With This Ring

by Amanda Quick

  “A likely story.”

  “Nevertheless, it is my story and mine is the only tale that matters tonight.” He hurled another pot to the floor. “You have only ten minutes left, Mrs. Lake.”

  It was hopeless. Lavinia took two fistfuls of her skirts and started up the stairs. But she paused midway as a thought struck her.

  “This business of making inquiries into murders on behalf of your clients—it seems a rather odd sort of profession,” she said.

  He smashed a small Roman oil lamp. “No more odd than selling false antiquities.”

  Lavinia was incensed. “I told you, they are not false, sir. They are reproductions designed to be purchased as souvenirs.”

  “Call them what you wish. They look remarkably like fraudulent imitations to me.”

  She smiled thinly. “But as you just said, sir, you are no expert in rare artifacts, are you? You are merely a simple man of business.”

  “You have approximately eight minutes left, Mrs. Lake.”

  She touched the silver pendant she wore at her throat the way she often did when her nerves were under a great strain. “I cannot decide if you are a monstrous villain or merely deranged,” she whispered.

  He looked briefly, chillingly, amused. “Does it make any great difference?”

  “No.”

  The situation was impossible. She had no choice but to concede the victory to him.

  With a soft exclamation of frustration and anger, she whirled and rushed on up the stairs. When she reached the small, lantern-lit room, she saw that, unlike herself, Emeline had made good use of the time allotted to them. Two medium-size and one very large trunk stood open. The smaller trunks were already crammed to overflowing.

  “Thank goodness you are here.” Emeline’s words were muffled, as her head was inside the wardrobe. “Whatever took you so long?”

  “I was attempting to convince March that he had no right to toss us out into the street in the middle of the night.”

  “He is not tossing us into the street.” Emeline straightened away from the wardrobe, a small antique vase cradled in her arms. “He has provided a carriage and two armed men to see us safely out of Rome and all the way home to England. It is really very generous of him.”

  “Rubbish. There is nothing at all generous about his actions. He is playing some deep game, I tell you, and he wants us out of his way.”

  Emeline busied herself rolling the vase into a bombazine gown. “He believes we are in grave danger from that villain Carlisle, who used our shop as a place to send and receive messages from his men.”

  “Bah. We have only Mr. March’s word that there is any such villain operating here in Rome.” Lavinia opened a cupboard. A very handsome, extremely well endowed Apollo gazed out at her. “I, for one, am not inclined to put much faith in anything that man tells us. For all we know, he wants the use of these rooms for his own dark purposes.”

  “I am convinced he has told us the truth.” Emeline stuffed the cushioned vase into the third trunk. “And if that is the case, he is right. We are indeed in danger.”

  “If there is some villainous gang involved in this affair, I would not be surprised to discover that Tobias March is their leader. He claims to be a simple man of business, but it is obvious to me that there is something distinctly diabolical about him.”

  “You are allowing your ill temper to influence your imagination, Lavinia. You know you are never at your most clearheaded when you allow your imagination to run wild.”

  The sound of shattering pottery echoed up the staircase.

  “Damn the man,” Lavinia muttered.

  Emeline paused in her packing and tilted her head slightly, listening. “He certainly is intent on making it appear that we were the victims of vandals and thieves, is he not?”

  “He said something about destroying the shop so this villain Carlisle would not suspect he had been discovered.” Lavinia wrestled with the Apollo, struggling to get it free of the cupboard. “But I believe it is just another one of his lies. The man is enjoying himself down there, if you ask me. He is quite mad.”

  “I hardly think that is the case.” Emeline went back to the wardrobe for another vase. “But I will admit it is a good thing we stored the genuine antiquities up here so we could keep them safe from street thieves.”

  “The only bit of luck in this entire affair.” Lavinia wrapped her arms around Apollo’s chest and hauled him out of the cupboard. “I shudder to think what might have happened if we had put them on display alongside the copies downstairs. March would no doubt have destroyed them too.”

  “If you ask me, the most fortunate aspect of this thing is that Mr. March concluded we were not members of Carlisle’s ring of cutthroats.” Emeline shrouded a small vase in a towel and stored it in the trunk. “I tremble to think what he might have done to us had he believed us to be consorting with the real villains and not just innocent dupes.”

  “He could hardly have done worse than to ruin our only source of income and throw us out of our home.”

  Emeline glanced at the old stone walls that surrounded them and gave a delicate sniff. “You can hardly call this unpleasant little room a home. I shall not miss it for a moment.”

  “You will most certainly miss it when we find ourselves penniless in London and forced to make our living on the streets.”

  “It will not come to that.” Emeline patted the towel-wrapped vase she held. “We will be able to sell these antiquities when we return to England. Collecting old vases and statues is all the rage, you know. With the money we receive for these items we shall be able to rent a house.”

  “Not for long. We will be fortunate to make enough from the sale of these objects to support ourselves for six months. When the last of them is gone, we will be in desperate straits.”

  “You will think of something, Lavinia. You always do. Just look at how well we managed when we found ourselves stranded here in Rome after our employer ran off with that handsome count. Your notion of going into the antiquities business was nothing short of brilliant.”

  Lavinia managed, by dint of sheer willpower, not to scream in frustration. Emeline’s boundless faith in her ability to recover from every disaster was quite maddening.

  “Give me a hand with this Apollo, please,” she said.

  Emeline glanced doubtfully at the large nude statue Lavinia was attempting to haul across the room. “It will take up most of the space in the last trunk. Perhaps we ought to leave it behind and pack some of the vases instead.”

  “This Apollo is worth several dozen vases.” Lavinia stopped halfway across the room, breathing hard from the exertion, and changed her grip on the figure. “He’s the most valuable antiquity we’ve got. We must take him with us.”

  “If we put him in the trunk, we won’t have room for your books,” Emeline said gently.

  A sick sensation twisted Lavinia’s insides. She stopped abruptly and looked at the shelf filled with the books of poetry she had brought with her from England. The thought of leaving them behind was almost too much to bear.

  “I can replace them.” She took a tighter hold on the statue. “Eventually.”

  Emeline hesitated, searching Lavinia’s face. “Are you certain? I know how much they mean to you.”

  “Apollo is more important.”

  “Very well.” Emeline stooped to grasp Apollo’s lower limbs.

  Booted footsteps rang on the staircase. Tobias March appeared in the doorway. He glanced at the trunks and then he looked at Lavinia and Emeline.

  “You must leave now,” he said. “I cannot risk allowing you to remain here even another ten minutes.”

  Lavinia longed to hurl one of the vases at his head. “I am not leaving Apollo behind. He may be all that stands between us and life in a brothel when we return to London.”

  Emeline made a face. “Really Lavinia, you mustn’t exaggerate so.”

  “It’s nothing short of the truth,” Lavinia snapped.

  “Give me
the bloody statue.” Tobias came toward them. He hoisted the sculpture in his arms. “I’ll put it into the trunk for you.”

  Emeline smiled warmly. “Thank you. It is rather heavy.”

  Lavinia gave a snort of disgust. “Don’t thank him, Emeline. He is the cause of all our troubles tonight.”

  “Always delighted to be of service,” Tobias said. He wedged the statue into the trunk. “Anything else?”

  “Yes,” Lavinia said instantly “That urn near the door. It is an exceptionally good piece.”

  “It will not fit into the trunk.” Tobias gripped the lid and looked at her. “You must choose between the Apollo and the urn. You cannot take both with you.”

  She narrowed her eyes, suddenly suspicious. “You intend to take it for yourself, do you not? You plan to steal my urn.”

  “I assure you, Mrs. Lake, I have no interest in that damn urn. Do you want it or the Apollo? Choose. Now.”

  “The Apollo,” she muttered.

  Emeline hurried forward to stuff a nightgown and some shoes in around the Apollo. “I believe we’re ready, Mr. March.”

  “Yes, indeed.” Lavinia gave him a steely smile. “Quite ready. I can only hope that one of these days I shall have an opportunity to repay you for this night’s work, Mr. March.”

  He slammed the lid of the trunk. “Is that a threat, Mrs. Lake?”

  “Take it as you will, sir.” She seized her reticule in one hand and her traveling cloak in the other. “Come, Emeline, let us be off before Mr. March decides to burn the place down around our ears.”

  “There is no call to be so disagreeable.” Emeline picked up her own cloak and a bonnet. “Under the circumstances, I think Mr. March is behaving with admirable restraint.”

  Tobias inclined his head. “I appreciate your support, Miss Emeline.”

  “You must not mind Lavinia’s remarks, sir,” Emeline said. “Her nature is such that when she is feeling hard-pressed she is inclined to become somewhat short of temper.”

  Tobias settled his cold-eyed gaze on Lavinia again. “I noticed.”

  “I pray you will make allowances,” Emeline continued. “In addition to all of the other difficulties tonight, we are obliged to leave her books of poetry behind. That was a very difficult decision for her. She is very fond of poetry, you see.”

  “Oh, for pity’s sake.” Lavinia swung her cloak around her shoulders and strode briskly toward the door. “I refuse to listen to any more of this ridiculous conversation. One thing is certain, I am suddenly quite eager to be free of your unpleasant company, Mr. March.”

  “You wound me, Mrs. Lake.”

  “Not nearly so deeply as I could wish.”

  She paused on the staircase and looked back at him. He did not look wounded. Indeed, he looked magnificently fit. The ease with which he hoisted one of the trunks testified to his excellent physical condition.

  “Personally, I’m looking forward to going home.” Emeline hastened toward the stairs. “Italy is all very well for a visit, but I have missed London.”

  “So have I.” Lavinia jerked her gaze away from Tobias March’s broad shoulders and stomped down the stairs. “This entire venture has been an unmitigated disaster. Whose idea was it to travel to Rome as companions to that dreadful Mrs. Underwood in the first place?”

  Emeline cleared her throat. “Yours, I believe.”

  “The next time I suggest anything so bizarre, I pray you will be so kind as to wave a vinaigrette under my nose until I come to my senses.”

  “It no doubt seemed quite a brilliant notion at the time,” Tobias March said behind her.

  “It did indeed,” Emeline murmured in very neutral tones. “‘Just think how delightful it will be to spend a season in Rome,’ Lavinia said. ‘Surrounded by all those wonderfully inspiring antiquities,’ she said. ‘All at Mrs. Underwood’s expense,’ she said. ‘We shall be entertained in grand style by people of quality and taste,’ she said.”

  “That is quite enough, Emetine,” Lavinia snapped. “You know very well it has been a very educational experience.”

  “In more ways than one, I should imagine,” Tobias said rather too easily, “judging by some of the gossip I have heard concerning Mrs. Underwood’s parties. Is it true they tended to evolve into orgies?”

  Lavinia gritted her teeth. “Granted there were one or two minor incidents of an unfortunate nature.”

  “The orgies were somewhat awkward,” Emeline allowed. “Lavinia and I were obliged to lock ourselves in our bedchambers until they ended. But in my opinion, matters did not become truly dire until we woke up one morning to discover that Mrs. Underwood had run off with her count. That course of action left us stranded and penniless in a foreign clime.”

  “Nevertheless,” Lavinia continued forcefully, “we managed to come right again and we were doing quite nicely until you, Mr. March, chose to interfere in our personal affairs.”

  “Believe me, Mrs. Lake, no one regrets the necessity more than I,” Tobias said.

  She paused at the foot of the stairs to take in the sight of the shop full of shattered pottery and statuary. He had destroyed everything, she thought. Not a single vase had been left unbroken. In less than an hour, he had ruined the business it had taken nearly four months to establish.

  “It is inconceivable that your regret equals my own, Mr. March.” She tightened her grasp on her reticule and walked through the rubble toward the door. “Indeed, sir, so far as I am concerned, this disaster is entirely your fault.”

  This edition contains the complete text of the original hardcover edition.

  NOT ONE WORD HAS BEEN OMITTED.

  WITH THIS RING

  A Bantam Book

  PUBLISHING HISTORY

  Bantam hardcover edition published April 1998

  Bantam paperback edition / February 1999

  All rights reserved.

  Copyright © 1998 by Jayne A. Krentz.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  For information address: Bantam Books

  eISBN: 978-0-307-57572-2

  Bantam Books are published by Bantam Books, a division of Random House, Inc. Its trademark, consisting of the words “Bantam Books” and the portrayal of a rooster, is Registered in U.S. Patent and Trademark Office and in other countries. Marca Registrada. Bantam Books, 1540 Broadway, New York, New York 10036.

  v3.0