Page 3 of A Little Bit Dangerous
Christian firmed his jaw. It wasn’t the first time a man had presumed he was more brawn than brains. “Insult me again and you’ll feel more than the whip of my tongue. As you’re keen to judge on appearances, perhaps it would help if I wore spectacles.”
The fellow paled. “Forgive me. This whole business has left me desperate for answers. Based on Daventry’s choice of assistants, one cannot help but feel flustered.” He jerked his head to the closed door behind him, dragged a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his brow.
Daventry smiled. “Any man would find himself anxious when left alone with such a compelling woman.” He turned to Christian. “Cornelius Brown is the curator here and our client.”
Under normal circumstances, Christian would have bid the man good morning—but manners be damned. Daventry hadn’t mentioned hiring a woman.
Intrigue and annoyance fought for supremacy. Not wanting to mimic Brown’s small-minded bigotry, Christian asked a sensible question. “Does your assistant know something of Egyptology?”
“Yes. Relatively more than you do,” Daventry replied. “Now, are we to stand in the corridor all morning, or shall we get to the matter at hand?”
Christian silently cursed. No wonder Daventry had demanded a sworn oath before revealing the nature of the work. Doubtless the bluestocking wished to make her mark on the world, and he’d be forced to work with a termagant for five blasted days.
“I’ve left her reading the consignment list,” Brown whispered.
“You didn’t think to invite someone from the Society of Antiquaries to examine the documents and artefacts?” Surely their members were qualified to give an appraisal.
Brown’s gaze shifted left and right as if the walls had ears. “Two members were involved in the purchase and movement of the artefacts. I don’t know who to trust. To save time, I shall explain more once you’ve met Miss Lawton.”
Lawton?
The name chilled Christian’s blood.
Sir Geoffrey Lawton was the devil incarnate. A wicked man who had refused their plea for help sixteen years ago. Yes, he had a daughter, but the girl Christian remembered was sent away to school. He had not laid eyes on her since.
Indeed, he ignored the churning of unease in his stomach.
Stop fretting.Lawton is a fairly common name, he told himself as they entered the windowless room. And yet, there was nothingcommonabout the exotic woman seated behind the oak desk.
Brown and Daventry greeted her while all Christian could do was stare at the vision of loveliness in the candlelight.
Miss Lawton’s lustrous dark hair was swept back in a simple chignon. Beneath delicately arched brows, her sensual brown eyes had the power to bring a man to his knees. And then there were those soft lips, lips so full they made his cock weep.
Miss Lawton stood, and he’d be damned if his mouth didn’t fall open when gazing upon her curvaceous silhouette. “Mr Chance, good morning. I believe we used to be neighbours.” She scanned his face, his hair and physique as if recalling their last interaction fondly. “Your cook made the best shortbread biscuits. You used to leave a parcel for me by the garden gate.”
Hell and damnation! ShewasLawton’s offspring.
Anger flared in Christian’s chest. Biscuits? All she remembered was bloody biscuits, not her father’s sordid affair with his stepmother? Did she think a sweet memory might eradicate sixteen years of pain?
By God, Aaron would tear her to shreds, whip her with the sharp edge of his tongue to remind her of her family’s failings. She had tainted blood. Lucifer’s blood.
“They were Shrewsbury biscuits, and I tied the parcel from the branches of the apple tree overhanging your garden,” he said coldly. By God, he would throttle Daventry for putting him in this damned predicament. “Yet for me, the bitter memories are the most prevalent.”
He’d not thought of those biscuits since he’d sat huddled with his brothers in a dank alley, his limbs shaking, hunger gnawing at his belly like a rabid dog.
The lady appeared confused. “While the details may have become muddled over time, your kindness has always remained with me.”
“Kindness?” He was surprised she knew the definition.
“Your gifts were a distraction during a difficult time, sir.”
What a pity she had not returned the favour when he found himself destitute. Perhaps if she acknowledged her father’s beastly misdeeds, he might feel something other than contempt.
Daventry cleared his throat. “Studying Egyptian artefacts is somewhat of a hobby. Is it not, Miss Lawton?”
A flicker of an unnamed emotion passed over her striking features, but she kept her composure. “There were many books on the subject at my mother’s villa. I used to lock myself in the library and read for hours. Particularly when she had guests.”
“I’m told Positano is breathtaking during the summer months,” Daventry said.
