He looked up and met Goddard’s glare. “That’s not what I was thinking at all, although I cannot help but feel sorry for what you suffered as a child. No one, most especially a child, should be treated in such an inhumane manner. Indeed, rather than pity, you have my deepest admiration. Not many people would have been strong or brave enough to overcome such adversity. Thank you for telling me something so personal and painful, Goddard. Your loyalty and bravery toward Meredith are commendable.”
Goddard blinked in clear surprise, then his tense features relaxed a bit. “I thank God every day she found me. I’m a lucky man.”
Philip extended his hand. “I think you’re both lucky.”
The two men shared a measuring look. Then, after a nod, Goddard gripped his hand in a firm clasp. “Thank ye. Have to admit, ye’re not exactly what I expected. Ye don’t seem too bad, for a titled bloke, that is.”
“Thank you. Now let’s see if we all can’t get lucky and find the missing piece of stone.”
They walked back to where they’d left Meredith and the earl, this time walking along the outer wall, near the windows. They’d just turned the final corner when Philip halted so suddenly, Goddard bumped into his back. An arc of broken glass littered the wooden floor, sunlight pouring in from the broken window glinting off the jagged shards.
Goddard stepped around him and surveyed the situation. “Miss Merrie told me ‘bout last night’s break-in. This window’s probably how the bloke what hurt yer friend got in.”
A frown pulled down Philip’s brows. “Perhaps... but from what Edward described, I thought the robber had subdued the guard, then simply walked in.” Hell, had someone else broken in? After Edward’s altercation? The sound of the heavy wooden door opening interrupted his thoughts. Brisk footfalls, obviously a man’s, thudded on the floor. Seconds later, Mr. Danpry, the warehouse manager, rounded the corner. Philip had met the large-boned man the day the Dream Keeper had docked and his crates had been delivered.
Danpry stopped short at the sight of Goddard and Philip. “Lord Greybourne. I just heard about what happened here last night.” His gaze skimmed over the broken glass, and his jaw hardened. “I’m confident they’ll catch the fiend, my lord. The magistrate wants him, and the warehouse owner has personally hired a Runner.”
“Excellent. I’ve looked around. It appears that nothing other than two of my crates were disturbed.”
“You might have been the only one robbed, my lord, but this ain’t just a simple burglary.”
“Of course not. My friend and quite possibly your guard, were injured.”
“The guard, Billy Timson, was more than injured, Lord Greybourne. He was found an hour ago. Floatin‘ in the Thames. This is now a murder.”
They paired off, Meredith and Albert taking one crate, Philip and his father the other, a fact which relieved Meredith greatly. It was difficult enough being in the same room with Philip; standing shoulder to shoulder with him, their hands brushing as they removed the delicate artifacts, would prove pure torture.
For more than two hours, conversation consisted solely of naming items as they were removed from their respective crates and settled on the blankets covering the floor, during which time the air had grown unbearably warm.
Slipping her handkerchief from her sleeve, she dabbed at the moisture beading on her neck. Although she’d had no intention of looking at him, her errant gaze wandered toward Philip. He was lifting a small statue from the crate, his back toward her. Dusty streaks marred his white linen shirt, which also bore a T-shaped darkened stain that ran across his wide shoulders and bisected the center of his back where the material rested against his damp skin.
Her gaze traveled downward, over his hips and buttocks, continuing down the backs of his long, muscular legs, all of which his snug breeches accentuated in a way that did absolutely nothing to cool her.
At that moment he turned around, and her gaze snapped upward, mortified to be caught staring. But his attention was riveted on the palm-sized statue he held. Just as her attention was riveted by the sight of him.
His hair was damp, the burnished streaks darkened by the result of his toils. His glasses had slid down his nose, and she had to plant her feet to keep from giving in to the temptation to walk over and adjust the spectacles for him. But even as the thought entered her mind, he pushed them up himself.
Her gaze again wandered downward. Along with his jacket, he’d discarded his cravat and loosened his shirt around his neck, allowing her a pulse-quickening glimpse of his tanned throat and a bit of his chest. She caught a flash of shiny metal. The chain that held his gold coin. A coin she knew lay nestled against his vibrantly warm skin.
Thanks to his labors, the front of his shirt also bore a T-shaped stain, the material clinging to his chest and abdomen in a way that fired her imagination and curiosity. His sinewy forearms drew her avid gaze next, and she vividly recalled me feel of those strong arms holding her, urging her closer. To his hands... strong, sun-browned hands that now gently cradled a piece of ancient history. Magic hands, with callus-tipped fingers that belied his status as a titled gentleman, that had sifted through her hair. Touched her lips. Caressed her breasts.
Down, down trailed her gaze, over his flat stomach, then lower, to linger over the material stretched snugly over the part of him that fascinated her in a way she desperately did not want to be fascinated.
Tearing her gaze away from that, she continued tracking lower, over his muscled thighs, down to his dusty, scuffed black leather boots. He was dirty, disheveled, sweaty. She shouldn’t find him the least bit appealing. And in truth she didn’t. In truth, she found him devastatingly appealing. Dangerously appealing. Instead of being put off by his disordered appearance, she wanted nothing more than to strip him of his dirty clothing, then offer to bathe him.
Heat that had nothing to do with the oppressive warehouse air whooshed through her at the disturbing, unwanted erotic image of her running slick, soapy hands over a naked, aroused Philip. Giving herself a mental shake, she raised her gaze. And met his intense stare.
Behind his lenses his eyes burned with compelling awareness, the flames smoldering in those dark brown depths, leaving no doubt that he knew she’d looked at him in a way that no one would ever call proper. While he could not divine her exact thoughts, he clearly recognized the gist of them.
“Feeling overheated, Miss Chilton-Grizedale?” he asked in a silky voice.
Yes, damn you, and it’s entirely your fault. “I think we are all suffering from the furnacelike temperature in here.”
His gaze skimmed over her, and she inwardly grimaced. Surely she must resemble a bedraggled, limp dust rag. When their eyes met again, his expression was no less compelling, but now tempered with concern.
“Please forgive me. I was so wrapped up in my work, I failed to realize how uncomfortable you must be. As much as I appreciate your help, these are no conditions for a lady. I would be happy to escort you home.”
“Nonsense. While I appreciate your concern, I am not a hothouse flower in need of pampering. I insist upon helping with the search. Time is of the essence, and I’ve a vested interest in you locating the missing piece of stone.”
“Vested interest meaning that without the missing stone, you will not be able to marry me off, preferably to one of those hothouse flowers whom I met last evening.”
“I prefer to call them properly bred young ladies—”
“I’m certain you do.”
“—and yes, marrying you off is the plan. We both stand to lose a great deal if you cannot break the curse.”
Something she could not decipher flashed in his eyes. “No argument here on that point.”
“I’m glad we understand each other.”
“Beggin‘ yer pardon, Miss Merrie, Lord Greybourne,” Albert broke in, making Meredith want to kiss him with gratitude for the interruption, “but I’ve just checked off the last item in the crate. Nothin’s missing.”
There was no mistaking
Philip’s relief, a sentiment Meredith wholeheartedly shared. “Excellent news,” he said.
“Perhaps not,” came the earl’s grim voice. “I’ve just finished with our crate, Philip, and there’s an item unaccounted for.” He tapped his finger on the ledger. “According to your records, a ‘gypsum vessel’ should have been packed in this crate.”
Philip gently set down the marble statue he still held, then looked at the spot where his father pointed. An odd expression passed over his face, then his complexion visibly paled. He dragged his hands down his face. “Damn. I should have noticed... should have made the connection.”
“Noticed what?” Meredith asked, unable to keep the alarm from her voice.
“I recall seeing this entry when I examined the ledgers, but when I noted ‘vessel’ it didn’t seem of any special significance, as I read it to be ‘vessel’ as in ‘boat.’ Not surprising, as you’ll note that there are a predominance of nautical items in that particular crate. I assumed a boat carved from gypsum. But I should have considered that vessel might just as easily have meant ‘box’ of some sort. And I certainly should have made the gypsum connection.”
“What do you mean?” the earl asked. “What is gypsum?”
“It’s a common mineral, been used for centuries to carve into vases, boxes, and such. It’s also called alabaster... which is what the box I found containing the Stone of Tears was carved from.” He exhaled a long breath. “It would seem that there was an alabaster box in this crate. And now it’s gone.”
Eleven
Only nine crates remained.
By six o’clock that evening, they’d completed searching through three more crates—without success. Discouraged, Philip called the work to a halt. His muscles ached, his damp shirt clung to him like an uncomfortable second skin he longed to shed, and hunger he couldn’t ignore much longer grumbled in his stomach. Indeed, the work effort would have ended hours earlier if Meredith hadn’t had the foresight to bring a basket filled with biscuits, scones, cheese, jam, and jars of cider.
He had no intention of quitting for the day, but some food and a change of clothing were in order. Besides, he couldn’t expect anything more from his father, Meredith, or Goddard today. They’d all worked the entire day without a single word of complaint. He’d made his father take several breaks, but the earl appeared to thrive with the work, and was reluctant to quit each time Philip insisted he rest.
In addition to eating and changing his clothes, Philip also wanted to catch up with Andrew, who either was still not feeling well, or had gone to the museum. There was much they needed to discuss.
His father, followed by Goddard, headed down the long walkway toward the exit. Before Meredith fell in behind them, Philip asked, “May I have a word with you, Meredith?”
Goddard halted, looking over his shoulder at Meredith with a questioning gaze.
“It’s all right, Albert,” she said with a tired smile. “I’ll be along in a moment.”
With a nod, Goddard continued down the walkway.
When he was certain he couldn’t be overheard, Philip walked toward her, halting when only two feet separated them. Streaks of dust marred her creamy cheeks and grayed her lustrous dark hair, to say nothing of the havoc her labors had wrought upon her brown gown. She looked tired, rumpled, and dirty. Yet even as guilt slapped him for causing her untidy state, he couldn’t deny that even tired, rumpled, and dirty, he found her more appealing than any perfectly turned-out female he’d ever seen. His fingers all but itched with the desire to grab hold of her and rumple her further.
“I want to thank you for your tireless help today— yours and Goddard’s—and for thinking to bring a hamper of food and drink. I’m afraid I tend to forget such mundane matters as hunger and thirst when I’m embroiled in something. Your forethought falls in the category of ‘sheer genius. ’”
She favored him with a tentative smile. “Thank you, but the truth is it falls more into the category of ‘self-preservation.’ I deduced we’d be here for most of the afternoon, and further suspected that no one would think of food or drink until we were all faint from hunger. I knew if I were the first person to suggest we abandon our work to seek out sustenance, I would be branded a—”
“Hothouse flower?”
“Precisely. And clearly my plan worked beautifully, for rather than categorizing me as a ‘limp, weak, female,’ you believe I’m a genius.”
“Well, your offering was much appreciated, and absolutely delicious. One of the finest meals I’ve had in ages.”
“That’s only because you were so hungry. I’d wager that even if I’d served you sawdust patties you would have gobbled them up with nary a complaint.”
“Hmmm. You may be right. But be that as it may, you quite saved the day, and in return for your generosity in providing me with such a wonderful meal, I would like to return the favor. Will you dine with me tomorrow evening?”
Wariness filled her gaze. “Dine with you?”
“Yes.” His lips quirked upward. “I’m certain you don’t mean to look and sound so horrified. I promise you won’t be served sawdust patties.”
He could see that she meant to refuse him. Before she could do so, he added, “This would be a perfect opportunity for me to get better acquainted with some of the ladies from last night’s party.”
She blinked twice, then a look of unmistakable relief, which he found most discouraging, passed over her features, instantly followed by what could have been a flash of disappointment, which he found most encouraging. “Oh! You mean to invite other people to join us?”
“I shall write the invitations myself. I think eight is a nice number for a dinner party—you, me, and six other young ladies. I’ll look over last night’s guest list and make my choices. May I count on you to come?”
“Yes. I’d be delighted.”
“Excellent. I’ll send Bakari ‘round in my carriage to pick you up. Shall we say eight o’clock?”
“That will be fine.” She looked at him for several seconds, then said quietly, “Philip... I’m glad that you’re taking steps to further your acquaintance with these young ladies. Any one of them will make you an admirable, respectable wife.”
“I’m counting on it, Meredith. We both want me to choose an admirable, respectable wife, and rest assured, I plan to see that we both get exactly what we want.”
When Philip arrived home, Bakari informed him that Andrew had spent the day at the museum and was still not home. Philip ordered a hot bath, and while he waited for the tub to be filled, he retired to his private study with Bakari and took the edge off his appetite with several slices of freshly baked bread and a wedge of cheese.
After bringing Bakari up to date on the day’s proceedings, he said, “I have a bad feeling, Bakari, this missing gypsum vessel might be the very thing we’re searching for. And you know how my bad feelings have a disturbing propensity for proving correct.”
Bakari shuddered. “The sandstorm in Thebes, the storm off Cyprus, the grave robbers in Cairo—don’t remind Bakari.”
“I find it extremely odd that it was the only thing missing, and you know I’m not one to put faith in coincidence. I didn’t dwell on my concern, as I did not want to alarm the others. And I refuse to give up hope. There are still nine crates at the warehouse, and the Sea Raven with her cargo of the remaining artifacts will, I hope, arrive in the next several days. Perhaps this gypsum vessel was indeed a boat.” He raked his hands through his hair. “Damn it all, I should have made the connection. I can only pray that this doesn’t prove to be the most costly error of my life.”
“Bakari pray, too,” the small man said in a grave tone Philip recognized all too well. It was Bakari’s “I’ll pray for all I’m worth, but it probably won’t do much good” voice. Bloody hell.
After finishing off his last bite of bread, Philip said, “There’s something else I need to discuss with you. I’d like you to arrange a small, intimate dinner party for tomorrow evening. Mediterranean-
style.”
Bakari’s black eyes glittered. “Intimate?”
“Yes.” Philip outlined what he wanted, knowing Bakari would commit his instructions to memory and carry them out to the letter. When he finished his instructions, he rose. “My bath must be close to ready by now. By the time I’m finished, Andrew should be home. The dinner hour draws near, and it isn’t like him to miss a meal.”
Sure enough, when, freshly bathed and clothed, Philip entered the dining room forty-five minutes later, Andrew was seated at the cherrywood table, enjoying a bowl of what appeared to be a hearty soup. Nodding at the hovering footman to bring him the same, Philip slid into the chair across from Andrew, whose clothing and hair bore evidence of dust and grime.
“Glad to see you’re feeling better.”
“Not nearly as glad as I am.” His gaze flicked over Philip’s clean clothes and still damp hair. “I envy you your bath. I requested one, but I had to eat first. I think I quite horrified your staff by reporting to the dining room looking like something that’s been dragged across a dusty floor. Thank God Bakari is here to act as a buffer, else I think I’d have been tossed outside.”
After the footman set a steaming bowl in front of Philip, Philip dismissed him. He and Andrew ate in concentrated silence for several seconds before Philip spoke. “As you didn’t pounce the moment I walked in with the good news that you’d found the missing stone, I assume today’s search at the museum was unsuccessful?”
“Unfortunately, yes. Only three crates remain. Edward assisted me, at least as well as he could with his injured hand. He told me what happened last night. Nasty business. He’s lucky he lived to tell the tale. Said he thought some artifacts were broken during the scuffle.”
“Sadly, five were. However, it could have been much worse.”
Andrew shot him a questioning look. “Was anything stolen?”
Philip filled him in on the day’s events, reporting the guard’s death and the missing gypsum vessel. “Damn it Andrew, I should have made the connection.”
WHO WILL TAKE THIS MAN? Page 21