Was her insistence to pay more than the tooth’s worth mere charity? And yet, she spoke of cheating him. Perhaps she thought his lack of tutors and gentleman’s schooling made him a stupid fellow and out of his depth with the lords and ladies now present.

  It was one of the great fallacies of the ton. A gentleman could quote Shakespeare, but could not shear a sheep. A lady could embroider a silly decoration, but she could not sew a dress. In short, they were a useless, frivolous lot, good for only one thing—spending money.

  Money was the center upon which everything turned. The wealthy spent their money, and the working class turned the money into sensible things, even beautiful things. Food, shelter, clothing. Or stained-glass windows, sterling silver soup tureens, and leather-bound books.

  So Colin smiled coldly and tucked the second note into his pocket, where it joined the first.

  He did not want her pity.

  He did not want her condescension.

  But by God, he would take her money.

  Chapter Four

  Claire could not sleep. Her entire being was abuzz with awareness, as though an electric current hummed through her veins. Restlessness was not unusual for her, but it was easily cured by listing the activities of her day, minutiae by minutiae, until she fell asleep from sheer boredom. But tonight her brain refused to acknowledge any item save one.

  Somewhere in this city was Colin Smith, and she loved him.

  It occurred to her, as dawn crept ever nearer, that a great many rules of the ton were perhaps not truly rules but merely untested hypotheses. Take marrying too far outside one’s social sphere, for example. It wasn’t that a poor adventurer would be locked in prison for daring to marry a marquess’s daughter. Who knew what the consequences would be? No one had ever tried.

  There were, of course, true impediments to such a marriage which could not be ignored. The most obvious concern was that she would be cut from society. There would be no more balls, no more morning calls, no more evenings at the theater with friends.

  She very carefully considered the eight hundred and nine such instances that had filled her days since her coming out in society two years ago. Did she care if she never saw eight hundred and ten?

  No, she did not.

  What would she care if the lords and ladies of London shut their doors to her, when the whole world would be wide open? She could hardly feel the insult all the way in Egypt, anyway.

  No, the more pressing issue was money. Specifically, Colin Smith’s lack thereof.

  As the daughter of a wealthy marquess, she had a large dowry that would provide ample income for the rest of their lives, so long as their lives were lived frugally. Frugality had never before been her aim—had not ever crossed her mind—although in all fairness there had never been a reason. But that did not mean she was incapable. She could make do with a scarce dozen or so dresses a year rather than fifty. She was sure she could.

  If only her father would let her have the dowry.

  But of course he would not. The Marquess of Chatwell was a good man and a kind father, but he would never allow such a marriage to take place. As for her mother…well. If Claire so much as looked twice at a mere mister, the marchioness would have Claire married to the nearest peer so fast her head would spin.

  Which meant that Colin must secure wealth of his own, more than what he could amass selling the trinkets and knickknacks he had brought back from Egypt and India. She brightened. Unless he had perhaps unearthed a buried treasure within one of those mummified tombs? Egypt was full of such things, she had heard—

  Her breath caught as she suddenly remembered.

  Egypt was full of buried treasure, yes, but so was Bath.

  Bath had once been an important city of the Roman Empire. Much of the Roman architecture still survived, including the bathing areas that gave the city its name. And hidden within those old stones were hoards of treasure stashed by ancient Romans. A few such hoards had already been found, mostly consisting of old copper coins that weren’t of much use.

  But the Treasure of Scipio had not yet been found, despite any number of fortune-hunters’ attempts. That treasure was believed to hold not just coins, but jewels and gold. Enough jewels and gold to make a man very wealthy, indeed. Any treasure would belong to the Crown by rights, but the Crown greatly rewarded such discoveries.

  She just had to find it.

/>   No. Colin had to find it.

  In the morning she arose from her bed with a sense of purpose. She bypassed the frilly white dresses and selected a pretty, pale green frock of simple design. She wanted Colin to accept the seriousness of her proposal, which an adventurer such as he might be less inclined to do if she were dressed as a cream puff.

  With Meg, her maid, in tow, she made her way through the crowded streets to Paragon, where Adelaide had taken up residence for the month. It was one of the few fashionable addresses left in a city that was rapidly changing. But despite the cloud of coal dust that hung over the rooftops and the constant noise of carriages, Claire loved this city. It was a strange mix of ancient and modern that fascinated her.

  She stated her business to Adelaide’s butler, who ushered her into the drawing room. He must have been warned she was coming for her father’s purchases, for he didn’t even blink when she asked for Mr. Smith, not her good friend.

  A short moment later, Mr. Smith appeared in his shirtsleeves, his arms full of papyri.

  His shirtsleeves.

  Claire ought to have been scandalized. Did the man not know how to dress for company?

  Well. She would certainly not enlighten him. Without a jacket to properly cover him, she could see the faint outlines of his muscular chest and shoulders through the thin white muslin of his shirt.

  “Oh.” It was more of a sigh than a word. She faltered slightly as she rose to her feet.

  “Lady Claire.” He bowed in greeting. “I understand you are here to purchase the hieroglyphic scrolls. Is your father with you?” He glanced about the room as though he expected the marquess to materialize from behind the wingback chair.

  “He had business to attend to, so I came with my maid. I hope you don’t mind?”

  He hesitated for the briefest of seconds. “Of course not. Please make yourself comfortable. Would you like to examine the scrolls one by one?”

  One by one? She sat and watched as he set the papyri carefully on the console table. There were three dozen in total. A careful examination of each and every scroll would take hours. She licked her lips. How very tempting. But no, she would not do that to him.

  “There is no need, Mr. Smith.”

  She did not like addressing him as such. Smith was so common a name. Smith could be anyone. But this man was not just anyone. He was Colin. Colin was good and adventurous and saw nothing alarming about women on ships. From now on, she would think of him only as Colin.

  She endeavored to look businesslike. “My father gave me instructions to purchase as many as you would let me have. What is your price?”

  Colin’s blue-gray eyes gleamed. “What do you think they are worth?”

  He was testing her, she realized. What had she learned from their transaction yesterday, and how would she apply it today? She tilted her head and considered. He believed she was too easily parted with her money, for he had made his disdain obvious last night. Perhaps he was correct, but she had quite a lot of it, so where was the harm? He had offered a lower price than she was willing to pay. From that she had learned he was honest, although she doubted that was the lesson he had intended to teach. Yet she thought it was the more important lesson, just the same.

  “Some would say they are worth nothing,” she said. “Scraps of papyrus that might not survive England’s damp climate as easily as the dry desert are a risky investment. The writing is indecipherable. Some might even call it not writing at all, but childish scribbles.”

  “But that is not what you think,” he said.

  “No,” she agreed. “I love the picture language, and I love my father even more. I am willing to pay a bit more than the average collector to ensure his happiness. He would pay an even higher price, I am afraid. He is quite obsessed.”

  Colin eyed her sharply. “Chatwell is not really indisposed, is he? You are here in his stead to ensure he does not trade the family home.”

  It was only partly the reason, but Claire laughed and nodded. “Indeed.”

  “And what is to stop me from refusing to do business with anyone but the marquess himself? Now that you have exposed his weakness, perhaps I should press my advantage.”

  “Oh, but you wouldn’t,” she said quietly.

  “Wouldn’t I?”

  She shook her head. “You are not a stupid man, Mr. Smith. I believe you want a business arrangement that goes beyond these papyrus scrolls. My father won’t enter into such an agreement if he doesn’t like you. You are not his only option. There are other men who deal in Egyptian antiquities. Anyway”—she lifted her shoulders—“you’re too honest. You will give me a fair price.”

  “And that would be?”

  She laughed again. “Something more than I believe they are worth, but substantially less than what my father would pay.”

  Colin’s full lips turned down in a frown. He lowered his chin, causing a shock of golden hair to fall over one eye. He didn’t push it away but instead continued to glower at her, looking exactly like a grouchy pirate.

  Goodness.

  Her fingertips tingled. She clasped her hands together in her lap.

  “Two hundred pounds for the lot of them,” he said finally.

  She smiled. “That is a fair price.” Her father would have offered four times the amount.

  Colin only grunted in response, the darling man.

  She suppressed a sigh. Clearly, he was not as smitten with her as she was with him. It was only natural, she supposed. He’d had a life of adventure in distant lands. She’d never even been to Scotland, as her mother hated their northern neighbor. Whether Claire would have felt differently about the country never entered the equation.

  So, no, she did not expect him to fall in love instantly as she had. But he could grow to love her someday. If he would only marry her, she would have a lifetime to make him love her. And if he never did, then perhaps he would be satisfied with enjoying her money and her company.

  She rose and walked toward him, stopping close enough to catch the smell of sea and salt that still clung to him. How fascinating. He had surely bathed since reaching dry land—or else he would smell terrible, and he did not smell terrible. Quite the opposite, in fact. Yet, he still smelled of the ocean, as though the sea had gotten into his skin, somehow, and was as much a part of him as his fingernails and eyelashes.

  “My lady?” He was watching her, brows raised in question.

  She shook herself, forcing thoughts of his scent from her head. She touched one scroll with a gloved fingertip. “How did you discover these, Mr. Smith?”

  He pursed his lovely lips. “They were in a temple that had been buried long ago, thousands of years even, perhaps by a sandstorm.”

  “Buried beneath sand.” Her pulse quickened. “Mr. Smith, I have a proposal to make you.”

  He cocked his head, waiting.

  She took a deep breath. “Will you accompany me on a treasure hunt, Mr. Smith?”

  Chapter Five

  A treasure hunt?

  Colin peered into Lady Claire’s upturned face. Her brown eyes were wide and bright, her expression trusting and hopeful, and her freckled cheeks were flushed pink with excitement. For a reckless moment, he was tempted to agree to whatever mad scheme she proposed.

  Dangerous girl…all the more so for her beguiling innocence.

  He stepped back. “I am not taking you to Egypt, Lady Claire.”

  “Egypt?” She gave him a startled look. “No, not yet.”

  Not yet? Not ever.

  Before he could put the thought to speech, she continued, “Have you ever heard of the Treasure of Scipio?” When he shook his head, she said, “The legend dates back to the time of the Crisis of the Third Century. It was a time of great upheaval for the Roman Empire. Britain and Gaul broke away to form their own union, and this part of England, where wealthy Romans enjoyed their spa, was particularly dangerous. Scipio was one of the great Roman generals at the time. He hid as much of his wealth as he could before he escaped. But
he was caught and murdered. His hoard, however, was never found.”

  Excitement coursed through Colin. There was very little he found more arousing than the promise of great wealth and glory, especially if one had to first earn the reward through solving a puzzle.

  He forced himself to temper his response. “I had heard the Roman ruins discovered here in Bath were covered up again by the Great Pump Room. Are you proposing we dismantle the assembly rooms and the baths?”

  “Of course not. It is believed that his house is on the outskirts of the city. The remains are not much. A few stone pillars, and an underground room that was found quite by accident. But one pillar is engraved with a boar and ax, which was the symbol of his family.”

  A starting place.

  The back of Colin’s neck prickled. “How can you be sure the treasure wasn’t found long ago and kept secret? For all we know, someone uncovered the cache only moments after Scipio hid it.”

  She furrowed her brow. “How could anyone keep the Cleopatra Emerald a secret?”

  “The what?” he asked.

  “It’s part of the hoard—the most valuable part, no doubt,” she explained. “It’s a piece of jewelry that once belonged to the Empress Cleopatra. The emerald is the size of my fist, set in a gold necklace. If someone had found it, he would have needed to sell it, but only a very small number of people could afford such a magnificent gem. No one could possibly have kept it secret.”

  Colin looked at her hand and tried to picture it as an emerald. His pulse raced…against his better judgment. “You might have started with that bit.”

  “I like to start at the beginning.”

  “Cleopatra is the beginning.”

  “Oh.” She tilted her head. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. She lived and died before Scipio, after all. But that beginning is no great matter, is it? What’s important is that the emerald exists. Let’s go find it, shall we?” She made an impatient movement as if she meant to begin the search that very moment.

  “Yes.” Shit. “No.”

  Her lips pursed. “Which is it?”

  “I haven’t decided.” He knew what he ought to do, of course. He just didn’t want to. “If the treasure has been safely buried these many centuries, what makes you think you are the one who can uncover it?”